‘May Mornings’ wins writing competition
JILL Horsborough, was brought up on a farm on Werneth Low, and although she has now moved away to Scotland, her evocative story of home, childhood memories and her families amazing herd of red poll cows, has won my Wildlife Writing Competition.
Ironically Jill’s entry, ‘May Mornings’, was the last I received after I had already whittled them down to the last three, she saved me making a tough decision as they were very good, but Jill’s won the day.
‘Growing up on a dairy farm it was second nature to be up and out before the sun was fully risen. A quick brew then out to round up the cows for milking. Breathing in the crisp, chilled air, wellies slick with dew, I trudge up the hill into the rolling field, gently coaxing the graceful, lumbering chestnut red beasts up onto their feet. Pedigree animals all, docile and compliant in the main, with trusting peaceful eyes and long, luxurious lashes that any teen starlet would die for, they slowly and reluctantly rise to their feet.
‘Only the odd young heifer, not yet fully socialised and giddy with the novelty of having only recently been turned out overnight, needs any more than a gentle “yup, yup”, a low whistle or a tap on her sleek, glossy haunch. Nothing but birdsong to break the silence of a world waking up, the sun lazily rising, a low haze beginning to settle over a distant Manchester.
‘Luxuriating in the allencompassing silence I breathe deeply and feel at one with the world.
‘Fifty years on life is very different. I moved away many years ago, the Manchester commuter belt spread steadily like an inkstain and the birdsong began to be drowned out by the interminable low hum of traffic speeding by in an ever earlier rush hour. The farming cycle continued against an ever more rapid urbanisation and increasing pressures to provide cheap food. Eventually after the deaths of both brothers who had started from such humble beginnings to establish what would become the largest pedigree dairy herd of Red Polls in the country, the herd began to be diluted by cross breeding.
‘Daintier, doe eyed Jerseys, chosen for the creamy content of their milk joined the old guard. Then a couple of years ago the herd was dispersed with animals going to various parts of the country. No more early rises needed and no chestnut brown Red Polls grazing on the foothills of Werneth Low during the summer months.
‘Now, in the midst of a global pandemic, I stand in my garden at daybreak, on the edge of another city. Living near the Athens of the North, which has seen a similar but much slower growth than Manchester, I remain just beyond the city’s tentacles.
‘The sun rises slowly, almost reluctantly, there is a chill in the air and my feet are damp with dew. Only the sound of birdsong and my quarrelsome chickens, glad to be out of their coop, can be heard. Everyone stays at home and any usual traffic is stilled.
‘For now I have time to appreciate the promise of a new day and forget the unfolding tragedies, just inhale deeply and remember my Red Polls.’
I know, I am an old softy, but there is much in here that reminds me of my own youth, I love the reference to the dew in the morning and the skilful return to that image towards the end of the piece, and then of course, has there ever been a more beautiful cow, ever? Jill, probably inadvertently, took on board the sage advice always offered to new writers, ‘write about what you know best’, and after many years since she picked up a pencil, came up trumps.
I should say a big thank you to all the other entrants, and in particular those that appreciated being prompted into writing by my competition, and please now you have got going, carry on, and it will be one very good thing to come out of being locked away for months.