The Greatest Show on Earth?

 What you should know:

1. The Black Face Sheep Sale is a big deal. 
2. It should have been this weekend.
3. It still is. Kinda. 

One of the things I've noticed - especially since I moved to the Spittal and started getting to know more folk involved in farming - is the difference in my Facebook feed. Now, not a day goes by without a sponsored post about a big piece of farm machinery (that I have no interest in) or someone showing off pictures of livestock (that I have no knowledge of). If it wasn't for the occasional advert for niche stationery or the cute dog and cat videos, I'd think that the algorithms were way off. 

I had a vague notion that Something was Happening in black face sheep circles and had it confirmed by a friend the other night. Thanks to Ann Ferguson, I now know that:

• it's the biggest event in the sheep calendar
• it's usually a grand day out for the whole family and
• this year, due to covid restrictions, it's happening in Ayr (instead of nearby Newton Stewart) with only buyers and sellers allowed to attend.

I went to the market at Newton Stewart once when Ivie was selling cattle. We hadn't been together long and I was partly intrigued and partly trying to show willing to make up for my lack of knowledge. 

He walked me in and sat me down towards the back of the ring where I couldn't get in the way. It's a traditional hexagonal building (which is listed, apparently) and once you're inside there's a strange mix of hustle and hush as the sale takes place. 

Newton Stewart Market
Photo by Ros
(The eagle-eyed amongst you might even spot Ivie)

I stuck out like a sore thumb. I wasn't wearing wellies or a boilersuit, I wasn't carrying a crook and I wasn't related to anyone else in the room. I was also slightly wide-eyed as I was terrified of twitching or scratching my nose and going home with more beasts than we'd come with. 

I was aware of a slight flicker of, "who's that with Ivie Fisher?" but then everyone returned to what was happening in the ring. 

It was like the most tightly run circus where everyone had very distinct roles. The auctioneer was clearly the ringmaster and he ruled the roost with an iron gavel. 

I was captivated by the chap in the ring whose only job was to keep the livestock moving so that all the buyers could see; another man was responsible for opening and shutting the same gate all day; a young guy beside the auctioneer took a note of who bought what and passed slips of paper to the women in the office who updated the passports and buying records. 

Longtown Market
Photo by C&D Auction Marts Ltd.

Then it got confusing. I spent ages trying to work out who was bidding and who was winning each lot. I missed it every bloody time. It was like that Three Cup Trick where you have to keep track of which cup has the coin underneath it. 

Dumfries Market
Photo by C&D Auction Marts Ltd.

Ivie sold his cows, relatively happy with how the sale had gone. I'd been promised lunch at the hotel across the road so was getting ready to go (while not twitching or scratching my nose). I noticed Ivie shaking hands with a few men at the edge of the ring. 

He was giving all his buyers a 'luck penny'. Like so many things I've asked about over the last few years, he's never really thought about the whys and wherefores; it's just the done thing. So, as well as getting the cow or sheep or whatever in exchange for what they bid by winking or raising an eyebrow, the buyers also get something back. Depending on the type of animal and its value, it might be a few pounds or a short-term insurance policy. It's a way of saying 'thank you' to a buyer and hopefully means they'll look out for your animals at market again. 

I've just looked up the practice on a farming forum and there seem to be mixed feelings about it. There are those that treat it as a genuine tradition that they'd be sad to lose while in other areas, it's been distorted over the years and become something of a small bribe. I should know better than to look up farming forums. That's my Facebook algorithms buggered for another six months.

A note about the photos:

1. Thanks to a call-out on Facebook, C&D Auction Marts Ltd. kindly gave permission for photos of Dumfries and Longtown Markets to be shared. Please note that both these photos were taken before covid restrictions came into place. (I know they're different markets but for people who've never been it gives a good idea of what it's like.)
2. Thanks also to Ros Francis for the photo of Newton Stewart market. (Who knew she'd be the friend who had such a thing?!) 

Julius Cowser

Things I learned:

1. I wasn't as squeamish as I thought I might be. 
2. A hamster (that well known farm animal) weighs about the same as a packet of crisps. 

We had a bit of excitement here at the Spittal last week. I say 'we'; it was probably only me that found it exciting. Everyone else undoubtedly found it expensive and lengthy. 

Last Monday evening, Ivie mentioned that he was going to check a cow and calf that were up in the pens. The calf had been born the day before and hadn't quite got the hang of sooking. Ivie wanted to make sure it was up on its feet and getting enough milk so that it could go out into the field the next day. 

Obviously, I take any opportunity to don my boiler suit and nosey at a baby animal (it'll wear off, I'm sure). Five minutes later, Ivie's brother, sister-in-law and nephew arrived down with a cow that was in calf. I was instructed to stand well back as they brought it into the crush for closer inspection. 

Apparently, the cow was 'in the notion' of calving but nothing had happened yet. I've heard this phrase bandied around from time to time and, from what I can make out, when a cow is near to calving she starts wandering around a bit more and taking herself away from other cows. This one was a heifer (which you'll remember from a previous blog means that this is her first calf, not that she's grossly overweight) so Ivie's brother thought she might need a bit of a hand. Up to the elbow.

After a bit of grappling, two big hooves appeared. I was looking forward to seeing my first calving so got into a good viewing spot. The big hooves disappeared back in. Time to phone the vet apparently. 

View from the Spittal
(cos I didn't have my phone when the vet was here)

It was starting to get dark so headtorches were fetched while we waited for the vet to arrive, as were buckets of hot water (I thought that was only on TV but evidently not). The vet arrived and informed us that her previous patient, a hamster, was 29g. A bit of a contrast then. 

It wasn't quite what I was expecting for a few reasons:

• The cow remained standing for the duration and didn't appear to be in any distress. 
• It was a hugely physical job with Ivie and his brother both called in to help lift the calf out at the right moment. 
• The cow should be able to have more calves in the future. Yay! 

Ivie's brother was instructed to hold the wound shut while the vet stitched it up and Ivie had the job of making sure the calf didn't die was ok. (Obviously, I stood with my hands in my pockets, resolutely not volunteering for anything responsible.)

The massive calf lay lifeless with his tongue hanging out for a few moments then began to rasp and wheeze. He was too heavy for Ivie to swing about like he might a newborn lamb so he lifted its body and offered, ahem, 'gentle encouragement' (and £1.50 for the swear jar).

Julius (as I'd now named him) coughed a few times and lifted his head. Then he started trying to get to his feet. Hail Caesar! 

Julius on walkabout the next morning

How many ewes can a top tup tup?

 Things I have learned:

1. It doesn't take long.
2. The ewes probably prefer it that way. 

This week has been a bit of an eye opener, if I'm honest. Ivie was watching This Farming Life the other night (because, obviously, when he's not farming he's thinking about farming or watching other people farming). There was a segment all about tupping. 

[There's something quite pleasing about a noun that's also a verb. For example, a tup tups. And I'm told that a bull bulls. It doesn't work for all animals, though. An elephant doesn't elephant. But I digress...]

So, anyway I watched in slight horror as the tup on TV was let loose in a field of ewes and proceeded to do the deed. Or tup. Now, obviously I didn't expect him to take each ewe out to dinner, send her a bunch of roses and send flirtatious texts before getting to know her better but I did expect each 'interaction' to last longer than a couple of seconds. 

Form an orderly queue, ladies

One thing I did know about before this year was the rather fetching harness a tup wears during tupping season. (Think lederhosen from the Sound of Music crossed with the Village People). I was pretty confused the first time Ivie told me he was off to change the crayon.

For the uninitiated, a tup wears a harness when he's tupping. It has a coloured crayon attached to the front that marks a ewe's rear end when it's been on a date. It serves two purposes: firstly, it lets Ivie see how many are still left to 'do'; and secondly it lets him see when the lambs will be due, as each batch will have a different colour. 

Closer to lambing time, the ewes are scanned and get another colour sprayed on them, depending on how many lambs they're carrying. It makes the lambing shed full of coats of many colours and now I'm wondering what happens if you're a colour blind farmer... 

I was curious about how many ewes a tup can tup. Let's do the maths:

Number of ewes	220
Number of tups	7
Ewes per tup	30+

Jim Smith puts it better than I ever could....

You take the high road

 Things I know:

• Detours in Wigtownshire are l-o-n-g
• Local knowledge definitely helps

On Wednesday we had a huge amount of rain. Our neighbour's rain gauge recorded 2 inches in 24 hours. For various reasons, we decided that Wednesday was a good day for us to drive an 80-mile round trip to Dumfries to collect a second hand wood burner. 

[For clarity, when I say 'we' decided, I mean 'I' and for 'us' to drive I mean 'Ivie'. But you probably knew that already.]

On the way there, we took it steady and passed through a couple of major puddles\minor rivers. We spent less than ten minutes in Dumfries (it would have been two and a half if we haven't driven past the right house three times...) then set off for home. 

We got about 12 miles from the Spittal and were discussing what to have for tea when we drove into a wall of water just before Gatehouse. Thankfully we were in the pick-up so powered through it. (Ivie's so calm that it wasn't until afterwards that I realised it was probably a bit dicey.) Anyway, we got to the bottom of the hill and could see flashing lights in the distance. And a long line of lorries going nowhere. 

For those unfamiliar with the delights of the A75, it's the main route from the border to the Ireland and Northern Ireland ferries at Cairnryan. As it goes through Wigtownshire it follows the coast. Which is a problem when there are accidents or hold-ups. Or lorries stuck in flood water in this case. 

When we spoke to the police officer at the Road Closed sign (who was 12 because we're officially middle aged), we realised that we had a Wigtownshire detour ahead of us.

"Can we go up to the Glen road?" asked Ivie. 

The youngster shook his head, "It's really bad, there's no way past."

"But we could turn off and follow the road over the hill,"

"No, it's all blocked."

"We're going to have to go via Gatehouse Station aren't we?"

"'Fraid so."

 

Oh joy. 

The thing about Gatehouse Station is that a) it's bloody miles from Gatehouse b) there's no station and c) it's on pretty much a single track road. Up a hill. 

On a good day the views are spectacular. On a bad day with biblical rain and a big lorry in a big puddle, it is full of other locals going in both directions with limited passing places and mixed reversing ability. 

Big Water of Fleet Viaduct on a good day
(Near Gatehouse Station)
Photo by Ivie

It sounds like I'm moaning but without Ivie's knowledge of the back roads, I'd have been sitting in a queue of traffic for a few hours. Luckily, we only added an extra half hour on to our journey, got home safe and dry and had pizza for tea. I'm just glad we actually bought the stove. But more of that in a future blog...

Looking towards Gatehouse Station
Photo by Ivie