Chapter 02 - My best days at Mulfra Farm

“I wish I could have had the opportunity to compile this video diary ten years ago, when I played a far more active role in running the farm.”

Roy used to work full time then. Staying at home was not an option, it was not possible to live on the income from the farm. During the winter months Roy, and our younger son Philip, would leave in the dark and arrive home in the dark, which meant that Roy only saw the cows at the weekends. I could easily go four or five days without taking the car out and enjoyed (most of the time) the feeling of glorious isolation and of being at one with my animals and the land. It was nothing new if my friends Dianne or Valerie or even my dad phoned and said my voice was a bit croaky, sometimes hadn’t spoken for maybe seven hours. Once, on a very quick trip to the bank in Penzance, I met Val at the bottom of Causewayhead. “ Oh come on,” she said, “Come in Maggie Fisher’s for a cup of coffee and a chat.” I explained that I was, as usual, in a hurry and had my old smelly clothes on and rubber boots. “That’s alright, we won’t be long,” Val replied. So off we went, carefully going through the shop to the coffee shop behind. As it was a cold day we sat ourselves by the open fire. My damp smelly wax jacket soon began to give of the distinct smell of horse water. “You DO smell!!” said Val. I suppose that’s what friends are for!

On early winter mornings, after that first cup of tea, I would wrap up in my old fleece-lined trousers, old coat – sometimes, when it was windy, tied around with red string – and my faithful white hat, which I have had for years and still have. If it was really cold I would wear gloves as well, but they soon got wet and covered in hay. To complete the ensemble my old sturdy Cornwall Farmers rubber boots, posh Hunter ones were only for “best.”

The first job was to check Rose, our bay mare, and give her breakfast. Rose would hear me coming and give a little neigh. To enter her stable I would go through the cows’ house where Roy’s Uncle Joe used to tie up and milk his eight cows. Some of the chains are still there. I would give Rose a pat and straighten her rugs, then I’d pick up all the dung with an evil (a long handled fork), and put it into a large bucket to be dealt with later. She would then be given her breakfast, crushed oats, nuts, sugar beet pulp and bran according to how much work she was doing. If hunting regularly and exercised every day she would have the full works. Also important was to give her a fresh bucket of water, then I would leave her in peace. En route to tend to Foxtrot, our grey horse, I would let out the poultry and give them their corn. Foxtrot’s stable was at the top of the mowhay, or the yard at the back, and was more exposed to the elements. All he would want was his food, so I would give him his bucket of ration more or less the same as Rose and beat a hasty retreat! He would get his bedding in such a mess that his stable would have to be cleaned out every day. Both horses would then have fresh hay.

Now it was time to see to the cows, we had about fifteen. I would stack the wheelbarrow up with about three to four bales of hay, making sure that they were placed in the exact position so as not to fall off, then I’d push them out to the field near to the cows. If it was very muddy, I would have to pull the wheelbarrow. However, whether pushing or pulling, I had to be very careful not to unbalance it because if the bales upset, the cows would crowd around and snatch at the hay before I had time to cut the strings. These were always cut by the knot which made it easy to pull them through the hay and the string was stuffed into my pocket. Usually the hay was taken to a lew (sheltered hedge to prevent it being blown about and wasted) and split into burrs, which is a slice of hay from a small bale about a foot wide. By this time the cows would know what I was doing and would amble down towards me, some faster than others!!! This was a good chance to count them and cast an eye over them for anything out of the ordinary and to make sure they were all okay. Then back in with the empty wheelbarrow bouncing over the ground. Next job was to take the dogs out, four Jack Russells. One or two had to be kept on leads because if they got the wind (smell) of a fox, they could be way over Mulfra Hill or down to Trye valley and gone for hours. More than once a lost terrier from here has been mentioned on Radio Cornwall. Back in for my breakfast, then out again to clean out the stables, fill the coal hod and bring in the wood, cut it up if need be, but that was usually a Sunday job. Indoors again, I would hang my coat and hat and sometimes trousers on the rack over the Rayburn to dry off. An hour or so doing domestics then, if the horses haven’t been turned out in the field, it would be an afternoon job to ride them, but I had to be back by three-thirty to start the other jobs all over again and to try to finish before it became too dark.

On the odd occasion I did go out “tidy”, as soon as I got back I would have to change my clothes and start outside straightaway. I remember wishing that one day I could come home, sit down, read the paper and have a cup of coffee instead of going out to do the jobs … now I can, but do I like it … am I any happier?

Monica Olds