I had scarcely bargained for the foul condition of the stubbles,
disclosed when the corn was harvested shortly before I took possession
at Michaelmas; they were overrun with couch grass--locally called
"squitch"--and the following summer I had 40 acres of bare-fallow,
repeatedly ploughed, harrowed, and cultivated throughout the whole
season, which, of course, produced nothing by way of return. My
predecessor had found that his arable land was approaching a condition
in which it was difficult to continue the usual course of cropping,
and had expressed his wish to one of the men that all the arable was
grass. He was answered, I was told:
"If you goes on as you be a-going it very soon will be!" I
heard, moreover, that a farming relative of his, on
inspecting the farm, shortly before he gave it up, had
pronounced his opinion that it was "all going to the devil
in a gale of wind!"
I soon recognized that I had a splendid staff of workers, and, under
advice from the late tenant, I selected one to be foreman or bailiff.
Blue-eyed, dark-haired, tall, lean, and muscular, he was the picture
of energy, in the prime of life. Straightforward, unselfish, a natural
leader of men, courageous and untiring, he immediately became devoted
to me, and remained my right hand, my dear friend, and adviser in the
practical working of the farm, throughout the twenty years that
followed.
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