Chapter 21 - Haymaking Solo

“This is the answer to our problem,” Exclaimed Fred in November 1926. Esther looked up enquiringly. “My Uncle Edward has written to us asking if we can give his son Ralph a job over the Christmas holidays,” Fred said, consulting the letter he was reading. “Ralph is at university and he’s got to earn some money somehow.” Fred and Sam and their wives had been discussing how they could do their haymaking without joining any group. “We both want to take our holidays in January,” said Esther. She had been indignant when one of the group had made extra hay at the beginning of the year and the Williamsons had to go and help right when Sam had planned his holidays. It had not mattered so much then, but it would now his daughters were at school. Esther had surprised and dismayed to find that most farmers did not bother to arrange holidays so that they could get away with their families. She felt that it was very important. 

“This solves the problem,” Fred repeated. “That will be four men, two ladies and two children. Mary is ten now, and she is very good with the horses. Edith is seven, and she can do her share too. We will do it.”

School broke up on Thursday that year, and on Friday the hay was ready to be raked. With Lassie in the dump rake, Mary rode around the paddock lifting and tossing the hay into long windrows. The sun shone down warmly on her back as the horse trotted smartly along. From the blue sky poured the joyful song of the sky larks. “I think there must be at least five singing up there,” said Mary, “Though I can only see one. I do hope their nests aren’t in the hay paddock.” The macrocarpa and the pines were about 10 years old now and becoming a real shelter. From their branches came the songs of numerous thrushes and blackbirds, and the chirp of sparrows. “I would not change places with anyone at all, not even the queen,” said Mary to her horse, and she started to sing one of the popular songs of the day. Lassie broke into a canter, but it was not comfortable for a horse to canter when it is pulling, and the young driver soon brought it back to a trot. After breakfast the next day, Edith and Ralph were told to catch the rest of the work horses. Mary and Lassie had already started to dump the windrows into cocks.  (little heaps) “How do I know which gear to get?” asked Ralph as they entered the harness room. Edith stared at him. A university student who couldn’t read. It didn’t make sense. But when he grabbed the first bridle he came to, she began to worry about the comfort of the horses. “Look,” she said “All the bridles and collars have their names. You’ve got Jean’s bridle, and we don’t want her today.” When Ralph looked more carefully, he saw that there was a neatly printed name beside each collar and only one bridle on the peg beside it. “Charlie and Jock will go in the sweep,” said Edith, giving Ralph those bridles. “Duke will pull the stacker,” and she took duke’s bridle from the peg. When they reached the paddock where the horses had been left for the night, she put the bridle on the big bay horse, showing Ralph which were Charlie and Jock.  He looked dubious. The horses were so big. Jock snorted and Charlie backed away. When Ralph did manage to put the reins around his neck, the horse tossed his head up so there was no hope of reaching his ears to slip on the bridle. “Lead him up to the fence,” suggested Edith, but the young man looked helplessly at the snorting horse, and the bridle in his hand. Rather impatiently the girl led Charlie up to the fence and climbed up it until she was high enough to put on the bridle. “Its confidence you need,” she commented. “If you are sure you can do it, the horses will know, and then let you do it.” She had to stand on tip toe to reach Duke’s mane, and then putting one foot on the horse’s knee, was able to scramble onto his broad back. Ralph preferred to walk up to the shed, leading his two horses. Edith tossed him a brush. “Just brush round their necks where the collars go and behind the front legs,” she advised. “We keep our horses trace clipped and they do not get so sweaty.” When the horses were brushed, “Or rather what Dad calls ‘a lick and a promise’ she showed Ralph how to put on the collars. “You’d better do it how I do it,” she advised. “My hands are not big enough to hold the collar and the hames together as the men do, and it’s likely to swing around and hit me.  She showed Ralph how to remove the hames, iron pieces that fit into the grooves of the collar to which the big hooks for attaching the chains are fixed. Dumping a box by Duke’s big feet, she climbed up on it and carefully fitted the collar around his neck, doing up the strap so that it fitted comfortably. Then the hames were put in place and done up. “I’ll put on Jock’s collar,” said Edith. Jock snorted when she put the box beside him, but did not move when she called “Whoa Jock,” and she talked to him as she put the gear on. The horses were ready when Fred and Sam arrived from feeding the pigs. Fred put Duke in the sledge to go up to the house to collect the morning tea and the rest of the family, while Ralph helped Sam harness the two chestnuts into the gate sweep and start off for the hay paddock. Edith went for her pony. “You’d walk a mile to catch a horse to ride half a mile,” laughed her father, but none of the girls would think of going anywhere without their pony. Out in the hayfield everyone went quickly to work, the sweep was like three gates hinged together. Jock and Charlie trotted swiftly along, one on each side of the little cocks, and the gate swept them up. When there was a big pile of hay, they brought it back to the stack. If the hay had not been lifted properly at the first raking, or if it had got wet, it often stuck tightly to the ground. The sweep would ride over it instead of picking it up. That was a nuisance. The hay that the sweep brought in had to lifted onto the stack. Sam showed Ralph how to push the six sharp iron teeth of the grab into the hay and how to clip it firmly shut. A wire rope led from the grab up to the arm of the stacker, through a series of pulleys down to the horse. “For goodness sake, don’t get your toes in the way of the grab,” Sam explained, “We haven’t time to take you to the hospital while the weather is fine.” Ralph was told to signal to Sam’s wife, Lizzie, who was driving Duke at the other end of the rope attached to the grab. “When you have clipped it shut, not before as you can get your fingers jammed in it if they are in the way when the horse starts to pull.” When she received the signal, Lizzie clicked her tongue and Duke started forward, lifting the grab full of hay into the air. Immediately this was above the level of the haystack, Lizzie called “Whoa,” and Duke stopped. Two long ropes were attached to the top of the grab. Holding one of these, Edith ran round the stack, pulling the grab until it was above the place where Fred was standing. Duke then backed up, letting the hay down onto the stack. Fred released the catch. The grab sprang open. Forward went Duke until the grab, now empty was swinging in the air. Then, David, the farm worker, pulled the grab back around with the other long rope. Duke backed up until the two young men could catch grab and push the teeth into another load of hay. On a lovely morning like this it was easy, but when the wind was blowing, it could be quite heavy to maneuver. Once the hay was on the stack, Fred and Esther forked it carefully into place. A good stack had to be built properly. Every now and then, a bucketful of coarse salt was added. “That’s so it won’t burn,” Ralph was told, “but it helps it taste nice for the cows too.” It took a little while to get the rhythm right, but soon Duke was listening for the click of the catch and knew just what to do. 

The work went steadily for about an hour, and then Fred called “Smoko.” His ‘experience account’ of those Meremere days had taught him how important it was not to work too long without a break. Its tiredness and trying to hurry that is the cause of agricultural accidents, and both Fred and Sam set an example in unhurried efficiency. Soon the thermette was boiling merrily, and the tea was made. The butter melted on the scones which had been hot out of the oven when they came down, and there was honey and jam to go with them. By this time Mary had raked all the hay it was safe to rake, just the amount Fred had calculated they could put in that day and she took her mother home on the sledge to get dinner ready. Then David helped Fred on the stack and Ralph had to work the grab alone. Mary returned to help the younger girls on the stacker rope; even 5 year old Alexa had insisted on taking her turn. Not for anything would any of the girls admit she was tired. Haymaking was an important part of farm life, and each felt that her task was a valuable part of the shared experience, but were all glad when it was time for lunch. The grown-ups piled onto the sledge, but the children scrambled onto their ponies. Someone started to sing, and soon everybody was shouting “way down upon the Swanee River,” as they cantered up the paddock. “Are you going to let the horses go?” asked Ralph, as they stopped at the gate. “Oh yes, they work better if they have a roll and a feed,” said Sam, showing the boy how to slip the bridles over the horse’s head, giving it a pat and a gentle stroke down its neck. “These horses are easy to catch anyway.” 

 The meal was enjoyed, hot roast lamb, baked potatoes and pumpkin, with apple pie and rich cream to follow. Afterwards, the rested, “to give the children a chance to do the dishes,” said the father, grinning at his reluctant daughters. “I like haymaking, but I don’t like dishes,” said Mary, but the dishes were soon done anyway. The golden afternoon passed slowly. Sam had bought in the hay that had rolled itself tightly, and Ralph pushed the teeth of the grab in deeply, catching almost half the sweep load in one lot. “Up Duke,” said Lizzie, and the horse started to pull. He gave a groan and staggered. Down he flopped and the grab crashed to the ground. Lizzie unhooked Duke’s swingle-tree, and with the weight off his neck, he struggled to his feet. Ralph had no time to worry before the crisis was over. “Don’t put too much in,” was the only comment made. Ralph was taking care not to put the teeth in too deeply, and several times the grab jerked up with nothing in it at all. This was a nuisance, as it had to be lowered and tripped and then lifted again before it could go back into the hay. Duke did not appreciate being put out of the routine he had worked out. However, before long, Ralph could usually judge, just how much was the right amount of hay to take each time.  By Saturday night, about 3 acres of hay was in the stack, and the family looked at it with pride. “It will be fine again tomorrow,” announced Ralph, “We’ll get in another good day.” Mary looked at him. “Tomorrow is Sunday,” she said, “We do not work on the Sabbath.” “No,” replied her father. “When the good book says ‘Thou shalt not work on the Sabbath,’ it means just that, especially for a farmer and his horses.” Some years, the haymaking did not go so well. It rained and the hay would not dry. It wouldn’t sweep easily if the rake had not worked well. A strong or gusty wind made the grab difficult to maneuver. New types of sweeps and rakes were invented, and some brought to Okoropong, and an improved stacker was purchased, but for eighteen years or so the basic pattern of haymaking remained the same. The two families worked well as a unit. Well built haystacks gave a sense of achievement that made light of the physical effort needed. But always, somehow, it was done in time for both families to have a fortnight’s holiday, except in one year. 1931- “We won’t go away this year,” Fred told the children. “We’ll make a water storage pond so when the wind does not blow we will still have water for the cows instead.” Duke dragged the scoop to make the hole, the concrete was mixed and the sides plastered. It had started to fill when Esther went to the hospital. “It’s a girl,” they said next morning, but three little babies had died since Alexa, now ten was born. The doctors could not say why. Fred and Esther were overjoyed, and deeply grateful when this little one stayed alive, and grew as babies should grow. They called her Rewa.