Thursday 24 May 2012
Friday 11 May 2012
No 211. Pirn Whatnot.
No 211. Pirn Whatnot.
No 210
. Pirn Whatnot.
Nothing was ever wasted on a croft, so what to do with a wooden pirn when the thread was finished. As boys we cherished them and whittled them into very useful spinning tops, each pirn making two by cutting with our pocket knives into the centre.
At Kirbister Farm Museum in Birsay in Orkney there is an example of crofter’s shelving using pirns as decorative spacers. Different pirns, different colours, different styles. A couple of short bits of driftwood planks off the beach did for shelves. With a hot poker bore holes in the wood, pinch some fisherman’s twine for the hangers. Different thread maker firms made many different styles of pirns, works of art really. Coates of Paisley comes to mind, Patons, many others. Shelves were not the only things made, and the artistic bent of many a crofter found expression in many imaginative ways.
So too did his wife. No piece of cloth or knitting was ever “done” and thrown away. A knitted woollen garment would be patiently unravelled, the wool wound into a ball and reknitted into something else. A worn elbow or wrist or neck would be re-knitted. I got my favourite 40 plus year-old Norwegian ganser re-done by a very patient and generous retired lady in Thurso who un-did and re-knitted the worn cuffs, under-chargeing me by a mile for her work!! . Better than new, she used a very heavy thick black wool to match the old. New leather patches sewn onto the worn elbows too
Quite proud of it I am, and it is still my favourite garment. Great and extremely comfortable for travelling round the World, which it has done a couple of times.
While wearing it in the Auckland Museum in New Zealand in December 1993 I was accosted by a charming lady who asked me in Norwegian which I do not speak if I came from Norway. I really thought my luck had turned!! She was actually a Hollander but had spent many good years in Oslo in Norway with her husband who was in the Dutch Diplomatic Service.
The silent secret of ganseys was in their infinite patterns which allowed recognition of the wearer when many miles from his home village, even sadly a fisherman who might be found drowned who had been lost in some disaster at sea.
Though his remains would many a time be unrecognisable his family pattern ganser would survive and tell who he was or from which fishing village he had come.
The old Viking and Icelandic name was and still is “ganser”, so perhaps the name “gansey” really is of Nordic origin. The Channel Island of Guernsey reputed to be the origin of Gansey - which I do not hold - was peopled by Normans of Viking ancestry anyway, so what’s in a name. A jersey that opened all the way down is called a “troike”.
I discovered this when I held open a lift door for an elderly gentleman on crutches in the Park Hotel in Voss in Norway where our sister has lived long time, since January 1959 actually. I spoke to him in English which almost all Norwegians speak fluently so no language problems. He was one of four brothers who had gathered from all over Norway for their mother’s 100th birthday. Good company.
On a very fast and large pasenger catarman on the way South from Bergen to Haugesund I also met an Icelandic couple who verified the name as ganser, used by them in Iceland too.
Rag rugs come to mind. Bits of cloth or old knitted garments were cut and stiched into a rag quilt or blanket, very warm and long wearing. They could be extremely attractive, a stylish pattern emerging as bits became available and were woven or stitched into the whole. Took some time too. When a crofter’s wife came to the door asking if there were some worn or old garments she could get, she was not begging in any way. It was the times we lived in long since, nothing wasted or thrown away which was anathema to our forebears. Cuffs were turned, collars too if attached to a shirt. Dungarees patched time after time, patches on top of patches sometimes.
The throw-away society had not yet been invented where we dump more than we use.
I remember some bits being put aside in case old Betsy might call sometime.
If you went to her house she would always have something or other doing, never idle.. Knitting, stitching, mending socks, paring tatties for tomorrow, washing clothes in the old tub, ironing, hard at work from morn to night.
Making mash for the hens, tatties peeled for tomorrow, boiling tatties for the pig, scraps for the dog. And bringing up the bairns too!!
It is in retrospect a miracle how these crofters lived, but they did.
And many a one lived a long life with never a day at the doctor.
No 210
. Pirn Whatnot.
Nothing was ever wasted on a croft, so what to do with a wooden pirn when the thread was finished. As boys we cherished them and whittled them into very useful spinning tops, each pirn making two by cutting with our pocket knives into the centre.
At Kirbister Farm Museum in Birsay in Orkney there is an example of crofter’s shelving using pirns as decorative spacers. Different pirns, different colours, different styles. A couple of short bits of driftwood planks off the beach did for shelves. With a hot poker bore holes in the wood, pinch some fisherman’s twine for the hangers. Different thread maker firms made many different styles of pirns, works of art really. Coates of Paisley comes to mind, Patons, many others. Shelves were not the only things made, and the artistic bent of many a crofter found expression in many imaginative ways.
So too did his wife. No piece of cloth or knitting was ever “done” and thrown away. A knitted woollen garment would be patiently unravelled, the wool wound into a ball and reknitted into something else. A worn elbow or wrist or neck would be re-knitted. I got my favourite 40 plus year-old Norwegian ganser re-done by a very patient and generous retired lady in Thurso who un-did and re-knitted the worn cuffs, under-chargeing me by a mile for her work!! . Better than new, she used a very heavy thick black wool to match the old. New leather patches sewn onto the worn elbows too
Quite proud of it I am, and it is still my favourite garment. Great and extremely comfortable for travelling round the World, which it has done a couple of times.
While wearing it in the Auckland Museum in New Zealand in December 1993 I was accosted by a charming lady who asked me in Norwegian which I do not speak if I came from Norway. I really thought my luck had turned!! She was actually a Hollander but had spent many good years in Oslo in Norway with her husband who was in the Dutch Diplomatic Service.
The silent secret of ganseys was in their infinite patterns which allowed recognition of the wearer when many miles from his home village, even sadly a fisherman who might be found drowned who had been lost in some disaster at sea.
Though his remains would many a time be unrecognisable his family pattern ganser would survive and tell who he was or from which fishing village he had come.
The old Viking and Icelandic name was and still is “ganser”, so perhaps the name “gansey” really is of Nordic origin. The Channel Island of Guernsey reputed to be the origin of Gansey - which I do not hold - was peopled by Normans of Viking ancestry anyway, so what’s in a name. A jersey that opened all the way down is called a “troike”.
I discovered this when I held open a lift door for an elderly gentleman on crutches in the Park Hotel in Voss in Norway where our sister has lived long time, since January 1959 actually. I spoke to him in English which almost all Norwegians speak fluently so no language problems. He was one of four brothers who had gathered from all over Norway for their mother’s 100th birthday. Good company.
On a very fast and large pasenger catarman on the way South from Bergen to Haugesund I also met an Icelandic couple who verified the name as ganser, used by them in Iceland too.
Rag rugs come to mind. Bits of cloth or old knitted garments were cut and stiched into a rag quilt or blanket, very warm and long wearing. They could be extremely attractive, a stylish pattern emerging as bits became available and were woven or stitched into the whole. Took some time too. When a crofter’s wife came to the door asking if there were some worn or old garments she could get, she was not begging in any way. It was the times we lived in long since, nothing wasted or thrown away which was anathema to our forebears. Cuffs were turned, collars too if attached to a shirt. Dungarees patched time after time, patches on top of patches sometimes.
The throw-away society had not yet been invented where we dump more than we use.
I remember some bits being put aside in case old Betsy might call sometime.
If you went to her house she would always have something or other doing, never idle.. Knitting, stitching, mending socks, paring tatties for tomorrow, washing clothes in the old tub, ironing, hard at work from morn to night.
Making mash for the hens, tatties peeled for tomorrow, boiling tatties for the pig, scraps for the dog. And bringing up the bairns too!!
It is in retrospect a miracle how these crofters lived, but they did.
And many a one lived a long life with never a day at the doctor.
No 210. Slicing Turnips.
No 210. Slicing Turnips.
Slicing turnips for the cattle was such a part of long gone farming that it deserves a mention. Turnips were sliced particularly for rising two-year old feeding cattle as they changed their calf teeth for permanent teeth at around 20 months. For them to howk whole turnips was not easy until their new lower jaw front teeth had grown in so the farmer and the crofter sliced their turnips for them at that time.
The ubiquitous turnip cutter was universal, not particularly as a crofter’s tool, big farms had them too in abundance. The difference was the larger farms as progress dictated would eventually buy a large machine which could be power driven, either by water power or off the horse mill course. Eventually an engine was put on to some of them, and my last turnip cutter at Isauld was driven by an electric motor. Magic. These were beyond the price range of crofters unless it was a “giveaway”.
Where there was a lot of cattle to feed in winter slicing neeps was a big and never ending job. Many neep sheds had a compliment of wire baskets which were placed under the cutter, filled and stacked ready for the byre. At Isauld we had a collection of wicker fish baskets gleaned from the sea shore below Isauld and from Sandside Beach, easier on the hands to handle than wire baskets and quite capacious. Cattle would get a basket between two for smaller cattle and a basket each to the big feeders. Wire baskets came in different sizes to suit different byres or needs, the fish baskets were all of the same size, a quarter cran.
Many old hand cutters went the way of the Crofter, though not always, they were still handy to keep about the neep shed to cut a few neeps. Long handled with a heavy balance weight at the other end to give extra punch to the downward stroke which sliced the turnips for the cattle. The blades would be kept very sharp but a file was needed to get down beteen the blades, a round scythe sharpening stone did not fit too well but could do a turn if no file was available.
It was fascinating to watch a skilled man cutting his days’ supply of neeps. It looked easy until as boys we tried it ourselves!!
Neeps - turnips - came in different sizes. Small ones could be cut with one good steady downward stroke but large neeps often needed two strokes. First stroke to drive the neep half way through the slicer blades, the next to finish it off. The man who could slice a large turnip in one stroke was rare, and sometimes he did it just to show off!! Still, it was a challenge.
The measured stroke of a skilled man was magic, just enough to slice the neep and not to waste energy on extra effort or jar your wrist. Even the sound of a neep going through the blades had a sibilant sweetness, I can hear it still in memory.
Huge heaps would be cut for the weekend if time allowed, or the horseman came into the turnip shed to help the cattleman out.
On larger farms the work was done most days, and perhaps well over an hour a day was spent slicing neeps. It was just part of the cattleman’s darg. Where there were many cattle on a large farm a horseman went at times into the neep shed to cut the neeps for the cattleman. A good early morning inside job when it was still too dark to yoke the horses, or a welcome task on a weet morning. A heap of neeps were sliced as well by any spare horseman to make the cattleman’s work for the weekend just a tad easier.
At one neep at a time it was tedious, but a skilled man with his hooked neep docker in one hand easily picking and swinging the neep into the slicer and the other hand keeping up a relentless rythm..
Sometimes the door to the byre was left open all night to thaw out some of the frozen neeps in the shed when frost held sway outdoors in the turnip field, some of the heat of the cattle coming through and thawing the neeps on top of the heap.
The feeding cattle in former times were older and came on more slowly than now when we have more intensive feeding and get the cattle off to market at an earlier age. Apart from that, turnips are not grown much today for cattle, though some farmers still do, particularly in Aberdeenshire. Grass silage is now the universal feed for winter. To the charge that turnips were mostly water, the old Aberdonian farmer would say “ Aye, aye, gae guid watter, mon!” And it was truly so.
Slicing turnips for the cattle was such a part of long gone farming that it deserves a mention. Turnips were sliced particularly for rising two-year old feeding cattle as they changed their calf teeth for permanent teeth at around 20 months. For them to howk whole turnips was not easy until their new lower jaw front teeth had grown in so the farmer and the crofter sliced their turnips for them at that time.
The ubiquitous turnip cutter was universal, not particularly as a crofter’s tool, big farms had them too in abundance. The difference was the larger farms as progress dictated would eventually buy a large machine which could be power driven, either by water power or off the horse mill course. Eventually an engine was put on to some of them, and my last turnip cutter at Isauld was driven by an electric motor. Magic. These were beyond the price range of crofters unless it was a “giveaway”.
Where there was a lot of cattle to feed in winter slicing neeps was a big and never ending job. Many neep sheds had a compliment of wire baskets which were placed under the cutter, filled and stacked ready for the byre. At Isauld we had a collection of wicker fish baskets gleaned from the sea shore below Isauld and from Sandside Beach, easier on the hands to handle than wire baskets and quite capacious. Cattle would get a basket between two for smaller cattle and a basket each to the big feeders. Wire baskets came in different sizes to suit different byres or needs, the fish baskets were all of the same size, a quarter cran.
Many old hand cutters went the way of the Crofter, though not always, they were still handy to keep about the neep shed to cut a few neeps. Long handled with a heavy balance weight at the other end to give extra punch to the downward stroke which sliced the turnips for the cattle. The blades would be kept very sharp but a file was needed to get down beteen the blades, a round scythe sharpening stone did not fit too well but could do a turn if no file was available.
It was fascinating to watch a skilled man cutting his days’ supply of neeps. It looked easy until as boys we tried it ourselves!!
Neeps - turnips - came in different sizes. Small ones could be cut with one good steady downward stroke but large neeps often needed two strokes. First stroke to drive the neep half way through the slicer blades, the next to finish it off. The man who could slice a large turnip in one stroke was rare, and sometimes he did it just to show off!! Still, it was a challenge.
The measured stroke of a skilled man was magic, just enough to slice the neep and not to waste energy on extra effort or jar your wrist. Even the sound of a neep going through the blades had a sibilant sweetness, I can hear it still in memory.
Huge heaps would be cut for the weekend if time allowed, or the horseman came into the turnip shed to help the cattleman out.
On larger farms the work was done most days, and perhaps well over an hour a day was spent slicing neeps. It was just part of the cattleman’s darg. Where there were many cattle on a large farm a horseman went at times into the neep shed to cut the neeps for the cattleman. A good early morning inside job when it was still too dark to yoke the horses, or a welcome task on a weet morning. A heap of neeps were sliced as well by any spare horseman to make the cattleman’s work for the weekend just a tad easier.
At one neep at a time it was tedious, but a skilled man with his hooked neep docker in one hand easily picking and swinging the neep into the slicer and the other hand keeping up a relentless rythm..
Sometimes the door to the byre was left open all night to thaw out some of the frozen neeps in the shed when frost held sway outdoors in the turnip field, some of the heat of the cattle coming through and thawing the neeps on top of the heap.
The feeding cattle in former times were older and came on more slowly than now when we have more intensive feeding and get the cattle off to market at an earlier age. Apart from that, turnips are not grown much today for cattle, though some farmers still do, particularly in Aberdeenshire. Grass silage is now the universal feed for winter. To the charge that turnips were mostly water, the old Aberdonian farmer would say “ Aye, aye, gae guid watter, mon!” And it was truly so.
No 209. Turnip Slicing.
No 209. Turnip slicing.
Slicing turnips for the cattle was such a part of long gone farming that it deserves a mention. Turnips were sliced particularly for rising two-year old feeding cattle as they changed their calf teeth for permanent teeth at around 20 months. For them to howk whole turnips was not easy until their new lower jaw front teeth had grown in so the farmer and the crofter sliced their turnips for them at that time.
The ubiquitous turnip cutter was universal, not particularly as a crofter’s tool, big farms had them too in abundance. The difference was the larger farms as progress dictated would eventually buy a large machine which could be power driven, either by water power or off the horse mill course. Eventually an engine was put on to some of them, and my last turnip cutter at Isauld was driven by an electric motor. Magic. These were beyond the price range of crofters unless it was a “giveaway”.
Where there was a lot of cattle to feed in winter slicing neeps was a big and never ending job. Many neep sheds had a compliment of wire baskets which were placed under the cutter, filled and stacked ready for the byre. At Isauld we had a collection of wicker fish baskets gleaned from the sea shore below Isauld and from Sandside Beach, easier on the hands to handle than wire baskets and quite capacious. Cattle would get a basket between two for smaller cattle and a basket each to the big feeders. Wire baskets came in different sizes to suit different byres or needs, the fish baskets were all of the same size, a quarter cran.
Many old hand cutters went the way of the Crofter, though not always, they were still handy to keep about the neep shed to cut a few neeps. Long handled with a heavy balance weight at the other end to give extra punch to the downward stroke which sliced the turnips for the cattle. The blades would be kept very sharp but a file was needed to get down beteen the blades, a round scythe sharpening stone did not fit too well but could do a turn if no file was available.
It was fascinating to watch a skilled man cutting his days’ supply of neeps. It looked easy until as boys we tried it ourselves!!
Neeps - turnips - came in different sizes. Small ones could be cut with one good steady downward stroke but large neeps often needed two strokes. First stroke to drive the neep half way through the slicer blades, the next to finish it off. The man who could slice a large turnip in one stroke was rare, and sometimes he did it just to show off!! Still, it was a challenge.
The measured stroke of a skilled man was magic, just enough to slice the neep and not to waste energy on extra effort or jar your wrist. Even the sound of a neep going through the blades had a sibilant sweetness, I can hear it still in memory.
Huge heaps would be cut for the weekend if time allowed, or the horseman came into the turnip shed to help the cattleman out.
On larger farms the work was done most days, and perhaps well over an hour a day was spent slicing neeps. It was just part of the cattleman’s darg. Where there were many cattle on a large farm a horseman went at times into the neep shed to cut the neeps for the cattleman. A good early morning inside job when it was still too dark to yoke the horses, or a welcome task on a weet morning. A heap of neeps were sliced as well by any spare horseman to make the cattleman’s work for the weekend just a tad easier.
At one neep at a time it was tedious, but a skilled man with his hooked neep docker in one hand easily picking and swinging the neep into the slicer and the other hand keeping up a relentless rythm..
Sometimes the door to the byre was left open all night to thaw out some of the frozen neeps in the shed when frost held sway outdoors in the turnip field, some of the heat of the cattle coming through and thawing the neeps on top of the heap.
The feeding cattle in former times were older and came on more slowly than now when we have more intensive feeding and get the cattle off to market at an earlier age. Apart from that, turnips are not grown much today for cattle, though some farmers still do, particularly in Aberdeenshire. Grass silage is now the universal feed for winter. To the charge that turnips were mostly water, the old Aberdonian farmer would say “ Aye, aye, gae guid watter, mon!” And it was truly so.
Slicing turnips for the cattle was such a part of long gone farming that it deserves a mention. Turnips were sliced particularly for rising two-year old feeding cattle as they changed their calf teeth for permanent teeth at around 20 months. For them to howk whole turnips was not easy until their new lower jaw front teeth had grown in so the farmer and the crofter sliced their turnips for them at that time.
The ubiquitous turnip cutter was universal, not particularly as a crofter’s tool, big farms had them too in abundance. The difference was the larger farms as progress dictated would eventually buy a large machine which could be power driven, either by water power or off the horse mill course. Eventually an engine was put on to some of them, and my last turnip cutter at Isauld was driven by an electric motor. Magic. These were beyond the price range of crofters unless it was a “giveaway”.
Where there was a lot of cattle to feed in winter slicing neeps was a big and never ending job. Many neep sheds had a compliment of wire baskets which were placed under the cutter, filled and stacked ready for the byre. At Isauld we had a collection of wicker fish baskets gleaned from the sea shore below Isauld and from Sandside Beach, easier on the hands to handle than wire baskets and quite capacious. Cattle would get a basket between two for smaller cattle and a basket each to the big feeders. Wire baskets came in different sizes to suit different byres or needs, the fish baskets were all of the same size, a quarter cran.
Many old hand cutters went the way of the Crofter, though not always, they were still handy to keep about the neep shed to cut a few neeps. Long handled with a heavy balance weight at the other end to give extra punch to the downward stroke which sliced the turnips for the cattle. The blades would be kept very sharp but a file was needed to get down beteen the blades, a round scythe sharpening stone did not fit too well but could do a turn if no file was available.
It was fascinating to watch a skilled man cutting his days’ supply of neeps. It looked easy until as boys we tried it ourselves!!
Neeps - turnips - came in different sizes. Small ones could be cut with one good steady downward stroke but large neeps often needed two strokes. First stroke to drive the neep half way through the slicer blades, the next to finish it off. The man who could slice a large turnip in one stroke was rare, and sometimes he did it just to show off!! Still, it was a challenge.
The measured stroke of a skilled man was magic, just enough to slice the neep and not to waste energy on extra effort or jar your wrist. Even the sound of a neep going through the blades had a sibilant sweetness, I can hear it still in memory.
Huge heaps would be cut for the weekend if time allowed, or the horseman came into the turnip shed to help the cattleman out.
On larger farms the work was done most days, and perhaps well over an hour a day was spent slicing neeps. It was just part of the cattleman’s darg. Where there were many cattle on a large farm a horseman went at times into the neep shed to cut the neeps for the cattleman. A good early morning inside job when it was still too dark to yoke the horses, or a welcome task on a weet morning. A heap of neeps were sliced as well by any spare horseman to make the cattleman’s work for the weekend just a tad easier.
At one neep at a time it was tedious, but a skilled man with his hooked neep docker in one hand easily picking and swinging the neep into the slicer and the other hand keeping up a relentless rythm..
Sometimes the door to the byre was left open all night to thaw out some of the frozen neeps in the shed when frost held sway outdoors in the turnip field, some of the heat of the cattle coming through and thawing the neeps on top of the heap.
The feeding cattle in former times were older and came on more slowly than now when we have more intensive feeding and get the cattle off to market at an earlier age. Apart from that, turnips are not grown much today for cattle, though some farmers still do, particularly in Aberdeenshire. Grass silage is now the universal feed for winter. To the charge that turnips were mostly water, the old Aberdonian farmer would say “ Aye, aye, gae guid watter, mon!” And it was truly so.
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