A farmer on a small tractor ploughing a field, England, circa 1950s. Photograph: Allan Cash Picture Library/Alamy
Country diary 1951: All on the farm is a dreadful rush
26 April 1951: One field finished and sown, I have managed to hurry in some necessary vegetable seeds, and we still are getting a few lambs.
All spring migrants are here; even the cuckoo has been about since the sixteenth, his usual time. I saw a swallow on the seventeenth. The most persistent singer is still the wren. Robins do not seem to have much time to sing now. All on the farm is a dreadful rush – one field finished and sown, and ploughing and harrowing going on on Saturdays and Sundays. I have even managed to hurry in some necessary vegetable seeds, though a week ago no ground had been dug. I am told of a farm near here where 20 acres of potatoes are still in the ground or were a week ago.
Bumblebees are at work, and at last a few shabby butterflies haunt the dandelions. My bees have decided to try to make a start, but in spite of sunshine and any amount of flowers it has been too cold for them to do any good. They are eagerly taking down syrup.
We still are getting a few lambs. To-day my last year’s bottle-fed lamb has produced a strong ram lamb. I should have gone to congratulate her but the odd small lamb causes consternation. She still goes on three legs but is solid and quite heavy. I thought she had stayed behind on the terrace, but when I looked back I saw her jump down from the highest part of the wall: she fell, and I thought and she thought that she had hurt her rather shaky front legs. She lay down by me; I carried her away and she was none the worse.
View image in fullscreen: The Guardian, 26 April 1951.
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