Introduction
In this week’s blog, I bring into focus the three different subjects I will concentrate on in future, as I indicated in my last post. Some might want to read all three sections but, I am pretty certain, a non-agricultural cancer sufferer will not want to read about “Investing in African Agriculture.” Who knows?
Each week my youngest daughter, Janine, edits my grammar and spelling. Her task is immense and she kindly gives up some of her valuable spare time to do this. Maybe it will not be so easy to access her help in future once “Lock-downs” disappear and she joins her fiancé in Texas. Make hay when the sun shines! In the meantime, I will try and learn grammar and spelling. I must hold a record with Google “look-ups” for an individual with the most unknown suggestions for misspelt words within any given written document. I do read a lot, at least a couple of books a week, but I must read by word recognition and certainly not from the spelling of an individual word. That just does not work in reverse when you are the writer. Mind you many, not just friends, have told me I do not speak English so little wonder I cannot write it.
My life story now reverts more to my memory rather than as in the past blogs which were supported by facts and/or other peoples chronicles of events. I have never succeeded in keeping a diary, although I have attempted it a couple of times. About a week was my best effort, or until a beer or work became more important. I should add that I also found at a later date, it was extremely difficult, nigh on impossible, to decipher my writing. I hope my imagination can be kept in check and much of my story is close to reality. Funny, when you start casting back your memory compounds more and more detail emerges from the dark, mostly unused corners of the brain.
I would love to write about a well-behaved child and an intelligent clean living tiller of the soil. Unfortunately, in some eyes, I have no doubt, I may have been an ill-disciplined child who grew up into a rather selfish and self-opinionated adult. I am who I am. My early years were not easy, but as I was to learn later in life, not nearly as hard as many, especially in Africa.
“In Africa no matter how cruel the world has been, there are always more smiling faces than sad ones. I often wonder why?” Peter McSporran
My Fight Against Cancer
This week I have nothing to add on the medical front, as I am still waiting for surgery after clearance by the anaesthetist that he was happy for the surgery to go ahead. There is no doubt I am getting that bit more uncomfortable and it feels like the tumour is growing. Is that in my head or has my measuring tool, being my hand, shrunk? It is certainly active and I feel most discomfort when it is on my left side just under my ribs. That is when I become most breathless. We just have to wait patiently for the surgery event. Portugal is presently going through its highest COVID challenge to date. I do not feel forgotten, on the contrary, I know the medical team is doing their best.
My Life Story and My Philosophy
I do not know how early others can recall in terms of their first memory? I personally have memories which must have been early in my life, I would be unable to give my age or date, however, I can nearly always remember the exact place, which gives me a clue to the approximate date. My sister Morag seemed to have this attribute to remember the event, when, where and place. How I need her now as a personal encyclopaedia!
From actual records, I was born in a maternity ward in Irvine Hospital, Ayrshire on the 5th of November 1949. Guy Fawkes Day. Some say I arrived with a bang, that is true even if, as some of my friends remind me, the bang happened nine months earlier. At that time my father worked for Lord Shinwell, a Labour peer, on Dalgig Farm, New Cumnock, Ayrshire. I have only one memory from there and that is of fox cubs. Someone obviously reared fox cubs on or near the farm which I remember playing with. I am certain in all probability this was not in our house. My father did not have grey lines when it came to vermin. Foxes would certainly have been deemed to be a pest and in his eyes best eliminated. I remember the fox cubs clearly, but remember neither of my parents at that time, it makes the fox cubs very important. My first memory. My second memory was a train trip with my mother. This must have been the one taking us to Oban on the way to Mull, I remember both lochs and mountains. There are few lochs nor mountains between Ayrshire and Glasgow, therefore, this must have been north of Glasgow. I would have been two years old then. I cannot recall anything else before that time. Do other people remember much before they are two?
Our first home on Mull was Kellan Farm, at that time was one of the five farms making up the expanding Killiechronan Estate. My father had been employed as a member of the management team. This farm was about two and a half kilometres from the home farm and the estate headquarters. I do remember the house at Kellan which had a large garden and a huge apple tree at the front door. A burn flowed past the entrance. In summer, a trickle, in winter-flood, a torrent. My sister Morag was already born. Maureen, my younger sister was born there, unfortunately, she passed away from meningitis at a very young age. I can remember the house well and initially, we relied on tilley lamps and candles in the evening. We did have running water, this was captured upstream on the burn by means of a hydraulic pump which I visited often at a very young age. Much to my mother’s concern. We knew this pump was working as its perpetual thump could be heard at our house clearly. When the noise stopped, it required a trip to the pump, which we would beat with a couple of thumps using a hammer or a chunk of wood for it to resume its task. Even an innate object can be motivated by kicks in the backside! This pump lifted the water to a holding tank which allowed the water to gravitate to our house. There was a small weir above the pump which contained lots of fish. These must’ve been brown trout, although I did not know the species at that time. My next most vivid memory is of me soiling my trousers in the garden. I can remember that I did not wish my mother to find out and hid for an extended period of time, compounding the visual effects of the accidental discharge. I have had an aversion to human excrement ever since.
Uncommon in those days in rural Mull there was another house very close by, where a shepherd who looked after the flock of Blackface sheep on that farm lived. They were the Jack’s. Mrs Jack was a close friend of my mother. I remember she consoled my mother at the time of both my sister’s death and my grandmother's death. I think she is the one, supported by my mother, who stated animals do not go to heaven; casting seeds of doubt in my head about God, that was because they were deemed not to have souls. They reared a red deer fawn, yes, it was called Bambi. This fawn definitely got to young adulthood. I do not know what happened to it after that. Mind you it would have been safe if hunted by my father, he would have had trouble hitting a barn door. Maybe that is a bit harsh. A moving barn door.
When I was very young, my parents gave me a tricycle which had a metal boot on it. A memorable present which was treasured for many years. I have a very strong memory of this. I went everywhere on it, even testing it’s sub-aqua capabilities. They must have been made very robust in those days, for I had it for many years. Unfortunately, the poor animals and reptiles that I carried in the boot did not fare so well. The house was about a kilometre from the sea to the south, this being Loch na Keal. It is a beautiful sea loch over which we could survey the magnificent Ben More, the highest mountain on Mull, rising straight from the sea. Rising to 966 m (3,169 ft).
"In life, there are players and spectators. The same applies to business. Those willing to take risk are the players, those happy with a monthly paycheck are the spectators. Both roles are essential for the success of the other." Peter McSporran
I think my early years were very much like most children on a farm until school, and for me until my mother's illness. We were not smacked to my recollection, but may well have been. Certainly, no memory or scars to say otherwise. A favoured punishment for me was to be sent out of the house if I did anything wrong. I can remember more than once screaming my head off to get back into the house when I was banished due to me refusing to eat my vegetables. I can also remember many times raising hell because of my mother forbidding to let me out because it was raining. It rains a lot on Mull with two metres per annum not unknown. Actually, the rainfall to date this year for Tobermory is in excess of two point five metres. Why are the pictures of Mull in magazines always displaying glorious sunshine dappled mountains and crystal clear lochs?
Next week father takes over as MD at Killiechronan, I go to school and we move to the home farm.
Farming and Investing in Africa - Departure to Africa
I have to jump beyond my earlier life story to get to this point. There will be a little duplication in the outline, but not in the detail. Sorry about this.
Earlier in my life, before attending agricultural college, I had visited many ports in East Africa from Kenya to South Africa during my time in the Merchant Navy. This gave me an insight into the excitement of, and the opportunities Africa held. Unfortunately, it was just after the “Winds of Change” had commenced sweeping over the colonies of that continent. Many of those countries I had visited recently obtained independence, the exception being Mozambique, which had Portugal still clinging onto it. The other exception in the region was Rhodesia, which in 1965 declared Unilateral Independence much to the chagrin and annoyance of its British colonists, especially Harold Wilson’s Labour government. Rhodesia, if you were young and politically naïve, still offered the opportunity, especially in agriculture and mining. In late 1971, I was running a sugar beet harvesting co-op in East Anglia, although my main interest in being in Norfolk was to play rugby and drink beer. My parents had no clue where I was as I typically neither informed them where I was going nor had I bothered to contact them since leaving college. My sister had recently followed her fiancé to Rhodesia and in January 1972 was to marry in that country. In the meantime, unbeknown to me, my father had a serious heart attack. He had planned to travel to Rhodesia to give my sister away. He somehow tracked me down by means of one of my old college classmates, who had seen me at graduation and informed him of my whereabouts, but no address. This was an amazing feat. He knew I had passed my exams as this was published in the Scottish Farmer, but other than that, he had no idea of my exact location. Out of the blue, I received a phone call in late December, when he asked me to consider taking his place at my sister's wedding.
In my mind, I always saw myself as being self-employed and having my own land to farm. In other words, I was a dreamer. In the UK, this was extremely difficult to achieve unless you inherited a farm. The best avenue to achieve this then was probably tenant dairy farming. I had the experience of dairy farming on my great uncle Charlie’s farm, just outside Campbeltown. Also, during my pre-college year practical on a dairy mixed farm in Ayrshire. Dairying was not my favourite farming enterprise. Long days and early freezing, cold mornings.
Through school friends hailing from Rhodesia and my trips to Africa in the Merchant Navy, I deemed that for a young man interested in agriculture, Rhodesia still offered opportunities. Of course, I was politically naïve and had little or no foresight. Many say the latter is an essential skill for ease of mind investing in Africa. I had already been looking at South Africa but was wary of the politics (obviously I was not that naïve) and the culture of that country. I, therefore, jumped at the opportunity to travel to Rhodesia, especially as my father was willing to pay my fare. I remember telling my boss at the time, Paddy, in Postwick, Norfolk, I wanted to leave and gave the reason. Paddy was a bachelor and said there would be a possible opportunity to stay there with him in the future and declared that I would be stupid to go to Rhodesia. He then substantiated his argument by informing me that he felt Africa was unable to govern itself and was not ready for a democratic vote. I will always remember his words. He further said, as he was well informed by ex-university friends in Rhodesia, that he did not think the Smith regime would succeed and what I was about to undertake was highly risky. I told him that for me, "it looked better than harvesting sugar beet in the freezing cold." I remember that statement clearly. We parted as friends.
Undeterred, I then went home just before Christmas 1971 to organise my trip, collect my diplomas and the little bits of belongings I owned. It all fitted into one small suitcase. Having been in the Merchant Navy I had a valid passport, very rare in those days. In the second week of January 1972, I flew by Jumbo jet to Johannesburg and then on to Salisbury as it was then known. I had no financial resources but had good practical experience over the years working at home during the holidays and on other people's farms during college in practical gap years. I also had excellent academic management training from the West of Scotland Agricultural College. I thought I knew it all. On passing my Scottish exams at Auchincruive, I went on to get my National Diploma in Agriculture, a farm management qualification through Leeds University. It was offered to the top students throughout the UK. These exams we sat at Leeds University. Unbelievably I passed.
My first investment in agriculture was therefore myself, both in academic and practical training. Essential for success in Agriculture. I also received my first grant, an air ticket from my father to attend a wedding in Africa.
At the Oban railway station on my departure, my father came to see me off. He shook my hand and his only piece of advice was, “Look up my old school friend, David Smith. If you decide to stay, cash in your return ticket.” So, I did leave Scotland to travel to Rhodesia for a wedding, but even before departure, my father could see my ulterior motive. He gave me a strong contact, Deputy Prime Minister of Rhodesia, and access to some cash if I was willing to take 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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