Sunday, 31 October 2010
Friday, 29 October 2010
No 85 GANSEYS pb 29.10.2010
A long time ago, but yesterday too. Rain On My Window (Tears in My Eyes) will be an ongoing tale of my early memories of life shared by my younger brother David on Whitehall Farm in Stronsay, Orkney, of our childhood on a working farm in the 1930s before we lost our innocence.
No 85. GANSEYS
It was while visiting my sister in August that my jumper became a topic of conversation. Voss in Norway is her long time home.It is a great little Norwegian town and not a lot changed from the last time I was there over 16 years ago. Expensive though, my pounds were not worth a lot!!
In the Park Hotel of Voss I held the lift door open for an elderly Norwegian gentleman using two sticks to help his mobility after a dreadful car accident some years ago badly smashed both his legs.
I was wearing my favourite Viking knitted jersey, a gift from my Norwegian brother-in-law 40 years ago and nearly as good as new !! As I spoke English to him, he tapped my jersey and said “That is a good ganser. You cannot get them as good as that now.”
The name “ganser” hit me. At School in Stronsay we always called our jerseys “ganseys”. The fisherman wore them, dark blue and a heavy knit. The farm men wore them when dressed but not for work, much too warm on land. The patterns around them were many and varied. I believe every small fishing village had its own pattern. A sad aspect of that was that when a fisherman lost his life at sea, as all too many of them did, he could, if found after long immersion in the ocean, be identified by his gansey if by no other means. Even to a particular or peculiar family pattern.
My new found friend told me at breakfast next morning when I joined his table that the small opening at the neck with three frog fastenings was a “Ganser”, but one that opened all the way down, our Cardigan, was a “troice”, pronounced “troy-yah”. Now there’s a thing.
For long there are those who held that the name “Gansey” “ comes from Guernsey in the Channel Islands. I never did believe that, much too trite.
Guernsey a little Island some 6 miles by 4 miles lying 45 miles off-shore from France, much of it rocky. . Nonetheless, being of Viking Ancestry via Normandy, there is no reason why they should not use the word Ganser there too. A few days later on the open sea at high speed in a beautifully fitted out and extremely fast modern Catamaran en route Bergen to Haugesund to visit with our niece Susan and her family, I was similarly accosted. This time it was a young Icelander and his wife, both now working in England. They too took note of my “Ganser”, and the Icelanders also had the “troIce”. .
So right now when there is a “Gansey” project running and knitting experts are appearing from everywhere, dare I suggest the word has more of a Viking origin that a small almost French Island lying just off-shore to the South of the Cherbourg Peninsula.
The knitware of Norway is extremely good, and the whole of the Norwegian North Sea periphery has a great tradition of knitting the wool of the humble sheep into very special warm and breathable garments. Shetland, Fair lsle, Icelandic knitting, to mention but a few, have the greatest traditions of knitting going back several thousand years, as old burials in preserving peat mosses still show us.
In this age of expensive Central Heating and keeping old folks warm and Winter Heating Allowances a return to old-fashioned woollen garments just might save the Nation !!.
In Stronsay in my boyhood days we had on Whitehall Farm Mrs Peace, wife of Jock o’ Sound, our cattleman. We spent many a day in her house watching the magic as she turned raw wool from a couple of fleeces into the woollen thread needed for knitting. She would get a black fleece and a couple of white ones, blend the resulting threads of white and black into a speckled two-ply or even a three ply woollen thread. Her spinning wheel, older than she was, turned and whirred at a blurry and amazing pace under her practiced fingers, the raw wool vanishing under her hands onto the spindles of wool. By choosing whatever amount and thickness she wanted, a variety of colours and textures appeared.
On a rare occasion she dyed some wool. Not by the magic of natural old fashioned plants and oddities, but by Reckitts ready made dyes bought from the Van. She would collect a bucket of cow piss ( urine ?? ), catch as catch can !!!, to steep the newly dyed wool to fix the colours. In its own right an old fashioned practice. I do not remember the contents of the universal Chamber pot being used, but they used to be.
A rarity was for her to get a fleece of Shetland or North Ronaldshay or even a Holmey as the small island sheep were called that lived all year round on seaweed and fresh air on the many tiny Holms dotted around Orkney. That wool was special, used only for some very fine garment or shawl as a present for some christening or wedding or other. Fine as gossamer, soft as a baby’s cheek, warm as a beam of sunshine on a cold winter’s day.
More functional were her thick rubber boot stockings and the neck hugging ganseys she made. Using the mixed pepper and salt two-ply or three-ply wool, her fast fingers beat our eyes.
We tried to spin some wool under her direction, but either impatience or thick fingers undid us. Mind you, our fingers were nothing like as thick as her old work-worn ones, just that they felt so. When we did get a bit of wool to keep running for a bit we were over the moon.
After 1939 there was a War on and knitting became an Island passion for young and old as they turned out socks and balaclavas for the Forces.
Khaki and Airforce Blue and Navy Blue already spun and dyed wool was liberally distributed to anyone who could return a reasonable amount of finished articles. I think the Central School was the collecting point for all that activity but I would not stick too closely to that in case I get corrected. There were even classes to teach knitting to any who were willing. At Primary North School we were taught knitting , but few boys carried it any further !!! .
Foto published. A sketch of a shepherd knitting while watching his flock. Knitting is a skill that goes back thousands of years and was traditionally carried out by men as well as women.
No 85. GANSEYS
It was while visiting my sister in August that my jumper became a topic of conversation. Voss in Norway is her long time home.It is a great little Norwegian town and not a lot changed from the last time I was there over 16 years ago. Expensive though, my pounds were not worth a lot!!
In the Park Hotel of Voss I held the lift door open for an elderly Norwegian gentleman using two sticks to help his mobility after a dreadful car accident some years ago badly smashed both his legs.
I was wearing my favourite Viking knitted jersey, a gift from my Norwegian brother-in-law 40 years ago and nearly as good as new !! As I spoke English to him, he tapped my jersey and said “That is a good ganser. You cannot get them as good as that now.”
The name “ganser” hit me. At School in Stronsay we always called our jerseys “ganseys”. The fisherman wore them, dark blue and a heavy knit. The farm men wore them when dressed but not for work, much too warm on land. The patterns around them were many and varied. I believe every small fishing village had its own pattern. A sad aspect of that was that when a fisherman lost his life at sea, as all too many of them did, he could, if found after long immersion in the ocean, be identified by his gansey if by no other means. Even to a particular or peculiar family pattern.
My new found friend told me at breakfast next morning when I joined his table that the small opening at the neck with three frog fastenings was a “Ganser”, but one that opened all the way down, our Cardigan, was a “troice”, pronounced “troy-yah”. Now there’s a thing.
For long there are those who held that the name “Gansey” “ comes from Guernsey in the Channel Islands. I never did believe that, much too trite.
Guernsey a little Island some 6 miles by 4 miles lying 45 miles off-shore from France, much of it rocky. . Nonetheless, being of Viking Ancestry via Normandy, there is no reason why they should not use the word Ganser there too. A few days later on the open sea at high speed in a beautifully fitted out and extremely fast modern Catamaran en route Bergen to Haugesund to visit with our niece Susan and her family, I was similarly accosted. This time it was a young Icelander and his wife, both now working in England. They too took note of my “Ganser”, and the Icelanders also had the “troIce”. .
So right now when there is a “Gansey” project running and knitting experts are appearing from everywhere, dare I suggest the word has more of a Viking origin that a small almost French Island lying just off-shore to the South of the Cherbourg Peninsula.
The knitware of Norway is extremely good, and the whole of the Norwegian North Sea periphery has a great tradition of knitting the wool of the humble sheep into very special warm and breathable garments. Shetland, Fair lsle, Icelandic knitting, to mention but a few, have the greatest traditions of knitting going back several thousand years, as old burials in preserving peat mosses still show us.
In this age of expensive Central Heating and keeping old folks warm and Winter Heating Allowances a return to old-fashioned woollen garments just might save the Nation !!.
In Stronsay in my boyhood days we had on Whitehall Farm Mrs Peace, wife of Jock o’ Sound, our cattleman. We spent many a day in her house watching the magic as she turned raw wool from a couple of fleeces into the woollen thread needed for knitting. She would get a black fleece and a couple of white ones, blend the resulting threads of white and black into a speckled two-ply or even a three ply woollen thread. Her spinning wheel, older than she was, turned and whirred at a blurry and amazing pace under her practiced fingers, the raw wool vanishing under her hands onto the spindles of wool. By choosing whatever amount and thickness she wanted, a variety of colours and textures appeared.
On a rare occasion she dyed some wool. Not by the magic of natural old fashioned plants and oddities, but by Reckitts ready made dyes bought from the Van. She would collect a bucket of cow piss ( urine ?? ), catch as catch can !!!, to steep the newly dyed wool to fix the colours. In its own right an old fashioned practice. I do not remember the contents of the universal Chamber pot being used, but they used to be.
A rarity was for her to get a fleece of Shetland or North Ronaldshay or even a Holmey as the small island sheep were called that lived all year round on seaweed and fresh air on the many tiny Holms dotted around Orkney. That wool was special, used only for some very fine garment or shawl as a present for some christening or wedding or other. Fine as gossamer, soft as a baby’s cheek, warm as a beam of sunshine on a cold winter’s day.
More functional were her thick rubber boot stockings and the neck hugging ganseys she made. Using the mixed pepper and salt two-ply or three-ply wool, her fast fingers beat our eyes.
We tried to spin some wool under her direction, but either impatience or thick fingers undid us. Mind you, our fingers were nothing like as thick as her old work-worn ones, just that they felt so. When we did get a bit of wool to keep running for a bit we were over the moon.
After 1939 there was a War on and knitting became an Island passion for young and old as they turned out socks and balaclavas for the Forces.
Khaki and Airforce Blue and Navy Blue already spun and dyed wool was liberally distributed to anyone who could return a reasonable amount of finished articles. I think the Central School was the collecting point for all that activity but I would not stick too closely to that in case I get corrected. There were even classes to teach knitting to any who were willing. At Primary North School we were taught knitting , but few boys carried it any further !!! .
Foto published. A sketch of a shepherd knitting while watching his flock. Knitting is a skill that goes back thousands of years and was traditionally carried out by men as well as women.
Saturday, 16 October 2010
No 86 Making Simmins. pb. 15th Octr 2010
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Friday, 1 October 2010
NO 84. DIPPING THE SHEEP. 01.10.2010
A long time ago, but yesterday too. Rain On My Window (Tears in My Eyes) will be an ongoing tale of my early memories of life shared by my younger brother David on Whitehall Farm in Stronsay, Orkney, of our childhood on a working farm in the 1930s before we lost our innocence.
No 84 DIPPING SHEEP. pb. 1.10.2010
Today we have wonderful automated systems for dipping sheep, or jet spraying them, just drive them through and job done. But my first memories of dipping sheep were not so.
At Whitehall there was a sheep dipper which passed through, or rather under, the byre wall. The sheep pen was outside the wall, and the poor ewes, massively heavy Half Bred ewes from Eday, were one by one caught and manhandled by two men backside first into the dipper from outside. This manhandling system on Dipping Day will be recognised by many older shepherds, and their often unwilling helpers.
Inside the byre the dipping man stood in a pit at the side of the dipper awash with dip but wearing rubber boots against the flood, and over them oilskin waterproof leggings. All encased in an oilskin worn back to front and buttoned down the back by someone else. At least it gave an almost waterproof front. Some wore an apron as well. Many a time it was an old heavy hessian bag to cover the more vital spots, held round his waist with binder twine and again tied behind him. It was a real Turkish Bath, a very proper sweat box in the humidity indoors. The whole ensemble was completed with an oilskin sou’waster, or just a bonnet or “kep” worn back to front.
There was a pit on either side of the dipper which catered for a left or a right handed man, the floor of the pit being at the same level as the bottom of the dipper. The dipper itself was made of slabs of heavy sawn Caithness Flagstone, tightly fitted, often with lead strip sandwiched between the flags to make it all waterproof. Water tanks of similar construction were in common use, there are still some around in many gardens even if not now being used to environmentally collect rainwater off the roof. Most outdoor laundries – or washhouses - had similar, there is still one at Isauld and one at Greenland Mains. These wonderfully constructed tanks were common around most farm steadings as well.
At Whitehall, and also still at Greenland Mains, the dipper was indoors so a real muggy atmosphere soon prevailed, memorably heavy and humid, with Carbolic and other tarry aromas and all the smelly things Dip Manufacturers though might work against the many pests sheep were prone to. The sheep stood in the byre for a time to let the dip drip before going outdoors again.
The man in the pit had to reach across in front of each ewe while it was still being held backwards by his helpers, grasp the far away front leg before they let go and turn the sheep over backwards in the dip. Not too heavy a task if the tank was reasonably full but when the last of the dip was reached and the last of the ewes came through it could be a heavy heave over. Still holding the far off leg right handed, left hand on the sheep’s brisket, he plunged the sheep twice under while still on its back.
Letting go of the leg, the ewe by a quick twist usually righted itself, though an occasional one might need a little help. The head had to go under twice when the sheep was on it’s back, if you did not catch the ewe properly it could be pretty heavy work to get the head completely under.
Topping up the dipper was fairly constant, a dip stick with 50 gallon marks cut into it so when down by 50 a barrel full of ready mixed dip was tipped onto the floor to run back in and keep levels at an easy turn-over level.
Intention to Dip had to be notified to the Police at least 7 days in advance and in theory the local policeman would attend, or at least put in an appearance. The magic proscribed time in the dip for an ewe was one minute, and the bobby sure could slow things down. I remember once with a stop watch. Butt he had other things to do and other places to go so as soon as his bike was off up the road things speeded up marvellously !!!.
After it’s proscribed minute the ewe climbed a slope out of the dipper with excess dip pouring from it, staggering with the weight of it if heavy-wooled in the Autumn dipping, shaking spray all around. There was a series of dripping pens to hold the soaking sheep, and they progressed up the building with less and less falling so at the far end the driest pen was allowed outdoors. The lambs were always separated so ewes and lambs rejoined with much bleating. .
From my first early knowledge at Whitehall of dipping under the sucklers’ byre wall our father moved on to putting in a swim bath at his other farm of Airy in Stronsay. Jimmy Moad, the foreman, was an expert with shuttering, concrete and cement. This was so successful a dipper that the sheep from Whitehall were driven the four miles to Airy Farm for dipping, I think there and back in
the same day. We would hear them bleating in passing the Central School going homewards on Dipping Day after an early morning start from Whitehall, so easy to drive back that they practically walked home by themselves, strung out over a mile or so of road. I seem to remember that the Airy dipper was used by some neighbours.
The swim bath was great step forwards. A “W” shaped crook on the end of a long handle, usually made of iron but sometimes wonderfully carved in wood, allowed the dipping man to stand, reach under the chin of the sheep, turn it over and plunge it down with the crook in the back of it’s neck. No longer so back breaking and no longer with his arms immersed to the elbows in dip all day.
The first dipping in Caithness was of the lambs with the August Lamb Sales approaching, a few weeks being allowed for the dip colour to mellow slightly. The ewes got theirs later.
Dips used which I remember were Coopers Border Dip and Coopers Bloom Dip, coloured to a degree of pinkish orange. This was not bright enough for some people so Bloom Powder was added till the required shade of bright orange was achieved This was used for the Half Bred lambs for the dipping approaching the August Lamb Sales and a car run through Caithness in July brought many a bright shade to grace the landscape. Some were quite notable. The theory was that it made the lambs look even prettier as they went through the Sale Ring, and a whitening of their faces added to the fashion parade. Bloom Dipping is no longer used, the Wool Board saw to that by penalising stained fleeces, but whitening faces is still in vogue.
The N.C.Cheviot lambs got a more muted brown shade, umbre being added to the Dip in huge quantities. Some dips were in paste form and had to be liquefied in a huge boiler, the fire lit by the shepherd well before dawn on dipping day to get ready. The Greenland Mains boiler is still there, beautifully built, great for boiling taties now I believe!!!.
.
.
No 84 DIPPING SHEEP. pb. 1.10.2010
Today we have wonderful automated systems for dipping sheep, or jet spraying them, just drive them through and job done. But my first memories of dipping sheep were not so.
At Whitehall there was a sheep dipper which passed through, or rather under, the byre wall. The sheep pen was outside the wall, and the poor ewes, massively heavy Half Bred ewes from Eday, were one by one caught and manhandled by two men backside first into the dipper from outside. This manhandling system on Dipping Day will be recognised by many older shepherds, and their often unwilling helpers.
Inside the byre the dipping man stood in a pit at the side of the dipper awash with dip but wearing rubber boots against the flood, and over them oilskin waterproof leggings. All encased in an oilskin worn back to front and buttoned down the back by someone else. At least it gave an almost waterproof front. Some wore an apron as well. Many a time it was an old heavy hessian bag to cover the more vital spots, held round his waist with binder twine and again tied behind him. It was a real Turkish Bath, a very proper sweat box in the humidity indoors. The whole ensemble was completed with an oilskin sou’waster, or just a bonnet or “kep” worn back to front.
There was a pit on either side of the dipper which catered for a left or a right handed man, the floor of the pit being at the same level as the bottom of the dipper. The dipper itself was made of slabs of heavy sawn Caithness Flagstone, tightly fitted, often with lead strip sandwiched between the flags to make it all waterproof. Water tanks of similar construction were in common use, there are still some around in many gardens even if not now being used to environmentally collect rainwater off the roof. Most outdoor laundries – or washhouses - had similar, there is still one at Isauld and one at Greenland Mains. These wonderfully constructed tanks were common around most farm steadings as well.
At Whitehall, and also still at Greenland Mains, the dipper was indoors so a real muggy atmosphere soon prevailed, memorably heavy and humid, with Carbolic and other tarry aromas and all the smelly things Dip Manufacturers though might work against the many pests sheep were prone to. The sheep stood in the byre for a time to let the dip drip before going outdoors again.
The man in the pit had to reach across in front of each ewe while it was still being held backwards by his helpers, grasp the far away front leg before they let go and turn the sheep over backwards in the dip. Not too heavy a task if the tank was reasonably full but when the last of the dip was reached and the last of the ewes came through it could be a heavy heave over. Still holding the far off leg right handed, left hand on the sheep’s brisket, he plunged the sheep twice under while still on its back.
Letting go of the leg, the ewe by a quick twist usually righted itself, though an occasional one might need a little help. The head had to go under twice when the sheep was on it’s back, if you did not catch the ewe properly it could be pretty heavy work to get the head completely under.
Topping up the dipper was fairly constant, a dip stick with 50 gallon marks cut into it so when down by 50 a barrel full of ready mixed dip was tipped onto the floor to run back in and keep levels at an easy turn-over level.
Intention to Dip had to be notified to the Police at least 7 days in advance and in theory the local policeman would attend, or at least put in an appearance. The magic proscribed time in the dip for an ewe was one minute, and the bobby sure could slow things down. I remember once with a stop watch. Butt he had other things to do and other places to go so as soon as his bike was off up the road things speeded up marvellously !!!.
After it’s proscribed minute the ewe climbed a slope out of the dipper with excess dip pouring from it, staggering with the weight of it if heavy-wooled in the Autumn dipping, shaking spray all around. There was a series of dripping pens to hold the soaking sheep, and they progressed up the building with less and less falling so at the far end the driest pen was allowed outdoors. The lambs were always separated so ewes and lambs rejoined with much bleating. .
From my first early knowledge at Whitehall of dipping under the sucklers’ byre wall our father moved on to putting in a swim bath at his other farm of Airy in Stronsay. Jimmy Moad, the foreman, was an expert with shuttering, concrete and cement. This was so successful a dipper that the sheep from Whitehall were driven the four miles to Airy Farm for dipping, I think there and back in
the same day. We would hear them bleating in passing the Central School going homewards on Dipping Day after an early morning start from Whitehall, so easy to drive back that they practically walked home by themselves, strung out over a mile or so of road. I seem to remember that the Airy dipper was used by some neighbours.
The swim bath was great step forwards. A “W” shaped crook on the end of a long handle, usually made of iron but sometimes wonderfully carved in wood, allowed the dipping man to stand, reach under the chin of the sheep, turn it over and plunge it down with the crook in the back of it’s neck. No longer so back breaking and no longer with his arms immersed to the elbows in dip all day.
The first dipping in Caithness was of the lambs with the August Lamb Sales approaching, a few weeks being allowed for the dip colour to mellow slightly. The ewes got theirs later.
Dips used which I remember were Coopers Border Dip and Coopers Bloom Dip, coloured to a degree of pinkish orange. This was not bright enough for some people so Bloom Powder was added till the required shade of bright orange was achieved This was used for the Half Bred lambs for the dipping approaching the August Lamb Sales and a car run through Caithness in July brought many a bright shade to grace the landscape. Some were quite notable. The theory was that it made the lambs look even prettier as they went through the Sale Ring, and a whitening of their faces added to the fashion parade. Bloom Dipping is no longer used, the Wool Board saw to that by penalising stained fleeces, but whitening faces is still in vogue.
The N.C.Cheviot lambs got a more muted brown shade, umbre being added to the Dip in huge quantities. Some dips were in paste form and had to be liquefied in a huge boiler, the fire lit by the shepherd well before dawn on dipping day to get ready. The Greenland Mains boiler is still there, beautifully built, great for boiling taties now I believe!!!.
.
.
Friday, 3 September 2010
No 82. RULE OF THUMB. pb 3rd Sept. 2010
A long time ago, but yesterday too. Rain On My Window (Tears in My Eyes) will be an ongoing tale of my early memories of life shared by my younger brother David on Whitehall Farm in Stronsay, Orkney, of our childhood on a working farm in the 1930s before we lost our innocence.
No 82 RULE OF THUMB. pb. 3rd Sept. 2010
“Rule of Thumb”. Such a well known phrase, such a challenge to determine just what it is, or was. So what is it?
My earliest recollection of Rule of Thumb was the way in which the farm hands measured their requirements. Rules and measuring tapes were unseen, though perhaps sometimes a bit of string out of a deep pocket came in handy. Some men had a three foot 4 piece folding wooden ruler down the special narrow ruler side pocket on the right leg of dungaree overalls, but many a time just measured by span of hand.
At school on the playground we experimented with a piece of string, quoting and paraphrasing Jonathan Swift in his Gulliver’s Travels, published in 1726.
“They measured my right Thumb, and desired no more; for by a Mathematical Computation, twice round the Thumb is once around the wrist, twice round the wrist is once round the neck, twice round the neck is once round the waist.” And so the Lilliputians made a shirt for him that fitted perfectly. I may say that formula did work with us at school. I tried it today, and it did not work on my waist !!!
Women knitters seemed to know just exactly what they needed, how many stitches to drop, how many to add on. Always magic to watch, impossible to explain the unseen mental template doing it’s work, but work it did. Tailors used much the same standards for long enough, adding the “ell” to the sequence, 40 ins. The measure of an “ell” varies over time and country, and over many hundreds of years, but with us was reckoned to be from elbow to fingertip, hence “ell” from elbow. You do not have to believe that, but the ell was much used in my early days, especially for measuring cloth.
Farm hands used Rule of Thumb with uncanny accuracy. A thumb breadth was an inch, so thumb above thumb was used to measure a small distance, sometimes measuring some article and making an exact copy. The blacksmith never seemed to use a rule, just a quick glance, perhaps the span of his hand, and the horse shoe was made. Or chosen from the many horse shoes already made and hanging handily on spikes on the smiddy wall. There was no standard, a shoe might need a tiny touch this way or that to fit the many differing hooves of farm Clydesdales. A quick heat in the forge, a tap or two on the anvil, and a perfect fit time after time. Quite uncanny, and utter magic to watch.
A hand was 4 inches, the span across the palm of the hand. Used to measure the height of a horse to the shoulder, still used in horsey circles. A riding horse of 16 hands is quite high, not for beginners. Cart horses were measured the same way, from the ground at the fore foot of the horse to the crest of the shoulder. No marking needed, just hand over hand upwards from the ground. Still used, but at horsey shows arguments are settled by a Judge, or by a Vet on his day off, by use of a special measuring stick. The hand over hand method is not quite accurate enough when a red First Prize Ticket is in prospect, or indeed the Challenge Cup. The same measurement was the length from the knuckle to the tip of the first finger, 4 inches. Again, I have often seen that method used.
Next came the span of eight inches. Spread hand and measure from the tip of the thumb to the tip of the little finger. Do not over-stretch, just an easy spread of an average hand. Men with huge hands soon learned just how far to stretch their hand, adjust it to the “use and wont” system.
Next to my memory was the cubit, elbow to fingertip. Biblical in use, many measurements were so many cubits high, or long. One arm only, with the fore finger tip of the other hand marking the last point, end over end. And so on and on. A cubit is the first historically recorded unit of length and was one of many different standards of measurement used throughout history. It was originally based on measuring by comparison to one's forearm length, though it varied over the centuries. For our use the forearm did well enough.
Finally, still making use of your arms, the fathom. Outstretched arms, finger tip to finger tip, 6 feet Imperial Measure. Used if course by seamen with a wealth of “Full Fathoms Deep”. Depths at sea were measured in fathoms, also ropes, rigging and anchor cables. Ships were tied at Staxigoe with 50 fathom cables to either side of the narrow harbour, suspending the ships to load their cargoes of grain, exported from Caithness to merchants in Edinburgh through it’s port of Leith, to Norway, Glasgow and Strathnaver, that sad though beautiful Strath who even in 1734 could not feed its population without grain from Caithness. [ Aeneas Bayne 1734 ]
But on land and on the farm we also used the fathom. Stacks were measured by pulling out a handful of straw as a marker, then fathom by fathom round the stack till the marker was again reached. Valuers gave their opinion of the yield of the stacks on change of a tenancy in November, a valuer being appointed for each tenant with an oversman to sort out any disagreements. Valuers took great pride in working out the answer between them without need of a referee to adjudicate. They measured the circumference of the stack by the fathom, a quick glance at it’s height, and then estimated what the yield would be. By such rudimentary methods a yield was agreed.
A 12 ft wide stack steddle as favoured by Caithness was just over 6 fathom, a 14 ft stack steddle – steathe - as favoured by Orkney was just over 7 fathom.
Harvest time. New ropes for the carts where needed were usually 6 fathoms, cut from a huge ball of rope home-made earlier in the loft. For tractor trailers, as we later moved to, ropes were normally 7 fathoms. Two to a cart or trailer, tied at the back and then thrown over the completed load to be fastened tight to the cart shafts or to rings or hooks in the case of trailers. A skilled man would splice the new cut rope ends to stop fraying, sometimes so neat you could hardly see it.
Not to forget the feet. Toe to toe, end over end, 12 inches a time. Not for nothing is a foot called a foot !!! The yard, or pace, was a good long step, practice made perfect, The foreman would set out the bags of seed along the top of the field, and come exactly right. At times a field was not square, but no matter, he still placed them in the exact spot for filling the broadcast sower.
And the ultimate field measurement, setting out your starts for the plough. No tape measure, just that easy pace across the land, and when the finish was near and the strip of land narrowed, rarely was any adjustment needed. The final narrow strip of land might be measured by the foot, just to get the inches right for a perfect finish.
.
No 82 RULE OF THUMB. pb. 3rd Sept. 2010
“Rule of Thumb”. Such a well known phrase, such a challenge to determine just what it is, or was. So what is it?
My earliest recollection of Rule of Thumb was the way in which the farm hands measured their requirements. Rules and measuring tapes were unseen, though perhaps sometimes a bit of string out of a deep pocket came in handy. Some men had a three foot 4 piece folding wooden ruler down the special narrow ruler side pocket on the right leg of dungaree overalls, but many a time just measured by span of hand.
At school on the playground we experimented with a piece of string, quoting and paraphrasing Jonathan Swift in his Gulliver’s Travels, published in 1726.
“They measured my right Thumb, and desired no more; for by a Mathematical Computation, twice round the Thumb is once around the wrist, twice round the wrist is once round the neck, twice round the neck is once round the waist.” And so the Lilliputians made a shirt for him that fitted perfectly. I may say that formula did work with us at school. I tried it today, and it did not work on my waist !!!
Women knitters seemed to know just exactly what they needed, how many stitches to drop, how many to add on. Always magic to watch, impossible to explain the unseen mental template doing it’s work, but work it did. Tailors used much the same standards for long enough, adding the “ell” to the sequence, 40 ins. The measure of an “ell” varies over time and country, and over many hundreds of years, but with us was reckoned to be from elbow to fingertip, hence “ell” from elbow. You do not have to believe that, but the ell was much used in my early days, especially for measuring cloth.
Farm hands used Rule of Thumb with uncanny accuracy. A thumb breadth was an inch, so thumb above thumb was used to measure a small distance, sometimes measuring some article and making an exact copy. The blacksmith never seemed to use a rule, just a quick glance, perhaps the span of his hand, and the horse shoe was made. Or chosen from the many horse shoes already made and hanging handily on spikes on the smiddy wall. There was no standard, a shoe might need a tiny touch this way or that to fit the many differing hooves of farm Clydesdales. A quick heat in the forge, a tap or two on the anvil, and a perfect fit time after time. Quite uncanny, and utter magic to watch.
A hand was 4 inches, the span across the palm of the hand. Used to measure the height of a horse to the shoulder, still used in horsey circles. A riding horse of 16 hands is quite high, not for beginners. Cart horses were measured the same way, from the ground at the fore foot of the horse to the crest of the shoulder. No marking needed, just hand over hand upwards from the ground. Still used, but at horsey shows arguments are settled by a Judge, or by a Vet on his day off, by use of a special measuring stick. The hand over hand method is not quite accurate enough when a red First Prize Ticket is in prospect, or indeed the Challenge Cup. The same measurement was the length from the knuckle to the tip of the first finger, 4 inches. Again, I have often seen that method used.
Next came the span of eight inches. Spread hand and measure from the tip of the thumb to the tip of the little finger. Do not over-stretch, just an easy spread of an average hand. Men with huge hands soon learned just how far to stretch their hand, adjust it to the “use and wont” system.
Next to my memory was the cubit, elbow to fingertip. Biblical in use, many measurements were so many cubits high, or long. One arm only, with the fore finger tip of the other hand marking the last point, end over end. And so on and on. A cubit is the first historically recorded unit of length and was one of many different standards of measurement used throughout history. It was originally based on measuring by comparison to one's forearm length, though it varied over the centuries. For our use the forearm did well enough.
Finally, still making use of your arms, the fathom. Outstretched arms, finger tip to finger tip, 6 feet Imperial Measure. Used if course by seamen with a wealth of “Full Fathoms Deep”. Depths at sea were measured in fathoms, also ropes, rigging and anchor cables. Ships were tied at Staxigoe with 50 fathom cables to either side of the narrow harbour, suspending the ships to load their cargoes of grain, exported from Caithness to merchants in Edinburgh through it’s port of Leith, to Norway, Glasgow and Strathnaver, that sad though beautiful Strath who even in 1734 could not feed its population without grain from Caithness. [ Aeneas Bayne 1734 ]
But on land and on the farm we also used the fathom. Stacks were measured by pulling out a handful of straw as a marker, then fathom by fathom round the stack till the marker was again reached. Valuers gave their opinion of the yield of the stacks on change of a tenancy in November, a valuer being appointed for each tenant with an oversman to sort out any disagreements. Valuers took great pride in working out the answer between them without need of a referee to adjudicate. They measured the circumference of the stack by the fathom, a quick glance at it’s height, and then estimated what the yield would be. By such rudimentary methods a yield was agreed.
A 12 ft wide stack steddle as favoured by Caithness was just over 6 fathom, a 14 ft stack steddle – steathe - as favoured by Orkney was just over 7 fathom.
Harvest time. New ropes for the carts where needed were usually 6 fathoms, cut from a huge ball of rope home-made earlier in the loft. For tractor trailers, as we later moved to, ropes were normally 7 fathoms. Two to a cart or trailer, tied at the back and then thrown over the completed load to be fastened tight to the cart shafts or to rings or hooks in the case of trailers. A skilled man would splice the new cut rope ends to stop fraying, sometimes so neat you could hardly see it.
Not to forget the feet. Toe to toe, end over end, 12 inches a time. Not for nothing is a foot called a foot !!! The yard, or pace, was a good long step, practice made perfect, The foreman would set out the bags of seed along the top of the field, and come exactly right. At times a field was not square, but no matter, he still placed them in the exact spot for filling the broadcast sower.
And the ultimate field measurement, setting out your starts for the plough. No tape measure, just that easy pace across the land, and when the finish was near and the strip of land narrowed, rarely was any adjustment needed. The final narrow strip of land might be measured by the foot, just to get the inches right for a perfect finish.
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