11th September 2004

Findon Shepherds

During the school holidays in the early fifties, I worked on North Farm Washington where my cousin's husband, Keith Gue, was the under manager. 

I was mainly there to help with the harvest, but on some days I was sent off to help the shepherd.   He was a man named Albert Luther, who lived with his wife and (I think) 4 children up at Pest House. 

Albert was outwardly a very quiet and placid man who went amongst his flock of 850+ sheep quietly and gently.  We spent quite a few hours together, drenching, dipping, dagging and attending to feet - a never ending job it seemed to me. 

It was said that Albert would never give his wife any housekeeping money because she would go off and spend it all at once on non essentials and have nothing left for the rest of the week.  I don't know if this was true, Albert did not confide in me, but I do know he used to meet his eldest son or daughter and give them money to go shopping for food. 

Albert used to get around on a two wheeled cart pulled by a cob type mare called Polly.  It was my job to go up first thing in the morning, catch Polly in her field and get her into the cart and all hitched up.  Nine times out of ten everything went smoothly, but on the tenth time Polly would decide that she did not want to go to work and I would spend ages in the field trying to coax her to me.  Albert would appear and stand at the gate chuckling, but never help.  He reckoned I had something to learn about horses, and he was going to make sure that I found out for myself.

He had one or two mottoes.  One of them was —

'A good Shepherd never gets wet.'

He used to have a strip of corrugated iron in his cart ('crinkly tin' he called it), and if it rained he would get into a bush or ditch and get under his bit of tin and keep dry.  Sometimes he would let me under, other times he would make me stay out, saying —

'Remember, Roger, a good shepherd never gets wet.'

But I remember him best for his singing.  We would sit down to have our midday sandwich and drop of tea, and after he had eaten he would either doze off, or he would start singing.  Some of his songs were exceedingly rude, and he sang them with great relish, others were old time music hall songs and some were folk songs.  He was great to listen to, he had a good voice and would have graced any choir if you could have got him into one.  But that you would never do because Albert was a loner and loved to be by himself, up on the Downs with his sheep.

We drove some sheep over to Steyning one day, down the main street and round to Wiston.  There must have two hundred and there was Albert, myself and his dog Bob to keep them moving along.  When we got into Steyning, there was already a lot of traffic about, and the sheep stopped and milled about in little circles.  A man in a car called out that he was a doctor on an urgent call, couldn't we do something?  Albert sent Bob in to get the sheep clear of the Doctor's car and the direction in which he wished to go.

'Thanks'

called out the doctor as he slowly pushed his way through.

'Huh, I've got a pocket full of those', said Albert.

The Doctor sighed, pulled half a crown out of his pocket and handed it to Albert.  Albert winked at me,

'A good Shepherd ain't ever poor for long', he said.

One day he said to me —

'Looking forward to the Sheep Fair?'

'Yes,' I said.

'Well you make sure you're up at my place at 5o'clock tomorrow morning, and we'll go to the fair together.'

I arrived punctually at Pest House to find he had already gathered some sheep together.  We drove them down off the hills to Nepcote Green and soon got them penned up. 

Albert then stationed himself where we were able to observe the incoming lorries.  I have never seen him move so fast.  He always seemed to glide slowly along, at a completely effortless gait.  Now, he moved quickly from one lorry to another.  As each arrived, he helped unload, sort and pen.  I was pressed into service to help.

Time sped by and the Green gradually filled up with sheep awaiting the auctioneer.  Then the owners of those sheep who had been sent down in the lorries started to appear.  Albert would approach each one, touch his cap and say

'All present and correct Mr so and so',

and each owner would say

'Thank you Albert',

and give him a tip. Albert, being the generous man that he was, gave me half of everything he had collected. 

By this time, the beer tent was open so off we went in search of refreshment.  Several beers later found us both snoozing off behind the tent, out of sight and out of mind.  Before he dozed off, Albert said to me —

'It's all right if a good Shepherd gets wet inside.'

Roger Moulds, Llandrindod Wells, Powys, Wales.