Farm on the M62: From happy cattle to teary farewells - Jill Thorp

We’ve had some beautiful weather recently, with warm skies flooding the valleys and hilltops, a last-minute flurry of sunshine, and mild evenings.

On these balmy autumnal days, I’ve gone up to the edge of the meadows to see the cattle; the novelty of them being at home on the moor has yet to wear off. I’ve marvelled at their adaptation to their new grazing, how nimble they are and the delight the calves take in bouncing across the heather and grasses.

Our bull, so huge, so cumbersome and often so on edge, has found his new surroundings to be perhaps what he was missing. His slow, somewhat laboured gait has been replaced with a sure-footed spring to his step as I’ve watched him navigate the gullies with the ease of a mountain goat. The cows too are now light-of-foot and can be seen capering down the grassy slopes, just for the fun of it. Their summer grazing at Farnley was by no means dull and lacking in adventure. The land was mixed with streams and woodland and plenty of hills to negotiate.

But the openness of Moss Moor seems to have woken something in them. They truly roam up there, moving together as a herd, sticking close to one another and seeming completely at ease as the motorway thunders past. It was an anxious time for us, releasing them up there with their new “no fence collars” on. However, our initial trepidation has been unwarranted, as not only have they stayed where they should (take note, Herdwick sheep), but they have also been an absolute joy to watch.

Last week saw us say our final goodbyes to a very special man whom both of us have had the pleasure of knowing for most of our lives. As expected, the church was packed to the rafters as our much-loved and admired local auctioneer made his last trip. A true friend to all and a man who had invested his time, energy and passion into countless groups, committees, parish councils and sheep associations, had come to the end of his journey, and it was an absolute honour to be there to see him off.

Paul was given the difficult but honourable job of singing for him, and alongside his father, brother and cousin sang the beautiful Yorkshire folk song, “Swaledale”. It reduced many to tears. Despite our friend spending his entire life in the Holme Valley, the song felt so very apt, as it talks of a love for a place, somewhere you chose to put your roots down. Lots of memories were shared that day, plenty of laughter as we remembered his famous sayings: “Anymore for anymore”, and of course “alf” when he was eking out another bid from a buyer and his joy at watching the ‘young uns’ find their place around the ring and take over the bidding. He would often wave his hammer at the little guy who was keen to get his bids in and not be missed: “I’ve got you, boy; you can put your arm down.“ He will be so very dearly missed.