New Mown Grass

Early June, and the unforgettable smell of freshly mown hay. Like most things around this time, the mower had been converted from being horse drawn to tractor drawn with a seat on the back. It was monotonous going round and round the field with the constant chatter of the blade, but the smell of the grass and the fine summer sunshine made it all worth while. After a couple of days in the sun the grass was turned before contractors came in to collect the grass for further drying and baling prior to returning it back to the farm all neatly packaged in sweet smelling bales. As kids we used to make 'tunnels' in the standing grass, which was always guaranteed to make Henry 'Bugger Bugger' as he had to constantly stop to clear the blocked blade. The wooden five bar gate was a handy workbench on which to lay the cutting knives, as these needed sharpening every hour or so.

Later in the mid fifties, came the advent of silage. The first attempt involved the utilisation of a big hole in the ground which was filled with wet grass. On top of this were emptied numerous tins of sweet molasses, the resulting gungy pudding was covered with a tarpaulin and left to ferment until after Christmas. The result was a stinking pile of unmentionable stench, and thus Mr Harpers aspirations as a major silage producer came to an abrupt end, not to be re-incarnated until many years later when others had perfected the new fangled idea. Eventually silage made a comeback in the first bay of the Dutch Barn. After cutting the grass, it was collected on buckrakes and dumped in the barn driving backwards up the stack. This became a bit precarious as the stack rose up to around ten feet, but the little grey tractors managed somehow to keep their balance despite the fact that we were driving most of the time with the front wheels off the deck due to the weight on the back. Steering wheels were useless so we had to steer some of the time using the tractors independent brakes (no Health and Safety in those days – marvellous fun!) Eventually the heap was completed, sheeted over with old tyres for weight and left to ferment. The foul smelling black liquid that got squashed out, ran in streams to collect in any hollow of wheel rut it could find. Being highly toxic, I believe it is now forbidden to produce silage in this manner now, as many rivers sported a carpet of dead fish killed by this pollution reaching the water courses.

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