I like to think we were the pioneers of long-haul grass for silage. Back in the early 1980s we had two outlying farms that were partially in grass. One was across Fraine bog (known to us as Ranch Fraine) and was about four miles from the home yard and we regularly drew grass from there back to the pit. The other farm was close to Trim, about seven miles back to the yard on a very twisty road.

Nowadays, of course, this wouldn’t be a long draw at all. For goodness sake, there’s maize being drawn from Meath fields to Fermanagh. But our draws were epic. A Ford 7600 and Fiat 780 did 16.8m/h, pedal to the metal, so it was a half hour each way.

Between tipping and blowouts on split rims and tea breaks, seven loads per day was about it. Usually, while tipping, the tight load would jam and lift the tractor rear wheels skywards. And there were pit stops for replacing trailer sideboard bolts that were shaken loose.

Gawking into peoples’ houses was fun too. There was the gorgeous and unforgettable Debbie Harry lookalike dreamily working at her kitchen sink with all the aura of ‘I’m married with a kid when I should be having fun.’ Maybe we were the highlight of her day too.

Anyhow I’d be sick waiting with the Taarup 602 harvester and listening for an empty Eureka trailer rattlin’ over the bog and all happening at half the initial tempo of the song of very similar name: The Rattlin’ Bog. Google it and The Specials’ Too Much Too Young.

The trailer would eventually appear in the field and ‘The Red’ Sherrock or Alan Larkin would casually drop the trailer and pick up the full one. Then I, thick as a double ditch from the long wait, would slam the harvester hitch into the empty trailer, and it’d be half full before Larkin left the field. If I took my time, the wait would be more bearable.

We might have the 40ac of stemmy grass picked up in four days. Bar it turned showery and Dad appeared in the field in the Mercedes on his way home from the office in Trim and saw water running out of the trailers, then all hell would break loose. “Haven’t you the whole shaggin’ summer to do it,” he’d say crossly, as if we weren’t slow enough.

To add to my stress levels, the grain harvest had begun as I’d seen Fritz, driving a Rickard Ford 7400 (a proper tractor), roar by with a Teagle Titan load of oats (a proper trailer). Next, it’d be Fritz and The Red playing chicken on the bog. Great.

Modern-day issues

While we had no mirrors (what would you need them for?) nor brakes or lights, there was a limit to the damage we could do as flat out was 27km/h. Neither had we mobile phones. And the outfits were small with an all-up weight of 10t.

However, today it’s very scary meeting 200hp tractors with leviathans of tri-axle trailers hurtling along narrow country roads at 50km/h with a gross train weight of over 30t.

Meet such an outfit on a bend and the young driver on the phone, it’s enough to frighten the bejaysus out of you. But it’s not only silage trailers now, the tri-axle slurry tankers shuttling to nurse tanks in the field are just as bad.

Would I swap the old days for now? Not a chance. If I was 20 again, I’d be the very same.

But that doesn’t make it right. Slow down lads and put the phone on handsfree, the roads are too dangerous nowadays. And don’t be distracted by the Debbie Harrys…