Paphos People

A Little Bit of knowledge…….

Farming is a skill into which you are born, not something you can take a course at university then suddenly become one. But you will always get people who have got a few bob and think that they can set up a successful enterprise as a ‘Gentleman Farmer’.
Such a man was Rex Russell, he had gone straight into Insurance when he left school
and had done quite well in the business. He had married and bought a two acre field with a small house in the corner. He called it ‘Russell Farm’ and made it clear that there was where he would prefer to be rather than desk bound in an office. He bought a Range Rover and truly looked the part – in his eyes anyway.
On his two acres Rex had chickens, and there was a small stream which ran through the bottom corner of the field. He looked at the possibilities of creating a pond. The whole weekend was taken up digging it out by hand until it was big enough. At the next livestock auction Rex was there in the Range Rover and successfully bid on ten ducks. Home he came with a large crate containing the birds, all craning their necks though the slats. Driving down to the bottom of the field, he and his wife released the flock towards the pond. In they went, sailing around in their new home. Coming out on to dry land they started to explore. Then unexpectedly one of them took off followed one at a time by the others. They circled the field then headed off towards the setting sun in a perfect ‘V’ formation never to be seen again - well not by Rex anyway.
The chickens were a lot easier to manage, and he built some portable triangular coops, just two panels, clipped together and standing free, giving the birds somewhere to roost at night or shelter from bad weather. The eggs provided his wife with a small income and the chickens were interesting to watch when Rex had to go to work. One stormy day in the winter the phone rang in Rex’s office. It was his wife, the coops had all blown apart and distressed chickens were being buffeted around the field. Rex took off home like a rocket, catching the birds one by one and putting them in the kitchen. There they roosted for a couple of days meantime he rebuilt the coops and fixed them down properly. Well he wasn’t ever very good with his hands.
Turning up at work in his Range Rover one Friday, he had a really nice horse box hanging on the back informing his staff that he was taking the day off but would be back after the weekend.
It was the annual horse sale at Stow on the Wold and Rex had on his tweed jacket, peaked cap and a beautiful pair of brown leather riding boots. Off he went returning later with his prize, a chestnut mare. He could imagine himself trotting around the village like the Lord of the Manor. Maybe he would even be invited to ride with the local hunt.
Putting the horse into the newly constructed shed he went into the house for an early night. The next morning he saddled up the mare, donned his hacking jacket, put on his helmet and of course his new boots eagerly he mounted the animal. Kicking his heels and clicking his tongue he prepared himself. The horse ambled slowly around the field, taking no notice of Rex’s encouraging noises, stopping to nibble the grass the horse dropped her shoulder and tipped Rex over her head to land unceremoniously flat on his back.
He was straight on the phone to the vet asking what he should do. The vet thought that the horse was probably docile and advised him that he should shut her up for a day or so and feed her some oats.
A week later the phone rang again in Rex’s office. It was his wife, the horse had demolished the shed, galloped around the field, scattering the chickens everywhere and finally jumped the fence and was last seen, nostrils flaring, galloping towards the town. By law, if a horse escapes you are obliged to inform the police. They found the animal in the main cemetery eating the flowers. Rex turned up and between the police and him they got her into the horsebox. It turned out that he had kept her shut up for a week and fed it nothing but oats!
So as I said earlier, farmers have to be born into the life, Rex’s experiences bear this out to be true.