Saturday, November 16, 2013

Cattle-rustler

Today

Today my nephew reported a contretemps involving some cows that had wandered into his back garden. He described them as very large, although admitted that that might be because they were in his garden and he had to deal with them. This he did, by constructing movable barriers consisting of his kitchen furniture, to herd them out. Beatrice commented that cows are scary things.

In My Day

This is one of those stories, often told, that loses nothing in the re-telling.

The year is 1984 and we were living at Westham. near Eastbourne. We had just acquired Caspian the dog and were novices in the management of dogs generally, let alone this feisty animal. One day I decided that nice walk to Pevensey Bay would be just the ticket. Becky was six and Lizzie eleven. 

We walked through the churchyard and castle grounds sedately enough. Now, the way to get to beach was over the railway line. Not just any railway line but the main London-Hasting line with electrified third rail. There was a little pedestrian level crossing over this line, accessed at each end via a stile. 

No sign or sound of trains. I  got everyone over the stile, including Caspian. We went to the beach and had a lovely romp.

On the way back, when we got into the field that adjoined the line, I noticed a herd of bullocks at the far end. "They're very far away," I reasoned "no need to put the dog on the lead." Big mistake. Caspian tore off in the direction of the bullocks, ignoring my shouts. The bullocks, far from being scared by Cas, turned to chase him.

Cas raced towards me. This wasn't what he'd intended; there was no fun in this! He looked very scared with his ears streaming out behind him as he raced towards his protector (me). Twenty-five or so Bullocks charged after him.

I was pretty scared too and, grabbing Becky's hand, rushed towards the stile. Stopping only to fasten the dog's lead, I scrambled over the stile with the dog and Becky, just as the bullocks cantered up to the fence and stood glowering at us all. Lizzie, however, had not kept up and was now separated from me by twenty five irritable bovines. "What do I do, Mummy? What do I do?" she called frantically.

I was standing on the wooden level crossing with a six year old and an ill-controlled dog; with express trains and the electric rail behind me I couldn't leave them to get Lizzie. I crossed my fingers. "Just walk through them, Lizzie" I said in as reassuring a voice as I could muster. "They're used to moving aside for humans."

Liz stopped panicking and did as she was told. The bullocks parted like the Red Sea and Liz (like the old woman in the story) got over the stile and we got home that night.

The only benefit (apart from having a very funny story to tell) was that Caspian never again attempted to chase livestock of any kind.

But scary? Well, Beatrice, that depends on where you happen to be standing.

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