Footsteps in the Furrow. Andrew Arbuckle
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href="#u03468937-699c-532e-8d05-ec2222e45c91"> Chapter 4
DRIVING home the message that my brothers and I were fully aware that money did not grow on trees, my father always ensured there was work to be done before he handed over any cash. And that was why, one summer holiday, I was set the task of painting the ‘tin shed’ on the farm. This was a straightforward structure, open on one side, to allow access for the machinery to be stored inside it. It was constructed of corrugated iron sheets that gave it a semi-circular roof and this was the object of my paintwork. The only trouble was that by the end of the day there seemed to be as much paint on me as the shed.
Immediately next to the tin shed was the bothy, a square wooden hut that was home to two Irishmen who came to work at the harvest and the sugar beet. One of them, seeing the state I was in, offered to help clean me up a little before I went back home. Shortly afterwards, I was sitting in the bothy with Paddy – whether or not this was his real name, I will never know – as he wiped the paint off my face, using one of his old socks dipped in an old jam jar filled with petrol.
Seeking to distract myself from the burning sensation on my face, I looked around the single-room building. There was a fire to one side of which a kettle was boiling, and an iron grid on the other side to be swung over the fire with a cooking pot. The beds were two single bunks, one above the other, with grey blankets hanging over the side. I did not see the mattresses, but they would be filled with chaff – the common source of bedding on the farm. Obviously, I did not see what we schoolboys called ‘loupers’ or bed bugs, although in some bothies these little biting beasts became a real scourge. Close to the bunks were several clothes hooks, on which the Sunday clothes hung.
My body-paint remover and I were seated at a table covered in newspaper. On the table were a loaf of bread, an open jar of jam and a tin of meat paste, and that appeared to be the only food available. It was pretty basic living, even for the early 1950s. Water was collected from the tap that fed the horse troughs. And the toilet? Well, I never thought about it then, but it must have been in the cattle courts.
Farm bothies have been part of the folklore of Scottish agriculture and in some parts, such as Aberdeenshire, a culture was built up around them and the men who lived in them. However, the bothy system was not always seen as a good thing, and in 1891 a government report into farm labour reported on the ‘evils of bothy life’. One official concern was the ‘impropriety’ of young men living together and the resulting effect it would have on normal society as it encouraged bad habits, such as drinking alcohol. Often, the report commented, there was but one apartment in the bothy, thus mixing living and sleeping quarters. The official view was that the blame for the ‘disgusting character of bothy life lies with the farmer. They are aware of the unwholesome condition of them.’
It should also be remembered that bothy life was not just for the single man. If a married man went to the feeing market and failed to get a work contract, often he would take work where only a bothy was provided.
Just before World War II, the County Council of Fife put forward byelaws on ‘farm bothies, chaumers and similar premises for the accommodation of agricultural workers’. Chaumers were fairly rare in Fife, with these basic bunks situated above the stables being more commonly found in Aberdeenshire.
The Cupar Branch of the NFU and the Chamber of Agriculture both agreed this byelaw was rather onerous. Particular objection was taken to the need for immediate provision of single beds, presses and drawers. The booklet stated, ‘There shall be provided a separate bedstead for each worker’.
In a comprehensive range of requirements for the bed, the booklet also advises: ‘There shall be provided a clean mattress and pillow which shall be filled with straw or other suitable material; there shall be provided two blankets per worker for the period from 1st May to the 30th Sept and four blankets for workers at any other time. The blankets should weigh no more than 51b [or 2 kilos] per pair’. Also required were lamps ‘fashioned of non combustible materials’ that had to be fixed to a wall, ceiling or rafter in such a manner as to obviate risk of fire.
The bothy system may have passed into history, but it has now been replaced with the provision of caravans for migrant students and harvest workers. Those farming large acreages of vegetables or soft fruit will have a number of these vehicles parked close to the farm steading. Each will house 6 or 8 workers, who will have access to communal washing and toilet facilities, often a common recreation area, too. Even these modern facilities have not escaped criticism, with some at the centre of sensational press coverage.
Cottages
In those days, my friends on the farm were the ploughmen’s children who lived in the row of farm cottages. Their accommodation was better than the bothy, and by the time I ran in and out of them with my friends in the mid-1950s they had running water and inside toilets.
Earlier in the century, however, it was very much a case of going to the shed at the bottom of the garden, or indeed into the cattle court whenever a toilet was required. Water was also taken from a common tap or a pump that could invariably be traced back to a nearby stream. It was not unusual to find the water pipe blocked, and on investigation to find a small frog wedged in the pipe. To this day, more than half the farms and former farm cottages are on private water supplies. A number of them have higher levels of nitrates or bacteria than would be allowed in the public system.
Generally, the floors of the scullery and the washroom were just flagstones laid on top of the earth though by my time the living rooms had wooden floors and were covered in carpets or linoleum. This, though, was not always the case, and many older cottages only had the flagstones throughout the building, which did nothing for hygiene or dampness in the house. This was not helped by a lack of insulation in the buildings. Many walls were just a single brick in width, a poor protection against the rigours of winter.
Recognising the poor condition of many farm cottages, the British Government put in place a rural house-building programme at the end of World War II. At that time, it was reckoned that 1 in 10 of all farm cottages were not fit for habitation. Fife Council decided that small groups of houses should be built in rural areas and although these are now in private hands, they can still be seen at locations such as Foodieash, outside Cupar, and Rossie, near Auchtermuchty. It was suggested these developments be called ‘clachans’, after the Gaelic word for a small hamlet.
On the farms themselves in the 1950s and 1960s improvements took place to the farm cottages as farmers realised that working conditions had to be raised if they wanted to keep the good workers. In earlier years, before these works were carried out, life in the cottages could be quite raw and damp, especially when the work outside involved cold or dirty jobs. Returning home after a wet working day that involved pulling turnips in frosty weather or ploughing in the rain was a very miserable experience indeed.
Chronic diseases associated with damp conditions such as rheumatism were the lot of the farm worker. The rural doctor had to deal with the consequences and a doctor’s visit cost money right up to 1948 when the National Health Service was introduced, providing free health care for everyone. Illness or accidents were a constant concern as there was not the safety net for workers that there is now. There was no need for the farmer to pay any sick pay, although most did without compulsion, but a long-term illness or injury was a major worry for the wage earner, especially those with large families.
A long-term illness often meant expulsion from the farm cottage as the farmer would need it for an able-bodied worker. To make matters worse, in those days there was no obligation on the local authority to house homeless people.
Within the farm cottages, the work routine was equally harsh and lengthy. While wives were often working themselves, they also had the responsibility of feeding their menfolk and children, although this latter task was quickly passed down to the older children, who also helped look after their younger siblings.
By mid-century, during my youth,