LOOKBACK: This article was first published on 6th June 2023
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It is that time of year again – the silage men rule the roads.
Ah, you should see Cynddylan on a tractor.
Gone the old look that yoked him to the soil;
He’s a new man now, part of the machine,
His nerves of metal and his blood oil.
Cynddylan on a Tractor – by R.S. Thomas
We already have a united Ireland, believe it or not. Ireland, all 32 agricultural counties, are united in green – green grass that is. From North Antrim to south Kerry, wrinkled eyes are turned to the sky and a prayer offered for continued good, dry weather. There are no atheists in Ireland’s fields at this time of year. All pray for sunshine and a chance to bring in the silage, that green gold that will feed the livestock over the winter.
While most of us think see the stretch in the evenings and take joy in the light, planning a trip abroad where it might be even warmer and sunnier, the farmers have already sensed the world beginning to turn. They see autumn and winter and cows that need fed during dark days. Hence the rush now to harvest that which grows in all of Ireland’s four green fields, grass, the sort of stuff you and I run the lawnmower over and toss out without a second’s thought, grateful only for the labour to be at an end.
The farmer, however, wants to get a good cut, a plentiful bounty, a big feed of green, for the beasts in his fields. You see them every day now, those modern Cynddylans – or should that be Cú Chulainn in his chariot in the Irish context? They boss the roads in their tractors with trailers piled high with green, green grass. They own the roads now. They rush to the fields to get a load, rush back to the farm to deposit it and back again to the fields. Grass that is not collected there and then is bundled in black plastic and left for a later time. You will see them dotted across the landscape, like so many bouncing bombs.
It is a sight that this city boy never tires of witnessing; brigades of Fords, Massey-Fergusons and John Deeres charging out of yards with the sort of élan that would have gladdened the heart of Brian Boru. “Fág an bealach,” is cited as being the battle cry of the Royal Irish Regiment. I submit it belongs properly to every yahoo who has ever driven a tractor on the bóithre of Ireland. No one stands in their way: motorists; cyclists; road signs. Ah, if only poor Napoleon had had an Irish tractor troop at Waterloo, they would have broken the British infantry squares.
Yes, of course, it is not all so romantic if you are stuck in a queue behind a slowly advancing column of tractors and trailers. You will lose precious moments of your life. But take time to marvel at the sight, at the absolute command that the driver has over his machine. Rarely, will you see both hands on the steering column; one alone seems to be the favourite way to manoeuvre, allowing the other to hold a cigarette or can of Red Bull.
Indeed, when it comes to turning and reversing, these folk are the farming equivalent of Einstein, making calculations that city folk can never see: a quick stop, a glance over the shoulder, the angles are calculated and then the trailer is thrown into a turn and backed into the shed or yard with exact precision. They could land a tractor on the moon if you gave them enough diesel.
Enjoy it while you can. Who knows how long this summer céilí might last because as Nanci Griffith once sang: “Baby I know that we’ve got trouble in the fields/When the bankers swarm like locust out there turning away our yield.”
This time it is not the bankers but rather the politicians and eurocrats turning away the yield. The Dutch government has already begun to squeeze its own farmers over nitrogen emissions that are higher than the EU allows. They plan to cut those emissions through reducing the number of cows, pigs and chickens farmed in the, very lucrative, Dutch agricultural sector. This may lead to the compulsory buy-out of farms as part of their strategy. This, in turn, has led to massive protests by Dutch farmers in March and their weapon of mass protest was the humble tractor.
They came for the Dutch farmers but I was not a Dutch farmer…