A local Cullybackey man, named Calderwood, in the 1920s, wrote a poem about the essential contribution of the local farmer. The poem was published in a local newspaper (sadly long since gone).
Discovering the prose, inspired me to go look through mum’s old photos. She took the following photograph of dad while he was taking a break from kicking hay on the family farm, at Eden, near Portglenone. This will have been in the summer of 1961 or 1962. Dad was in his early 30s.
THE FARMER
Who dares despise the farmer,
Or mock his honest toil!
Are not we all dependent
On the produce of the soil!
For, where would be the merchant,
And where the wealthy guy,
Did not the busy farmer
Their vital wants supply?
The stores would soon be empty,
And “gents” of hunger die,
For what about their money
With no provisions nigh!
The money, though a blessing,
It’s no substitute for food;
In famine, its possession
To men is of little good.
Then, artful politicians,
Who make the nation’s laws,
Be mindful of the farmer
And patronise his cause.
Remember, ’tis your duty
To argue on his side,
Since all your fancy dinners,
He labours to provide.
And damp your pride a little,
All ye of pomp and show;
Be grateful to the farmer,
Nor count his calling low;
For, by the sweat of toiling
He earns his daily bread,
And on the fruits of harvest
The nation’s hosts` are fed.
H. Calderwood, Cullybackey.
August 1926
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