The Scourge of 2001

In the Foot and Mouth Outbreak of 2001 my brothers farmed a farm that was taken out by the authorities it was quite devastating for my family. I was so emotionally disturbed by the outbreak resulting in me to be inspired to write this short story.

The Scourge of 2001

By Judith Owston ©

He looked into the loose-box the young Bull looked backed, bright eyed. After a while the farmer drew back the bolt of the door, quietly walked in, and closed the door slowly behind him. He leaned on his stick and stood looking at the young stirk, the beast ambled over to him, he patted the animal on its rump stroked the soft fur, silky to the touch.

The best bull he and his brother had ever bred and now this, foot and mouth, the scourge of farming. Their farm had not contracted the disease, but the government’s deterrent to this virulent disease is just as soul destroying, all his stock had to be killed. A tear rolled down the farmer’s cheek as he stroked the young stirk. The animal looked at him and stretched out it’s sandpaper tongue and licked his hand, then turned, slowly ambling over to the heck full of hay, pulled out a mouth full and, chewing, looked round at the farmer.

How could the people 300 miles away in Whitehall understand? This farm, his farm is only a statistic to them, only a cross on the map not even that, just a blur fused in with all the other farms affected by the disaster. A lifetime’s work of breeding these gentle giants would be beyond their imaginations, now they were all to go. A lump rose in his throat another tear trickled down his cheek; he wiped them away with the back of his gnarled hand. Heavy hearted he opened the door and let himself out into the fresh air.

He was too old to start again, what was there for him to do with his life, his children were grown up, none of them interested in farming. He didn’t blame them farming had changed so much over the last few years. It now seemed more important to fill in all the right forms, then to farm. To make a living had become harder and harder, at one time a yeoman farmer was looked upon with respect, not now. Farms were becoming bigger, people were leaving the land. To know all your cattle by name, the way he and his brother did, in time would be a thing of the past. Farmers are not against progress, but to work so hard, to produce good quality stock for such little reward is very hard to live with. It takes all the drive an incentive out of your work, leaving you degraded. Foot and Mouth is yet another hurdle to cross, down this downward slope.

He looked up at the sky full of stars he had often looked at the sky. Tonight everything felt different. All he could think about was those poor buggers, resting, stretching, farting, and chewing their cud. They were all to go. Men in suits that you hosed down with disinfectant would move in and do the deed. He saw a light fall out of the sky, was that a shooting star, you are supposed to make a wish when you see one. What should he wish for? His wish would no more come true, than turning back the clock. He thought back to his childhood, he was thirteen years old when his Dad bought the farm. Dad and Mam had struggled to make ends meet. He wondered if Dad and Mam could see the disaster. He had never really thought about that stuff, life after death, but there must be more to life than this. One of his dogs came running over bending its body sniffing round his legs. He bent down and patted the dog’s back. The dog wriggled its bendy body, ears back, wagging its tail. He thought how lucky the dog was to be a dog, as the animal rolled over onto his back, he bent down and scratched the dog’s tummy. Nobody really knows what it is liked until they go through it; the ache in your chest, holding back emotions, picturing the animals dead and bloated, the whole thing tearing you apart. Once it was all over and done with, and he could start thinking about the future. Perhaps, then he would find a turning point had come.

He opened the house door and let himself