At Christmas, conversations across the dinner table flow in all sorts of different directions. Once or twice, they do evoke memories that resonate. Days in the 1960s and 70s that are half remembered and maybe embellished.
It’s a steel three-bay Dutch Barn that brings us together. This old barn still stands but is more than likely riddled with rust and decay. It no longer does what it did during my childhood. That is holding hundreds of hay bales.
One of the regular farm duties was to give the barn a complete coating of “red oxide” paint. That’s the galvanised roof structure and not the tall steel columns that kept everything in place.
Up to the 1970s, lead was added to some red oxide paints. On refection, hours spent spreading this gloopy liquid about the corrugated barn roof was probably hazardous. The consolation being that this painting job was done on a completely exposed roof. That’s about as open air a job as any painting job can get. I remember the paint dried very quickly. That could be annoying.
The barn ran roughly East – West, with the lean-to section being exposed to the full force of any wind from the North. Getting up on the barn roof was easy. One side of the barn had a full-length lean-to section. It didn’t take much of a ladder to climb onto the lower part of the lean-to roof. The slope was steep enough to require a degree of care but the bolts that held the galvanised sheets in place helped add some grip for our boots.
My childhood experiments were ridiculous. They made eminent sense that the time. One involved making a parachute out of used black polyethene hay rick covering and baler twine and testing it by jumping off the barn lean-to roof. Remarkably this never resulted in any broken bones. I can only think that was down to the soft, muddy grass that I landed on. More mud than grass a lot of the time.
A completely different story is about filling the hay barn. Doing what it was designed to do. That’s store hay bales for the winter. Now, imagine the middle of summer. Blazing sunshine. A hot tin roof and the awkward spaces under it. Dry air, dust and noise everywhere. Working to self-imposed deadlines to get the hay in before the weather changed.
Today, mechanisation has taken the shear drudgery out of the annual ritual of haymaking. Most of the work is done sitting on a tractor. That might even be air-conditioned.
Let’s say, I’m talking about 1975, or a year either side. My dad, brother and I would be staking the hay bales in the barn. My mum would be on a loaded trailer putting the bales on an elevator. One by one. For the first five or six layers of hay bales we’d have an open space to work in. My brother and I would compete by showing off how far we could throw the bales as they came off the elevator. As we went up, layer by layer so the job got tougher and tougher. There was less space to work in. The heat and dust became almost overpowered.
Those are the moments I remember. Sweating like no sauna can make anyone sweat. As each hay bale came up, we’d have to think more carefully about where to put it. Stooped as we were compressed against the barn roof. That’s when our thoughts were to get the job done as quickly as possible. In these intense conditions, the thought of only having to do this job once a year and prospect of ice cream were just about enough to get us through.
John Vincent 