Introduction
This week there has been some movement on the health front. My surgeon has lined up an appointment on the 11th of January 2021 to prepare for a fast track surgery. It seems a long way away and not so fast track! From recent experience, the weeks do seem to fly by so, in reality, it is not so long. Maybe adding to the blog each week speeds up time? I have disciplined myself to try and add to the blog on a weekly basis. I used to enjoy Richard Wingfields weekly bi-line in the Farmer Magazine and I realise, especially within his busy schedule, how much of his time must have been taken up by it.
“Time certainly does pass a lot quicker the older one gets. More importantly you seem to achieve less within that said time.” Peter
My life story this week covers my days up to school and the commencement of my mother’s illness. The section on Investing in Africa covers my early employment in Rhodesia. As stated earlier, these events will be more closely detailed in my life story but are covered here for you to better understand my background in regard to my farming knowledge and experiences of investing in Africa.
Please remember you can read the sections you are interested rather than the whole blog.
“Decisions should not be taken in haste, but should be taken expediently and conclusively. There is nothing worse than having an employer, line manager or leader unable to make a decision with the facts before him. Even worse - when he questions that decision on or before implementation. Confusion and uncertainty!” Peter
My Fight Against Cancer and ERAS
On this front, we are progressing slowly towards surgery. You may rightly gather that I am starting to get a bit weary of the delay. Then again, I read on the BBC news website today that people in the UK are waiting as long as four months (or more) to get a scan. I am luckily way ahead of those unfortunate people. My surgeon tells me that she has barely had time to read her recent e-mails as they have been so busy at the emergency department. She had previously warned me that my surgery could well be delayed until after Christmas. This is certainly now the case unless I have a sudden deterioration in my health status. Things are definitely becoming more uncomfortable in my abdominal region, but I continue to persevere. On Sunday, I had my first 'tangible pain' rather than just feeling uncomfortable. I still have some pain and have finally resorted to the odd pain killer.
To illustrate the situation, I have copied part of what my surgeon wrote to me last Saturday; please remember English is not her first language.
“I already talked to our Chief Department in order to schedule your surgery. Unfortunately, it will not be possible to schedule your intervention in December, since there is a high volume of oncological patients in the waiting list.
In order to allow you to enter our program of "fast-track surgery" (Enhanced Recovery after Surgery" - this program exists to optimize patients' co-morbidities for surgery), I already asked for a new full blood test that you should do on 11th January (you'll receive in your mailbox the paper you need to take with you to Hospital S. Jerónimo to take the bloods.)
On 15th January you have an Enhanced Recovery after Surgery appointment.”
From what I gather, Rozanne did send me a booklet on ERAS (Enhanced Recovery After Surgery) - it is seen as a means of recovering as quickly as possible from emergency surgery. This ensures all of your organs are functioning at the optimum within your personal health limitations and you are as fit as you can be at the time of surgery. Post-surgery they try to get you up and mobile within a few hours of the procedure and hopefully be out of hospital within three days following surgery.
Of course, the dates above do not mention the actual surgery date. I am hoping shortly after the 15th of January 2021 the blood tests and medicals will only have a certain window of relevance? Here’s to hoping. Luckily ERAS does not monitor or measure grumpiness, otherwise, I would be in the red.
My Continuing Life Story and My Philosophy
My days at Kellan Farm were generally happy. I do not have any sad memories other than the death of my young sister, grandmother and my oddly disturbing new-found knowledge about animals not going to heaven. A number of my readers inform me that the assumption that animals do not have souls is wrong. Some solace, if I was still a true believer.
I can remember raging torrents and flooded roads. I cannot remember the rain. How did that slip from my early memory? I more or less wore wellington boots every day—both for convenience of donning and slipping off. Less importantly, in my view, they were also meant to keep my socks and feet dry. They failed every time. My boots were always in the kitchen along with my outside clothes drying in front of the anthracite stove. Dogs, boots and clothes are permanent fixtures to these stoves in a farmhouse in Scotland in winter.
I remember the late balmy summer evenings, often clearly complaining to my mother that I didn’t want to go to bed so early. The sun was still shining when she chided me to do so! Of course, in the summer, in that part of the world, the sun only goes down after ten o’clock. I do recall still being outside at sunset as the sun dipped over the horizon. I have no recollection of seeing the sun rising at 4 o’clock in the morning. On Mull, in midsummer, there were only a few hours of darkness. Conversely, in winter the sun only rose at 9 o’clock in the morning. By 4 o’clock in the afternoon, it had sunk. No TV or video games. How did our parents entertain us?
Entertainment, in the form of films, was shown once a month on a Monday at the Salen Village Hall. The village hall was little more than a large wooden shack in those days. Each viewing program consisted of a cartoon, presumably for the children, enjoyed immensely by the adults. Followed by the News bringing us the positive news about a far distant place called London and an even further afield British Empire. This was followed by a short intermission for tea and cakes, then a feature film. At the end of the evening, we all stood for the national anthem. As children attended the shows, all of the films were suitable for the family. Films that come to mind are mostly, Westerns, John Wayne and Roy Rogers and a number of Lassie films. Who of that era has not seen a Lassie film?
Salen was about five kilometres from where we lived. We had a farm van for transport which had indicators that shot out at right angles to the side and lit up, a wonder to me. This was my father's work vehicle and our personal transport for shopping. Shops also came to our farms once a week in the form of fish, butcher and grocery vans all hailing from Tobermory. Occasionally drapers came around, as well as Indian traders who brought their wares in suitcases. Each visit was a news catch-up affair. Those that could offer the most gossip fared best in selling their wares to the isolated women. That is even to a youngster; the friendlier chatty drivers always seemed to purvey the most.
I discovered the seashore, approximately a kilometre from our house. Easily accessible for a young boy on a tricycle. About five hundred meters behind our house. There was a forbidding dense, dark pine forest. At an early age, I would frequent both of these attractions—my playgrounds. The shore was bountiful with all sorts of swimming, creeping and crawling creatures. Under every rock, there would be squirming eels, crabs and small fish. On the rocks, there were limpets, mussels and periwinkles. In the sand, scallops, clams, cockles and razor clams. In the sea, elusive flounders. Paradise to adventurous youngsters. The sea would retreat out far on Loch Na Keal but come in quickly to the rocky shoreline at high tide. After every tide, most pools would hold some form of sea life. Birds were aplenty, and the call of the oystercatcher and curlew were commonplace. Unattended youngsters climbing cliffs close to the sea swell would warrant a call from a social worker no doubt these days. Back then, it did not warrant a parent's gentle reprimand. What has become of us?
The forest was a dark place which only allowed dappled light to reach its floor. It was home to many birds, especially pigeons, found in abundance here. The deer, rabbits and hares preferred open hills to the forest floor, but from time to time they took refuge there. It was an exciting place for a youngster to visit. We would climb to heron, crows and pigeons nests. I had at that time not seen scary horror movies in forests, perhaps hence my lack of fear. There were no foxes or badgers on Mull. Polecats, weasels and otters were aplenty. In addition, the mighty Golden Eagle along with many other lesser raptors. Buzzards and Hooded crows were constant winged companions looking for carrion.
While living at Kellan, I attended school for the first time. I do remember the adults discussing my early attendance, I was only four at the time, a year earlier than normal enrolment age. I can only presume I was sent to school early due to my mother’s failing health to remove some pressure from her daily life. This is conjecture only. There were only about a dozen pupils in total at the school, from the age of four, up to twelve. All were under the tuition of an elderly school teacher, Mrs Black. She was a lovely, gentle person. From my recollection, with added hindsight, she was poor in keeping discipline within and outside her classroom. The schoolhouse was a single storey building with a classroom at one end and a cottage at the other. This was home Mrs Munro, the caretaker. There was an outside chemical toilet housed in a lean-to shack made of tin at the back of the classroom. There was no electricity, the only warmth provided by basic portable oil heaters. The main road from Tobermory to Iona ran right past the school, within two metres of the entrance door. No health and safety back then! In mitigation, there were not many cars passing and certainly no fast ones.
My first day at school was personally traumatic, yet hilarious for the older pupils. At break on my very first day, the older kids coerced me into playing ball. One of the older kids stood in front of a school window and asked me to stand on the road and throw the ball to him. Do not trust older children. Of course, I carried out his instructions and in doing so, to my horror saw him duck quickly. This was then followed with a resultant crash of broken glass. It seems that this was a very serious matter in Mrs Black’s eyes. Not only did I have to receive physical punishment by ‘the strap’ (as was used then) but my father had to attend the school and be lectured about my bad behaviour. I hated school from that day on.
To attend school each day, I had to walk down to the main road and be collected by the school bus. This very same bus trebled as the lunch delivery van and postal delivery van. It was driven by Angus McCall, a wonderful, friendly character. Angus drove his Bedford dormobile between Salen and Ulva Ferry three times a day, except Saturday and Sunday.
The school I attended was Gruline School. Gruline Estate was home of the Macquaries, Lachlan Macquarie* is known as the father of Australia. Lachlan Macquarie's mausoleum is on Gruline farm which had become part of Killiechronan Estate. This was the last farm on the South-East end of the estate, meanwhile Oskamull Farm, the last farm on the North-Western end of the estate, also had a school. This was known as Ulva Ferry School. There were a number of private houses, estate worker houses and estate farms along the route. Each morning Angus left Salen, and after travelling half-way, he collected the children destined for Ulva Ferry School. At the extremity of his journey. On the return trip, he collected us closest to Gruline and took us there. At lunchtime, he collected the meal from Salen School, a larger school with a kitchen and delivered meals to both schools returning the ashets to Salen for the next day. I can recall boiled diced beetroot, grey cabbage, grey stew, lots of potatoes, no chips and mince. Pudding was custard and steamed sponge pudding, jelly or ‘Angel Delight’. Certainly, no ice cream. Finally, in the evening, Angus would collect us, carrying the mail and daily newspapers for the households en route, whilst delivering us home. The mail only came in the afternoon when the daily boat from Oban arrived with the post, passengers and goods. We would often set off for home on fine days before he arrived to collect us, walking home through fields and along the shore. Nobody seemed too concerned about this.
During my first year at school, we moved to the farmhouse on Killiechronan, about a mile closer to school and Salen (see The Man on the Hill). It had been renovated to a high standard with fitted kitchens and modern appliances. It even featured in some magazines. Nowadays, it would be deemed very basic, back then it was a show house, and many people came to admire it. At that time, my mother's ill health became obvious to us. She started to spend more time away from home and more time at the hospital in Glasgow.
In my next blog, I will recount my time on Killiechronan. My wild years.
Farming and Investing in Africa
On arrival at Salisbury Airport, my brother-in-law to be, Lindsay, and my sister Morag were there to collect me. I was questioned by immigration on the reason for my visit and proclaimed I was there for a wedding, but would perhaps stay longer and look for work. He asked me about any qualifications I had, in return, I showed him my agricultural diploma. That was it. He happily stamped my passport and I was legally in the country. How things have changed! On collection, my brother-in-law took me to a steakhouse and treated me to one of the largest steaks I had ever had. The steak was accompanied by Monkey Gland Sauce, which I had never heard of. It was in fact made with ketchup, ginger, garlic and onion. A delicious relish and a great favourite with steak in Rhodesia. You rarely hear of it in Zimbabwe now. We then proceeded to Umtali where the wedding was to be held later that week.
On arrival, at Umtali, we found we could not proceed to Lindsay’s parents home on the other side of town due to riots and violence. I had arrived during the Pearce Commission**, and the commission was in Umtali that very day. More detail of this in my life story at a later date. The wedding duly took place and about ten days later I returned to Salisbury to meet David Smith and discuss my future employment. He had a twin role in government being both deputy prime minister and the Minister of Finance. He suggested I look for someone with a good reputation, who would be best placed to train me on farming techniques in Southern Africa rather than look for quick rewards. Sage advice. He also warned me to beware of false promises and any employment offer should be coupled with a solid contract. In those days, monthly farm management salaries were very low, often below subsistence levels, and all farm managers and assistants relied on a performance bonus based on profits. I was warned that some unscrupulous farmers reneged on the bonus, he advised me to ensure I referred back to him when anyone offered me a job so that he could check on the proposed employer's reputation. In later years I learned, while few, there were employers with a reputation for this form of exploitation. They usually always offered above-average monthly salary rates, then declined to pay bonuses, making the net cost to them below average.
“Beware those that promise excessively high reward for your endeavours. Be this in the form of bonus, salary or service fees.” Peter McSporran
In the meantime, he also said that his brother Hamish was presently looking for a farm assistant, and perhaps I should consider him as a possibility. In Salisbury I was living with family friends of my sister’s in-laws, the Foxes, who very kindly offered me freeboard and local advice whilst I was looking for a job. They will also appear in my life story at a later date. The long and the short of it is that I was offered a job by Hamish Smith, David’s brother, as a farm assistant. I duly accepted. Hamish was not only a good farmer but was very well connected. At a later date, I realised connections are so very important for both garnering information and doing business in Africa.
Hamish had two large Estates, one about forty kilometres outside Salisbury and one in the District of Sinoia, about one hundred and twenty kilometres North of Salisbury. The job I was offered was Assistant Manager on the farms just outside Salisbury in an area known as Nyabira. He farmed commercial and pedigree beef cattle, pedigree Ayrshire and pedigree Friesland dairy cattle. He grew maize for stock feed, grain sales as a cash crop, silage, seed maize and soya beans. I learned very quickly he was a hard but honest taskmaster, a renowned cattleman whose reputation as such was known well beyond the borders of Rhodesia. The pay was low to start with, $70 per month coupled with a promise of a bonus. In those days the Rhodesian dollar was worth a little more than the British pound. The employment contracts traditionally went by the seasons from September to September. All renewed annually by each of the parties. Of course, those that did not pay bonuses only expected you to stay one season. Very short-sighted from a good business practice point of view. I was told that I had only half of the farming season remaining that year, being late January. I would, therefore, not qualify for a full bonus. More importantly, he said, on top of that, I would be a liability for the first year, notwithstanding my academic qualifications. My farming life and the fruitful relationship began, despite many setbacks along the way, with agriculture in Africa.
Shortly thereafter, I made my first investment in Rhodesia. A Car. I had no car and relied on a farm truck for my shopping trips to Salisbury. This was an old Isuzu Wasp with a 24-volt battery system that was guaranteed not to start at least 70% of the time. I relied on this mode of transport for any off-farm trips, such as grocery shopping and social life. In fact, there was no night-time social life as work was from before dawn until after dusk. My time off was every second weekend if we were not too busy. From Saturday afternoon until Monday morning. Transport on the farm was a motorbike.
After about six months, I had some time off and thought it would be a good idea to visit my sister in Chipinga. This was some four hundred and fifty kilometres in the South East of the country. How do I get there? Easy, cash in air ticket and buy a second-hand car. Not any car but the first one you come across sold by a local garage, owned by an Italian. Watch out for smooth-talking Italian second-hand car salesmen. I duly bought the car and set off for a spot of leave. The car, an Austin Cambridge, got me exactly one hundred and twenty kilometres from home before the engine blew up at a village called Macheke on the Umtali Road.
Look on the bright side - I had a job. A broken car and no money. It would take me almost a year to pay off my debt for the repair of the car. Boy, did I learn quickly how to manage my personal cash flow - making my 'pennies' stretch as far as possible. At the end of many months, I was down to cents, not dollars before each salary cheque due to paying off the repairs. Once it was repaired, I sold it. Being liquid was more important than owning a car. Thankfully, I did get to Chipinga with assistance from my brother-in-law.
Next time, I will continue sharing more of my farming experiences.
* Lachlan Mcquarrie - Major General Lachlan Macquarie, CB was a British Army officer and colonial administrator from Scotland. He was the 1st Governor-General of New South Wales.
** Pearce Commission - In 1972 a British commission arrived in Rhodesia to test how acceptable the latest and most comprehensive proposals to end Rhodesia's rebellion were to its entire people
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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