Tup sale madness - Dalmally tup sale 2013

For a number of years now Shep has had a wish to head to Dalmally tup sale, it's up there somewhere in Scotland, a long way away no doubt, not as far as Lairg it is fair to say but it always seems to crop up at a time when farmers are desperate for work to be done and Shep's ability of saying "no" is not a strong point, such a short word but one which doesn't fit into my vocabulary very easily.

Last year I was going, come hail or high water nothing would stop me, I was going - end of story! Until that is the 'phone call arrived, desperate farmer desperately seeking assistance and no where to fit him in other than the couple of days I had allowed myself to sneak off into Scotland, my resolve broke, I gave in and spent the time fighting with sheep instead of doing what I had hoped to be doing.

Now a friend took note of this and vowed she would ensure I got to attend this year. She succeeded. Even though I came up with excuses of pressures of work etc., none of it washed and dragged away I was. There is much to be said for friends. Life is too short, we need to live for today, don't put off for tomorrow. A difficult line to follow when you never wish to let people down who need your assistance but I guess sometimes we need to be selfish and do things we would like to do. Dalmally was one of those instances. I am very grateful to my friend for her persistence and for organising the B&B and for doing the driving, I am so pleased I got up there to the tup sale.

So why Dalmally?

 

There were actually a specific run of tups I wished to see, off a farm called Dalchirla. I had heard much about these sheep, many by homebred sires, often known to fetch what I could only describe as ridiculous prices

 

On the day this particular farm had 34 Shearling tups entered and 5 tup lambs. The shearlings were pretty much like peas in a pod, the handful here were later in the draw, it was too difficult to photograph the tups in the first few pens for the number of people looking at them.

There were some more than useful tups on show on the day from a number of farms, Shep was quietly impressed with what she was seeing that's for sure.

 

The ring was a strange shape, it was actually an oblong, seating was limited also. On first getting a seat in the ring I found myself in a position where you could rarely see the sheep, they were entering the ring to my right and trying to exit in the same place, very few came into the centre of the ring to be viewed with the result that the next time I hunted for somewhere to sit I took up this position in the hope I may see more and not just hear the auctioneer.

As for the photographs? They all seem to have a strange hue about them. Once again I had forgotten my camera and commandeered my friends which for some reason took the photos with a pinky/purply cast to them - apologies!

Anyhow, back to the tup sale.

There were tups of all ages present for sale on the day, Shearlings, aged tups and tup lambs. The catalogue stated that tup lambs would be sold in number two ring, Shep struggled to find number two ring and finally wandered away down the pens until she could move no further for people. Number two ring had actually been converted from the penning areas, it wasn't a ring as I was accustomed to, but at least I found it. The next problem was finding somewhere to view the proceedings.

I got my eye on a photographer I know who was perched up behind the auctioneer, I gave him a tug on the trouser leg and asked if I could climb up beside him and balance on the pen rails just behind him, he raised his arms to take photographs and I snook shots from below his armpits, just as well he didn't suffer from B. O. !

 

I had expected the shearlings might have been making 'silly' money, I actually hadn't realised until I got to Dalmally that Dalchirla sold lambs. It was the lambs which drew the attention of the buyers. Blimey! It was well worth seeing and hearing it has to be said.

 

This chap realised £90,000 . He is a lamb, born this spring, approxiamtely 6 months old. His twin was next into the ring and made £60,000. That is £150,000 off one ewe.

 

The auctioneer had no problems getting folks to bid, that's for sure! It was almost a disappointment when another lamb in the pen only made £24,000!

 It was for this that I had always wanted to head up to Dalmally, to see for myself, take in the buzz. There was a round of applause when the sale of the lamb concluded, a new lamb record for the centre, a price which matched the centre record for a shearling, which had also been sold off Dalchirla a few years previous. Probably a new record for a pair of twins reared off one ewe............ All very impressive. There is much to be said for a farmer to be able to sell 34 shearlings which averaged over £2,000 each and five lambs which averaged over £35,000 each. A farmer who is consistently at the top, think of Dalmally and you think of Dalchirla.

 

Before we left the mart to head home I shot off to the lamb pen, only these three remained, the one standing is the chap who made the most.

 

I'm pleased my friend ensured I got up to Dalmally, I take my hat off to a man who is consistently at the top of the tree but I can't help but question these silly prices. The lamb was bought by a consortium of farmers, they share the price between them, they are seeking to breed what they deem the perfect blackfaced sheep, they want the bloodlines and genetics of this particular specimen but what do the headlines tell the housewife on the street? Sheep trade has dropped quite dramatically this back end, fat and store lambs are well back on the trade of last year.

Those rearing sheep on a commercial basis are finding their incomes are less than last year, the weather has been down rightly atrocious this year and at a cost. A cost to the housewife and the farmer. Food will be dearer, both on the supermarket shelves and the feed sheds on the farms. How can the sheep sector justify the headlines in the press which boast record prices for tups? What does the normal person on the street think of it all? How can we expect any sympathy for the difficulties which face our livestock sectors, our sheep farmers who all so often seem to be battling against the odds?

These huge figures for breeding sheep go around in the same circles, those buying this lamb will hopefully see a return by selling sheep in the future at silly prices themselves, basically it gives a false impression of our sheep farming in general but unfortunately it is an impression which makes headlines, headlines which confuse the general public and leave them with little sympathy for the plight of farmers. 

 

Memories of a Godfather

NOT that sort of a Godfather! Good grief, this posting has nowt to do with the mafia, no! Seemingly when we are christened we are given Godparents, folks who are meant to stand in should anything happen the parents and ensure they bring you up in a God fearing way (or something like that!)

So, apparently, many years ago, Shep was bundled into a church to be christened. I don't recall any of this but there is some sort of strange photographic proof that indeed three people are gathered around a bundle shrouded in a white robe, the bundle seemingly was me, the three people had been specially chosen to have the 'honour' of being my Godparents. Two women and one man, apparently coz I'm a female Shep - my brother had two men and one woman coz he's a male (but not a shep!)

Shep couldn't have asked for better Godparents. A maiden Aunt from my fathers side became a great friend as I grew older, a large lady with a huge personality, a positive soul (which was needed when faced with double leg amputations), someone who possessed a huge heart, never spoke ill of anyone and had an infectious sense of humour. She was an absolute gem.

Then there was my mothers younger sister and her husband. Another Aunt and Uncle. My Uncle farmed, a tenant farmer, and many a happy holiday was spent at theirs alongside my two cousins (who were both boys, one slightly older and one slightly younger than myself). A mixed farm and by today's scale a small farm. A farm which one would probably struggle to make a living off in this day and age.

I loved it when I was shipped off to my Aunty and Uncles for a holiday, although I couldn't understand why I always used to bunk up with the lads at bed time and then suddenly found myself 'shed off' into a bedroom of my own as I got older, seemed unfair and anti social at the time.

They lived in a fairly typical cold farmhouse, stone floored dairy full of wellies and leggings and all sorts of strange farming paraphernalia. The kitchen smelt of carbolic soap and milk, umm...... I can smell it now. My Aunty used to make proper butter, the tastiest butter I have ever eaten in my life, plastered onto freshly baked scones and I was in heaven!

I would trot after my Uncle to 'help' bring the dairy cows in for milking. One of my earliest recollections of the 'farm' was of being in tears. I laugh now, almost cringe with embarrassment in fact. I could have been no more than a toddler as I followed the cows as they plunged their way up a track towards the milking byre. It had obviously been very wet weather and the track would be an awful slutter up, a true clart, a sea of mud and cow pats. Shep's little short toddler wellies didn't hold up to the depth of goo and before I knew it the goo went over the top of the wellies and slopped down to foot level. The tears started! (How did I ever make it into the profession I have?) My Uncle scooped me up in his strong arms (even though I was wailing)and didn't set me down again until there was some dry ground for my tender feet!

The years went by, cousins and I were allowed to pick the potatoes, eventually a tattie harvester was used and the job seemed easier if you were quick enough than running around the field with a bucket. We lifted turnips, now there's a tale to tell............ Youngest cousin and I set off one frosty morning with turnip knives in hands to lift turnips. I'm not too sure that permission had been granted, I think we had just decided it would be good fun and helpful!

Turnip knives are a little bit like a small sickle, a wooden handle with a curved and very sharp iron blade which has a bent hooky bit on the end. The turnips are in the ground, most of them above ground. With a sweep of the knife the hooky bit gets lodged into the flesh of the turnip enabling you to lift it out of the ground, drop it into your spare hand then deftly top and tail the beast with the curved blade of the knife. All was going well until my cousin got his finger in the way when topping and tailing. Oh my god! There was blood everywhere....... now what do we do? We'll get into trouble for this of that there's no doubt! It was a long way back up the lonnen (lane) to the safety of home but we got there eventually, leaving a trail of blood for anyone to follow. We didn't really get into trouble of course, although a strong lesson was learnt (my cousin went into banking in his adult life - probably a safer option!)

My godparents were hugely supportive throughout my formative years and probably had a huge role to play in determining my career. As I grew older and was deemed to be more responsible I no longer received an Easter egg to spread all over my face at Easter time, instead I received a pet lamb - my very own pet lamb! The very first was a black, bluefaced leicester ewe lamb which I aptly christened Sooty. Of course my Uncle bred Bluefaced leicesters and way back in those days black ones were taboo, I loved her tho' and she did get sold for breeding as well which was a great boost, all organised by my Uncle no less! I no longer had a pet lamb but I did have some pennies in the bank, it took the pain away!

Friday nights were cards nights, us and them would wile away Friday nights in front of the fire playing either Canasta or a game called Oh Hell! I was in my teens by this time and always looked forward to Friday nights. My Uncle had a great sense of humour and was a very patient, kind and caring person who had a pet name for his wife (my Aunt) of bunny (I always thought this was so sweet, especially from such a tough and hardened countryman such as himself).

He had 'cauliflower' ears. I never understood this in my early years, I fully understand now. Chilblains on his ears. Way back in those days a farmer wouldn't be seen dead wearing anything on his head other than a cloth cap. Over exposure to the harsh winter elements over the years had given cause for the edges of his ears to become almost deformed, a phenomena which in my very early years had me pondering about often, you have to remember, it was rude to stare and even ruder to ask.

A great sportsman, cricket, badminton and football in particular, a love which he handed down to his two sons. I liked neither cricket nor football - the ball was hard and could hurt. They were strong and proficient and could really wack a cricket ball and as for football, I was often put in goal and that leather ball really stung if you tried to stop it! I totally refused to play rat cricket. A great pastime I was always told!

Rat cricket was a winter sport. Corn grown on the farm was blown into the loft above the cow byres and then rats took up residence. Being great sportsmen and finding their cricket bats lying idle during these winter days the 'boys' had great sport wolloping rats off the rafters of the loft with their cricket bats, even way back in those days I had an absolute hatred of rats and no amount of cajoling would get me to join them in their sport! ( I think I have probably embellished this story, they wouldn't use their prized cricket bats would they?? I do believe shovels and broom shanks were probably what were used)

Time went on, I left home and started work. Uncle came to the rescue when I moved from one job to another and had no where to keep my 'pack' ewes which were in lamb. He took them onto his farm, lambed them for me and I turned up at the mart and sold them with lambs at foot.

It was just a couple of years later when early retirement was forced upon him. A hard decision to make, but due to farmers lung he was struggling to cope and the farm wasn't big enough to keep his eldest son as well. Years of dealing with loose corn in the loft, which was fed into a crusher, a noisy contraction which smashed the stuff up to make it safer and easier for animals to digest and also threw out a tremendous amount of chaff and dust coupled with dust from straw and hay was taking it's toll. Retirement was forced upon him and Shep couldn't bear to go to the farm stock sale, in fact I have never been past the farm since; the farm buildings are now a mini village, the farmhouse will be unrecognizable from when I knew it and I really have no wish to return.

It was a miracle, my Uncles health improved when he retired into a house which was centrally heated and he no longer had to deal with all those particles of dust and mites which his lungs had battled with for years. His retirement proved to be a happy one , gardening, sport and woodworking kept him out of mischief, I think my Aunt probably missed the farm more than he in the long run.

So there you have a wee few of my memories of my Godfather. My parents did a splendid job of choosing my three Godparents, they all had a huge and positive impact on my life. I now have only one left, it is what happens as folks get older, none of us will live for ever.

This posting has been written in advance, the date and time it is published is hugely significant.

I arrived back from my lambing on the 13th May. Last Christmas I sent out my usual round robin Christmas letter which stated to all and sundry that this would probably be my last lambing over the border and no one was to have a crisis whilst I was away, between the 1st April and the 13th May I was selfishly going to enjoy what may well be my last year with them their cheviots - God help you all if anyone spoils it!

I was well aware things weren't well with my Uncle, I even dongled on the computer for ages to enable me to order flowers to be delivered to my Aunt.

I received the 'phone call when I got home, to inform me that indeed he had passed away, on the evening of the 12th.

Now for someone whom I had loved dearly and who had reiterated that love, someone who sadly was suffering from Alzhiemers, I was awe struck that he seemed to wait until my lambing was over, I also thought it quite poignant that he 'chose' the farming term date an' all - probably coincidence, but I ain't so sure!

This posting will be published as I am gathered at the crematorium with all of those who have special memories of this particular man, as we celebrate his life and his love for life. The best Godfather I could have asked for, and hey! I get a day off at long last, a day to mix with my family and smile and laugh - Bless 'im!