Footsteps in the Furrow. Andrew Arbuckle
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5-yard squares; the cart would move down one of the lines and at each intersection, a man at the back of it would pull out a heap of dung using a hauk, as the long-handled graip with tines at right angles to the shaft was called. Completing a heavily labour intensive job, these heaps of dung were then spread around the squares by teams of women so that the next year’s fertility was applied evenly over the field.
Farmers in the East Neuk of Fife and in other parts of Scotland close to the sea also used to go to the shores following any storm tides to collect cartloads of seaweed, another well known fertiliser, especially of the potato crop. One unnamed farmer with a fierce reputation decided seaweed collection was the order of the day and instructed his men with the curt command, ‘Those of you wi’ coats go to the shore and get wrack [seaweed] and those wi’ nae coats or leggings, just go wi’ them!’
The sea also provided more fertility. In 1915, Henry Watson, Drumrack Farm, Anstruther bought rotten fish from a shipwrecked boat, the Glenravel. The farm staff could not have enjoyed the spreading of the decomposing cargo. A few years later, in 1920, the local newspaper reported a trainload of sprats being used as fertiliser on farms in North-East Fife. The wagons were open and on arrival at the rural stations, the sprats were shovelled onto farm carts. On the roads from the station, trails of seagulls followed the farm carts. By the time the sprats were spread on the ground for fertiliser, according to the report, there was ‘intensity of gulls’. The men doing the spreading were like ‘spotted dicks’ as a result of the seagulls dive-bombing them.
Shell fishing has played a major role in the East Neuk and often farmers would buy crab or mussel shells from the local fishmongers for fertiliser. These waste products of the fishing industry were valued for their lime content, and to this day, mussel shells can be turned up in the farmlands close to the fishing towns.
In the early days of the twentieth century when coal was a major source of fuel in the towns, chimney sweeps could sell soot to local farmers as it was also considered first-class fertiliser.
The farmer wanting to add more fertility than his own livestock could produce would buy Peruvian guano, the major fertiliser in the early years of last century. Thousands of tonnes of these sea-bird droppings were shipped across from the Pacific coast of Peru. The trade was based on slave labour bagging up the highly nitrogenous fertiliser accumulated over centuries from roosting points along the sea cliffs and then carrying the sacks down to waiting ships. This continued until well into the twentieth century.
While crops require a large number of elements in their growth, there are four main ones that affect fertility: nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium and calcium. Two hundred years have passed since farmers learned these vital pieces of crop husbandry, but even in the late 1920s, the educationalists were still promoting the need for good fertiliser usage. In 1928, a meeting was held in the Corn Exchange, Cupar to promote nitrogenous fertiliser and the latest technology was available to ensure farmers got the message. The reporter noted, ‘The cinematograph was operated from a van containing a dynamo from which current was conveyed via a cable to the cinematograph machine.’
Initially crop growers would use ‘straight’ compounds that contained the four vital elements. In the late nineteenth century, the North of Fife Farmers Supply Association (NFFSA) was buying fertilisers with these basic elements. The Transactions of the Association were written in copperplate and show precisely how much of each fertiliser was traded. As a provider of nitrogen, nitrate of soda was bought from Messrs Cunningham, Edinburgh for £12 12/6, or £12.63 per tonne delivered to the required local station. Among the dozen farmers buying this nitrogenous fertiliser was David Berwick of Collairnie, who bought 2 tons, 1 cwt, 2 qrs and 11 lb, or 1.88 tonnes. His neighbour, John Bell at Glenduckie, only purchased 1 ton, 12 cwts and 15 lb, or 1.51 tonnes. Note the precision in the billing with every pound accounted for.
Other pages show purchases of super-phosphates made by treating mineral phosphate with sulphuric acid. This manure was cheaper and the farmers seemed to buy it by the ton. Bone meal was also bought. This time the supplier was a merchant from Montrose at a cost per ton of £815/- (£8.75), delivered by train. As the name suggests, it comes from grinding down bones after the fat and gelatine have been extracted. There was also a large trade in dissolved bones delivered in bags from a merchant in Edinburgh to the local railway station.
The potash element came from Leopoldshalt Kainit, which as the name suggests was imported from Germany. Farmers requiring this manure were required either to uplift it from Tayport harbour following its importation by Messrs Hutchison, Kirkcaldy, or to have it delivered to their railway station. The price per ton was 50/- (£2.50) off the boat or 54/- (£2.70) from the railway vans. Although the direct trade in potash had long been finished, it was a shortage of potash from Germany during World War II that impacted most severely on crop production.
Later, as it was shown that different crops had different demands, these straight compounds were then mixed by hand on the loft floor. Those who have carried out this task recall several features, but all mention the ammonia smell that caught the throat, especially when one was breathing heavily from the hard physical work. After mixing, the bone meal sprinkled over the heap as this light, fine powder helped stop the mix coagulating into large un-spreadable lumps.
Prior to mechanisation, this mixture was spread onto the land by hand using a canvas sheet harnessed to the front of the human spreader. Working methodically up and down the fields, the spreader would take handfuls of fertiliser and scatter it on either side. The spreading method was similar to that of sowing crops right back into Biblical times. Men took a pride in being able to apply fertiliser evenly over crops in widths up to 6 yards apart. To this day any farmer or farm worker worth his salt can tell a badly fertilised field by the telltale strips. The spreading sheets were kept full by loons, or boys with buckets working from the sacks dropped off in the field.
Those who have spread fertiliser this way testify to the fact that it was both a hard and unpleasant job. The handling of acidic fertiliser soon made it clear where the cuts and hacks in the spreader’s hands were located. One cure was to find spiders’ webs and twist some of the web into the cut. Cobwebs were also used to help control lesions on milking cows’ teats. To add to the agony, on a windy day in spring the dust also blew into the spreader’s eyes as he scattered the fertiliser.
Lime spreading was also bedevilled by wind, with the workers covered in a fine grey dust in even the slightest breeze. But recognising the importance of lime to the land, the British government heavily subsidised its application throughout the time when production of food was important. At one point in the 1950s, some 70% of the cost of lime was being met by government subsidy.
The post-war years saw the arrival of compound fertilisers, which as the name suggests, combined the main ingredients. The idea was that farmers could then buy the most appropriate fertiliser for their crops. Compounds with high levels of potash were needed for the potato crop; those with high percentages of nitrogen were preferred for grass and cereals.
In the early days of artificial fertilisers many farmers judged the fertiliser by its smell, going on the theory that the more it smelt like well-rotted dung, the better it would be. They soon got over the smelling phase and concentrated on the quality of the fertiliser. In the early days it was not unusual for the heavy-duty hessian sacks full of fertiliser to go solid. Sledgehammers and strong words were then used to break the fertiliser back down into the little pellets suitable for the spreading machinery.
After use, the fertiliser bags were washed ready for re-use and on a windy May day the fences near the horse trough were used as washing lines. Nowadays, fertiliser comes in 1-tonne sacks and is transported from lorry to shed and then to field by forklift, untouched by a labouring hand.
DEEP in every countryman’s bones there must be a mechanism that jumps onto alert as harvest approaches.