Farewell Dinner, Partner as Opposed to Spouse and Dutch Friends.
Currently, I am sitting in an old Dutch farmhouse in Friesland writing this on Monday morning with the intention of not mentioning anything about the GCD or compensation deal. That is my plan anyway unless something serious arises in this regard over the next four days.
The house is the home of my friends, Erik and Tineke Wiersma, it is a converted barn and cowshed known in Friesland as a head, neck and rump house or kop-hals-rompboerderij. The head is the living part, the neck, the kitchen and the rump, the shed which in the old days would have included the byre. I remember my great uncle Charlie’s farmhouse at Stewarton in Kintyre which was similar to the byre attached to the house. Kitchen to Byre was just a few steps out the back door. Much smaller than these Dutch-style ones though. This is some barn, thirty-five meters long and twenty meters wide with a steeply pitched timber and thatched roof supported by an all-wooden structure. The location of this house is Northern Friesland some twenty-five kilometres northeast of the provincial capital Leeuwarden. Erik took over my role as Director of Commercial Agriculture at AgDevCo on my retirement with us remaining firm friends.
This past week in London we attended Keith Palmer’s farewell dinner on his retirement as chair of AgDevCo. Keith was our leader and mentor from the inception of AgDevCo. It was he that requested me to carry out a scoping trip for the preparation of a portfolio to enable us to raise money for agricultural-related SMEs in Africa. I have recounted that journey we took in a previous blog, which was in a small plane during the Intercontinental Conversion Zone (ICZ) at its peak in 2009. At that time it was only an idea or rather a concept that we as an interest group felt was required to fill the financial gap in the establishment of new agricultural businesses in Africa. Many said he was crazy but contrary to the conventional predictions his vision and our efforts succeeded in growing that entity to its present-day size managing some £280M of capital with many successful agricultural projects established in Africa. The business has grown from us three founding volunteers to one of over sixty professionals. Keith had a vision and the connections within the city to create AgDevCo. It would never have happened without him so even we retirees were more than proud to attend his farewell dinner sharing his delight in the many accolades. I wish him well in the future, although Keith is my age, unlike me he is unlikely to enjoy his time in retirement weeding the garden.
Our last night in London was spent at my daughter and her partner’s home where we enjoyed a traditional African Braai. They had sourced some prime ribeye on the bone reminiscent of a good old Zimbabwean steak in both size and taste. Of course, a Braai is not a braai without some ribs, unfortunately, no boerewors though. The meal was great with our son Selby and his partner Maggie coming down from Edinburgh to join the carnivores' feast.
"As in business relationships, personal relationships survive by trust not pieces of paper signed and witnessed by third parties.” - Peter McSporran
Partners seem to be the more common form of cohabitation amongst the young and not-so-young nowadays as opposed to traditional marriage. That is in my interpretation with wives and husbands in a formal recorded process. This was more the norm in my generation and those generations that preceded it. My daughter Storm and her partner Duncan have been together for many years and in fact, have bought a home together with no sign of a marriage ceremony in the near future. In saying that, some partnerships are not so young as my youngest sister has lived with her partner I think for at least 25 years now, married in all but name. People seem reluctant to surrender their birth names now. They, my sister and her partner, have been together longer than all my other siblings' marriages including my own, all of whom opted for traditional marriages. I am not including my deceased sister Morag who outdid us all in the longevity of her conventional marriage broken only in death.
It has become so very confusing for me, a living fossil, as in my era, people living together out of wedlock were rare except if you were aged spinsters. In Scotland, most villages had at least one such couple. Was it convenience or something clandestine which is more openly accepted in this modern world? Then, for a while partnerships became common in both Bohemian heterosexual and same-sex relationships. Now same-sex marriages are more normal although I am still confused by the term husband and wife in such relationships.
“Despite some humans arguments to the contrary, like it or not, all mammals need a biological male and female to allow for propagation. That is unless we move into the world of GMO which we are happy to decry when used in animals and crops but in rare instances not so in babies. Is that the next step in this crazy world?” - Peter McSporran
Despite my best efforts when a woman or man introduces her or his wife to me, I have a quick reset endeavouring not to say something stupid especially if they further inform me they are having or have had a child. Single mothers in my day while not common did exist, often hidden from general society by embarrassed parents. The present situation once again makes me wonder what it is like as a child to be brought up by same-sex parents. I am not sure if this question is intellectual or instigated by my conservative nature. Even in this so-called liberal world school mates can be cruel.
“Love conquers all they say, I question if it does when this impacts on others.” - Peter McSporran
From London, we set off for Holland meeting up with our Dutch host, Erik. At the airport. We were surprised that we weren't required to remove our computers and liquids while at the same time being allowed to carry up to 2lts of water. This doesn’t apply at all the airports yet but certainly at City Airport, London. I am told this airport is a guinea pig for this new travel freedom. It certainly speeds up a security process that is more often than not time-consuming and tedious. On leaving through Rotterdam the new rules applied there too.
We travelled up from Amsterdam to Northern Friesland through Holland, impressive both from the intensive farming, many dairy herds and waterways, large and small. The farming was very impressive and it amazed me that they can cultivate fields without getting stuck with the water table being so close to the surface. Erik and Tineke live in a traditional Friesland farmhouse come barn, where, in the old days the farmer and his family lived in the front while livestock lived in the back where fodder and grain were also stored. All in the same building. It was so nice to be back in a rural setting surrounded by livestock farms most of them being dairy, although Friesland is also renowned for its horses which we would observe from time to time.
“There is nothing like waking up in the morning to the sound of lowing cows demanding to be milked and bleating sheep wanting new pastures accompanied by the smell of the cattle along with freshly mowed grass to brighten any farmer’s day.” - Peter McSporran
Surprisingly, there was also a red deer farm just across the road from Erik‘s house while not so surprisingly, a goat dairy farm. Just driving around the area was so enjoyable for Rozanne and I. Rozanne’s enjoyment was further enhanced by the fact that one of Tineke’s Swedish Vallhund bitches had recently given birth to eight balls of fluff. Eric and Teneke kindly took us around the district to see the sights of this northern province, view the sea dykes and enjoy the seafood. We were there to celebrate Tineke’s fiftieth birthday which had been delayed due to Erik falling ill last year. The delay ensured that the party included both celebrating their fiftieth year. To add to our enjoyment my cousin, Sheila and her husband Hein, came to join us for a day in Dokkum, a very pretty town. She is the last living relative of our age on my mother's side.
A wonderful few days with friends in the countryside teeming with farm animals and lots of water birds. How enjoyable.
Of interest rather than flying out of Porto or Lisbon to London we flew out of Faro, our tickets from there being less than €100 for both rather than over €400 for one. As we were in no rush we drove back north through Evor and saw many almond plantations.
The Roadblock Incident.
It was in July 1986 that the following incident occurred, one I am not particularly proud of but one my close friends like to relate at dinner parties when strangers are present. It certainly did not enhance my reputation to people outside Zimbabwe but seemed to impress the local farming community be it reluctantly so by the wives. Unfortunately, on reflection, we all used to drink and drive in Zimbabwe in those days and the event is something rather to be ashamed of than proud. It did occur and therefore cannot be denied and is the story I promised in my blog last week.
I know the month and year exactly for two reasons. Travelling home from a tobacco sale one evening prior to this event, I encountered a cavalcade at Mount Hampden railway crossing requiring me to leave the road to allow it to pass. It was impressive that some of the vehicles and the contents covered more than both lanes of the road. Some vehicles carried complete buildings, balanced on low loaders, each vehicle having what looked like armed men in Arab attire. It was none other than Gaddafi’s mobile living quarters heading for Harare to attend the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM) Conference. A hell of a lot of kit for someone rumoured to live in a tent and a diet of nuts and yoghurt. The year, therefore, was definitely 1986. It was also on the day of the National Bull Sale, which took place in July of each year. This was an all-breed event and lasted the whole day with many refreshments required. Therefore, simple to remember the month and year, unlike many other events in my life. After the bull sale following the purchase of a couple of bulls, I set off for home around 9 o’clock that night after consuming copious amounts of liquid refreshments. On approaching the area where the orange kiosk is at Mount Hampden I was surprised to come across a roadblock consisting of drums and gum poles across the road. As I only noticed them in the last second, perhaps due to my condition, I was too late to stop before hitting them. I smashed into them which immediately woke up the police detail who to a man immediately took off into the bush at speed. Lucky I thought. I might as well continue as they haven’t bothered to hang around but in doing so unfortunately, just a few hundred meters further, I came up against a wall of armed soldiers with their weapons pointing in my direction. Unbeknownst to me, they were there for the security of the NAM Conference. No getting past them. Meanwhile, the police on recovering their wits arrived on the scene accusing me of being drunk. They insisted I accompany them to Harare Central Police Station but as they had no vehicle they had to get one sent from Harare Central which duly arrived with even more escorts. They loaded me and my enlarged escort onto what was an army-heavy vehicle, the only one available at the time seemingly. That is a 5-ton anti-ambush armoured truck. On arriving at Harare Central they made me walk a white line which I managed to do on numerous occasions to all our surprise. They then asked me to stand on one leg, hold my arms out, and do a circle hopping. I told them that was a step too far as I was not a helicopter. Finally, they introduced me to a large cabinet which turned out to be the breathalyzer. Impressive in size and what would appear to be a degree of difficulty to operate as my police hosts seemed to have challenges in its operation. Blowing into the large device took much effort which on doing so indicated I was below the limit. Phew! No, that was not good enough for them and they decided to test me again, in fact, a further two times with me passing each time. More policemen came to witness this feat. I was out of breath by then. Luckily, they did not take me to hospital for a blood test having passed the breathalyzer. That was enough for them to make the decision to release me. Those that have spent time in African police stations know they are unpleasant and it is unlikely to leave such a place without having paid a fine or more commonly a bribe. I did neither. In Africa this is not common, perhaps it was due to my rising confident belligerence on passing each test changing from the accused to the accuser. On returning to my car in the same heavy vehicle six hours later where I had left it in the middle of the road, the police lined up and individually apologised to me for my inconvenience to the amusement of the soldiers and sent me on my way.
The time now is 4 o’clock in the morning. Upon arriving home, my wife, Diane, would not believe my story that I had been delayed by more than six hours by the police on me relating the incident as my excuse for my late arrival home from the bull sale. After being suitably chastised and having just got into bed the phone rang which Diane decided to answer thinking it may be someone complaining about the mayhem I may have caused. It was the police asking if boss Peter had gotten home safely. That was Africa in those days.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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