Bringing home the bacon
Plentiful straw, patience with paperwork and knowing when your pigs are ready for slaughter are all part and parcel of producing sweet homegrown pork, says Adrian Dangar
Adrian Dangar explains how to rear happy—and tasty—pigs
The pigs can be found snoring gently in a jumble of palpitating bodies
Twelve years ago, the annual display of fruit rotting beneath the apple and pear trees in the orchard at my North Yorkshire farmhouse became too much to bear and I resolved to put the natural bounty to good use. Someone suggested brewing cider, but I’d already set my heart on fattening weaner pigs, which I knew, from Herbert Read’s evocative childhood memoirs in The Innocent
Eye, had once been an integral part of life at the farmhouse where I now live.
There’s no record of the porcine variety that provided the Read family with ham and bacon throughout winter, but, as folklore decrees the bold black dollops on Gloucestershire Old Spots are bruises caused by falling apples, the west Country breed seemed an ideal choice and it’s one I’ve never regretted.
Red tape and paperwork are part and parcel of modern farming, but acquiring a holding number for my property and herd identification (displayed on an easily administered ear tag) for the few pigs I intended keeping were complications easily overcome, as well as essential information for movement orders that must be completed before pigs can travel.
with the bureaucracy accomplished, it only remained to secure the orchard, provide a shelter for my guests to sleep in and replace the tall cattle water trough for one at pig-friendly height, because even young pigs drink copious quantities of water.
A farming neighbour offered a weatherproof ark and two bales of straw and an hour with rails, hammer and nails repaired gaps in the orchard fence that were to remain pigproof for more than a decade.
I tracked down local suppliers of Gloucestershire Old Spots with an online search, but factoring in the joys of a home-cured Christmas ham and my determination to utilise windfall apples called for careful planning. Traditional breeds take up to seven months to grow into a porker, meaning that piglets must arrive during the last two weeks of June if they’re to be ready for the chop in November. Finding available weaners during the crucial timeframe can be challenging, so I put my name down for an unborn litter in late winter, which guarantees appleflavoured pork and an orchard that’s not trashed during the wettest months of the year.
Ordering gilts (females) from the same family reduces the risk of uneven growth and rules out the delicate question of ‘boar taint’ that’s said to flavour the meat of some male breeds.
Our girls now arrive each year before the orchard’s lush green grass has run to seed, but after fruit has set on trees, the summer foliage of which provides shade from the heat and protects tender ears from blistering in hot sunshine. The sight of half a dozen squealing piglets scampering joyously through waist-high grass and rootling around in the soft corners of their new home is a perennial spectacle eagerly anticipated by the whole family.
The spotted pigs settle remarkably quickly into their spacious surroundings and soon learn to gather at the gate each morning for half a bucket of high-nutrient grower pellets or to roll over for a belly-tickling session with the children.
By mid July, their diet is supplemented by purple cherry plums and the first windfall apples, the sweet red fruits of which are shed by the smallest tree in the orchard. They’re so delicious that our pigs will stand for hours on end listening for the thud of falling fruit with head cocked intelligently to one side, but, as summer rolls into autumn and other trees contribute to the feast, there’s eventually such a glut that even the greediest can’t devour them all.
when autumnal nights get colder, it’s important to provide plenty of straw in the sleeping quarters and gradually increase feed rations to keep pace with expanding girths; regular worming with a needle and syringe as greedy snouts are buried in the trough maintains pigs in rude health and ensures livers are not condemned at slaughter for white spot.
By this stage of the year, well-worn tracks connect water and feed stations with favourite resting places, where the pigs can be found snoring gently in a jumble of palpitating bodies, unaware their days are now numbered.
For obvious reasons, deciding when to send the pigs for slaughter is the most difficult part of the whole process, but, after years of practice and some expert advice along the way, I can now identify a live pig that will weigh within a pound or two of 110lb when hanging on the butcher’s rail.
As our pigs have never been separated, I care very much that they leave on their final journey together and gilts from the same litter usually reach the optimum killing weight within a week or so of each other. My efforts were nearly frustrated this year by a lastminute breakout that recalled the Tamworth Two, who fled a Malmesbury abattoir in 1998 and caused a national sensation by going Awol for more than a week before capture and eventual pardon.
Ours were less fortunate—they only absconded from the orchard as far as a neighbour’s garden and were repatriated in time for their departure early the following morning.
Once a decision has been made, preparations for the final day are straightforward; having contacted your preferred abattoir— thankfully, here in Yorkshire, there are still small, family-run businesses to choose from —it’s a question of completing a movement order online, arranging transport and returning a few days later to collect the product.
A good butcher will pack and label the different joints, make several pounds of sausages and vacuum-pack a hind leg with salt and soft brown sugar to create the most delicious ham.
In keeping with traditional philosophies, some of our pigs are bartered for other homegrown delicacies and, in this way, the freezer at Christmas is not just full of delicious sweet pork, but also smoked salmon, lamb and beef.