“A shearer’s
assistant for the day,
High on
Cumberland heights,
“Dadd-y-ing" * sheep along their way,
To each
shearer’s delight,
Or carrying
chalk to shearer’s shouts,
If nicked a
sheep to stop the bleed,
And taking
ale or juice at regular bouts,
Throughout
that “magical” day”.
The day’s
finish was signalled to all,
And to the
barn we did retreat,
Laid out was
a meal fit for a King,
Home killed,
homemade, homebrewed!
It was a Saturday morning when we set off and I remember us
catching the 244 Ribble bus which at that time went over the Haslingden Hud Hey
and through Blackburn to Preston. Then
at Preston we changed buses onto a old double decker Ribble bus that took us
all the way to Eamont Bridge near Penrith. And little did I know then, that the
week was going to throw up some great experiences, but the main memory was of
becoming a “Sheep shearer’s helper for a day.
The summers then (1959/1960 period) were generally sunny and
very hot on most days especially during July. We had arrived on summer vacation
to my friend Malcolm’s relation who fortunately for us just happened to be the
River Bailiff on the River Eamont near Penrith. It was great to stay here in
his family home which was built on the banks of that fast flowing river. As the
week went on we would try our hand at fishing on most days and also had the
pleasure of slipping the bank and accidentally ending up within the river. On
another day we visited the fabulous waterfall named Aira Force.
But still the best had to come, and that was the day we went
along to help (or I wonder if we hindered) with the sheep shearing at a farm
which was so high up in the monstrous heights somewhere overlooking the great
lake of Ullswater. The account of that very special day as I remember it went
as follows:
“The day had been previously arranged for us, and can only
think that perhaps our host farmer was some relation or close friend of Jims,
the River Bailiff at Eamont Bridge where we were staying.
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We certainly didnt complain about
"Peripheral Vascular Disease" those days |
We set off peddling those bicycles, it was hard work
climbing the ascent to the farm which seemed to us at the time, the highest
building on the planet. The long road ascension seemed to go on and on and on
with such painful leg challenging work as I remember, but at the tender age of
12 you would never have considered complaining of things like “Peripheal
vascular disease” . Everything was a new challenge and we were young and active
and filled with excitement of the unknown!
Eventually we arrived at the farm, and I remember that just
looking back to Ullswater below and the long twisting road we had come up
looked so small, set within that far bigger picture. And that “pain peddling”
achievement was now so well rewarded by the beautiful feeling of being on top
of the whole wide World in front of you. It did not stop at that, much more was
on offer as well with that farmhouse set out in such a picturesque setting of
oldy, worldy. It seemed idyllic even before the eyes of a sprouting (almost)
teen. With local stone flags and cobbles
as well set out in true “westmorland/cumberland style”, and the buildings were
well aged with weather worn stone which you immediately thought could date back
to the “arc”, there was character all around with lots of small windows which
were very narrow and tall, which today I understand would be called “mullion”
windows, and the door to the farm was very old and very thick and heavy, in
fact you wondered how on earth did those hinges support such a weight, but they
did and had done for probably decades.
All the tops of the surrounding walls were covered in a thick most
beautiful green coloured moss which lay there perfect and looked like the whole
area had been fitted into a green velvet garment.
All around the farmyard there were several wooden chairs
which had seen better days, forming a poor shaped circle, and these were to
house the buttocks of the dozen or so “shearers”, who were the local collection
of neighbouring farmers who had come today to carry out the annual sheep
shearing duties. They all helped one another at this very busy time, moving
around from one farm to the other, until all the farms in the neighbouring
collective had been completed. What a beautiful way of doing things and I
wonder if this is still the practice today.
Prior to this most spectacular of days, lots of preparatory
work had obviously taken place with the farmer and his family members or their
appointed shepherds together with their agile working dogs gathering the sheep,
and driving them down from positions higher up on the fell sides, and down to
the few noticeable enclosures dotted around the farm, and near to where we were
stood.
So the working day began!
And we were quickly shown our duties, one of us was to carry the sheep
out from the enclosure to the shearer, whilst the other was to “run with the
chalk”. After a hour or two we would
swap over jobs. If you was the carrier
you had to quickly get the knack of sort of getting the sheep into position by
a sort of twisting movement, then to perform the art of what we called
“dadd-y-ing”* the sheep whilst upright and between your legs and with your
hands holding the sheep under its front legs and taking them towards the
shearer where he would then take the sheep from you and re adjust the sheep
into a more comfortable position, before he carried out his shearing
duties. The shearing was carried out
with specially designed “shears” which were made from a springy metal.
The other person who carried the chalk, was to run to the
shearer as soon as he shouted for the chalk.
It meant he must have “nicked” the flesh of the sheep whilst shearing
and the white ground up chalk powder rubbed into the wound seemed to quell the
small amount of blood and dry up the wound almost immediately.
There was also another job that day, but we were were not
allowed to take part directly in this particular job, which was to carry around
a large white jug of ale to each of the shearers every now and again and when
they had worked up a sweat. But guess what, every so often we did manage to get
the odd glass spilling over our way.
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| "Everything you could think of" |
Another memory is at the end of the sheep shearing day,
probably around tea time we were all invited into the barn of the farm, where
in the middle of the barn surrounded by wooden benches stretched this very old
large timber oblong table and it was absolutely full up with home killed meats,
homemade foods and lots of homebrew to swill it all down. They had their own
butter and it tasted so good, I can still remember the taste today, I have
never tasted butter like that since, they had their own peanut butter, their
own cream, milk, cheeses, jams and chutneys and lots and lots of other home produce.
The meat had been a product from their own fields. All this good food had to be
swilled down with some good beverage and although the orange juice was OK it
seemed far better at the time to manage to quietly squeeze yet another “jill”* or two of ale.
Now it was almost time to leave that farm to return back to
Eamont Bridge. We could see Ullswater
lying in the distant bottom. So on our
bikes in our semi inebriated one eye open and one eye shut state we began to
freewheel all the way down that bendy road to the bottom.
What a very special day that was, and one that has stayed
within my memory now for well over 50 years.
(*
Dadd-y-ing is probably a Lancashire slang word for the motion of moving a large
oversize object (similar to a flag),
whereby you would rock it from side to side whilst at the same time edging one of
the corners forward and then edge the other corner even more further forward. I suppose it is not
unlike the “waddle” motion of a duck.)
(* Gill pronounced Jill is a measure of ale between a quarter of a pint, or a third of a pint and as in our case was a half pint measure)
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