I just ran over a squirrel.
My husband was pleased. As far as he's concerned, grey squirrels are vermin, to be shot before they get at the hazelnuts.
I always try very hard not to kill anything on my journeys through the estate. (Yes, even ramblers). This is harder than it sounds, as all the bounty of creation seems to want to dart out in front of me and throw itself under the wheels. Tonight, before I hit the squirrel, I avoided three lively escapees from the cowsheds, four ducks and a moorhen, before I even got to the first set of gates.
It has all led me to recall the Worst Thing That Has Happened Since I Moved Here.
I was heading back down to the house, along the road that leads through the parkland. Sheep were grazing peacefully. One half-grown lamb was nibbling grass at the edge of the verge. I slowed down. I never took my eyes off it. I thought "that lamb is going to dart across this road any moment now". I drew closer. It remained nibbling, oblivious. The distance closed. I thought, "hmmm, seems I was mistaken and it's staying put". I drew level with it.
It darted out and went straight under the car.
Ba-dump Ba-dump went the wheels.
"Nooooooooooooooo!" went me.
I was distraught. I had run over a sheep. Maybe it wasn't too badly hurt. I got out of the car to take a look. It was stone dead, not a mark on it, though its head was at the wrong angle.
"I'm so sorry, sheep," I wailed.
It was wedged firmly under the car, so that I could neither move the vehicle, nor the animal. Legs stuck out at a jaunty angle. I tugged, fruitlessly. Well, that was Plan A out of the window then (me leaving the dead sheep on the side of the road and saying "Tsk! Just look at what some naughty visitor has done!") My big red car was sat, blocking the main visitor route to the house, with a sheep stuck under it. I could see walkers approaching. Oh joy, a pushchair. Now I would be responsible for upsetting a small child, too.
Plan B kicked in. In true, sorted, together, competent manager mode I started to cry. I phoned my Boss, then my Husband and then the Farmer, and sobbed and sniffed the same urgent message to all of them. "I - I'm at the top of the estate. I've run over a sheep! I can't move it or the car and people are coming!"
As it turned out, the people on foot were very nice. As they drew level they looked at the car, the dead sheep stiffening slowly beneath it, and then at me, blotchy-faced and snivelling.
"Aw, you ought to go and have a nice strong cup of tea, love, for the shock".
My husband and a warden arrived. The warden tried to cheer me up by telling me of the many sheep he had run over in his time. It wasn't really helping. Meanwhile my husband jacked up the car and they were able to remove the sheep and hide it behind a tree, until the farmer arrived.
"That was a good sheep, that," he said, casting his eye over it before tossing it into the back of his landrover.
"I'm really, really sorry," I said for the umpteenth time that afternoon.
I finally made my way back down to the house. Everyone had heard, from various visitors, of the sobbing woman at the top of the estate, with a dead sheep under her car. I could see my staff and volunteers registering my tearstained appearance and the lanolin smeared on the front bumper of the car. It was a fair cop.
Showing posts with label sheep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sheep. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Saturday, December 09, 2006
The Best Things in Life are Free
Free Entry Day. It’s a nice concept. Open the doors to everyone, no charge, so that those people who might not usually have the income or inclination to visit can take advantage of this once in a year opportunity.
This year Free Entry Day coincided with our Damson Weekend, and some beautiful autumnal weather, so we were mobbed. So many people – so many of whom had no particular love or respect for heritage and the environment, but, hey, it was free! – meant a lot of wear and tear on the house and grounds. The toilets had that outdoor music festival feel and there were plastic bottles and rubbish strewn throughout the gardens.
There was also some confusion about how much of the day was free. Many people wanted free damsons as well as free entry. “It didn’t say anything about having to pay for the damsons on your sign!” I had been under the impression that the concept of Pick Your Own was a well known one, but maybe all orchard owners and vendors of fruit have to contend with this. Maybe lots of people think the Pick Your Own signs are a genuine plea for passersby to gather all this annoying fruit and take it away and if money changes hands at all it should be going into their pockets for providing this service. I have learnt, over the years, that signs of any kind, no matter where you site them or how you word them, provide a source of unparalleled confusion in certain people.
That sunny afternoon I was busily picking damsons to bag up and sell for those people who did not want to pick their own, when my radio squawked. “Doris, can you come to the ticket office?” Aha, I thought, I bet it's a difficult customer to deal with.
I was right. A frowning couple, wearing dark glasses that never came off during our entire exchange. Their body language told me all I needed to know.
"Hello, can I help?" I asked, with my widest professional smile.
"Yes. There's an Apple Day at Somewhere Else today. The same day as your Damson Day. Can you tell me what the main difference is between your day and their Apple Day?"
"Um...Is it that they have apples and we have damsons?"
They did not find this remark as witty and charming as I did.
They went on to complain that whereas Apple Days have apple tasting, apple products, apple varieties to identify, apple experts and a whole plethora of apple-related activities, all we were offering was the chance to pick damsons and buy jam. They felt "misled". They kept brandishing the property leaflet at me, pointing at the events listing that says "Damson Weekend". They were cross that we hadn't specified exactly what the event was. They had made all sorts of assumptions about what a Damson Weekend should entail and were angry that their fantasy damson world, complete with damson parades and damson themed white knuckle rides, had not been actualized. At which point I interrupted to say that a press release had gone into all the local papers (and – oh joy - my colleague happened to have the newspaper article on hand to prove my point) which explained EXACTLY what to expect on the day. I had also been on BBC Radio Local to tell people EXACTLY what to expect on the day. They stuttered to a halt, for just a moment. But the woman rallied with "Well, yes, but not everyone reads the paper or listens to the radio".
“True” I said, “but you'll never reach absolutely every single person on the planet.”
And as for the property leaflet she kept flapping about in my face, I explained that we have to print those a year in advance, so no details are given on any of the events, as things often change in the interim, which is why it says at the bottom to phone this number for more event information.
I then discovered they hadn't actually progressed beyond the ticket office so hadn't even seen what we had to offer, but were complaining about it anyway. I described the beauty of the day itself, the lush orchards, the house, but to no avail. We didn't have free samples of damson cake to give away, so were therefore shit.
The woman then asked "Can we get something back for our wasted journey? We put money in the car park machine at the top".
"You want your money back?"
"Yes"
"You want your £2 back?"
"Yes"
Unbelievable. They may not have liked our concept of a Damson Weekend but they had actually used the car park. You don’t get your money back from town centre car parks because you didn’t find what you wanted in the High Street. And we are a charity. Still, I am an exemplar of customer care. I have been on a course. With great ostentatiousness I opened the cash tin to extract their £2.
“Here’s your £2 refund, with our apologies for your being ‘misled’”.
I returned to my wheelbarrow of damsons in the orchard. A sheep was eating the fruits of my labours. I looked around me - it is usually at moments just like these that someone will appear to tell me how lucky I am to work here.
This year Free Entry Day coincided with our Damson Weekend, and some beautiful autumnal weather, so we were mobbed. So many people – so many of whom had no particular love or respect for heritage and the environment, but, hey, it was free! – meant a lot of wear and tear on the house and grounds. The toilets had that outdoor music festival feel and there were plastic bottles and rubbish strewn throughout the gardens.
There was also some confusion about how much of the day was free. Many people wanted free damsons as well as free entry. “It didn’t say anything about having to pay for the damsons on your sign!” I had been under the impression that the concept of Pick Your Own was a well known one, but maybe all orchard owners and vendors of fruit have to contend with this. Maybe lots of people think the Pick Your Own signs are a genuine plea for passersby to gather all this annoying fruit and take it away and if money changes hands at all it should be going into their pockets for providing this service. I have learnt, over the years, that signs of any kind, no matter where you site them or how you word them, provide a source of unparalleled confusion in certain people.
That sunny afternoon I was busily picking damsons to bag up and sell for those people who did not want to pick their own, when my radio squawked. “Doris, can you come to the ticket office?” Aha, I thought, I bet it's a difficult customer to deal with.
I was right. A frowning couple, wearing dark glasses that never came off during our entire exchange. Their body language told me all I needed to know.
"Hello, can I help?" I asked, with my widest professional smile.
"Yes. There's an Apple Day at Somewhere Else today. The same day as your Damson Day. Can you tell me what the main difference is between your day and their Apple Day?"
"Um...Is it that they have apples and we have damsons?"
They did not find this remark as witty and charming as I did.
They went on to complain that whereas Apple Days have apple tasting, apple products, apple varieties to identify, apple experts and a whole plethora of apple-related activities, all we were offering was the chance to pick damsons and buy jam. They felt "misled". They kept brandishing the property leaflet at me, pointing at the events listing that says "Damson Weekend". They were cross that we hadn't specified exactly what the event was. They had made all sorts of assumptions about what a Damson Weekend should entail and were angry that their fantasy damson world, complete with damson parades and damson themed white knuckle rides, had not been actualized. At which point I interrupted to say that a press release had gone into all the local papers (and – oh joy - my colleague happened to have the newspaper article on hand to prove my point) which explained EXACTLY what to expect on the day. I had also been on BBC Radio Local to tell people EXACTLY what to expect on the day. They stuttered to a halt, for just a moment. But the woman rallied with "Well, yes, but not everyone reads the paper or listens to the radio".
“True” I said, “but you'll never reach absolutely every single person on the planet.”
And as for the property leaflet she kept flapping about in my face, I explained that we have to print those a year in advance, so no details are given on any of the events, as things often change in the interim, which is why it says at the bottom to phone this number for more event information.
I then discovered they hadn't actually progressed beyond the ticket office so hadn't even seen what we had to offer, but were complaining about it anyway. I described the beauty of the day itself, the lush orchards, the house, but to no avail. We didn't have free samples of damson cake to give away, so were therefore shit.
The woman then asked "Can we get something back for our wasted journey? We put money in the car park machine at the top".
"You want your money back?"
"Yes"
"You want your £2 back?"
"Yes"
Unbelievable. They may not have liked our concept of a Damson Weekend but they had actually used the car park. You don’t get your money back from town centre car parks because you didn’t find what you wanted in the High Street. And we are a charity. Still, I am an exemplar of customer care. I have been on a course. With great ostentatiousness I opened the cash tin to extract their £2.
“Here’s your £2 refund, with our apologies for your being ‘misled’”.
I returned to my wheelbarrow of damsons in the orchard. A sheep was eating the fruits of my labours. I looked around me - it is usually at moments just like these that someone will appear to tell me how lucky I am to work here.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Flock Me
"I wonder if you can help me?"
"I'll do my best!"
"I was doing one of your walks, when I came to this gate here".
We both lean over the map, her finger pointing at the gate in question.
"Oh yes, " I say. "That's the back orchard".
"Well, we got that far and couldn't go any further".
"Really? Oh dear. There shouldn't be any obstructions".
"There were all these sheep in the field".
"Yes, those are our Ryeland sheep, gorgeous aren't they?"
I smiled at her, genuinely mystified as to where we were going with this conversation.
"Well, are they safe?"
"Um....they're fine, as far as I know".
"No, I mean, is it safe to walk through them? You have to be careful when you have little ones," she stepped back, the sweep of her arm leading my gaze to the pushchair behind her.
"Oh!" I said, as understanding dawned. "Oh, they are perfectly safe! They will run away from you if you approach them. They are totally harmless, they don't attack or stampede or anything!"
She did not seem convinced. "Well, there's all that sheep muck I'd rather the children didn't walk through".
She left then, and drove off in her spotless 4x4.
I wondered if she finds herself trapped inside the car if she ever journeys to Wales or Scotland or anywhere that sheep roam freely over hill and dale. Sometimes it is hard to work out why some people choose a day out in the country.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Education and Expiration
A Law of Nature
Whenever a party of schoolchildren turns up for an educational visit something will expire on the route they were due to take through the property.
At the Big House where I used to be, before coming here, part of their tour would involve going below stairs, to see how the servants worked and lived. This included visiting the well in the cellar. We would walk the route and check everything, thoroughly, before they arrived. Without fail we would later get to that part of the tour, gather the children around the well, and then spot a dead mouse floating, bloating, in the dark water. You may as well just give up at that point. You can try to carry on, to engage them by asking how they think it would have been, having to carry buckets of water up all those stairs, but all you will hear from that moment on is a chorus of “Urgh! Look! A dead mouse! Urgh!”
We made a similar error in leading them through the basements, past the stuffed animals. “What did that one die of?”
“Um….I’m not sure. Perhaps it was run over. It looks like it was run over”. (It was particularly badly stuffed).
“What did that one die of?”
And so on.
A week or so later we received a bundle of drawings and letters from the schoolchildren, on the theme of their day at the Big House. My favourite was “We did saw a ded mouse”, with accompanying picture.
Then there was the day we were waiting for the coach to arrive, laden with excitable primary school children. As we leant against the gate in the car park we became dimly aware of a background buzzing sound. A dark cloud of flies was hovering at the opposite side of the car park, at the entrance. Uh-oh. On closer inspection it turned out to be dark cloud of flies over a dead sheep. (Sheep take a lot of care to plan their deaths so that they are on a main visitor route if possible. Prefereably on a road or footpath. On one occasion on the back doorstep of the holiday cottage. If they can get a crow to peck at their eyes for effect, so much the better.) There followed a frenzy of phone calls, to try to get the shepherd out to remove the body before the coach turned up. “OK,” I said, “worst case scenario, we’ll just try to stand in front of it. Maybe they won’t notice”.
As it turns out my master plan wasn’t necessary. The shepherd arrived on his quad bike, loaded the carcass onto the front, and roared off with moments to spare. The coach then pulled in to the car park and the visit went as planned. Until one of the children said, apropos of nothing, “When we drove in today we saw a man with a sheep on his bike”.
“Did you? Ah, well, that was the shepherd, and he was just moving the sheep to another field”.
“It was on its back. Its legs was up in the year”.
“It was probably sleeping”.
Another Law of Nature
No matter what you tell the children, what you show them, no matter how engaged they seem to be, how exciting the activities are, what they remember afterwards will be what they had for lunch, what they played after they had lunch, poo (“Darren did step in sheep poo when he got off the bus!”) and “ded” animals. On the plus side, it makes our display of their letters and drawings really, really entertaining.
Whenever a party of schoolchildren turns up for an educational visit something will expire on the route they were due to take through the property.
At the Big House where I used to be, before coming here, part of their tour would involve going below stairs, to see how the servants worked and lived. This included visiting the well in the cellar. We would walk the route and check everything, thoroughly, before they arrived. Without fail we would later get to that part of the tour, gather the children around the well, and then spot a dead mouse floating, bloating, in the dark water. You may as well just give up at that point. You can try to carry on, to engage them by asking how they think it would have been, having to carry buckets of water up all those stairs, but all you will hear from that moment on is a chorus of “Urgh! Look! A dead mouse! Urgh!”
We made a similar error in leading them through the basements, past the stuffed animals. “What did that one die of?”
“Um….I’m not sure. Perhaps it was run over. It looks like it was run over”. (It was particularly badly stuffed).
“What did that one die of?”
And so on.
A week or so later we received a bundle of drawings and letters from the schoolchildren, on the theme of their day at the Big House. My favourite was “We did saw a ded mouse”, with accompanying picture.
Then there was the day we were waiting for the coach to arrive, laden with excitable primary school children. As we leant against the gate in the car park we became dimly aware of a background buzzing sound. A dark cloud of flies was hovering at the opposite side of the car park, at the entrance. Uh-oh. On closer inspection it turned out to be dark cloud of flies over a dead sheep. (Sheep take a lot of care to plan their deaths so that they are on a main visitor route if possible. Prefereably on a road or footpath. On one occasion on the back doorstep of the holiday cottage. If they can get a crow to peck at their eyes for effect, so much the better.) There followed a frenzy of phone calls, to try to get the shepherd out to remove the body before the coach turned up. “OK,” I said, “worst case scenario, we’ll just try to stand in front of it. Maybe they won’t notice”.
As it turns out my master plan wasn’t necessary. The shepherd arrived on his quad bike, loaded the carcass onto the front, and roared off with moments to spare. The coach then pulled in to the car park and the visit went as planned. Until one of the children said, apropos of nothing, “When we drove in today we saw a man with a sheep on his bike”.
“Did you? Ah, well, that was the shepherd, and he was just moving the sheep to another field”.
“It was on its back. Its legs was up in the year”.
“It was probably sleeping”.
Another Law of Nature
No matter what you tell the children, what you show them, no matter how engaged they seem to be, how exciting the activities are, what they remember afterwards will be what they had for lunch, what they played after they had lunch, poo (“Darren did step in sheep poo when he got off the bus!”) and “ded” animals. On the plus side, it makes our display of their letters and drawings really, really entertaining.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)