Tractors For Sale
Please see website for pictures:
eves: 01799 584626 • daytime: 07831 158848 or 07766107610
COUNTY 1454 4WD TRACTOR, good original condition, runs & drives well, 6900 hours
DOE TRIPLE D KIT c/w original serial numbers, please call for more info
MASSEY FERGUSON 590 2WD, std gearbox, good working condition, ideal export
IHCTD18 CRAWLER, petrol/diesel engine, restored years ago, in vgc
CLAAS DOMINATOR 96, c/w chopper, 15ft cut with trolley, 2000hrs, very tidy
MASSEY FERGUSON 128 CONVENTIONAL BALER, wide pick up,superb condition
MASSEY FERGUSON 175 2WD, std gearbox, good straight order, ideal export
KUBOTA B5100 2WD DIESEL, good clean original condition
CATERPILLAR D4 WARTIME CRAWLER c/w hyd blade, ver
Richard Pocock, Manor Farm, Berwick St John, Shaftsbury, Dorset SP7 OEX Tel: 01747 828272 • Fax: 01747 828964 Email: rjbpocock@btinternet.com
COURIER SERVICE • CREDIT CARDS ACCEPTED
Callers by appointment only (8.30am-8.00pm) due to farming commitments
Polly Pullar
Words 8 Pictures Polly Pullar
Often city dwellers are under the illusion that rural life is dull, which frankly makes us all laugh. I told you just a few of the canine capers that dominate village lives when our bitches are on heat. The last episode excelled all previous ones and as usual there were the skulking hopefuls lying about the bushes in wait, wagging their tails or growling depending on their particular slant on romantic approach. I returned home one day to find collie Will (still dressed in his black leather jacket) hupping his leg up on the back door while loitering in hope. I roared rudely at him. He fled
Polly Pullar bemoans the recent spate of weather that has been as erratic and moody as a teenager with a surge of hormones and has stopped her taking to the hills to visit two tractor buffs.
down the drive with his tail clamped between his legs, growling as he went. I then proceeded to my study and as it was such a gorgeous hot day opened the window wide.
Flooding
Extraordinarily, we had had more inches of rain in 24 hours the previous day than we usually get in a whole month, and the burns were in full spate with flooding everywhere. I was just sitting down at the computer when a terrible shrill screaming started up, followed by howls of terror like a scene from the Hound of the Baskervilles. I thought it was a couple of the local dogs having a run-in, but when it continued and became even more frantic, feared a dog was perhaps hanging in a fence. I shot downstairs, donned my wellies and sped off down the drive with a spurt that quickly gave me a stitch in my side. The noise was getting worse and it appeared to be coming from near the burn.
And there surrounded by a growing group of worried onlookers was Will. He had attempted to cross the burn across the ford instead of over the bridge and had literally been swept down, but by sheer luck was snagged up on a huge branch washed down in the flood. The burn resembled a mini Victoria Falls and the poor beast was clinging on for grim death yowling pathetically.
Any thoughts of heroics were quickly dispelled and the neighbours had sensibly phoned the fire brigade. More people arrived and still the dog howled, falling lower and lower in the water with great gushes coming over his head. He looked
truly pathetic. Though Will is dark and handsome, he bites, and he and I have had our moments, but I felt so sorry for him and believed that at any moment he would tragically be washed away down the Tay never to be seen again.
The wait seemed eternal. Lycra-clad cyclists appeared, propped their bikes up against a tree and took pictures with beeping mobile phones before cycling off again. The postie sped past, some walkers appeared and asked a lot of inane questions, and then one of the local children appeared and stoically announced he was going in to rescue the poor dog. So I had to explain that if he did we would never see him again either.
I was just going to run home to fetch a rope to anchor someone to a tree when finally the fire brigade arrived. I mentioned Will's skills with his teeth. They were a bit concerned especially as Will had no collar and there was little to get hold of. Eventually ropes were secured across the burn and ladders placed below the dog and finally one of the men (with, he admitted later, more trepidation than usual due to those teeth) bravely ventured across the burn.
However, this caused Will to sink even lower on his branch and wobble so wildly that everyone shrieked. A dog on the bank was also howling its head off adding to the general bedlam and I wished its owner would remove it from the scene, as it was no help. Will's owner had appeared from the farm and was standing beside me wringing her hands looking terribly worried, The fireman made a grab for the sodden, miserable Will who was far too weak to think of biting. Once on the bank, the shivering randy wanderer gave himself an almighty shake, and within seconds raced away back to the farm amid cheers and clapping. His owner turned to me and said: "Well, Polly maybe that will cool his ardour." But it didn't and two days later there was the black face leering through the back door again. Amazing how hormones get us all into so much trouble!
Brick built
Our hens have a large brick-built house, previously a boar pen when the place was a piggery. This is a most luxurious fowl palace. The four new hens we bought in the spring have been our best ever and have religiously provided us with four eggs a day. We wanted to give their large run a rest and thought that if we could find a small moveable hen house to place on the vegetable patch this would be a great place for them for the winter. We had a tip-off about a house lying in nettles and heard the owner wanted to sell. We took the trailer and set sail on our house-hunting mission. Though it was more of a bed-sitter than the spacious accommodation the birds are used to, lomhair did a survey and deemed it fit for use and we struck a deal returning home cock-a-hoop with our purchase.
The wee housie was duly tarted up: scrubbed, painted and the roof felted, and the hens were soon clucking and chortling with glee in the vegetable patch. Spinach and brock tatties added to the brilliant orange of their eggs' yolks and all was very serene. That was until the snow came.
Meanwhile other neighbours had taken delivery of a rescue goat from the SSPCA. She had arrived in style with two inspectors, both who are longstanding friends of mine. Once the goat had been installed next door, the men came round for tea and I mentioned to one who is a brilliant musician that I am trying to teach myself the penny whistle. The tea party turned into a superb musical session with the inspector playing a selection of whistles with great flair while we sang and beat time on the mugs with a spoon. Life is never dull and they left in fine spirits and renewed my enthusiasm to persevere with the whistle despite lomhair's grimaces.
Camserney has its own weather recorder so all we have to do is go online and see what he is predicting - The Wonderful World of Aberfeldy Weather is surprisingly accurate and it's great to know exactly what the temperature and rainfall has been or is likely to be.
Snow came in abundance providing me with some amazing photo opportunities. Then temperatures plummeted to sub-zero and even far below, reaching minus 17. The hens had no desire to leave their house as their feet got too cold and as it was cramped I had to move them back to the big one. I struggled to get hold of one under each arm and staggered back to the big shed through snow that was right up almost to the top of my wellies. The dogs were bouncing around and not helping as I kept tripping over them. Try opening a frozen gate catch with a hen under each arm. I messed about for ages and was just about to set one of the birds on the ground when there was a plop and there was an egg lying in the snow. I must have been squeezing too hard!
Mayhem
Like last winter, more snow came and mayhem set in and the gutters could not cope with the horrendous road conditions, fuel tankers could not get to most places and they ran out of fuel, and no one could get out or in and the shops ran out of almost all the staples. Z)
friend who missed nothing and once noted we had had visitations from this unwelcome service. "Aye," he said, "it's only them that has them that loses them." I am still pondering on this philosophy. The dreaded visit was booked for the next day but the drive was now a sheet of ice and snow and almost totally impassable.
Meanwhile, being a keen member of the Aberfeldy Drama Club, I had been roped into helping with the annual pantomime. On the opening night, the brilliant dame had taken a little too much liquid courage and missed several important entrances altogether, much to the horror of Aladdin, Abanazer and the genie. It did not matter how much they rubbed the pesky lamp, still it did not bring the dame on stage and there had been a great deal of ad libbing as a result. I had agreed to chaperone him/her (if you know what I mean) to ensure entrances at the right moment.
Halloween with Ruby
I am a great fan of impromptu parties. We have had several in our big shed surrounded by animals. Halloween was no exception when we quickly arranged a small do.
Last summer we were brought a two-week-old red deer hind calf near to death. She was covered in sheep ticks that had caused severe paralysis. She made an unbelievable recovery and Ruby has become very much a part of the family and is a great character. We had the party in her pen and having been fed her bottle by a witch she seemed totally unperturbed while surrounded by six others as well as two devils, some ghouls and a pumpkin aged three. In fact she thoroughly relished all the
One of our little pygmy goats took ill and our intrepid Irish vet appeared; however, despite copious ministrations and a large bill, we finally had to sadly send for the knacker man. I was reminded of the wisdom of an elderly farmer
attention while the adult members of the party took advantage of the Halloween cheer leaving in very buoyant mood.
Due to this, we had been late to bed and overslept, to be woken by the phone. The poor knacker man was stuck in the drive. Well you never saw two people get out of bed so quick in your life. Daisy's departure was also swift, but painless, and just one of these horrible things you have to face when you have animals. The lorry's departure was less swift and lomhair had to guide the driver out. It was not until evening that a friend pointed out to me that I had my jumper on back to front.
Next day dawned spectacularly. Donned in enough clothing for Arctic explorations, we set forth to take advantage of the stunning photographic opportunities. Rather than risking our necks on the lethal roads further afield, we spent time walking round the locality and experienced the landscape at its winter best; hoarfrost on all the trees and smoke on the water as the mist rose in luring tendrils over the Tay and the sun set the scene sparkling with a million diamonds.
Next day the fuel tanker driver took one look at our road and passed us by; but my kind neighbour Margaret tipped me off and I ran as fast as the treacherous road would allow and collared him as he was topping up someone else in the village. He rather reluctantly agreed to give it a try if we could grit the bridge and the steep bit. Neighbourhood Watch is a great thing and soon there were three mad women - two redheaded and one almost 80 - running about frantically with wheelbarrows up and down the drive gritting madly. There was much clapping when finally he made it near enough to fuel the tank. Now the media is predicting more weather-induced Armaggedon, we will hopefully have enough oil to stop the pipes freezing. Country life dull? I do not think so. I am heading to lie flat in a darkened room. ■
D/MD SZOW cm SPARES
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