John Arnold: A year since I milked my last cow... and I have no regrets

Long ago in the GAA, there were just three grades for club teams - Senior, Junior and Minor - and none of these were age groups.

For example, the Minor Grade was not just for players under the age of 18 (or 17 as it now is) - no, it was simply the Third Grade for clubs here in Cork.

Then things changed in the 1920s when Minor meant the grade for players who were not over 18.

I heard several old-timers say that it took a few years before this idea came to be fully accepted - only playing lads under 18 on Minor teams.

I knew of many players who played on Minor hurling and football teams when they were 19 and even 20! Ah yes, back then it was a case of ‘What’s another year?’ - long before the great Johnny Logan sang those words.

Well, that song title is running around inside my head this past week - one year after we stopped milk production here on the farm. A year exactly since the cows went away for the last time.

So many people have asked me, ‘Well, are you sorry you made the decision?’ and ‘Do you miss the cows?’

In truth, it varies from day to day, season to season. On balance, I have no nagging or upsetting regrets.

That beautiful Reading from the Book of Ecclesiastes about time and seasons includes the line: “There is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven.” It’s a compact message about life, death, taking, giving, war and peace, and every aspect of the human existence, and it gives me great solace.

You know when I miss the cows most? Well, I’ll tell ye. You know a beautiful summer’s evening in June or July when there’s light in the sky ’til nearly eleven o’clock at night? After coming back from a match or a meeting somewhere, I’d walk up to the Kiln Field or over to the Boiler House Field or the Orchard Field where the cows were for the night after the evening milking.

The cows would be mainly lying down after a few hours grazing, happy as Larry and they chewing the cud. I could walk through them and they’d not move - just relaxing there in the late evening sunshine.

If I was asked to define the word ‘contentment’, then cows chewing and ‘smiling’, that’s it, no two ways about it!

Calving time too was special - I know it was often stressful, maybe having to call a vet out at three or four in the morning, yes and sometimes the little calf might not survive. ‘Where you have livestock, you’ll have dead stock’, is an old saying that has truth in it.

I was just thinking lately that in my 54 years farming, about 2,500 calves were born here on our farm. That’s a lot of new life and would inspire anyone with a kind heart.

Ah yes, I miss those special moments, but then again, ‘there is a season’ for everything and I got so much happiness and joy from seeing little wobbly, leggy newborn calves grow to maturity.

I still love animals of all sorts and only a few weeks back I saw the beauty and cruelty of nature collide.

Coming in one morning, I saw an unusual pigeon in the haggard. As I approached the little bird, it didn’t fly away but kind of waddled across the yard. It had a beautiful speckled head and lovely grey and white plumage.

I noticed two little red identification tags - one on each leg. It didn’t seem injured, just tired.

The pigeon followed me to the kitchen door. Soon it was eating crumbs and little morsels of food that we gave it. We thought it must be a racing pigeon that went astray or got disorientated, and we said we would try and contact someone, somewhere that was involved in the pigeon racing sport.

The bird was happily pecking away under the garden seat by the kitchen window as we had a cuppa. Next thing, we saw a cat - a kind of semi wild, semi tame cat we’ve been feeding with 12 months, come across the haggard. We wondered how bird and beast would get on.

Then, before one could say ‘shoo’, the cat just grabbed the pigeon by the neck and ran off, with the pair of us running after shouting - but to no avail. He ran down across the old yard, out over the ditch into the Glen and we never again saw ‘our’ lovely pigeon.

That’s nature for ya – the hunted and the hunter.

It was about four days later when the cat turned up looking for his breakfast. I roared at him, ‘Getta way outta that, you murdering f***ing brute’ - he took no notice, only hid behind the oil tank until I cooled down. Later, I gave him something to eat!

I must admit that over the winter and spring months I piled on the pounds, but I’m losing a bit now again - mainly by sitting further back from the table!

Bringing in the cows twice a day was often a mile or more of a walk and, you know, I loved those walks through the fields.

I suppose following in the footsteps of the generations gone before me, on the very same paths they trod, was very special and kept that strong link with the past.

Last week, Mam was 30 years dead. Since 1996, Uncle Jerome and Auntie Bridie also passed away. This time last year their three siblings, Auntie Nora, Uncle Sean and Uncle Dan were all alive. All Twomeys from Kilcor, Castlelyons, and people who were so special to us growing up.

We had only Auntie Jo on the Arnold side so the Twomeys were very close to us after Mam was widowed in 1961. All of farming stock and people who knew tough times themselves in their youth.

The last three of the Twomeys all passed 90 and now they are all gone in a few months - Uncle Dan, ’the last man standing’, died last week in his 98th year - they got a good innings and all helped to form and influence us as we grew up. God bless them all now.

I’ve written a lot over the last six decades or more, but in the last 12 months I’m writing every single day! Now, don’t be expecting a best-selling blockbuster anytime soon!

No, I’m doing research, family history, a booklet or two, and finishing things I started years ago.

Talking and travelling too are giving me much pleasure. Yeah, no doubt about it chatting to grandchildren is one of life’s greatest joys and blessings. Are they like me? Yerra, who knows, but they are all just beautiful individuals and what more could one ask or wish for!

In olden times, when one left the country, your passport would be stamped, which was magical, I thought. Already this year I should have five new ‘stamps’, but that’s all changed.

Don’t talk to me about talking in public and making people laugh! I’ve been all over the place - off to Dripsey next week. I love it - they say if one sings, it’s like praying twic,e and Mother Teresa used say, ‘Peace begins with a smile’.

Getting out of the cows 12 months on - have I regrets? As Frank Sinatra said: “Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again too few to mention.” Same here.