HERE we are in May and perhaps spring may just be about to arrive. The gurus who preach the gospel of global warming will find down on the farm, and certainly up in the hills and glens, few disciples. In truth, the spring of 2008 may well go down in history as one of the most difficult seasons for many years.
I concede that the same period of 2007 could not have been more benevolent, but, as one wise farmer remarked the other day, perhaps we are just returning to normality: days of cold winds, sleet, snow and almost no grass.
Lambing is now drawing to
a close, apart for those flockmasters who decided some years ago to delay the entire operation until May. Later lambing has its advantages in that the weather should statistically be more amenable, but don't bank on it.
Travelling around Scotland and England over the past three weeks, I concluded that it is a long time since so many lean – no, downright thin – ewes were in evidence. My understanding is that death rates have been appreciably higher than usual. In my farming days, one of the first things to be organised before the onset of lambing was to get a neighbour, who owned a digger, to excavate a substantial hole in the far corner of the lambing field.
This was the last resting place of the ewes who would succumb to a range of maladies and obstetric problems and the substantial number of lambs for whom life was short. City dwellers may fondly assume that every lamb born graduates to become a chop after gambolling in the fields and on the hills during the summer, but this is far from the truth.
Sheep have an amazing propensity of finding new ways of dying, especially after having consumed considerable quantities of feed over the long winter months. However, sheep farmers, apart from those in the most remote areas, are no longer permitted to bury dead animals. Mad European legislation now dictates that they must be uplifted by the National Fallen Stock Company and incinerated. This comes at a cost to the farmer, but then again someone always makes a profit out of death!
But to be more serious, it is clear that the sheep industry is in trouble. Yes, returns since the turn of the year have generally been rewarding, but let not the disastrous prices of the autumn of 2007 be consigned to history.
That was the time when virtually the whole of Great Britain was subject to movement restrictions, first as a result of the foot-and-mouth outbreak in Surrey, and then bluetongue disease in East Anglia.
But the industry faces the prospect of another manic scheme from Brussels, which will make it mandatory that virtually every sheep should have an individual identification. In Scotland, the December census posted the national breeding flock at 3.26 million head – a lot of sheep, but way down on the 4.12 million of 1997.
The reality is that huge numbers of sheep – a latter day Highland clearance – have been quietly disappearing over the past decade. One of the most accurate barometers of the sheep industry is the number of rams sold at the leading sales. Stirling used to host five rings of Blackface rams on a frenetic Saturday in October at a sale that lasted almost until darkness. That event is now but a shadow of its former self.
I fear we will never see a recovery of those days when specialist breeders could present – and sell – the better part of 100 rams. Shepherds are also becoming a rare breed, with almost certainly less than 1,000 full-time employed on Scottish farms and estates. Shepherds are a breed apart, but their wives and partners have a growing disinclination to live miles away from shops and the associated services we now take for granted.
The price of fuel and fertilisers are frequently rated as being a real hindrance to the productivity of farming, but I suspect that the lack of suitable labour may yet prove to the biggest break on production. I heard recently of a substantial operation in Aberdeenshire where the farmer is planning a major reduction of his beef-breeding herd. The reason is simple: he cannot find stock-people.
A wage package of more than £30,000 has been on offer, but the only takers were those whom the farmer would not trust to deal with a difficult calving at some unearthly hour in the middle of winter.
FINALLY, we dined last weekend in Glasgow at a restaurant that had been much recommended. The ambience was superb – and we knew it would be a moderately expensive evening.
I spied Scottish sirloin steak on the menu and ordered accordingly, on the condition that it be served up as medium to rare. However, during the order process I asked the waitress to find out who supplied this fine eatery. Minutes later, she returned from a discussion with the chef and informed me that the beef was from South America – not quite what I was expecting, given the menu details.
The steak was better than some, but worse than others which I have chewed my way through in recent months, but that's not the point. Scotland takes great pride in its beef and visitors from all over the world expect the best, backed by due provenance.
Ross Finnie, in his time as rural affairs minister with the Scottish Executive, promised that he would press for "country of origin labelling" in all catering outlets. That was several years ago – nothing has happened in the interim, but it should. If the Republic of Ireland can insist on such a regime, there can be no good reason why the same should not prevail in Scotland.
The full article contains 972 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
