Introduction
You will be glad there is little medical reporting this week. My recovery has been excellent so far under the tender, yet strict care of Rozanne. She has been brilliant. Although even during illness, couples can disagree. I think I am a model patient; she does not!
This week I write about the events shortly after my mother’s death and in the investing section, my move from farm manager to a tenant farmer—two life events at the opposite end of the happiness spectrum.
At the end of December 2020, I resigned from all the remaining directorships I held. I am now fully retired. Due to my health situation any offers for ad hoc work, I have declined to date. Hopefully, retirement means that I no longer have the mantle or duty to act or speak responsibly beholden to some organisation. I know most of you think I never do. I know my family indeed hold this view. Their favourite reaction to most things I do or say is, ”Ooooh Dad...!”
Later on, in this blog, I mention the late Richard Winkfield. I remember so well when he informed us he had cancer. Richard and his family had decided he was not going to fight it. He died four years ago, this month. I presume he had been given a poor prognosis by his doctors to take this tough and brave decision. Richard and Venetia were very strong Christians, which would have comforted him and his family through that particularly tough time. For myself, I have to date not been offered any prognosis or even asked for one. The best feedback I have had so far was the surgeon saying he was content with the way my surgery went, which was positive. He felt confident he had removed all of the cancerous growth. Later this month or early next, I may have something more definitive.
Due to my illness, out of boredom, I am paying more heed to the news, although with great scepticism. What caught my attention last week was the debacle in Europe over the vaccine procurement exercise. The EU saga reminded me of when I became Vice President of the Commercial Farmers Union (CFU) in Zimbabwe in 1992, under the Presidency of my good friend, the late Anthony Squire-Thompson. At that time, some of the commodity associations had used accumulated levy money reserves, to set up various businesses. Many of them successful. The issue was that some of us as elected members on CFU Council were concerned that with this new income stream, the focus may have been taken off the core role of representation for producers and farmers. I must add this was a pre-emptive move. Our fear was, if income increased from these commercial businesses and started to become greater than the levy collected from their membership, senior executive staff would become de facto CEOs of private enterprises. Elected members come and go under strict constitutional rules while the senior staff remain in situ, becoming extremely powerful through their knowledge of the enterprise in question. Eventually, the power could be vested in people who no longer felt accountable to, or had to rely on membership to be economically viable. A very dangerous position. Anthony and I agreed we should address the sensitive issue head-on, not the most popular move in some quarters. I was assigned leadership of this exercise. We invited experts in agricultural union structures, from the USA, of all places. Under their advice, we restructured the CFU to ensure members' representation. I believe the CFU became more robust in serving its members. These enterprises by that time were also becoming coveted, not only by the other agricultural unions but members of the government. Thereafter everyone, including staff, were accountable to their constituents and elected leaders. The way I see it, the bureaucrats in Brussels are no longer accountable except to perhaps a couple of the wealthier countries. Certainly not answerable to the smaller countries as Ireland learned. Of course, when the finger is pointed at them, their modus operandi is to cover each other’s backs and blame anyone else but themselves.
“With unaccountability to one’s constituents’, bureaucratic systems soon revert to cronyism pleasing only those they see of benefit in securing and strengthening their own position. Certainly not for the good of all.” Peter McSporran
I was an “EU remainer”, drawing from my own African experience in regard to trade and free movement of goods. I am afraid for me, the EU is no longer so attractive. There! Got that off my chest. Such a good concept, that is in danger of self-destructing. I am still a strong believer in the UK Union.
“Cronyism ensures meritocracy does not exist in any public or private enterprise.” Peter McSporran
Medical
My recovery has been great except for some constipation. My stitches are out, the wound clean and the pain has long gone. I have even started pruning the roses. I await the biopsy results and look forward at the end of February getting the “old pump” to function properly. I still get tired very quickly, notwithstanding I am much more comfortable. You got so much of a medical update last week I am going to stop at this. Finally, I am sure you will be pleased to hear, my bowels have now begun to function normally.
My Life
With the death of my mother, my life over the next year or so was turned on its head. It dictated a whole new direction for my life. I had at that early age only one ambition, to be a farmer and continue life on Mull. Of course, I had no idea of the importance of a good education. In many ways it was naive to think my life at some stage would not have to change.
“When you are a young child you never think about tomorrow. The one exception is Sunday evening before school the next day.” Peter McSporran
Following my mother’s death in March 1959, the whole family made a pilgrimage to bury her at Campbeltown. I remember the day well, we all met at my grandparents’ home before the burial, where tea was served. To my dismay, there were only tea biscuits! All my aunts were noteworthy bakers and any tea at my grandparents’ home invariably involved a plethora of freshly baked pancakes, scones and sponge cakes. That day there was not even a sandwich. When I enquired as to why I was informed it was because it was a funeral. To this day, tea biscuits are known to me as funeral biscuits. Even in serious meetings with strangers where they were served, I would subconsciously ask, “Please pass the funeral biscuits.”
Of course, everyone was smartly dressed. Men in dark suits, white shirts and ties. Women in dresses or suits with hats. Everyone wore hats to church and funerals in those days, not exclusively to the horse races or weddings. Everyone spoke in whispers or very softly. Was this in case the deceased heard them? What would the problem be? No one speaks badly of the departed at Scottish funerals anyway. The one thing that absolutely irked me was that the ladies present would tap my head repeatedly saying, ”Aaw, you poor wee soul.” How many pats can one small head take?
My father asked if I wanted to join the pallbearers and attend the actual burial at Kilkerran Cemetery. For some reason, I said no. That was the end of the physical presence of my mother in my life.
Following the funeral, we returned to Mull. Timelines are a bit hazy here, but shortly after that, we departed on the boat from Mull, heading for the mainland on the MV Loch Earn, in search of someone brave enough to take care of my sister and I. In hindsight, it was because Maudie, the local lady looking after us was not living in and my aunt Bunty had returned to Holland. Therefore, my father required someone full time in the house to take care of us. His work often took him to the mainland for a few days at a time on business. If it was a show or sale, I would go, but Morag would not. I never went if it was business-related. I do not know why he took us on that search for a new nanny, as every applicant my sister and I favoured, he rejected. The one really good-natured, more senior lady, who we immediately took a liking to, was cast aside by my father as she could not slice the bread straight. Maybe it was just an exercise to expose prospective applicants to us. In the end, he made up his own mind and for the life of me, I cannot remember the name of the successful lady in question. I feel bad about that. I do remember, to my embarrassment she insisted on bathing us. She was very presentable, pretty and attractive to our younger farmworkers. I know, as coming back late one evening from fishing on one of her days off, I came across one of the tractor driver’s cars in a layby. She and the owner were inside. At that age, I wondered why you would want to sit in a car in the dark? The naivety of childhood. She left probably after about six months, I do not know if it was on her own accord or on my fathers. We liked her. Needless to say, I was delighted to revert to a feral life again, not knowing it would be short-lived.
I continued at Gruline school but still found myself spending nights at other people’s houses from time to time. Towards the end of that year, 1959, we became aware of a regular lady visitor to the house, Flora. She did not stay overnight, at least not when we were at home, and father drove her home after each visit. Hence, the commencement of my sister and my regular vigil of this night-time drive from the upstairs bedroom window. We could never figure out why he delayed so long at the drop off destination before returning. Her father would accompany her some evenings and join us for a meal. We typically sat in the “good” lounge when this occurred. These were overlooked cues that my life was about to drastically alter.
Investing in Agriculture
In 1978, after agreeing in principle to lease the farm, Gwebi Junction, from my father-in-law, I went about formulating a business plan and negotiating the lease. My intent was to eventually purchase the property. A small block of land adjacent to the farm owned by the Government was also put up to tender. On winning the tender of this piece of land, my father-in-law had the two title deeds consolidated into the name of Diandra Estates. This name was an amalgamation of my then-wife, Diane and her sister, Sandra’s, names. The land area in total was seven hundred and forty hectares (1800ac) situated on the confluence of the Gwebi and Hunyani Rivers. We would have the portion of riparian land retained by the government for livestock grazing which varied as the dam rose and fell. At the supposed high water, this would be approximately 400ha and at the end of a dry season as much as 800ha. A huge bonus in drought years. When I queried the water engineer checking our boundary markers as to why they were so high from the normal water level, he told me they were the 1 in 1,000-year floodwater levels. Imagine attempting that in the UK, they would lose half their land and houses. There was an old farmhouse, just about habitable with an outdoor kitchen, a storage shed, a derelict old farm store occupied by rats and four dilapidated fire-cured tobacco barns. There was electricity, a borehole for water and a 16km gravel road to the Darwendale single lane tar road. My father-in-law had installed watering points and fencing for his cattle. About 40ha of maize was grown. The farm was 65km from Salisbury (Harare) and 16km from the railway. In those days the railways worked, they were critical for bulk coal and fertiliser transportation. The real attraction was the proposed dam which was now being built.
CONEX, the Rhodesian Government Conservation and Extension Service prepared a Farm Plan, exceedingly conservative in my eyes but of course, did not include irrigation. Various individuals involved in formulating that Farm Plan became household names in Zimbabwean farming. They included Richard Wingfield and Joe Pistorius. CONEX became a shadow of itself after independence under the name AGRITEX. Richard and Joe continued to visit and advise me in my early years farming on my own, along with countless others who I will mention in due course. Richard went on to become the Director of the Agricultural Research Trust on which, at a later date, I stood on the management board. The Farm Plan included a soil survey, livestock stocking rates and a recommended cropping plan, which would have kept us poor for many years if implemented as recommended. The soils were granite sands mostly Class III, with limited depth due to laterite. Only 2ha of Class II was recommended for irrigation.
I should point out, developed tobacco farms in that area could be bought for less than Rh$50,000.00 at that time, due to farmers vacating the country in response to the worsening security situation. Farm homesteads were seen as soft targets. Undeveloped tobacco farms went for less than Rh$30,000.00. (Rh$1 = USD$2)
Leasing a farm to develop into a viable tobacco unit was a huge gamble. But with my knowledge of the use of irrigation from working with the Edwards, I had a plan which would reduce the capital cost per hectare in tobacco curing facilities and equipment costs. It would also guarantee a crop in drought and boost yields. The one con was irrigated tobacco, new on the market and would not gain top prices. It was considered not of a desirable style. With a change to curing methods and the introduction of new varieties, this over the years was addressed. I applied to register as a tobacco grower and was allocated a basic tobacco selling quota of 20,000kgs. Due to sanctions, the tobacco crop was restricted in volume, however, the price was dictated by the market. Although obtaining a quota was important I planned to grow more than double my quota with the excess all grown ”at risk.” Budgeting was made easy as the commodity associations all produced gross margin models. The Rhodesian Tobacco Association was exceedingly accurate in these, with lots of variables not only in price and yield but also featured aspects such as time of planting, variety, location and climatic data. They also produced very detailed work studies on all operations so it was easy to benchmark the efficiency of your operation.
Any excess tobacco not sold would be put in storage and sold the following year under that current year’s quota. In the event of this happening, this would be disastrous for your cash-flow. As the country was desperate for foreign currency, most years, all of the crop was sold and a few of us crazies benefitted while those that were not willing to take the risk complained about our cavalier attitude to quotas in the pub. Funny, failure never entered my mind or any of the other young people going farming at that time. Notwithstanding, we had to juggle our time between farming and army call-ups. Even between our army stints, while at home at least once a week, we would have to report to the local security centre as a reactionary stick day and night to tackle any local security incidents. There was no such thing as free time or leave.
My father-in-law did not want to fix the selling price. Probably for two reasons, he wanted to know how I would fair and also hopefully by selling the farm more developed, he would see a better return. Although he had grown some maize on the farm, he ultimately used it as a cattle unit and during the lease wanted to retain the grazing as he had some 400 head of cattle there which I would tend for him. We agreed to share an accountant, which would permit him to monitor my efforts.
My business plan was this. Grow a double crop of tobacco a year utilising irrigation to extend the rain season, therefore, cutting by half the curing facilities required for that hectarage. Put in a forced air single source curing system which would transfer the hot air through the whole facility, reducing the heating (coal) requirement from 4kgs coal per kilogram of cured tobacco to 1.5kgs. Bring groundnuts into the rotation, which increased the fertility of the soil, with the added benefit that it was not a host to nematodes. This would allow for a closer rotation in the tobacco, two years, as opposed to the traditional four-year grass ley. This would save on both irrigation equipment and clearing land. The heat source for the tobacco would be transferred to a bin drier to be utilised for drying the ground nuts and other crops. That was the plan. At that time, the dam was not in place, so for the next year between call-ups, I started to build the infrastructure. In fact that started before I even moved there, with the on-site manager taking up the task in the last few months before his departure.
“I would not consider lending a high-value crop producer money in Africa unless he had access to water for irrigation.” Peter McSporran
I had two tractors, a MF135 and a MF165, a plough, a mounted disc harrow and some trailers. All second hand. I purchased a ridger fertilizer unit to ridge and fertilise the tobacco which could be converted into a planter for the groundnuts and a crop sprayer. Everything else would be done by hand, including maize planting and groundnut harvesting. Tobacco was always reaped by hand, but I introduced a tobacco clip rather than strings. With the help of John Wightman, who worked at Craster’s then, I decided on a “chongololo system” for curing tobacco, which he designed. This system had a single heat source in the form of heat exchangers with a continuous-flow air system. This design moved the hot air by means of underground tunnels and ducts, rather than the tobacco or by having individual heat sources for each barn. John designed a monster capable of handling 20ha of tobacco at any time. That is 176,000 tobacco leaves per day. I was going to double-crop, so my intent from the start would be to grow four times my quota to fill it. The system had a seven-day turnaround producing over 2000kgs of cured tobacco a day. It would require some 350,000 bricks. All I had to do was build it.
I never once considered the risk...
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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