Messy Ferguson

I often think about the tractor that nearly killed me.

That is a bit harsh on the tractor as the circumstances that threatened to curtail my young life were entirely down to my own folly.

I was working on a farm as a summer vacation job.

My main role was to use a front loader attachment to lift the newly formed straw bales from the stubble-strewn field onto a flat bed trailer where they were carefully man-handled and bonded to prevent any falling off when the full load was towed to the stackyard, a mile or so away.

I was not yet , at that age, a car driver and so my experience of manouevring any type of vehicle, and in particular a heavy machine like a tractor was limited.

I was learning the technique very much through the hands on process. A bit of training in the farmyard gave me a grasp of the basics such as starting and turning over the engine, mastering the throttle and brakes and using the controls to lift, lower and manipulate the crab-like claws of the front loader.

On a bumpy, cropped field and with the dead weight of straw bales to be raised and steered onto the trailer there were additional difficulties and many things to consider, judge and concentrate on.

I am the first to admit that at that age I was a daft lad. I cannot have been alone in having a certain feeling of invincibility and immortality stemming from anticipation of a long and fruitful life ahead.

The combination of a machine with a powerful engine and the feeling of wellbeing in the constant fresh air made for a heady cocktail and after only a few days of work I was throwing the tractor around like it was a go-kart.

I was quite adept and efficient at the main task being able to negotiate rapidly what was a fairly mundane procedure. Approach, grab, stabilise, elevate, reverse, swing around and deposit.

The days flew by as two of us worked methodically around the 20 acre field. The weather was not too hot, even for August, and on the old tractor typically a model with no cab I was getting a healthy looking tan. Regular drink and food stops, sat in the stubble or increasingly higher on the trailer were like a holiday picnic and it was a bit of a struggle to get back to work after such a pleasant break from the monotony.

It was after one such pause that I put myself very much in harms way.

The next tranche of bales for collection was on the farthest section of the field which was on a shallow gradient down to a wooded valley.

In convoy, me and the old stalwart and my co-worker towing the large and now emptied trailer made our way across the rutted ground. I was by now confident in my driving ability, a bit too over confident for the terrain.

I decided to race the other lumbering vehicle. It's driver was a seasoned farm worker with due respect for his rig.He did not respond to my challenge.

I had not accounted for the affect of the slope on the stability of the tractor, accentuated by the excessive speed of perhaps 15mph. The front loader arms were raised just above my eyeline so as to give me an uninterrupted view ahead but in retrospect, this served to upset the whole centre of gravity. A sensibly driven and appropriately weighted tractor is one of the most stable vehicles you could ask for, witness the millions of farmers for whom reliability and durability are key factors for their machines.

In the hands of a stupid lad however, the whole dynamic was changed.

I noticed a slight twitch in the steering as the pitch of the field deprived the wheels on the right hand side of full traction. The loader arms were no longer flat across my vision. I could feel myself losing grip on the bucket seat. The left hand alignment of wheels began to lift up and in what seemed like slow motion the tractor started to tip over.

The absence of a cab or even a basic roll cage afforded no protection and I was on the way to a very messy, albeit hopefully quick and painless death.That was the best I could hope that my parents would be told.

To this day, some 30 plus years on, I do not know what factors intervened to save me from what seemed like an inevitable end.

I like to think that I was earmarked for another purpose and I still offer up a prayer of thanksgiving for my salvation.

Others may speculate that there may have been a molehill, boulder, a clump of mud or a divot that was the catalyst in this situation.

I worked out the short remaining time of my summer job with all due care and attention.

I have not been near a tractor since.