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THE LONG WINTER

The other afternoon as I was milking, young Nicky bounced into the parlour with the milk tin. It was snowing fast and he said, “Do you think it will stick Dad?” Well, as it is now March and the ground waterlogged I didn’t think it at all likely and said so, much to his disappointment. However it was good to see a natural boyish enthusiasm for snow and it was the first winter either he or his brother had done so since 1963. Then we had enough to last a lifetime and I think the boys were genuinely a little scared of snow on that scale.

However, when it was all over I put it down on paper. Not very topical now it’s true, after such a mild winter as the one we’ve just had, but quite a story I think, if you have a few moments to spare and would care to read about it.

Our part of Dorset seemed to have caught more than its’ share in the first few days of 1963 and this is how we fared at the time.

If you come out of the Horse Shoes and turn right, the road drops sharply down the knap, follows the stream past West Water and climbs just as sharply up over Burrows onto a flat road for a while, leaving King John’s Castle on the right. It was a hunting lodge in his day and it is said that he kept a Mistress there. After half a mile on the flat past Hazel Hill, over the railway bridge and gently down to Watley in a sharp right hand curve, over what used to be a ford, but is now a bridge, you come to Watley Farm. The water is now carried by large concrete pipes from the open stream in the farm yard. Even now it floods after heavy rain. Some years ago we had a cloud burst and it came right up to Fred’s door, about 8 ft deep then and quite frightening.

From Watley it is quite a climb rising some 250 ft in half a mile between high banks topped by even higher hedges making a long cool tunnel for a half of the way. Very pretty in the Spring when the Pussy Willow shoots, and the banks are covered with a cushion of white, the flower of the wild garlic. Handsome in the Autumn when the leaves are turning colour but stark when they have gone and the frosty moon shines through the bare sticks. At the end of the half mile the land becomes level where the road breaks into the farmyard, but it soon gives up this idea and drags on slowly for another six hundred yards or so to the gate at the bottom of the hill itself. This piece of road at the present time is still as the Romans, who had a camp on the hill, left it.

On the right of the yard, coming up the hill, is a farm house with a barn, wagon house, and other buildings. On the left are two semi-detached cottages, now one dwelling house and another set of buildings where I live and farm. As with so many. farms, about fifteen years ago, the land was split to make another holding - around here at least. The trend today is exactly opposite. This farms lends itself quite well, the whole being divided by the road going up over the hill to the County Town.

My near neighbour, Jim, came here several months after me and we have always got on well, despite living “on top of each other.” I have ignored little niggles when they have arisen and I am sure he and his family have done the same. It is the only way to behave when living in isolation, as we do. After all, assistance is often required to help calve a cow or to tow a tractor.

Christmas 1962 was bitterly cold. We had had our usual batch of visitors who left us either on Boxing Day or the day after. That day the temperature dropped lower than it had been over the Christmas Holiday. It was impossible to drive up the hill, for a thin sheet of ice on the last four hundred yards of road. It’s always like that in frosty weather, springs in the road and banks keep the surface wet the whole of the year and at the slightest hint of frost it becomes like glass. I had to take our last visitor home to town and to avoid this sheet of ice drove back the other way, up the main road from the town and cutting inland to see some outlying cattle about one and a half miles from the farm. Ice in the trough was over one foot thick but the cattle seemed well enough and were not looking for water. The following morning about eleven snow started to fall. There was quite a coating by the time we had our midday meal. At half past two the butcher ‘phoned up and asked us if we could collect our meat from the village as he was having difficulty in getting around. It was not the first time and we willingly agreed to do so as the snow was sure to stop soon and anyhow, thanks to my wife’s housekeeping, we were still flush with bits and pieces from Christmas.

I went across to Jim and suggested that his Land Rover could be used for the trip. He was quite willing as his son was in the village helping out on another farm. We finished the milking and chores and set off just after S p.m. with the snow still falling fast. It had drifted a bit in the lane especially this end where the hedge was low. The wind was coming from the East and the snow was tending to pour over the bank. Down to the village took about four minutes. I hopped out and collected the meat from the Shoes whilst Jim turned the Land Rover. His son was waiting and we drove straight back but four wheel drive this time. Fortunately there were four new tyres on the truck. All went well until we got to within three hundred yards of the farm. Drifts, which on the way down, about twelve minutes before had been about a foot high were now up to the top of the hedge above the bank - about 8 ft. The road here is barely a foot wider than the Land Rover and after a couple of minutes shunting back and fore and getting stuck deeper and deeper we abandoned it and ran for home arriving like walking snowmen. Apart from checking the cattle in the sheds and seeing that the tap was running in the cow stall, that was that for the time being.

This tap out in the cow shed was kept running continuously for ten weeks. We dare not turn it off in case the whole lot froze up. There was also a tap in the small area near the back door of the house which was kept running. Being on our own supply and water that would only run in a ditch if not drawn off it did not matter. What was a nuisance was the “creeping” movement of freezing water which gradually covered an ever greater area around each tap.

The next morning the snow had stopped and all was white. The lane was blocked solid for the first three hundred yards. The Land Rover was completely buried and it was possible to walk across the lane on top of the snow. I was half-way through milking when Alex arrived. It had taken him over half an hour to do the half mile from Watley where he lived.

Breakfast over, Michael, a nephew staying for the rest of his school holidays, Alex and myself, having finished the chores set off to see the outlying stock. We had a few spare churns so did not try to get the milk away that day, being more concerned for the welfare of the cattle on the hill. It was very tiring walking into the east wind, each foot breaking the frozen crust of snow and almost having to be lifted out before taking another step. We had three hundred feet to climb in a half mile and decided to take a direct line across the fields rather than go around the road over the drifts. Once we reached the top of the hill it was a little easier than having to climb as well as walk through snow although the wind was keener than ever, blowing across the flat downland right into our faces. It was like another world up there, white as far as the eye could see with a sprinkling of dark patches where the tops of the hedges and the copses showed through the snow. The hedges abreast the east wind were covered and we scrawled waist deep to the top and rolled down the other side. Fortunately. there was a rick of hay in the field and we put some out for the stock although they were very loath to leave the hedge in the hollow where they were sheltered from the wind. They appeared to be no worse for their night out in the snow and so we returned home as hungry as hunters having taken four and a half hours to do the round trip of three miles.

My wife met us at the door, “Jim’s up in the roof-space, it’s full of snow” and so it was. Barbara had called him over in my absence, thinking that there was a burst pipe up there but the water dripping through the ceilings upstairs was melting snow. The tiled roof had kept out no snow at all. The east wind had driven it swirling through the joints to fill every nook and cranny. The house is about fifty feet long and it took us some time to get out enough snow to say let’s stop and have dinner. Even as we worked in those cramped spaces the wind whipped through the tiles creating a miniature snowstorm out of each shovel full. From the roof space onto a polythene sheet on the landing, fr9m the sheet to the bath and from the bath out of the window. onto the concrete where it stayed for another twelve weeks. Timothy and Nicholas aged eight and six thought it all great fun and young Nick was very grieved because at six I did not consider him old enough to go into the roof without putting his feet through the ceiling. Timothy however was very useful in awkward corners.

On Monday, the following day, the local N.F.U. Secretary rang up to find out what conditions were like out here. I could only tell him about the farm because we had not yet been out but determined to make an effort the following day. Not that we were idle. We had 70 cattle indoors or in the yard requiring attention. The blaring of hungry or thirsty cattle must worry any stockman, it does me and the cattle soon let us know if they wanted more water or hay. Water had to be carried to the poultry, the pipes having frozen. All the time it seemed to be getting colder. We stacked the eggs in the dining room but this didn’t stop the shells bursting as they froze. We cleaned and sterilized the washing-up-trough in the dairy to put milk in. By now all our churns were full.

Behind the farm down a twisty track lies a farmstead. It had been a dairy house in the days when a man short of capital could “rent a dairy” at so much per cow per week or year, accumulating some capital by his skill and management. In more recent years it had been a keeper’s house when the estate owner let that part of the estate run wild to provide shooting. One Sunday morning the keeper took his dog into the woods to shoot it as it had become unfit for work. Having shot it he was found eventually dead beside the dog. .1 am not sure that I agree with landowners allowing land to run wild but people must be allowed to do what they wish with their own. This place had at one time in living memory produced crops of wheat and kept thirty cows but had gone back so far that it wasn’t even cultivated in the 39-45 War. The chap that lived there now was almost blind although he told us he could distinguish light from dark. He milked six or seven Guernsey cows by hand and had an arrangement with Jim who collected his milk every morning and brought it to the farm for the lorry. His oldest son was a District Officer in the Agricultural Advisory Service and had been staying with his father for the Christmas Break. Unable to go on the day arranged it was fortunate that he was at home over the worst of the weather. He and his wife would pull one or two churns of milk on a hand sledge to the farm as it was impossible to get to them on any other vehicle. He told me that on the Sunday morning he had found his father digging a path through the snow parallel to a wall instead of at right angles towards a door, having lost his sense of direction in the whiteness.

Tuesday brought a great event. We got out of the farm. We discovered that the bog below the farm next to Fred’s place, was hard enough to take a tractor, so loading up all the milk we had churns for including Ted’s, Jim and I set off with two tractors and trailer and by some spade work at the various places reached Fred’s in half an hour and loaded his milk. Once we were clear of Watley it was fairly plain sailing until we got to Nettlecombe. The hill up towards the village was like glass and although we had two tractors we could have done as much with a bicycle! However, after about an hour with much advice and very little help from the Council roadmen, a lot of digging in the bank for dirt to put on the road and a long tow by a good Samaritan we managed to do the one hundred yards up to the Marquis. The next stretch of road was dead straight, about four hundred yards long and had been full of snow to about 4ft 6ins. Apparently on the Sunday the local Blacksmith, his brother and sons made up a party and set about clearing a track through to the station. The track they made was over the snow in 2 ft deep ruts. I heard of one young farmer who was taking his milk to the station, saw the digging and said he would return with a shovel. He did return; but not until the job had been finished!

During the third week I received a ‘phone call from a regional paper requesting news of myself and anything else which may have been going on in the area. Helicopters were about by now and the paper had heard. I gave them what news I could and asked them to mention the blacksmith and his family for being so public spirited in clearing the road to the station. What they printed was an account of how Ted had driven his tractor into town over 20 ft high drifts. I am afraid this made me see red and the Assistant Editor got a load of my mind. I asked him if he realised that the ‘man who had driven his tractor over 20 ft drifts to town’ was blind and I asked him what had happened to the item I had asked him to print. I regret to say I got no satisfaction.

Going down the snow track with a tractor and trailer, the wheels of which were wider than those of the tractor was a bit difficult but we eventually made the station with our twelve churns of milk, only to find that there were five empty churns there and five people claiming them. After an hours wait another load came on the down train. This sort of thing was repeated day after day. Tractors coming and going and always some parked in the station yard with their engines running. The drivers stamped around the platform or huddled in the shelter of a wall. There were generally too many people to crowd into the tiny waiting room where there was a fire. What a waste of time and fuel. Why is it that when it comes to milk churns, farmers are tighter than ducks feathers. The factory was sending down churn for churn so that if everyone had done the same we should have all been happy, but no, old Black who managed a local estate sent a tractor and trailer to collect all the churns he could lay his hands on at the first sign of shortage thereby making it worse - and him a local preacher too! Another neighbour of mine saw the tractor passing and relieved the driver of some of his load, but it was a problem, and the only way to solve it was to wait for some more churns on the next train. By the time we had milked in the morning and had breakfast it was taking Alex until three in the afternoon to do the round journey of 3 miles. Towards the end of the period rationing of churns became much stricter and was carried out by the Station Master.

The stock on the hill seemed to be surviving alright.. On our last visit we took away the fence. around the rick and let them help themselves. They appeared to be quite happy eating snow and as it took too long to walk up to see them every day we only went every other day. On the same day at 3 p.m. we had another call from the N.F.U. Secretary “You’re still in are you?” said he hopefully. I replied that we had got out that morning and he seemed disappointed. “The BBC will be ringing you up in a moment” he. said “I just called to warn you. They want to do a programme for ‘Tonight’.”

Although we’d had TV since I’d installed a generator two years earlier I couldn’t recall hearing of ‘Tonight’ I said “Oh!” vaguely and he said, “I’ll ring off now so that you’ll get that call.” I said to Barbara, “The BBC want to come here to make a programme. How are they going to get here?” “I don’t know. Fly I

I went round and told Jim who said,
“They’d just as well come here as anywhere else I suppose.”
The following day was overcast, the air full of frozen rain driven by a bitter east wind. The BBC voice rang up and said they were leaving for their visit to us. A while later the voice rang again and said they didn’t think they could make it and would try on the morrow. Timothy and Nicholas were most disappointed as you may imagine. On Thursday morning another phone call.
“This is the pilot, is that Mr. Poole?”
“Yes.”
“We are leaving immediately, can you give me a reference?”
“No, I have’nt a grid map.”
“Where’s the nearest railway station, we’ll start from there?”
I described our position in relation to the railway. He said, “Right, I’ve got it and we’ll see you in about an hour.”
He rang off. This was 11 a.m. but it wasn’t until three p.m. that we heard the helicopter in the distance. Apparently they had run into bad weather on the coast, using a lot of fuel against the weather, and had returned for more. Now they had followed the railway from the county town and we could hardly see them as they swept out of the cutting against a background of trees and snow. We mustered as many people as possible as per instructions and waved like hell. They spotted us, made a sharp left turn and were with us in a jiffy, circling the farmstead, taking pictures and looking for somewhere to land. Everyone was getting excited but the down draught of the propeller blades whipped up the snow as they landed in the cabbage patch and this dampened people’s ardour somewhat, and we kept back. A man jumped out.
“Mr. Poole? . . . Just walk towards me.”
I walked towards him with my arm outstretched. He turned from me towards the. machine.
“How’s that Lofty? Yes, alright.” He faced me again.
“Mr. Poole, just go back and come towards me again will you?
I looked at him open mouthed, thinking one of us must be affected by the snow.
He caught the look in my face.
“It’s for the camera,” he said
“Oh” I said, “I see” I thought it was me for a minute. When the camera was satisfied the pilot said they could’nt park on the cabbages - not that you could see any -because of the slope and where could they move to?

It’s difficult on a hillside to find a flat space which is more than ten yards square and in a convenient position. The mechanic and I walked around and he chose a piece of ground up the road a little way. The helicopter took off again and everyone dashed up the road between the drifts to see it come down again. As it landed we went through the whole performance of greeting the BBC again, twice in fact before they were satisfied. Half a sack of potatoes was loaded onto the. boys’ sledge together with a box of groceries and they set off for home thrilled to bits with the camera on them. It was fast getting dark and Lofty, the cameraman went off to take advantage of the remaining daylight whilst the rest of the party made for the house and a cup of tea.

Roger, an ex-pupil of mine and then at Seale Hayne agricultural college lived in the village and walked up most days to help out. I had asked him to bring up a bottle of whisky from the ‘Shoes’ to help entertain our guests. The two pilots and mechanic helped to prepare the vegetables for the evening meal and at eight o’clock we all sat down to a very fine meal that Barbara had spent some three hours on. Mac carved and I had managed to find four bottles of beer left over from Christmas. It happened to be my birthday so it was quite a surprise party; guests who had literally dropped in on us for the evening! And a good crowd they were too. Mac had his son with him, on holiday from school. A tall gangling lad with a shocking cold, he tended to leave a trail of paper handkerchiefs behind him.

After the meal, when the airmen had washed up the dinner things Mac started to organise his story. He got the whole party except the cameraman lying on the floor as if sleeping. Barbara remonstrated with him, especially when they refused cushions for pillows and used their travelling holdalls instead.

“But what will the neighbours think?”
We all laughed. Mac called for silence, and sat on his “bed”. I clicked the clapper board (great honour this!) and the camera rolled.

“We have” Said Mac, “called on Mr. and Mrs. Poole at their farm on the side of Edgeerton Hill, (I’d told him it was Eggardon).” Because of worsening weather we have been unable to leave. We made three attempts to reach here and now that we have made it the rotors have iced up and we are unable to get away. When we arrived this morning the snow was piled up against the side of the house and Mr. and Mrs. Poole have had to dig themselves out”. (In fact, up here in the wind this was not strictly true as the camera must have shown in shots taken circling the house.) “Now” he continued “with a raging 70 m.p.h. blizzard raging outside we have settled down on the kitchen floor of the farmhouse (outside it was a perfect winter’s night with a clear sky and bright moon but a strong bitterly cold east wind.) Good night to you all.”

The camera stopped whirring, the tape recorder was switched off and they all got up from their “beds”, put the furniture back in position and settled down to an evening of gambling on horses, a game we had had given to us at Christmas.

Jim came over with his wife and brother who was stranded there. He brought some drink with him as had Mac so altogether we had a good stock and a merry evening was spent by all. Lofty the cameraman won three and six which he gave to the boys. They liked him and called him ‘uncle’ - still do, we had a card from him from Egypt the other day complaining of the heat! - and they were thrilled with the money. Before we turned in I took Mac around the sheds on my nightly visit to ensure that all was well. There is an atmosphere in a warm cowshed at night with its sweet smell of hay and a chorus of munching and grunting. An earthy one perhaps, especially if you don’t look where you are walking! Mac told me he always took the opportunity to visit cattle at night when staying on farms. He was an. author and had that type of mind.

Lofty, Mac and his son were to sleep in the spare room. On the landing a long line of calf buckets, basins and chamber pots stood on a polythene sheet catching drips of water from the snow we had been unable to get at when we emptied the roof space. Barbara’s last words to them were “if you want one of those things I am afraid you’ll have to fetch one from the landing.” A few hours after they left us the following day, the bedroom ceiling, soaked with snow, collapsed on the bed that Mac had been sleeping in.

It was a wonderful day for filming and Lofty was out with his camera before we were through with milking and took several shots in the cowshed. He took a shot of Mac digging out the buried Land Rover during the morning. At least Mac posed with the spade whilst the camera swept across the snow and found him “digging”. I was interviewed out of doors standing on a snow drift but Barbara said her little piece in the kitchen holding a Wagtail which had come in out of the cold and perched on the edge of the butter dish, some of which it ate. Mac said this was amazing as it was insectivorous. Lofty said could we get a tractor stuck for him to photograph. Not too much, just for the camera. Jim drove into a drift for him and I’m damned if we didn’t have to tow him out after Lofty had finished. Mac wanted a shot of a buried sheep being dug out. Jim had a flock of sheep but no buried ones at that time although he had had to dig some out in the fall before Christmas. They set off with their tackle on the back of the tractor and filmed the sheep as it emerged from a shallow man-made hole. Anyone with any sense could have seen that there was something odd about the shot when it was shown but news of this caper reached the village and one retired person living there vowed he would never look at “Tonight “ again. To the best of my knowledge he never has. I think that this sort of faking is excusable. After all, life as it is very humdrum and ordinary. These people were out in conditions far away from their usual round and were charged with producing a story which was both true - if stretched - and entertaining to be shown to an audience of some six million people. Anything they did in the way of window dressing was obviously part of the trade. I spoke to one of the pilots about it and he said that having been on many news trips with newspaper reporters he found that generally when an item made news it made better news if dressed up a little.

About 11.30 a.m. the mechanic and one of the pilots started the helicopter engine. The sun had become quite hot. As the giant rotors went round slivers of ice were slung into the air like stones from a boys sling. The engine was warmed up and an hour later they were all inside and circling the farm, waving good-bye through he open door. I had asked if they could drop me off at the outlying stock but they were very well laden and unable to do so. We were lleft on the snow wondering what had hit us over the last 24 hours and there was a vague feeling of emptiness. This did not last long, stock had to be tended and it was more than a full time job.

On the following Monday on one of my visits to the outlying stock I found that part of the bale rick had fallen, knocking over a younger animal. It was unable to get up and had been obviously walked over by the others. It was quite warm and did not appear to have been there long. I built a wall of bales around it to keep out the bitter wind and hurried home to ring the vet. Could anything be done or should I go back to the hill and shoot it? He got in touch with the R.S.P.C.A. who arranged for a helicopter to pick him up so that he could give the animal a tranquilliser, collect it in a net and bring it home. Whilst it was not a very far journey by air my friend my friend the vet did not recognise the countryside under its coat of snow at the speed they were travelling and they almost dumped the heifer out at a farm the other side of the hill before he managed to stop the pilot and redirect him. I should like to have seen the farmer’s face on almost being presented with a heifer “out of the blue.” We had heard the machine about and were waiting with the tractor. Once we had got the animal but of the net they were away again and we hauled the animal into a shed covered it up and fed and watered. it. It had a nasty gash on one of its knees and despite the attention from ourselves and the vet who walked considerable distances on several visits, although it was eating and drinking well it had lost any desire to stand. We hauled it up with a gadget loaned to us by the vet for short periods, but it was of no avail. It refused to take any weight on its own feet. After a month of nursing - - one extra job to be done - it had to be shot and went to the Hunt Kennels.

The R.S.P.C.A. did wonderful work during this period especially farther to the west on Dartmoor. In many cases as in our own the cost was far beyond the value of the animal rescued even if it had lived. The actual work was carried out in this area by Service Machines of the Royal Navy. Some one had seen that particular machine leave its base and sure enough, just after they had left here we had a ‘phone call from a newspaper asking about it. The next day at the request of the vet I got in touch with the Editor to ask him not to publish the name of the vet as “it would not do.” I cannot see why because I thought he deserved a mention for services at that time. Shortly after this incident old Ted had some seven helicopter drops to keep his stock fed and this little corner of the Parish became quite notorious. My first ‘phone call from the BBC had been taped and was put out on the seven o’clock news. The fact that I had refused poultry food from a neighbour and had had two helicopters to the farm plus an army convoy (which got stuck in the bog and had to be unloaded onto tractors) caused some local comment, not altogether complimentary!! Although we were only 1 2~ miles from the village the difference in the snow fall and the prevailing temperature was considerable. It is said to be two overcoats colder up here than in the village at any time and I should think that six was nearer the mark just then. People from the village had no cause to come this way and would not believe that the snow was so bad until they had seen it on the television. Even then some were sceptical.

Ted’s son had to return to work before the end of January. It was still impossible to reach their place by any vehicle, so I decided to do something about it. I contacted the District Officer of N.A.A.S. who came out here in a Land Rover accompanied by a Contractor whose bulldozers were doing a lot of snow clearance. He agreed that Ted’s situation was impossible especially as Ted’s wife was not too well. The Contractor was slowly getting around clearing the local roads but had not reached our lane. He agreed to hurry things up so that the bulldozer could clear the road to Ted’s place but who paid for it I never did hear. About this time the outrider from the grocer’s who had not been here since before Christmas walked the half mile from Watley across the fields. In the bitter east wind he was virtually in a state of collapse when he reached us and I don’t think he could have done another hundred yards.

This weather certainly brought out the extremes in people both good and bad - I have already spoken about the milk churn situation. Other farmers would not let people drive across their fields even although it was the only way out, and the damage caused would have been negligible. Some thought they were on to a good thing; I heard of people claiming excess damages caused by bulldozers whilst clearing snow.

During March when most of the roads were clear a person living in the village decided he could use the road down through the farm off the hill. He couldn’t, and it took from 11 a.m. to 3.30 p.m. the next morning to get him out, with a breakdown tender and winch. They uprooted one or two bushes with the winch and I have called that part of the farm Bernard’s Folly ever since. He has taken it in very good part and we often laugh about it.

Ted had a load of hay dropped at Watley on a piece of ground outside a private house. The occupier complained bitterly to the merchant about covering up her grass although there hadn’t been any grass in sight for some time. Jim hauled it in the Land Rover from there.

After a month of these Arctic conditions we got into a routine and supplies were getting easier even if we did have to haul most feed stuffs considerable distances on tractors. I had a box made in the village to fit on the back of the tractor. This made a far superior form of transport compared to the tractor and trailer, it added grip to the back wheels, it even lifted the front off the ground if overloaded or going uphill, but there was very little time wasted in skidding about. The roads away from the village to the town were improving with use and we could leave milk at the station, make a trip for foodstuffs and collect churns after dinner. It was thirtyfive days before the milk lorry was able to reach the village and for the next month we hauled all the milk there instead of the station. This was a considerable improvement as it meant we were sure of empty churns. During one of these trips Jim and I were waiting for the milk lorry when Miss Marchant came along “Over it now”, says she. “Yes”, says we. As she went on her way Jim turned to me and said “I don’t know if we shall ever get over it” and subsequent events have shown that everybody didn’t. He told me the other day that he was giving up and has since done so.

Since that time the Milk Marketing Board have produced plastic containers for use in emergency but I understand that they are for users of bulk storage only so it looks as if we shall have another churn fight should we get another fall of snow like that one. But things should not be so bad; the County Council have brought snow ploughs, which they have put in strategic positions throughout the county in the hope of keeping things going in a similar emergency. The snow clearing cost the local authority about £3,000,000 according to the local press but the total cost will always be beyond reckoning.

We had started the winter with over a hundred head of cattle here. The cold got into two of the older cows and they had to be scrapped. The knacker lorry was unable to reach us and we had to drive the creatures down to Watley. We tied one to. Fred’s gatepost but the lorry couldn’t get out of the village and Fred eventually untied it and it came home again for another fortnight. Mastitis took its toll too; our supply of antibiotics ran out and this caused some damage before we were able to replenish our stock. This was partly due to the dirty conditions in the cattle yard, which was very difficult to keep clean. Dung built up to a height of. seven or eight feet and kept on slipping down the slope so that it was difficult to keep all the milking cows clean. Due to the cold weather the cows did not come in season, in fact some of them never did breed again. A Milk Marketing Board Vet told me this was quite common after such severe conditions.

It didn’t feel any warmer in London and I remember keeping my overcoat on the whole of the time with the exception of going to bed! Harold Woolley as he then was, paid tribute to the farmers’ wives who stayed at home to allow their men-folk time off to get to the A.G.M. I remember thinking “You don’t know how right you are.”

The cold weather dragged on and on despite everyone’s forecast of an early Spring. The stock on the hill had been brought down after fourteen days but the hay was still there. I hired a lorry and walked up the hill to meet it at the rick. We brought a load home. I had done a round trip of nineteen miles to do what could have been done in four without the snow. There was half a load of snow in the lane on May the fifth. We did manage to get some twenty acres of barley in during April on top of the hill but it was the first week in May before we were able to put early potatoes in the garden and they were in ten weeks before showing any sign of growth. I think we might have got out about the same amount as we had put in, the land was cold and wet with the thaw. Despite the application of nitrogen there was no grass until mid June either for grazing or hay. Not that it mattered for although the weather warmed up somewhat it rained and rained and rained with the result that two thirds of our hay crop was of extremely poor quality, a lot of it fusty. This of course showed up the following year in milk yields that were down 1 50 gallons per cow and a bank balance just as gloomy. I had in twelve months starting with the snow lost nearly half my capital. The only way to cut costs was to get rid of Alex who quite understood although he was sorry to leave. I sold all my young stock to keep the cow numbers up, bought a milking bale and stopped rearing calves. My Landlord sold the land we had always grown barley on and that helped towards straightening things out. It didn’t matter much I felt, the last piece of barley planted after the snow looked full of promise but the University Costings Department told me that it lost £ 13.1 0.Od per acre. Having read this, you will see why I do not want another lot of snow like that and why I have called this epistle The Long Winter.

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Author’s note:

I fully realise that other people, both farmers and townsfolk, suffered more or less through that bad winter. I am not claiming that we were more badly hit than others but have just told the story of that winter and how it affected us in particular.