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W. Earl Hall World War II stories, 1944
Letter #27
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slug-Dairy Output-4 By W. EARL HALL Globe-Gazette Managing Editor Letter No. 27 Killearn, Scotland--(By Army Bomber Transit)--A hint, if not the full story, of how the British isles have stepped up food production to meet the requirements of war was provided to me this afternoon when I had lunch and tea with Sir George Wilson and tramped over his 600 acre farm, mostly devoted to dairying, in this gorgeous South of Scotland area along Loch Lomond. Whereas in the days before the war, the islands produced approximately 30 per cent of their food, the percentage of home production this year will run somewhere between 70 and 80. Sir George specializes on the Ayrshire breed of cattle. Although a graduate of Cambridge University, with "honors" in chemistry, his principal interest has always been agricultural. With the aid of an uncommonly able young farm manager, William Duncan, he operates the sizable ancestry estate. Along with his agricultural pursuit, he is president of the Scotch milk producers' board, with a member ship of some 6,000 dairy farmers, and he finds time to serve on the governing board of one of Scotland's 4 agricultural colleges. His language is a rich mixture of Cambridge and the Scotch burr. Our first stop following a delicious lunch at a Killearn inn was in a grazing plot for sheep. Next we visited a wheat plot, expected to produce about 40 bushels to the acre. Oats, oddly enough, average only a little more. Both wheat and oats have about a 4-foot straw. Because Scotland seldom has a temperature as high as 80 degrees, she is barred from growing corn, known to Britishers and Scotch as "maize." (All small grains are called "corn.") To take the place of corn in livestock diet, the Scotch have developed a special type of bean, known as "carse." The 4-foot stalk of this bean--resembling our soy beans but appreciably taller--is literally covered with bulky pods. About Oct. 1 these are harvested, dried in the pods and then ground up for cattle feed, rich in protein. "Our cows really go for it," Sir George assured me. Grazing fields are cut up into plots of 6 to 8 acres, divided from each other by a maze of hawthorne hedgerows. Cattle are turned into the individual plot for only 2 or 3 days at a time, then moved on to another plot. Our next stop was at the milking sheds--2 of them, with cement floors, automatic drinking fountains for each animal and milking machines of the very latest type. Another building was given over to cooling, sterilizing and bottling the milk for house-to-house delivery in Glasgow, about 20 miles distant. The entire milking operation, I learned with interest, is handled by young women of the "land army." When our party arrived late in the afternoon, one crew was busy wiping the udders of the cows while another crew set up the milking machines in the center aisle between the stancioned animals. The average earnings of the girls, I discovered, is about $13 a week, out of which they must pay a modest amount for food and incidentals. In the end, it is believed they net almost as much as the average woman in British industry. After a delicious tea in the home of the farm manager--it really was little short of a banquet--our party, in 2 tiny cars, moved on to Glasgow, with a detour around the fabled Loch Lomond of "yon bonny banks and yon bonny braes." It didn't make me write any poetry. Nothing could, I'm afraid. But it did make me wish I could write poetry ... crystal clear water ... wooded banks ... heather-covered moors in the distance. In all particulars, rural Scotland has lived up to advance notices. My only regret is that I'm operating, of necessity, on a tight schedule. Here's one place where I'd like to tarry for a while. -- 30 --
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slug-Dairy Output-4 By W. EARL HALL Globe-Gazette Managing Editor Letter No. 27 Killearn, Scotland--(By Army Bomber Transit)--A hint, if not the full story, of how the British isles have stepped up food production to meet the requirements of war was provided to me this afternoon when I had lunch and tea with Sir George Wilson and tramped over his 600 acre farm, mostly devoted to dairying, in this gorgeous South of Scotland area along Loch Lomond. Whereas in the days before the war, the islands produced approximately 30 per cent of their food, the percentage of home production this year will run somewhere between 70 and 80. Sir George specializes on the Ayrshire breed of cattle. Although a graduate of Cambridge University, with "honors" in chemistry, his principal interest has always been agricultural. With the aid of an uncommonly able young farm manager, William Duncan, he operates the sizable ancestry estate. Along with his agricultural pursuit, he is president of the Scotch milk producers' board, with a member ship of some 6,000 dairy farmers, and he finds time to serve on the governing board of one of Scotland's 4 agricultural colleges. His language is a rich mixture of Cambridge and the Scotch burr. Our first stop following a delicious lunch at a Killearn inn was in a grazing plot for sheep. Next we visited a wheat plot, expected to produce about 40 bushels to the acre. Oats, oddly enough, average only a little more. Both wheat and oats have about a 4-foot straw. Because Scotland seldom has a temperature as high as 80 degrees, she is barred from growing corn, known to Britishers and Scotch as "maize." (All small grains are called "corn.") To take the place of corn in livestock diet, the Scotch have developed a special type of bean, known as "carse." The 4-foot stalk of this bean--resembling our soy beans but appreciably taller--is literally covered with bulky pods. About Oct. 1 these are harvested, dried in the pods and then ground up for cattle feed, rich in protein. "Our cows really go for it," Sir George assured me. Grazing fields are cut up into plots of 6 to 8 acres, divided from each other by a maze of hawthorne hedgerows. Cattle are turned into the individual plot for only 2 or 3 days at a time, then moved on to another plot. Our next stop was at the milking sheds--2 of them, with cement floors, automatic drinking fountains for each animal and milking machines of the very latest type. Another building was given over to cooling, sterilizing and bottling the milk for house-to-house delivery in Glasgow, about 20 miles distant. The entire milking operation, I learned with interest, is handled by young women of the "land army." When our party arrived late in the afternoon, one crew was busy wiping the udders of the cows while another crew set up the milking machines in the center aisle between the stancioned animals. The average earnings of the girls, I discovered, is about $13 a week, out of which they must pay a modest amount for food and incidentals. In the end, it is believed they net almost as much as the average woman in British industry. After a delicious tea in the home of the farm manager--it really was little short of a banquet--our party, in 2 tiny cars, moved on to Glasgow, with a detour around the fabled Loch Lomond of "yon bonny banks and yon bonny braes." It didn't make me write any poetry. Nothing could, I'm afraid. But it did make me wish I could write poetry ... crystal clear water ... wooded banks ... heather-covered moors in the distance. In all particulars, rural Scotland has lived up to advance notices. My only regret is that I'm operating, of necessity, on a tight schedule. Here's one place where I'd like to tarry for a while. -- 30 --
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