Free Ulverton by Adam Thorpe Page A

swiftly.
    Although my writing is not smooth, and my tongue thick, I wish one day to write a book of husbandry, as Mr Fitzherbert’s that wrote formerly, and Mr Worlidge’s that my uncle, though only a parson, had upon his shelf, and lent me. There is in this latter the likeness of a patent seed-drill, which I believe never to have been tried.
    I did, it seems, overfeed my St Foin, according to Farmer Barr, which made it sweet and so the cattle cropped it too close. All our timber is now stored. I am fashioning new flails from the thorn, and two new forks from the hazel. My ploughman reckons on there being the need for a new mouldboard, the wood somewhat scuffed and dented, and on indicating this to Farmer Barr, the latter postulated a greater use of iron in the plough’s parts, which would enable a lengthier service, but the ploughman, who was with us, readying to plough the fallow for the wheat crop that day, maintained that an over-use of iron would be evil to the soil, whereas wood is of the soil and so is not pernicious. Why then, I asked, is it not evil to have the share and coulter of iron, when they and they only touch the soil deeply? He was at a loss to answer, but maintained simply that, the less iron the better. I asked why should the iron poison the soil. He said it was common knowledge. Ah, how common knowledge vitiates all attempts at individual Improvement of husbandry, and of the science of its betters!
    I was much relieved today, May 17th, by a thunder-shower which the roots of the corn must be glad of. On riding into Ulverdon, afterwards, I noted how the earth that was cracked and white on the road was now brim with water, but not yet soft. The fields around exhaled an odour which was most pleasing. The commons were full of folk for the strips are abundant with pernicious weeds, but once pulled they will no doubt burn them, whereas if they were to cover them with dung, or soil, they will compress into a substance like butter, and cut easily for application on the fields the next year. I met Mr King in the square, and we entered the ale-house called the New Inn (although it is by no means new), and he told me there of rags that might be bought in London for 2s per hundred-weight, and chopped by widows and suchlike for circa 6d per hundred-weight, and so chopped to an inch square then scattered at the second ploughing, which cloth turning fusty underneath would procure nourishment for the seed at winter sowing. I was much taken by this, and he promised to provide me at a decent rate, whereupon I would try it upon the second earth in July. He would fetch me the cloth within the month. I have noted the mouldiness of cloth on vagrants, and on buried cast-offs within the yard or fields, but have never considered its use as a manure. We were much disturbed, in our discussion, by rowdy fellows one of whom slipped on the straw, where he had sent his spittle, and cracked his nose. The evil usage of the grain that is now ripening in my field is the Vice of the age, although in moderation essential to good health. The crop that my labourers sow and harvest is frequently too much within them, so that their breath continually smells of barley, as it were, and their minds fuddled by it. Mr King agreed, and stated that one seeds-man addicted to this tincture before us on the table witnessed the evidence of his sickness at harvest, when the field resembled a harlequin in the prints, all patches, and he vowed to Mr King never to touch a drop again, which is remarkable testimony to God’s working.
    May 25th. When told of the maid’s state, and the necessity of saving a girl’s reputation, by adoption of the child, my wife took it ill.
    This beginning of June, was the clover lea cut for hay. The weather being doubtful the second day, we enlarged the cocks and did not turn them, but left a hollow within to allow air to penetrate and dry. A steady rain for half a day did little damage therefore, and the weather is dry once