We turned off the main road onto a country lane. Narrow,
winding, muddy and lined with trees. The Downs were a misty smudge to the south
as we headed north into the Weald through ancient bluebell woodland that
rubbed shoulders with small lush green fields grazed by sheep. We drove down
Furnace Lane, passed a large pond on our right and Hammer Pond Cottage on the
left. Ghosts of another age when these woods vibrated to the sound of an iron
industry that thrived on abundant wood for charcoal, iron ore, and water for
power.
The farm land here was very different. The smallholding we
were heading for was on heavy clay, much lusher but also much wetter. More
grass for sheep but more problems with their feet.
The directions were clear. A large red brick wall on the
right and a little further on a gate and a large pig arc. As we arrived dead on
time, the tight little knot in my stomach tightened.
This was it. A plan, a long time in the making, was about
to come to fruition.
We were expected, the gate was opened. Parked beside the
track leading into the farm was a Land Rover hitched to a trailer. As I climbed
down from the truck and walked over to it a belligerent squeal echoed around
the inside of the trailer.
The idea of keeping pigs had been there at the beginning;
from the point when I knew I was going to take on my father’s old small
holding. It was part of the deal I made with myself. There would be chickens
and ducks for eggs, an allotment and an orchard. I hadn’t planned the sheep but
they came anyway. I definitely wanted to rear pigs. The plan was to buy in eight-week-old
weaners which I would fatten up for slaughter at around seven or eight months
to fill up the old white freezer that stands in the corner of the shed.
I know this is the point at which I lose the vegetarians
and the vegans have already left at the mention of chickens and ducks.
Why don’t I feel guilty, mortified by the idea of keeping
an animal, perhaps growing fond of it, that I plan to kill and eat? Perhaps it
is because I am a farmer’s daughter. We kept pigs when I was child. I have dim
memories of the pig pens, the smell, the snuffling grunts as they moved around,
soft white bodies, floppy ears and prying snouts. I enjoyed the pigs but I knew
they were with us for a purpose. They would become pork and I liked pork.
So, when I embraced the concept of self-sufficiency, meat
was on the menu as well as vegetables. I respect anyone who has principles
about eating another creature but we are omnivores and I am never going to be a
vegetarian. I feel it is acceptable to rear an animal to eat, providing it is
given a good life, with access to the outdoors and freedom to move around
naturally while it is alive. I am turning my back on cheap factory farmed meat,
which is what we as consumers demand, and going for something free range and
home grown.
As I peered into the trailer at the two pigs that I would
be taking home with me, I was aware that this would not have been possible
without the help of a good friend, an agricultural contractor I use for fencing
and hedging. He was my hero over the pigs.
For a start he didn’t laugh (not even a smirk) when I
confided in him that I fancied keeping pigs. He actually suggested that I use
the shrubby piece of bank that divides my top field from the bottom as an area
to run the pigs on. The larger trees would provide shade, the long grass and
shrub something for the pigs to root around in. He agreed to sort out the
fencing, which given the terrain, was never going to be easy and then he gently
took me in hand and organised my dream.
Work started on the fencing in February and continued
through the bitterly cold weather that the beginning of March threw at us. I
had decided on stock fencing reinforced with two strands of electric wire at
snout height. Belt and braces, because if there is one thing that pigs are good
at, it is escaping. Colditz has nothing on a couple of smart pigs. We rigged
the electric fencing up to the mains. Then came the problem of water. I had
visions of filling a trough with a bucket but this was quickly rejected and I
now have a self-filling water butt connected to the mains supply. Pigs drink a
lot, and I mean a lot. He moved the pig arc I had bought into place and I took
his advice on where to dig a wallow for my pigs to cool off in. Thought and
care and attention to detail went into the job of turning this small piece of
land into a suitable home for the new arrivals.
Both of them! This was never going to be a big commercial
enterprise! The plan was to buy the piglets in the spring and fatten them up
over the summer ready to send to slaughter at the end of October. The land
would then have a chance to recover over the winter and the process would start
again in the next spring. I am a fair-weather pig keeper. I don’t want to wade
around in lots of mud coping with frozen water pipes.
I had chosen Oxford Sandy and Blacks, which have been
around for almost three hundred years. Without the dedication of a small
enthusiast group of pig breeders they would disappear. I peered into the
trailer to meet my new pigs. They are, as the name says, a sandy, ginger colour
with black markings. We loaded the larger of the two piglets into the dog crate
I had bought for the journey home. He was predominantly ginger with small
patches of black and one white ear. The second piglet was smaller but louder
and much darker with a black rump. His ears hadn’t dropped. They were still
pinned against his head. Three weeks on they are still pinned to the side of
his head and he is still the loudest.
As we finished loading and I paid for them the enormity of
what I had just done settled in the pit of my stomach. I know virtually nothing
about keeping pigs. I am learning on the job. I have read up on pig keeping, frightened
myself by looking at all the diseases they can suffer from, registered with a
local livestock vet who has checked them out and successfully negotiated all
the paper work that goes with keeping even small numbers of animals. I have
listened to a lot of people with different advice and the main thing seems to
be that everyone I have talked to is enthusiastic about keeping pigs and has
assured me I will enjoy them.
As I take them their feed in the mornings and watch them
rush up to the gate, squealing to greet me, I have to smile. They are
characters; intelligent, friendly, inquisitive, funny and yes definitely ….
enjoyable.
