Bronte Country by Peggy Hewitt

Author:Peggy Hewitt [Peggy Hewitt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780750954259
Publisher: The History Press
Published: 2013-08-29T16:00:00+00:00

Arthur Smith in the garden of his cottage at Lower Marsh. Five minutes’ walk away is Hanging Gate Farm where he grew up.

Haytime at Hanging Gate always started on Arthur’s birthday, 17 June, ‘an’ it were an exciting time for us kids’. The wooden hayrakes were put to swell in the water-butts to prevent the teeth dropping out, and the mowing machine – on hire from t’Free Schooil Farm down the road – would arrive drawn by two horses, Paddy and Duke. The first day was a lark, with the machine doing all the work, but after that the real business started. ‘Rahnd an’ rahnd an’ rahnd we went – tossing it and turning it for t’wind to blow through reet nicely. Hay took some makin’ in them days.’ It was raked into turnings, then ricklings, then tossed again, and there was no slacking for Arthur and his brother. They had to keep up with the men, ‘otherwise Uncle George used to be tapping us ’eels with his rake’. Finally it was ready for ‘leeading’ (this was before the days of balers), by which time it was prickly stuff, and the result was sore arms. It was tossed into the barn loose, shaken out, then it was ‘rahnd an’ rahnd an’ rahnd again, treading it down so that in winter it could be cut with a long hay knife for “fothering”. Any hay not properly trod used to “bounce abaht” when cut, and any that was below par would be put aside as “bull hay”’ – only the best was good enough for the precious milk cattle.

Life at Hanging Gate wasn’t easy, especially in the early days. Arthur’s father’s first purchase was two Irish heifers from Skipton market for about £9 each, but one died within a week. Soon afterwards he bought 350 Irish pullets, ‘all Irish’, who were joined every morning at feeding time by some peacocks who lived nearby, but they, too, started dying and his father had to take barrowloads of dead hens to the Old Oxenhope Mill boiler house to get rid of them.

Gradually the farm pulled itself up by its bootstrings, ‘but we allus had plenty to eat – milk and eggs and butter, sad cakes and suet cakes, and in winter time, wi’ big fat legs and short breeches, we were reight sore. T’first thing you smelt when you went into Oxenhope classroom was Fullers Earth Cream. We were allus doing summat, laiking didn’t come into it, haymaking, muckspreading, drystone-walling, egg collecting, an’ of course milking. In haymaking time we’d finish in t’fields at eleven o’clock at neet and then start milking, ready to tak’ it i’ great churns to Oxenhope Station first thing next morning. Sometimes we’d go on to John Willie Ratcliffe’s joiner’s shop and help him boil pitch for his coffins – we were allus throng as Throp’s wife.’

Arthur’s father was also careful with his candles. In wintertime he’d cut a candle into two unequal pieces and milk eleven cows in the mistle with the larger piece and four cows in the stable with the smaller piece.

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