Bog Myrtle & Peat

In the confusion of a recent farm sale, my father and I both thought that the other was responsible for buying a turnip scarifier. After the heady triumph of securing both drill plough and seed drill, lines of communication broke down and the scarifier ended up going for a song to an Irishman. This was frustrating, as following my father’s lead, I understood that the three implements work together as a team. I must put my hand on my heart and admit that I don’t know how a scarifier actually works, but I am determined to try drilled turnips and I am told that scarification is something to do with keeping down weeds when they grow in the rows. Beyond that, it’s all a mystery waiting to be uncovered. We won’t be planting anything until next year, but I feel I currently have the wind behind me and I wanted to lock down this part of the project now.

To fill the void, I searched on eBay for another scarifier and was only able to find one equivalent. Almost unbelievably, it was less than an hour away; when you live in Galloway, things are very rarely found within a four or five hour drive. I ended up spending more than twice what I might have got away with at the farm sale, but I was particularly gratified to find that the machine had been made in Kelso. Gone are the days when local implements were produced in local foundries, and I liked this little piece of Scottish history for more than its immediate (and somewhat ambiguous) purpose. Three of the four discs have seized and there is a little work to be done on it, but I was pleased to have finished the job. We now just need a small plough and the world will be our oyster. Or turnip.

As a postscript, it was great to meet the seller in his yard three or four miles over the border into England. We chatted briefly as he loaded the scarifier into my trailer, and I couldn’t help stumbling over his extraordinary Cumbrian accent. He happily talked about lonnings and gadgers, following every sentence with “eh?”, even when it wasn’t a question. As I headed back into Scotland, I had time to think about how beautifully delineated and self-contained accents are in this part of the world, as if there was some kind of invisible barrier which prevents mingling.