"No act of kindness, however small, is ever wasted." - Aesop
I was watching the “Sheep Game’” on YouTube this last Sunday where Cammy Wilson, a young sheep farmer in Ayrshire, was complaining about people not being able to control their dogs. He more importantly had a large whinge about people not caring as there were a number of witnesses to the sheep worrying with only one person reporting it the following day long after the culprits, human and canine, had disappeared. His main point was that if these incidents were reported in a timely manner by the public, the damage could be significantly reduced and the culprits caught or at least identified for further follow-up. All my friends from the army know the significance of “follow-up”. His house was only 500 metres away from where the worrying took place, on the other side of a hill making the incident, although close by, out of sight to him. I suppose in life we are all guilty at some point of not trying to make a difference, even if it’s a simple action or phone call. I certainly am.
Often, first impressions also dampen or increase our will to intervene in a positive way. We are not so likely to run to a street person's aid as we would a child or elderly person. Of course, we easily recognise a child’s vulnerability, while we may have perceived the other was in fact a street person and therefore a “down and out”, considered below our requirement to assist. Now that I am older I realise all may need help. I am not suggesting risking life or limb, but rather some form of intervention, however small, to make it easier on the victim, be it an accident, sudden sickness or assault. I know, you go and help and find yourself spending hours in a hospital, in an argument with third parties or having to give lengthy police statements, even having to appear as a witness in court. In Africa, this in all likelihood requires multiple court visits to reach a conclusion for many months.
“Over the years many people have given of their time to help me, far greater than that offered by myself in return to others. I find it very hard to help strangers who are often those most requiring help.” - Peter McSporran
I recall on holiday in Inhassoro, Mozambique we looked out of our beach lodge accommodation, where we were intrigued to see beach walkers, mainly local fishermen, dodging an object washed up on the shore. Eventually one of our party said, ”I think that may be a human body!” Their eyesight was better than mine. I used to pride my sight, now it is embarrassingly poor and I am inclined to forget my glasses. With our curiosity stimulated, we went to have a look and sure enough, it was a body. Some of our party, including strangers on the beach, suggested we let the authorities deal with it. Of course, nobody suggested how this would happen or put their hand up to do so. I reluctantly volunteered to go and inform the police at the local police station in the town. This cost me several hours, making lengthy statements to the police, complicated by the language barrier. Was it worth it? I think so in hindsight, the deceased would have been missed by a loved one. Not at the time though, it felt like a mistake.
The person, or incidents such as what Cammy was complaining about, those actively taking place, timely reporting or intervention that can make a huge difference, even change someone's life. Rozanne has recited to me a story where she helped save a man's life on a London street where many others walked by before she intervened. Her intervention made a difference. My daughter coincidently informed me on reading my draft that she and her American fiancé, Nathan intervened in an assault on her street in the early hours of Wednesday morning this week. A woman was being assaulted by her male companion. Although the man was arrested and placed in custody, he would be released the next day. The female refused to press charges, this is, according to the police officer who took their statement. My daughter felt it was not an isolated incident. So often the victim is so intimidated, they are too afraid to allow the law to take its course. Aaargh, but I sympathise.
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” - Edmund Burke
More Positive Medical News
My review with the surgeon went well with all my blood indicators showing as normal. Once again this consultation was done via phone due to the pandemic. I have a follow-up session of scans and x-rays on the 1st of June. If all is clear, he does not want to see me for 6 months.
The Bothy
“It is undeniable, every decision or dream to be fulfilled requires action. It also requires application and sacrifice in some form. Do not kid yourself, nothing is free in this world except the natural world. That unfortunately we abuse.” - Peter McSporran
When I returned from London after resigning from the Merchant Navy, partly with a heavy heart, partly with relief and excitement for the future. It was rather weird, even although I told my parents I wanted to study agriculture, they insisted I look at other jobs or courses, even university. It can be said that our relationship was in a particularly low faze. One of the possible careers they suggested I investigate was architecture, maybe because technical drawing was one of my stronger subjects at school. Who can fathom the thought process of parents, especially my step-mothers? The logic was beyond my understanding. I was never bright mind you. I went through the ritual of looking at further educational establishments that would cater for this career and others. Doing so mostly to appease my parents. I cannot say my heart was in it. A dreadful month or so of treading water on a tightrope. They felt their reward for paying for a private education would be my employment in a profession. In those days farming was not considered a profession. It would have been seen as a career of last resort in their eyes. I know there was disagreement between them but they showed a united front in addressing me. To prove to them that I did not just take a quick easy decision in regard to furthering my education in agriculture, I complied. On returning from inspecting a college to study some other subject in Glasgow, I presented my parents with my acceptance to Auchincruive, the West of Scotland Agricultural College. This was based in Ayr in those days with its headquarters at Blythswood Square, Glasgow as it was attached to Glasgow University.
Of course, it all came to light when father demanded why I had not enrolled straight from school as I had already received an acceptance. This was an unknown to me. The story regarding my missing application and earlier acceptance was disclosed by my step-mother. She had hidden it from me. As I had been brought up on a farm, the college may have let me out of doing a year practical as was required by non-farmers sons and foreign students. Unfortunately, as the academic term had already commenced, it being November 1968, I had to wait until the following September ‘69 before beginning college. Therefore, requiring me to seek farm employment for the intervening 8 months. It was obvious I was not welcome to come home and work there. Father assisted in finding employment, suggesting I go to a dairy or crop farm rather than a sheep or beef farm similar to Mull. He and I at that time were not really crop oriented in what we considered farming. The long and the short of it, I found employment with Robert Baird, of Cloyntie Farm, Crosshill, Ayrshire. Robert had two units, both tenancies, adjoining each other. Doonholm was the main farm, a dairy unit where his retired parents still resided and Cloyntie, where I resided, although working on both farms. Robert turned out to be a great boss, a real gentleman.
The accommodation was not salubrious, a bothy. I had come from being brought up in a large farmhouse, attended private school, now ending up in a bothy. Nowadays people think of bothies as small cottages in isolated rural Scotland frequented as refuge by hikers and climbers. In those days a bothy described any single quarters on a farm occupied by farmworkers who slept there, generally taking meals at the main farmhouse. The farmer's wife or a servant would clean the bothy and do the washing. They rarely had a toilet, this would be outside, not always close by. Nasty on a cold winter's night trudging through the snow. If it was not a major call, the fields were an excellent choice rather than a hike to the toilet in the wind, rain or snow. My bothy consisted of one room with an open coal fireplace, lit in winter and a washroom with sink. Baths were taken at the main house as were meals. Mrs Baird was a fantastic cook. I have to say probably the best basic fare I ever had, which ensured the energy I required for long hours on the farm. This was one of the few places I never felt hungry between meals or craved chocolate. Testimony to her great kitchen skills. I still imagine her rice pudding with meringue on top and her meatloaves. Porridge was always served with gallons of cream. Ad hoc. I have never lost my appetite for this type of cuisine, although I have substituted clotted cream on my porridge for creme fraiche. I would watch TV in the main house on winter evenings, but it was always early to bed. Never much beyond 8pm.
My task that winter was to tend to the replacement heifers, dry cows and young stock for the dairy unit at Doonholm. The dry cows and two-year heifers were tied up in byres, no milking took place on this farm. Phew. That whole year, I never milked a cow once. So much for the dairy experience. I did not complain, dairymen started at 5am and finished at 7pm. Robert's two sisters did the relief milking and reared the calves until they were old enough to come under my care up at Cloyntie. I also fattened crossbred steers bred from the poorer milkers, mostly Hereford crosses. The herd was all artificially inseminated (AI) by the Milk Marketing Board’s staff, with a follow-up bull. As said, poorer producers were put to the beef bull, also through AI. Furthermore, I had to look after some nurse cows, these were normally older cows with udder complications used for raising 3 or 4 calves each in their last lactation. They would be weaned early to allow a couple of cycles each rotation, requiring the difficult task of introducing new claves. Many a kick I received. Yearling stock were kept on a leased shed at a neighbouring farm which I also looked after. To carry out my task, I was given a brand new MF135 tractor with a cab for hauling bedding. Cabs were not common in those days so this was almost a luxury. On the farm, a dairyman was employed, Robert, the owner-managed both properties. The “dairymaids”, in the form of Robert’s sisters, were relief milkers and calf rearers. Finally, there was a tractor driver named Edward. Edward was amazing, he was from Northern Europe, having fled to Britain during the war to fight with the allies. He was diminutive but could outdo me in every physical task including hand shawing (harvesting) turnips in winter for the sheep and cattle to hoeing and thinning the same in spring. No matter how hard I applied myself, at the end of the day he was always rows ahead of me. Aaargh! He was a fair bit older and had married a local girl, they had a son about the time I arrived on the farm he was so proud of. Not only had he gained a wife but also a domineering mother-in-law along with two robust, buxom sisters-in-law who all lived with him in a small cottage in the village. He was highly educated and no doubt had had a professional career in his previous life. He was the most helpful, world-wise and the hardest working man I had ever met. He rarely smiled, never complained, accepting things as they were. He treated me to a meal at his house on a number of occasions where he would quietly sit as his female extended family would regale me with the local scandal. A lot of maybe mundane information here but I had a glorious 8months on this farm.
Next week, more work and play stories at Cloyntie.
Transition from Farmer, Company Director to Fund Raiser and Settlement Scheme Manager
In the late 90’s I spent less time on the farm, having taken on a number of public company boards including Seed Co, Tanganda Tea and Acacia Holdings, a broad-based agricultural equipment supplier and manufacturer. These gave me plenty of board experience. Their governance was excellent, working under the guidelines of the King Report, the first of which was published in 1994. So-called the King Report, as it was produced by a committee in South Africa under Mervyn King to give guidance on corporate governance in the new South Africa. I found the governance in public companies in Zimbabwe stood up really well against all the others I encountered. We were even ahead of Britain on this as I was to find out later. I was also the chairman of Blackfordy College, considered one of the best agricultural colleges in Southern Africa and chairman of a company called Meatmark. The latter was a vehicle used to refinance breeding cattle following the deadly drought of 1992. This gave me fundraising experience, as we financed 25,000 breeding cows. I also had set up a commodity trading company and with my friends invested in a maize milling enterprise in Banket. All to come to a premature end due to the land invasions and political intimidation. One of our lesser successful enterprises was a cigarette manufacturing company, which was wound up when the keyman was tragically killed in an aircraft crash. Ian Sandeman, a great friend. Believe it or not, Meatmark was a success, despite the turmoil that was to hit the farming sector, we recovered all the loans given out. We supplied breeding heifers and the farmer repaid his loan through the sale of offspring and if required the residue value of the cow at slaughter. This was very much the brainchild of Les Mallet, the chairman of the Cattle Producers Association. Success and business very much reduced my fishing time, now restricted to only the occasional trip on the Zambezi or Kariba. However, plenty of time for local bass fishing on our doorstep at the weekend.
My capable managers ran the farms, while the office was run by Karen Steyn, following my divorce in 1996. Her husband Derek Steyn, fondly known as Choppy, initially started as our workshop manager who graduated to becoming tobacco and flower manager. When Choppy and Karen left my employ, Wayne Marias took his place with his wife Joey taking over the administration. After all, I was really a lazy bugger.
I should perhaps make mention of all the managers I had who added to my success. They would each run a section and share in the profits of that section which normally, after a number of years, would allow them to go farming in their own right. They included Tony Leckie, Mike von Memerty, Ian Lindsay, Graham Smith, Derek (Choppy) Steyn, Alan Fraser-Bell, Darrell de Jager, and Colin Smith. All of these gentlemen with the support of their wives went farming or had businesses in their own right. Malcolm Middleton moved on to another job, his father Bill, who initially ran the Mazowe Farm retired, Jack Readings was a professional manager who sought alternate employment after a number of years at Diandra. When the farms were forcibly taken over, those managers on site had a torrid, tough time suffering abuse and assault. They included Tommy Billar, who managed the Mazowe unit, and Andre Billar on Wellesley Estate, a lease partnership I had with Alistair Smith. Wayne Marias, managed Mede Farm, Dave Craft, Diandra home farm, Daphne Powell, cattle manager and Patrick, pig manager. All of these people contributed to my success. I should make special mention of Ian Lindsay, he ran the overall operations while I was posted at CFU. Later, when he lost his farm before I did to the war veterans. He came to work for me again while I was busy trying to raise money for enterprises outside Zimbabwe. Ian went above and beyond the call of duty. Unfortunately, Mike and Darrell died prematurely, too young following the loss of their farms. Mike in Botswana and Darrell in Australia, Ian, like me, is fighting cancer. I will always be grateful to one and all of them. They will feature again later in my life story.
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