As a teenager, imagine you write something on your electronic device, maybe not deemed bad at the time but will have a dire effect not only on your career but your well-being possibly even until death. This surely cannot be right? Luckily, when I was young the only electronic media devices available were the radio, BBC and pirate radio stations, and in some instances the simple radio-telephone. On Mull, I remember answering a couple of calls through the radio-telephone from puffers (small steam cargo boats) on their way to Salen Pier to collect or unload cargo. The estate, for a while, took over the management of the pier when drive-on ferries were introduced at Craignure seeing to the end of daily boats to Salen, Lismore and Tobermory. No more loading by derrick, no more lengthy early morning breakfasts, no more gangplanks.
Now, some young cricketer has been suspended from the English Test cricket team due to comments he typed while in essence, he was still a boy, eighteen. Worse still, there is another who wrote some supposedly dastardly comment when he was sixteen which the English Cricket Board has been informed of sparking another witch-hunt. People are so busy searching for more deemed miscreants, the game is fast losing its sparkle for many supporters. Likely as I write, other British national sporting bodies are also doing the same. Is the world crazy, or what?
“Logic suggests to me you can draw up rules or laws to protect the minority but the emotions of the minority should not dictate to or be construed to represent the majority.” - Peter MacSporran
Where will it end? Not that I have any sympathy for the English cricket team, being of Scottish descent. One of the most enjoyable days of my life was watching Zimbabwe beat England at Harare Sports Club. The despair shown by the “Barmy Army” added further pleasure to my day.
This was especially so, as I had to listen to a group of rowdy English supporters boasting about their exploits in the seedier part of the city the evening before the game. Had they not heard of HIV?
Cricket is a fairly silly game anyway, not favoured by the Scots. What game other than cricket do you know when a thrown ball changes from being a “Ball” to a “No-ball?” At school I always played cricket very poorly in fear of being picked for a team, thus ensuring the weekend would be free for sailing. On rare occasions, I failed to find myself on a Saturday morning in front of a wicket. On arrival in Zimbabwe, I found the country to be soccer mad if you were black, rugby and cricket-mad if you were white. Can I safely say that? Nowadays there is much more integration, although one of the best-known soccer players in the 80’s, “Bruce Grobbelaar” was white. We have all also heard of, not only the cricketer but the brave man of honour, “Henry Olonga.” In rugby, we all know of the “Beast.” Zimbabwean born and proud of it. Needless to say, every local farming club had a cricket team. The only time I was called upon, was if they were short a player. I was so bad, our club would rather use one of the spare opposition players to field, than me. I was worse than the last choice when it came to cricket. Thankfully. However, I enjoyed watching the one-day matches at Harare Sports Ground. Wonderful social events to catch up with old friends at “Castle Corner.”
I have wandered away from the madness of political correctness. We have all through time, especially in our younger years, said stupid and untasteful things. Luckily, we could not tweet or post them online. If some sense does not emerge soon, the right to free speech will disappear completely. Already in some places, it is lost. I read this week that it is now thought by some that if you say, “I am not a racist” it means you probably are. How does that work?
“We are slowly allowing ourselves to be influenced and behaving according to an emotional, even passionate agenda of the few, throwing common sense, science and logic out of the window.” - Peter MacSporran
Fortunately, I am in my twilight years, unemployed, nor seeking the favour of others, unlikely to be picked for a sporting team, so I will continue to say what I think. Of course, hopefully in a sensitive manner governed by sense. Am I telling the truth here? Time will tell.
The other issue that confuses me is gender. Being a farmer, the recognition of the scientific gender of farm livestock is important for our success. I think humans are just educated animals. In my opinion, it would appear our intellectual development is leading to emotional confusion in our identity.
“Any rule that is grey or obtuse in some way will lead to confusion and pain to all in the future.” - Peter MacSporran
Once again at my age, it is not a problem, I do not care who I share a toilet with at this stage in my life. Others around me should be wary as my aim is not as good as it used to be. Our language here in Portugal has gender. Everyone says we should not confuse language gender with human or animal gender. This just adds to my confusion.
Unceasing Blood Tests and Doctors Visits
My good friend John Tidy, a fishing and erstwhile drinking buddy before my forced abstesium, has asked me to go sea fishing as my recovery continues. The catch is normally sea bream, pollard, occasional octopus, conger eels and small red mullet. On accepting, I said I would have to check my appointments and I was appalled to note that between now and the end of the month, I have five doctor and blood test appointments including my eye treatment. I suppose you forget after a while how often you visit a doctor, my main place of visitation since falling ill. The other thing that struck me was how many people were dedicating their time to my well-being. I am exceedingly grateful to them all.
More College Shenanigans
After a short while at college I soon learned my roommate Mike was not only a diligent student, he was also an excellent note writer in class. That is, he took exemplary notes in meticulous handwriting which were concise, easy to read or copy if required. It was therefore easy for me to refer to his notes when needed. This was often due to my writing being indecipherable along with me oft-times missed morning lectures. My day normally started with a bacon roll in the canteen mid-morning. Mike reminded me, I once missed two days of college following twenty-eight beers in a single day at the Ayr Agricultural Show followed up with some carry-outs from the Thistle Bar, our favourite watering hole. I cannot remember this incident, there were many. Mike and I are still good friends having kept in touch, more often now that I am in Europe. Both Mike and his wife, Vari, have always made me feel at home in their farmhouse on Bonnington Farm, Linlithgow where Mike has farmed all of his adult life. He is now retired.
Mike used to claim I had a photographic memory since I passed my exams without studying. This is not true, I did dedicate a few hours to this, normally after 10 pm when the pubs had closed. I had my priorities. I think it was more that I enjoyed the subjects we were being taught, rather than my memory. Perhaps not botany. I only passed that on the second attempt, aided by the use of Mike’s meticulous notes. One of the lecturers, Peter Chard, taught us animal husbandry. He was a real character claiming he failed in his own farming enterprise because he had been advised to feed his dairy cows seaweed. Peter, following his time at Auchincruive, moved to Zimbabwe taking up the post of Deputy Principal at Gwebi College where we renewed our friendship. One evening I passed out in his toilet following a bilharzia injection required for army callup, with the door locked from the inside. I was advised not to drink alcohol on the day of the injection. What do they know? I am still friends with his daughter Sue on Facebook. People decry Facebook, but it has assisted me in making contact with many old friends along with army day comrades. I would never have made these reconnections without Facebook.
I think at Auchincruive I worked fairly hard the first two terms and then the last term most especially for finals. In between, life was good. Mike has recently been supplying some anecdotes about our time there which has jogged my memory, reminding me of some of our escapades, some well-remembered, some best long forgotten.
In April 1970, our course had its mid-term practical time. This was six months on a farm deemed suitable by the college, which would add to our knowledge of agriculture. During this period, not only were we meant to broaden our practical experience but we were also required to collect plant samples, especially grasses, and keep a record of the tasks we did and why. Mike and I were allocated Moray Estates in Doune. I am not sure how we ended up together once again. I did know John Forbes, the General Manager of Moray Estates based on the main farms in Morayshire, he was a friend of my fathers. While at Doune I only met him once. The estate manager, who we came under was an Irishman named Jack Torrance, an ex-Auchincruive student who had completed the course we were on. This gave us some hope for the future, but I found his management methods were less than ideal for success. Each morning he would arrive at the workshop giving out orders from the seat of his van before returning to his office chair. He seemed to be a bundle of nerves or energy. I wasn’t sure. Perhaps nerves due to Sandy, the senior tractor driver, always requiring a few days to recover from Saturday nights. Combine harvesting or baling on a Sunday would lead to damaged machines and parts strewn in the stubble lost forever. I can still remember one Sunday morning Jack arriving in the hayfield and saying, “Fine boys you are, taking my baler apart in the field!” Moray Estates seemed to like us to work overtime, all the time. It was great for us, cash is always in short supply when you are a student, but picking up stones in the dark, cold dusk did seem rather senseless.
On arrival at Doune, Mike was banished to a hill farm belonging to the estate, an isolated place with no electricity, let alone home comforts, like heating. He was stuck at this farm with no social life, known as Calziebonhalzie, to aid with the lambing for the first six weeks of the practical. He was introduced to curds and whey to his disgust by the shepherd's wife, I do not think he has had any curds since. He was under the impression that I was having an easy time on the main estate farms. Why him for this job and not me? Perhaps because his father owned the well known Blackface flock at Darnhunch. In fact, I arrived
in time for the spring barley planting season, I was given an old cab-less MF65 to drive. The compound steering wheel cover worn down to the internal wire the seat cold bare metal. From before first light to well after last light I was stuck on this damn machine, freezing my proverbials off. My digs, with the senior tractor driver's mother as my landlady, were about three kilometres down the road. I had to keep my head down to avoid the sparks blowing in my face from the exhaust pipe, clearly visible at night. I could not see them in daylight so it was not a problem then. My landlady’s attitude towards me was about as harsh as the weather. When Mike joined me on finishing the lambing, we were thrown out as I decided to break into my digs, one freezing night finding myself locked out as my landlady was out selling perfume or Tupperware. This was a blessing, Mike and I found ourselves boarded with one of the estate tenant farmers on East Brae Farm. A generous man called George, who still farmed with a horse, and a wonderful wife who could not feed us enough good home fare. They had so little, yet were so generous to us hungry students. It was a home from home. In return for their generosity, we used an estate tractor to help bring in his hay crop that year. Done in one evening, what would have taken him weeks with just him and his horse. More about our time at Doune next week, where I will introduce you to some of the other characters on the estate.
Establishing Farmers and my Entry Into Consultancy Work
After sourcing the funds for our resettlement scheme, I was joined by Chris Thorne as a partner in Agricultural Advisors International (AAI), a hard-working, take no prisoners, business-oriented person who helped get through this very busy time. Unlike me, Chris was much more au fait with a computer than I was. In addition, he had prepared a cash-flow template suitable for farming, this proved a wonderful tool that became the mainstay of the business plan preparation of each farming unit. Much information had to be collected, interviews of each project applicant followed after selection by us with final interviews alongside the funding partners, Barclays and Zambian Leaf Tobacco (ZLT). Barclays was easier than ZLT having little farming expertise, only enthusiasm. ZLT to their credit engaged Dave Bradshaw to carry out their due diligence with oversight on their behalf on the project. Dave had run the Zimbabwe Tobacco Association Tenant Farming Scheme, he was an excellent judge of individual farmer applicants' capabilities who generally trusted him. He knew every Zimbabwean tobacco farmer including each skill-set as a tobacco producer, making it our role to convince him of our selection. Generally, those brought forward were accepted with few rejections. He is also the best beer drinker I have ever met post-army. And an excellent nose-picker. I know this as he was caught on camera at my wedding picking his nose in a dark suit with yes, vellies on. I have known Dave from my early years in Zimbabwe when he was still a student at Gwebi College.
In the meantime, myself and two partners, Graham Rae and Vernon Nicolle, leased the arable land on a property belonging to Zambezi Ranching and Cropping (ZRC) land in the area of Chisamba, North of Lusaka. This also required much of my time in raising finance1. The partnership eventually would go sour with Vernon and myself leaving shortly after the completion of a large dam on the property, which put us under severe financial stress. I learnt a very hard lesson about partnerships here, but more about this in a future blog.
In fact, we were too ambitious having to bring in a financial partner through the good auspices of the recently late Mark Tumner in the form of Adam Fleming.
Much of the rest of my time was spent on the road, visiting farms to assess their suitability for tobacco. Once surveyed, the negotiation of the lease with the owner had to begin, the hardest part. Sometimes, the sponsored farmer would attempt this on his own, often to his own detriment, with the whole thing having to be renegotiated. Chris would prepare the cash flow to support the business plan. Each farm and farmer's requirements were different in size, location, proposed curing systems and equipment, including personal expenses, even taking into account if they had children at school. This, therefore required a costing, mostly done through quotation, of all inputs and capital items. As said, tractors were done by hire purchase through the banks, with the tobacco curing equipment and irrigation equipment delivered from South Africa. Some were sourced from Zimbabwe, but this was limited as Zimbabwe put a moratorium on the export of farm equipment. A few of us moved some equipment until it ended suddenly. One evening, I was shocked to observe a lorry with some of my irrigation equipment pictured on the bridge over the Zambezi on TV, having just been impounded. That was the end of that source, relying solely on South Africa which shortly had a huge impact on the viability of the scheme. We were sourcing our inputs and capital goods in United State Dollars against a weak South African Rand.
We set up shop in a large house in Jesomindine, Lusaka which housed all our team, some of their families and many visitors. Some to become members of the scheme, many friends, others just wanting cheap accommodation, while looking for alternatives. It was a madhouse. Long days and often longer nights. Was a man in his fifties supposed to work and drink so hard? I never thought I would get to fifty and here I am writing this in my seventies. No wonder my body has long passed its sell-by date.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
Loved following you and it brings back many mostly happy memories