Ladies and gentlemen,
the story you are about to read is true, the names have been altered
to protect the stupid.
This is the croft one
of the most derelict in Northumberland.
To the North, is a row of
poorly maintained fencing. To the east goat shelters. To the South,
unbroken views of a midden, and to the West a heap of broken-down
agricultural equipment. This is a goat farm, just like any other
small holding or croft. I'm here with George from Environmental
health, and Sam from DEFRA, this is a desperate place, like many
struggling dairy farms, a powder keg of bottled frustrations. I am
here to keep order. My name is Friday and I'm a cop.
The office sent me to
escort the two inspectors, that clearly think something is amiss. If
they find anything untoward there could be trouble. The suspicions
have been raised because the croft does not receive a grant of any
kind from the government. It is too small to supply supermarkets or
big shops. They have no machinery, no tractors, and no agricultural
rep calling to sell out of date seeds and fertiliser. They are
clearly up to no good.
A shambling man
approaches dressed in old (very old) clothes and wearing Wellington
Boots, a fashion statement in these parts. He smiles and seems
cheery. I can spot the danger signs. No one in their predicament
would smile (ever).
“Hello, what can I do
for you gents?”
He is more devious than
I expected, he was still smiling when we showed our identity tags.
“I would like to see
your Holding register” said Sam
“ And I demand to see
your risk assessment and procedures” Demanded George.
“ And why not,”
smiled the crofter “ come this way to the office.”
I made sure he led the
way as I could see what looked like an Opinel knife in his pocket. I
would not like him to get behind us near the septic tank, he looked
like he knew how to use one.
The office was a corner
of the hallway constructed out of cardboard boxes. The desk two
upturned tea chests with a scaffold plank between them. On the desk
top was a typewriter, (old, well used).
“Do you have a
computer?” asked George
he shook his head
“Printer?”
he shook his head
“Mobile phone?”
He pointed to a wall
mounted Bakelite telephone.
“No signal, not worth
it.” he said
“How do you keep
copies, receipts, or files “ asked George
“Carbon, got boxes of
the stuff as no one uses it anymore, I can now afford it.”
“ Can I see your
holding register ?” said Sam
they both bombarded the
crofter with questions about procedures etc. so I left them to it to
take a look around.
Standing apart from the
rest of the goat sheds was a structure made of old railway sleepers
driven in with stout iron poles. The structure was about 3 metres
high and fenced like fort Knox. A sign on what looked like a door
said “Buck house”. I didn't go any closer as there was an awful
smell coming from it.
I entered the goat
shed. The noise was deafening. All the goats were calling out as if
pleased to see me. All the goats were fat, and none had discernible
udders. I knew what an udder looked like. I was shown a picture of
one at the briefing. I walked the aisle patting the goats and looking
for an udder. There were no udders of milk.
The Byre door opened
and the crofter entered followed by Sam.
“Some ear tags are
missing.” said Sam
The crofter brandished
the ear tagging machine with red tags.
“Help yer self.”
said the crofter “They are a bit wild like, when they see the
tagger”
Sam shook his head “
If you promise to re tag them, and let me know when you have done it.
It will be fine.”
“I am curious,” I
said “ how much do you earn, crofting, selling milk and the like?”
“I think I am about
the national average for a crofter. That is a 90 hour week for minus
£11 a year. If I manage to work 20 hours a day I could break even in
5 years, but then I would not have time to complete the paperwork
required by DEFRA and Environmental health. You have to stick with in
the law until you are bankrupt. It's government policy.”
“I see .”I said
“Why do you not have milk, this is a dairy, and I have been tasked
to check where all the milk has gone.”
“ You see that castle
structure over there, Buckingham Palace, That is where the King
lives. The Mighty Mikey (Houdini) lives in there, separate from the
milkers. He keeps on escaping. And has mated everything, including
the collie. If you need to redo your shoe laces, I would wait until
you are off the property. It's not safe to bend down.”
A loud thumping sound
came from Buck House, where the Mighty Mikey was trying to batter his
way out. It was obviously time to go, and quickly.
From outside the fence
I asked “What are you doing now you are not milking?”
“Filling in forms for
your two associates, It should keep me busy until kidding. Mind you
it has made my business case look a bit shaky, I doubt if I will
break even in 2087 like I planned.”
I returned to the
station, mission accomplished, and glad I am only keeping the streets
safe, not trying to feed the population.
