Where is the Criticism?
I follow the artist Craig Bone on Facebook. Craig is a very successful Zimbabwean-born artist who in my eyes obtained recognition of his work by painting wildlife for which he is renowned throughout the world. I even have a few of his paintings, I had more but with divorce, I remain with half in my collection. In addition, he is a war artist, himself having been severely wounded during the Rhodesian Bush War, on recovering, returning to the field. Some of the top American army units have commissioned his art for their messes. He has taken up writing with a book in progress, from which he quotes as he writes. It will be worth reading once complete although present excerpts are often unrelated which keeps us all thinking about how his mind works. Moreover, he shows his artwork in progress asking for suggestions or at least comments. I am amazed at how quickly he can produce a painting. Does the man sleep? The interesting thing is that he seems to get pissed off when there are no comments on his posts. He does not mind if they are good or bad. Otherwise, he informs us, he will stop posting.
For myself, I sometimes expect comments, especially contradictory to my views or at least pointing out my errors. Two of the subjects I thought I would get more comments were my thoughts on the illegal ‘New Farmers’ on our land and my lowly assessment of the millennial generation. On the former, only words of agreement, no disclaimers while on the latter, only my daughters had thoughts putting my writing on the subject down to the musings of a misinformed grumpy old man. Do I agree with this? No. Well not completely. In my mind, I think much of the problems of today is that, despite claims of poverty, the youth with their smartphones have continual access to how the rich and famous live. Unfortunately, this is not normal everyday life nor does it mean happiness. From time immemorial, the common man has always had a struggle, often having to accept his place in the social structure of the given nation. They just heard of, but rarely saw the trappings of wealth, unlike today where opportunity exists no matter your social standing.
“Every day the youth of today see all that glitters and they want it immediately. Expectations are raised to an extent they are seen as a right, not a goal.” - Peter McSporran
In Zimbabwe, the politicians thought our land was wealth. When they took it, they found money did not grow on trees. Money comes with hard work and knowledge. Of course, corruption circumvents this principle. I decided to look into what other causes could bring about this so-called perceived apathy which removes ambition. It even challenges the acceptance of one's sex to the extent that pronouns are commonly used while talking about oneself or others' gender rather than he or she. Only last year I was startled to come across a couple referring to their daughter as ‘they’, as she, a born female, had not decided what gender she wanted to be.
Of course, they are many exceptions and with many hard-working ambitious members of the latter-day generations. I have to say this as my children luckily are who, while not publicly criticising me, have no qualms in letting me know how wrong I am within our weekly family discussions. Misinformed would be a polite description of me in their view. After all, they are much more liberal than me, which may be a good thing although being a centre-right I do wonder.
My research is never very deep as I am inherently lazy. It usually is based on my own presumptions and any recent articles on the subject. Being so old I have accumulated a fair amount of the older generations perceptions. Someone even got very animated in saying I was not a ‘Baby Boomer’ despite being born in 1949. The alternative, they suggested I was from the war generation also known as the ‘Silent Generation.’ Those that know me know silent is not what I am. Anyway, just this week John Oxely in the Spectator wrote an article on why he thought the present generation suffered from apathy. He put it down to the fact that despite all their expensive education they were unlikely to achieve the income of their parents in real terms. Further, they saw owning a house would be beyond their means.
“It’s not that younger generations are particularly work shy or lazy, but more that they feel the prizes promised for a lifetime of graft have become a phantom.” - John Oxely
There are so many suggestions for the cause of this said apathy if it really exists. For myself, I think back to what it was like when I left school in relation to my ambitions. My father and especially my step-mother did not want me to go farming so as an alternative, I joined the merchant navy as a navigation officer cadet. Being paid the princely sum of £4.50 per month. I did not incur any living expenses and rail tickets to and from the ship were paid for.
After a year, other than whetting my appetite for Africa, I knew it was not for me and farming was what I would like to do. I wanted to be a farmer and be a farm owner. Against my parents wishes, I enrolled at the West of Scotland Agricultural College with ten months to fill before the new year commenced. I was advised by the college to gain more farming experience and I should work on a farm different to that which I had been brought up on. Hence my choice of a dairy farm in Ayrshire where I never was to milk a cow. What did this mean? A bothy for accommodation with only a cold water tap and coal fire as comfort. The toilet was across the farmyard some thirty metres, not far but in a foot of snow in winter, very far. Pees in winter were always last-minute affairs. A bath was in the main farmhouse once a week, all on a student's pay. My weekly pay was substantially below the hourly rate of today. Did I at that time ever have any doubt that I would not eventually farm on my own? No. That was my goal. Remember I was not very intelligent, maybe for a better-educated person, this would have been a goal too far. Material and technical luxuries are too easy to come by nowadays, leading perhaps to people’s lack of ambition. Two of the best presents I ever received as a youth were a bicycle and a Ferguson shortwave transistor radio. Radio Caroline and Luxemburg were our entertainment on solitary evenings. Notwithstanding this, I surmise many of today's youth want to own their own house. It just will not come today. Be patient, today's circumstances will not be tomorrow's.
I chatted to my good friend and ex-neighbour Des Bruk-Jackson in Mkushi, Zambia this week. Desite losing his farm in Zimbabwe and due to other circumstances his first farm in Zambia he is one again farming on his own right having worked for others to allow him another toehold into farming on his own right. That is both patience and determination. An example of what can be achieved despite life's challenges..
My further research showed that today an average house price would equate to seven years’ salary while in 1969, probably only three and a half years. But if you look at disposable income, this is much greater now than then. This makes what John Oxley is saying as close to the truth and I should not be so judgemental.
The Rain.
As a farmer from Africa, the rain was something to long for and monitor closely. Poor rainfall not only affected the growing crop but also the ability to irrigate future crops. Before irrigation, we used to plant our tobacco and maize prior to the annual rains. The tobacco would normally survive six weeks before the residual and planting water ran out. Oh, how tense those days were in the build-up to the rains. A wisp of cloud would excite us. Recently here in Portugal, we have had extremely dry years, especially in the Algarve where the dams are at critically low levels. If the rain had not arrived this month, irrigation of plantations would have been forcibly stopped to ensure domestic supply. Despite this threat, it does not seem to have stopped farmers planting further plantations, especially the water-hungry avocado. This makes you wonder, how do they manage to get water allocations? Corruption? This is not just local farmers but international fruit producers.
Luckily, the rains have come unfortunately floods now the problem in cities. We have had close to ten inches already this month where we live but in saying that, our area has had good rains for the past two months, unlike the south. When we went fishing in the dams down in the Algarve during September they were all only about twenty percent full. Dams in central and north Portugal are now over ninety percent. How quickly things can change, although much is still needed in the south. No longer farming and living on a hillside, too much rain does not worry us, not so for the poor farmers in the low-lying areas. I suppose the rice farmers are happy not having to irrigate. At home on the farm, dry summers seemed to commence with Independence and from 1980 we often had to chase the water in the dam to irrigate, sometimes nearly a kilometre away from our pump station, beyond our trenching, requiring sub pump stations to pump into the trenches which took the water to our main pump station. In good years, the water lapped the pump station. How I miss those days, every day some new challenge to overcome but always gratifying in the end.
In driving my good friend, Erik Wiersma back to Porto Airport after a visit, we drove through what can only be described as tropical rain with a temperature of 19°C at 6 pm on Monday.
Showtime!
Like cattle and tobacco sales, agricultural shows were always a major social event, although only on an annual basis. Local shows were where districts could compete while the major shows attracted a wider audience and exhibitors. Salisbury, later Harare Agricultural Show was probably the major show followed by the Bulawayo Agricultural Show which also incorporated the Zimbabwe International Trade Fair, attracting industries both local and regional. Gwelo was also a fairly large event followed by Sinioa, Umtali, Gatooma, Fort Victoria and Marrendelas. All of these town names changed at independence.
At home in Scotland in my childhood, I would attend the Highland Show with my parents while we exhibited at local shows in Argyll including Salen, Oban and Dalmally. In winter father exhibited at fatstock shows as far afield as Smithfield in London. My introduction to shows in the then Rhodesia was through the Smith’s, keen exhibitors of dairy cattle, Holstein and Ayrshire. In addition, Herefords and fatstock. I missed some shows in the seventies due to call-ups but later would attend annually, especially enjoying the cattle and watching my father-in-law on occasion picking up the Interbreed Trophy for his Hereford bulls. At some stage in the early eighties, I became a cattle steward in the Hereford ring, later, other breeds. Limousin was a fairly new breed and at one show in front of the crowd, I suffered the indignity of being tossed over the rails by one of Peter Horsman’s Limousin heifers.
In the late eighties, I was introduced to the fatstock judging being taken under the wing of Charles Mallet, the senior judge. His son Les was the steward, a friend and drinking companion after the events. Fatstock was really interesting as it included hoof and hook, judging with the eye combined with actual measurements and ratios after slaughter. I eventually became senior fatstock judge after a number of years of tuition under Charles which opened up demands for me to judge at other regional shows. In the late eighties, I started judging Herefords at a number of shows and especially enjoyed my visits to Bulawayo meeting up there for the first time with the Wildes. Over the years my judging became acceptable at more shows which took me throughout the country. Each town would have its anchor go to family. In Gwelo the Heins, in Manicaland the Hollands and Heyns, in Bulawayo the Wildes, in Chegutu the Beatties and in Chinhoyi the Crawfords. Eventually, I ended up judging the Interbreeds at Harare which previously used to be judged by an international judge, such an honour. My judging also included the pre-sale judging at The National Bull Sale which could be expensive as the judge was at least expected to show an interest in his placings when it came to the sale. Of all my pastimes, cattle judging was one of the most fulfilling. Looking back I think I was so lucky in many of the things I did, cattle judging being an avenue to many new and lasting friends throughout Zimbabwe.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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