MY NEW HOME
It was circa 1959/1960 that a chunk of ore was forged and moulded into various parts to become the nucleus of my creation. I was designed by Henry (Harry) Ferguson who was born in Co. Down, Ireland on November 4th, 1884. Having been assembled at Massey Ferguson, Banner Lane, Coventry, England I rolled off the assembly line in 1960 in a shining red and grey coat of paint.
From there I went to work in England for eight years during which time they painted me yellow and green. I definitely stood out from the crowd.
In the year 1968, I arrived in Ireland to a small garage near Bartlemy owned by John O’Donovan on the road from Dr Barry’s Bridge, Rathcormac towards Lisgoold. It was there that I first set my sights on Irish soil and thankfully, my bodywork was restored to its original colours of red and grey.
1968 was the year that I began serving Willie and Kathleen. It was a wonderful relationship that continued until their passing. I was the replacement (nowadays they call it upgrading) from the Ferguson 20 TVO. My chores were simple with great variety that entailed carting cattle to the mart and to Waterpark. It also involved ploughing, tilling and sowing crops such as oats, barley, potatoes, etc.
In my time with Willie and Kathleen I witnessed many changes in the modernisation and redevelopment of Irish agriculture, from working with horses to tractors that have quadrupled in size in the ‘70’s and ‘80’s and beyond. There was always something to do and during a few summers we headed to the local gravel pit for sand and gravel with the trailer in tow. Even though I was fitted with a new front end quickie loader, with shovel and fork attachment, the gravel had to be counted out - 160 hand shovels for a tonne. The loader made my steering heavy as there was no power steering at that time. But my boss came up with a plan and a big block of concrete was attached to my 3-point linkage.
Farming as an occupation often requires working long hours. I am grateful that I only had to work Sundays on very rare occasions such as turning/ saving hay/corn in wet weather. “Oh how times have changed”.
In my lifetime there have been occasions of great joy and sadness, none more so than when my boss’s son and his best friend, Thomas drove me to Kinsale to collect a recently purchased Allis Chambers round baler that was over 3 metres wide. There was no South Link or tunnel in those days, so we had to travel through the centre of Cork city, down through Patrick Street, etc. If we did it today, I think we might be arrested. Sadly, it was Thomas’s final trip as he passed away from cancer at the tender age of 19.
Over the years I have received much needed attention like engine repairs, etc and in the process I have gone on to educate a new generation on how Harry Ferguson developed and designed the various mechanisms that make me function as a tractor.
PREPARING FOR
RETIREMENT
In coming to the end of my working life, I was given to a neighbour on loan and happily contributed another fifteen years of service before I was prepared for retirement; blankets and plastic silage wraps covered me and happily preserved me for a number of years.
2018 was a pivotal year when I returned to my home in Pellick, to once again listen to the unmistakable sound of my 3 cylinders purring for the first time in many years. It was not long before I was back in the shed that was my first home in 1968 with John, Kay and next generation
y(Eoin).
So began the dismantling of all my parts to all corners of the shed and they began sourcing all the parts for my refurbishment, happily most of the parts arrived pre Covid-19 and therefore, it became a Covid-19 project. Freshly assembled and with original bonnet painted, I hit the road to vintage runs in Tallow, Ballyduff Upper and the Tom Leahy run.
The finest hour to date was to complete a promise that was made 3 years previous, that the tractor would be restored to its former glory and that it would be driven to Innishannon Vintage Rally held this past June, that has raised much needed funds for the Irish Cancer Society. With John at the wheel, we headed off at 6am on a fine Sunday morning, avoiding the city due to the marathon, we arrived some three and a half hours later for an enjoyable 2 days, before heading home recalling memories of fifty years previous as we drove along Patrick Street and MacCurtain Street, etc.
This story is dedicated to family and friends for the preservation of a family heirloom. The hope is that the Massey Ferguson 35 will live on for the enjoyment of generations to come.
They say that the ancient Irish, their skills they did combine, And from the blossom of the gorse, they made a lovely wine. And in the mating season, for the blackbird and the thrush, No better place for nesting, than a big strong furzy bush.
In all the well-kept farms, upon every ditch and ledge,
The best for fence and shelter, was a well-trimmed furzy
hedge.
And, as for winter fodder for the cow, or for the horse
There was no better ration, than young green pounded gorse.
The furz made cosy bedding for livestock in the farm,
With a shake of straw on top, the thorns did not harm. And it made very good manure, when it got time to rot And when ‘twas dry and withered, sure, ‘twas great to boil
the pot.
When they could not get the ash, from furze roots they made
‘cumauns’,
And when thrashing with the flails, it made very good
‘baultawns’.
From the furze, they made fine ‘scallops’ the thatch-roof to
repair,
And it made rungs for ladders, and for the sugan chair.
From furze they made the fair-sticks to drive and herd the
cattle.
Often ere the fair was o’er those sticks were used in battle. It was the time of faction fighting, the three year olds and
four
When they hammered one another, their heads were often
sore.
When those reckless rivals, with each other they did clash They said, the cudgels made from furze were better than the
ash.
On the eve of good St John, or their man was elected
They had great bog bonfires when the furze it was collected.
And with the furze thorns, but this indeed was cruel
They urged the poor old donkey, the jennet and the mule. And during the awful famine, those years of want and need, There were those who stayed alive, who made porridge from
furze seed.
J.M.