Farming in the Village

Origins

A common feature of farms up the Durham and Yorkshire dales is that the farm steading (house, byres, barn, hayshed, etc) are part of the village surrounded by houses, and the land stretches away up on to the moor or fell tops covered in ‘bent’ grass and heather.

The Demesne farm was one of the few like this in the North Tyne valley, and where I had the great pleasure of working as ‘Daft Laddie’ in the 1950s on many University vacations during the year. So I was able to hone my practical skills under the expert tuition of owners Bob and Jack Beattie and hind (general farm worker) Jock Armstrong.

Jock was my very special mentor from when he worked for Robbie Allan at Redesmouth farm ,and I worked for a year as Daft Laddie before going to Kirkley Hall Farm Institute. He then moved to be hind at the Demesne to replace Potter Wood who became key man at the Reenes farm with his father Matt Wood as manager for Newcastle dentist Arthur Solomon, who bought the farm from Willie Potts.

Willie and his sisters retired to Greenfield house next to the Demesne so was almost part of the farm staff where he and his faithful old retired collie ‘Jock’ spent most of every day helping with odd jobs, Willie sucking and coughing full time on a cigarette, with much advice for a young lad like me on the hazards of life. He housed his old Raleigh motorbike in a stall in the Demesne stable. It sure was an antique with massive leather seat, long oblong petrol tank and what was most unique – it was belt driven. Douglas Oliver I remember bought it as a restoration project. Tommy Hedley had a similar bike, which to much ridicule about his idle ways he used to look the sheep on. Willie’s other great hidey hole was George Cordiner’s the chemist.

There was never a dull moment at the Demesne, and apart from the regular duties going on in the cobbled yard, the gateway on to the road was like what in today’s terms would be called a ‘data gathering portal’ as everything that went past (animal, human or mechanical) was noted, recorded for later reference, discussed and analysed.

We became experts at making predictions from what we had seen, so when we heard the ambulance siren, or saw it from the yard speeding up the ‘Mile Bank’ past the Eels farm, we could make a fairly good prediction as to whether driver Alan Weight and nurse Cissy Little would be taking a patient to the Corbridge maternity hospital or Hexham general.

From folk passing the gate entrance, we could tell who was late for work especially after lunch, late home after work, dressed up so must be ‘ganin somewhere’, not ‘luckin ower weel’, had nice legs and much more. Having to carry the full milk buckets from the byre across the road to the dairy for cooling and filling cans provided another great opportunity to gather data, and to see what traffic was going past, as there were not many cars in those days to keep an eye on.

Valuable information to pass on the bring up for debate was who was driving, who in he passenger seat and especially valuable who was in the back seats trying to keep a low profile as they went off to find a quiet courting spot to park. The local police sergeant was a regular caller, more to gather information from us than to contribute any.

The milk stand across the road was a great venue for data gathering too, as milk from the Demesne, Foundry farm and the Boat was placed there for pickup and return, and exchange of news.

But the most important days for gathering data were the autumn lamb sales, and I had to be on my mettle as Bob was a great competitor to ‘top the mart’ with the Demesne mule ewe lambs that we had spent days preparing for him to proudly put before buyers. His main rival in this competition was Scott of Low Leam near West Woodburn.

Most farmers drove their groups of 20-25 lambs to the sale on the road, assisted by their darting collie dog keeping them away from hazards like people’s gardens. I remember lambs from Taylor of High Leam, Willie Bell from Townfoot, Hugh Snaith at the Heugh near Woodburn, and Jock Hunter from the Steele farm – all of which had trotted their way to the mart.

The farmers were all dressed in their mart suits, polished brown boots and leather leggings, with a raincoat neatly folded over their shoulder and a special horn-headed mart stick. They all looked proud and they needed to be, and they knew the we nosy parkers at the Demesne would be reporting back to Bob what the lambs were like. This was not easy knowing Bob didn’t want to hear too good a report, so I had a prepared a reply making sure my voice tone didn’t sound too enthusiastic with ‘ fairly canny’ being overworked adjectives.

Jock Armstrong and I helped Bob, he too dressed appropriately for the occasion, to drive the Demesne lambs up to the mart and pen them before coming home to get on with the chores. We used to sneak up at lunch time for a quick look but alway on edge waiting for the news of what the Demesne lambs had made, and above all, whether they had beaten the Low Leam lambs. It was a stressful day for a Daft Laddie but still very memorable after five decades.