The allure of cattle, modern milking, and losing the job just before his wedding!

The call of cattle farming drew Bill Clark back to work on a modern dairy farm. He meets Lynx, the new bull, finds true love with Wendy and then dramatically loses his job just before his wedding!

Honest Lynx - a pedigree Red Poll Bull

Reading extract from The Allure of Cattle from Chapter 3 of Route and Branch,  Bill Clark, former warden of Wandlebury's autobiography

However, the pull of farming was too much! And I applied for the job of ‘second-cowman’ on a farm that had just been bought by an industrialist. Money was being spent in large quantities, resurfaced drives, oak fencing, new buildings, the latest machinery. Even the farm house was in the process of being modernised and enlarged – for the factory owner’s future home. I spent my first week desperately trying to memorise all 60 cows. This was my first time with a pedigree herd, and I could not be starting with a worse breed, for until you really got to know them, Red Polls were like peas in a pod, there wasn’t even the occasional crumpled horn to make one stand out. Also a first for me, was the ultra-modern milking parlour, with milk recording linked to weighing each cows food – it would take all day for one milking if I had to shine a torch in every cows ear to read her tattoo. To add to the pressure, the head-cowman had already made it known that come hell or high water he was having the next weekend off.

On Saturday morning I arrived early to be sure of a good start, and was immediately puzzled by the fact that everyone else was early too – including the head-cowman standing talking to the farm manager. I busied myself readying the milking equipment and record cards and filling the main food hopper, etc. Then opening the gate to the holding yard I walked out for the cows; noticing that everyone was still standing around. Next, as I approached the herd, I realised that the large bull, Honest Lynx, who all week had resided in his brand new pen, was in the centre. Damn, I thought, I hope he is not going to play up, I haven’t got a stick. My answer came immediately! And as he snorted and came towards me, an old memory snapped into place! I shouted and threw up an arm – but he just kept coming, and as I dodged behind a cow, he swung round, expertly flinging a few clods over his back. I decided bare fists would not stop this lad, and bending low, dodged through the herd to the nearest hedge, leaving him wheeling about in frustration.

I had noticed an ash stump with some fine, three year growth: I wrenched one off, and a nice knob of stump came with it. A quick trim with my pocket knife, and I had the most perfect ‘shillallee’ that anyone in my circumstances could desire. I now noticed an audience in the distance – and realised I had been set up. I strode back, and the bull, catching sight of me, trotted over. He came with a final rush: I yelled – he didn’t hesitate. I raised my stick and bawled again – he never flinched – then at the last second, with a Matadorian side-step, I brought my stick down on the back of his head. He slid to a stop on his knees, eyes rolling. I turned and pushed the cows on, but as I approached the yard, I heard the thunder of hooves. I turned and shouted – he faltered – I raised my stick and yelled even louder as he started forward again, and he stopped and threw more clods over his back. These niceties over, he evidently thought, ‘Right that usually frightens the hell out of them, now, let’s get on with it.’ He snorted, and surged forward. I could hear my father’s voice, ‘HIT HIM HARD, NOT JUST PART HIS B****Y HAIR.’ This time he went down and rolled onto his side. I closed the holding yard gate, and let the first six cows into the parlour: over the half door I could see the other men casting glances in the direction of poor Honest Lynx, as they went about their duties.

Unbeknown to us, our employer had decided to camp in the house the previous night, and as I was attending the second cow, he burst in. ‘I say young man, that bull out there cost me 600 guineas, and you have b***** nearly killed him, the poor devil is only just getting to his feet.’ ‘I am very sorry sir,’ I replied, ‘But I believe I am worth even more.’ At that he slammed out. I suppose, with hindsight, I should be grateful that it was so early in the morning, for at most other times, he had a film camera in his hand, making a full record of life on the farm. The head-cowman and farm-manager kept well out of my way for the rest of that weekend. I learnt afterwards, that neither of them would ever go into the bull’s pen, it was designed so that he could be moved around by pushing slides and gates – rather in the way of a lions enclosure! For added safety, there were narrow gaps in strategic places, so that a man could slip out. Three months later the head cowman quit, and I was offered the job, which I accepted, taking the opportunity to offer brother Bob my previous position. From then on, I happily walked the bull most days on the pole, and often allowed him out with the herd – which he enjoyed even more.

Simultaneously with starting at Castlefields Farm in 1950, I met Wendy Spurgeon and her mother at a local dance. Mother had originally brought Wendy and older sister Stella to rural Buckinghamshire to avoid the Colchester wartime bombs. Whilst Wendy attended – the also evacuated – St Boniface school at nearby Gawcott; both girls kept up with their dancing, and had become quite popular in the area. Wendy – soon to be the true love of my life – had just ...

Full podcast available to listen to here:
https://archive.org/download/ch-3c-the-allure-of-cattle/Ch3c-The-allure-of-cattle.mp3