My husband’s family have lived in our village for many years and his grandparents were often seen at key events, so as the new farmer’s wife I felt it was my duty to continue with the family tradition of attending the village functions. The harvest festival service at the church was to be my first public appearance, however one of the farm animals had other ideas about how I would spend the evening. The farming story I am about to share with you is a true story that occurred in October 2004 so read on the find out exactly what happened….
This was no ordinary Sunday. Harvest Festival was to start at our local church at 6pm and it was the first service I was due to attend.
Earlier in the afternoon I had heard lots of shouting and heavy footsteps running across the yard. I didn’t know what all the commotion was about. Then I saw my husband charging past, so I popped my head out of the kitchen window to ask. I was told that a bullock was on the loose and under no circumstances was I to leave the house.
By 5.30pm it all seemed peaceful and calm in the yard. No one had told me if they had caught the bullock. I just assumed that either it had been returned and no one had let me know or the drama of the runaway bullock had moved on to the village. Anyway the coast seemed clear for me to go to the poultry pens and feed Hatty and Hetty before I went to the church.
No problem, not a runaway bullock in sight.
It was on my return from feeding the hungry hens when I encountered a problem and a rather large problem at that! As I passed the bales I noticed a bullock in the middle of the vegetable patch. It wasn’t just trotting on by, it was standing and staring right at me.
I to was rooted to the spot. My heart was pounding so fast and so hard I could hear it thudding in my ears. A sickening feeling crept over me but before it engulfed me I managed to shout for my husband, “Steve!”…………My voice echoed in to the silent night. But nobody came to my rescue. As I slowly tried to back away, my escape root was blocked by the stack of bales I could now feel against my back. What was I going to do? The only thing between me and the runaway bullock was a rickety old fence. Just as the sickening feeling returned and I thought I might pass out, the bullock took one last look at me and retreated through the garden and back down the lane.
I have never moved so fast in all my life. It was only when I slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock that I sighed with relief. It was then that I heard the bells chiming to signal the start of the Harvest Festival service, but there was no way I was following that bullock up the lane. I’d have to wait for next year’s service and hope that my attendence wasn’t stopped by another runaway bullock!
If you have a farming story, memory or farm visit that you would like to share then please send me your story and I will happily include it on a guest appearance post.