Nothing like peering into effluent to inspire poetry

Repairs were urgently needed because the pond level was as low as it would ever be, and what with milking (and the supply of effluent to the pond) just beginning, the window of opportunity was narrow. Otherwise the job was a summer one. 

Reid says he has no idea why, but he was inspired to put this episode into verse. At a time when many farmers are struggling, this may lighten the mood out there:

Upon a Southland Bridge*

There was dung

and there was urine,

there was odour, sludge and grot,

but my call was to block my nose

and service problems that arose

and fix the bloody lot.

For McGinty though he cared for things,

had gone and stuffed the prop,

by wrapping it with rope so bad

the mixing thing had stopped.

Well stuffed is a polite word

when 'effed' would best be used,

so I set to work in ice and snow

that McGinty and his team could go

and mix it as they should.

Now Southland has 'big' weather

in the winter months my friends,

and McGinty 's call for help came

at a grim time – comprehend?

When heavy snow and blackened ice

pervade the country day and night,

I had to go for the pond was low

and the time to mend was ripe.

I toiled and swore and grunted

with my mittens wet and cold,

and my fingers didn't work as well

as in the days of old;

but I ground along, ignored the pong

and rarely raised my eyes

to the black-as-soot horizon

threatening all the whole day long.

And finally when I had settled

all within my power,

I headed back to my Balfour hutch

to malinger in the shower.

The mixer wasn't working yet

but the task was mostly done;

I could see an end to a rotten job

looking toward the warming hob

to getting home to my comfy mob

and bathing in some sun.

*With a nod to William Wordsworth.

• Editor’s note: if you have a poem or snippet that would help lighten the mood onfarm, email it to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.