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Adventures of the Yorkshire Shepherdess

Page 26

by Amanda Owen


  For once, everybody agreed. She was to be called Joy.

  Joy was reared on the bottle as a pet, and her uncertain start in life proved to be of no detriment as she thrived and grew into a strong and beautiful cow. She did not live alone; her companion was a shorthorn bull calf that went by the name of Jimmy. He too was reared on the bottle, though not because he was an orphan but because he had a thoroughly detestable mother. Such is life, there is no accounting for the wills and ways of animals, and Jimmy’s mother showed no maternal instinct whatsoever, refusing point blank to even acknowledge her newborn. She would spin around when he attempted to suckle, cavort about and then flatten him against the wall at any given moment. Eventually, we admitted defeat and reared him ourselves. It suited Joy to have a companion, as it did at least give her some notion that she was, when all is said and done, still a cow.

  The children were devoted to their care for six months until it was time to wean them, and Jimmy and Joy were just as devoted to the children. It was a terrifying sight to see the children setting off on a bicycle ride, a raggle-taggle peloton accompanied by two half-grown calves galloping and bucking alongside, letting out an occasional cow-kick here and there.

  A whole year later, and Joy and Jimmy had been reintroduced to the other young cattle and were living in the high pasture at The Firs. It really struck me how much of an impression the animals had made on the children’s lives when the bigger ones returned from feeding them their daily ration of cake.

  ‘OMG,’ said Raven, in typical teenage speak, when they all returned. ‘Like, I can’t believe it.’

  ‘What?’ I said. I was ever so hopeful that the penny had dropped – perhaps they did know what day it was after all.

  ‘I took a picture of Joy and Jimmy and all the other cows at Firs looking over the wall,’ she carried on.

  ‘Mmmmm,’ I replied.

  ‘It’s a special day, Mum!’ she chirped.

  Now this was looking promising, maybe she had remembered.

  ‘It said on mi phone that on this day last year we found Joy! It’s her birthday!’

  I have to say that I was a little crestfallen, though not surprised, that Joy the cow’s birthday had ranked as being more memorable than mine, as we have never really been much into celebrating the passing of time. For the children, time is not seen as such a precious thing, merely wished away with hopes and dreams of what the future might hold. The summer holidays last forever and for the less-scholarly children the school years drag on endlessly. Nothing changes and that continuity is really what bestows upon us a sense of belonging and purpose.

  We do all seem to live in a smaller, more-connected world today, but for us here in the highest reaches of the Dales, where the bronzed heather-clad hills dominate the skyline and the silver-streaked rivers flash beneath expansive leaden skies as they have done for centuries, the close-knit community and the demands of the changing seasons are still at the heart of what we do. To be able to have the world at our fingertips if we so choose is a marvellous thing indeed but, as more and more visitors pass through our farm, then maybe we should realize just how lucky we are to call this little corner of Yorkshire our home.

  My brood outside The Firs. From left to right: Reuben, Miles, Clemmie, Sidney, Annas, Edith and Violet. Myself, Raven and Clive, who is holding Nancy, are in the background.

  Springtime means lambs, and we let our yows give birth outside as nature intended.

  Lambing time can be tiring work . . .

  Where lamb and pram go, the mother will follow. Our packhorse bridge is in the background.

  A traditional barn in a wildflower meadow.

  The Firs nestled in its valley – it looks like paradise!

  When the renovation started I knew we had a project on our hands, but it was daunting at the start.

  The children all helped out. Raven and Edith with paintbrushes in hand.

  Clive built a seat in the retaining wall. Not the most comfortable place to sit!

  Bringing the sheep into the pens at clipping time.

  Our beloved Little Joe having some breakfast with Clemmie.

  A different kind of guest in our shepherd’s hut.

  The occasionally irritable Josie out in the snow with Raven.

  Joe, a good dog taken too soon.

  Whether it’s down to the sheep or Little Joe’s bottom, we’re constantly fixing our drystone walls.

  The horses are part of the family and I feel very connected to them.

  Eartha and her new calf.

  Clemmie gathering up the loose hay. We had a short window to mow, dry and bale it.

  Pippen on her patch – she’s not one to stray too far these days.

  Farming can be relentless . . . but we wouldn’t change it for anything.

  Jack o t’Firs watched over our renovations from above the fireplace.

  A medieval instrument of torture or a cheese press? I searched high and low for this antique.

  What home is complete without an organ?

  The kitchen is the heart of any farmhouse.

  The infamous half-tester bed at The Firs.

  The fodder-beet lorry tipped on its side after hitting ice. Moving the beets by hand was not fun.

  When the Beast from the East hit, we had to take feed to the sheep by hand, wading knee-deep in snow.

  Kate, her face encrusted with snow. A shepherd is nothing without their dog.

  With not a blade of grass in sight, the sheep were totally reliant on us to bring them food.

  Even in the harshest weather, there is still beauty to be found.

  Chalky on her way back home after disappearing for weeks.

  Bill, an old fella now, watching over Nancy.

  Summer 2018 was all about wild swimming. Clive leads the younger children to the river.

  I took the older children on an adventure, swimming in the river at Boggle Hole.

  We spent days searching for a missing calf after her mother was found dead. Here the children head off onto the moor tops.

  We found the calf, Joy, the very night we were about to stop looking. We brought her inside to gently warm up by the fire.

  One year later, Raven took this picture of Joy with the other cows at The Firs.

  Also by Amanda Owen

  The Yorkshire Shepherdess

  A Year in the Life of the Yorkshire Shepherdess

  First published 2019 by Macmillan

  This electronic edition first published 2019 by Macmillan

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan

  20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-5098-5268-0

  Copyright © Amanda Owen 2019

  Front jacket image © Ian Forsyth

  The right of Amanda Owen to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All photographs © Amanda Owen, except for here, here and here © Ian Forsyth

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.

 

 

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