Haymaking in a Time of War

"The hay will be ready to cut soon," said Fred one evening as he picked up the paper after tea. "It will be the thirtieth time we have made hay on Okoropong."

"This should have been the year we went home to England," observed his wife, her needles clicking on the balaclava she was making to send in the parcel the Gordonton women were preparing for the navy.

"Instead, the civilised countries are fighting for their very existence; the second time since we have been here," said Fred, glancing at the headlines. "And the news isn't very good at all. The Jap army seems to be sweeping through the Islands unchecked. Will it be Australia or New Zealand that's their goal, I wonder?"

"Haymaking will be rather different this year," remarked Esther. "What are you going to do?"

A year or so before, the Waikato Mounted Regiment had held manoeuvres in Waiouru, and riders from all over the area had taken their own animals. Somehow, strangles broke out among the horses, and farm hacks unused to hard feed and to the cold of Waiouru, with few having developed immunity, succumbed quickly to the disease.

A mob was brought back to Gordonton to recover. Which should have been all right, except that a neighbour's school pony somehow made contact with a horse that was still contagious and brought the disease to the school pony paddock. The school ponies then carried it home to the working horses.

By 1943, carrying firms had extended their services to Gordonton, and very seldom did the waggons go to town for fertiliser, timber or any of the heavy goods needed on the farms. The horses had little contact with animals from other farms and no resistance had been built up. The effect of the strangles epidemic was devastating. Probably half of the working horses in the district died.

Usually Mary took the cream down to the roadside stand in the dray, but this morning, because both horses were unwell, she harnessed Jock and Charlie onto the waggon. At the cream stand on the main road, she hitched the reins round the brake and climbed down from the waggon to lift off the cans of cream.

Charlie was restless, tossing his head and stamping his feet as Mary manoeuvred the first cans off the waggon. Suddenly the horse found he could not breathe properly. He plunged forward; the waggon swayed; Mary ran up the tray to try to reach the reins, but Charlie's panic communicated itself to Jock. Off went the horses at a gallop, spinning round the corner on two wheels, the cans crashing and rattling and the waggon lurching like a cork in the ocean.