In the 1930s Frank Richardson who farmed at Throstlenest farm near Aysgarth, was the first farmer to introduce Friesian cattle into Wensleydale which gradually replaced the Hereford shorthorn.
As a boy Frank worked and lived at Manor House Farm Thornton Rust with his parents, his two brothers Ernest and James and his sister Alice.
Eversley Willem III
These two photos are of the bull who was responsible for the early friesians in Wensleydale.Fantastic looking brute wasn’t he!
First Prize for Flock of Sheep Throstlenest 1930s
From an old Dalesman.
What a nerve racking business haymaking is! You work away at a field of hay, with your eyes constantly scanning the horizon. Your face lifted to the wind for the first spits of rain.
The hay is almost right for baling, but not quite. There are some green damp spots in the middle of the swathe. No matter which way you go with the turner you cannot get them out. Only a good wind will help you now. You can’t decide whether to get on with the baling or to take a risk with the weather.
You take a chance on the weather and then by late afternoon when you start to bale there comes a few spots of rain in the wind. Your heart sinks! There’s a hundred pounds worth of hay in that field and it looks like you’re going to lose the lot.
Sometimes you do, but today, you’re lucky. The skies clear again, and the bit of rain blows over. By early evening you are baling in far better weather than you had ever dared to hope. The wind keeps the dew away, and at around ten o’clock as you lift the last bale onto the sledge, there is a glorious sunset behind the sycamore tree at the far side of the field. (Farming over 40 years ago)
It’s plow and soa, scythe an’ hoa, then in tid ‘arvest we da goa.
Fust it’s t ‘ay, then comes the corn, aye, ta sich a life wus ah born.
There’s cows to milk, an t’ hosses ta feed, turnips ta snag an tatties ta lead.
Wi fingers all frosted an numbed, Offen ah wunner, why ivver ah comed.
Aa’t maisters ard, and misses taa, keeps shoutin out what waark’s ta daa,
An early grave will be me fate, Wi’t Parson prayin at t’ Churchyard Gate.
Then rest t’will be fra scythe and hoa for t’ Lord in eaven ordained it soa.
He’ll say Come in lad wi friends sa few, sit thee down, and thee strength renew.
Weep noa more, my poor bit lad, but in the brightest raiment clad
Laugh wi joy, and sing thee praise, in my presence, all these days.
Till then tis on, and on, ah goa, it’s plow an soa, scythe and hoa
Fust it’s t’ay, then comes t’corn, aye, ta sich a life wus ah born.
By Thomas H. Vayro.
Making a Silage Clamp
Goslings feeding time
Little Roan Cow
Frank Richardsons Wedding photograph, Carperby