Hay Making

HAYMAKING.  AG BAINT AN FHÉIR

I was visiting a friend in Avondale last week. We sat and drank tea and devoured a copious supply of my favourite custard cream biscuits. We discussed all our own and our friends’ health issues.

Our thoughts then turned to the fast-changing world we are living with home delivery of groceries, AI, mobile phones, eufy gadgets, air friers, robots and the endless supply of mindboggling gadgetry available to the present generation of young and not so young people and how we are effortlessly adapting to them all.

After we had sorted all the worlds affairs we forgot about the present day and started reminiscing about the times of our youth in Kerry and Donegal.

We spoke about haymaking and what a laborious job it was. We recalled that most of the hay in our youth was cut by scythe and both of us had used them. This important part of farm life was backbreaking hard work.

There was very little modern machinery in our areas and the people depended greatly on fine weather for haymaking and saving the turf in the bogs. A good crop of hay was vital to feed the horse and cattle for the cold winter months. When the sun appeared and the grass was ready the meitheal was assembled and everyone worked together to save the hay before the weather broke.

My aunt Kitty and her husband Nicholas lived in Caherleaheen, Tralee on a small farm with a huge acreage of mountain commonage. When hay making season came round, they used the scythe and later the horse drawn mower to cut it. In later times I recall one farmer bought a Massey Ferguson tractor, and this transformed the farming in the area. He was a great neighbour who helped all his farming friends.

When I got the school summer holidays, I had to be available for saving the hay. The freshly cut grass was left lying in the fields to dry with many rosaries said praying for fine weather. We had to turn the hay regularly with a hay pike or big wooden rake. Listening to the weather forecast on radio Eireann was a full-time occupation at hay time of year. People looked at the sky, the nearness of the mountains or how birds were flying high or low to check on the weather.

When the hay was fully dry the hard farming work began. We had some big wooden rakes, and the grass was raked into rows, or swaths. We then made it into heaps or cocks of hay. This was all done by piking hay, and we had many sore hands at the end of a long hot day. We were always vigilant to exclude any wet grass to avoid the cock heating up and spoiling the crop of hay.

There was always a great sense of relief when the last cock of hay was shaped up and the field was cleaned. Nick went down from the rick into the house and the adults present had some porter and a drop of Paddy whiskey. My aunt presented me with a lovely red ten-shilling note for my labours which was treasured.

The next big event was bringing home the hay to make the rick near the cow house. Some fresh sally bushes were cut down to make a dry base for the hay and then the process started

The hay was brought in on a horse drawn cart and was spread evenly around the base and so the process continued layer upon layer and always making sure to dump out any wet hay. Jackie Sugrue from an adjoining farm always stood on top of the rick and he was the master rick maker. We were the foot soldiers piking the hay up to him while he spread the hay evenly around and packing it down while tapering it slightly as it got higher. Building a good rick of hay was a demanding skill making sure the rick stayed firm and together.

The top of every rick had to be tapered off so that the rain ran off rather than go down through it. Nick always covered it with straw and some waterproof covering to protect it from the Kerry winter rain. These were tied down by making hay ropes or súgáns which Nick himself supervised.

Once the rick was built, he could take hay from it as he required it to feed his cattle and the horse. The horse and cart were a vital piece of farm equipment. They brought the cans of milk to the Lee Strand Creamery in Tralee.

My most vivid memories of those days were of hard work but there was a great sense of satisfaction and achievement that Nick’s cows would be well fed for the winter.

At the end of the day’s work .my aunt Kitty had prepared a big feed of bacon and cabbage, and plenty home-grown organic potatoes all cooked on the open fire because it was pre-electricity days. The big pots were swung on cranes over the open fire.

We were well foddered and at the end of the evening I was presented with another lovely ten- shilling note by my aunt for my new bicycle account but not before we sang a song or two.

They lived on the Castlemaine Road, so I had to sing “The wild Colonial Boy who was born and reared in Ireland in a place called Castlemaine. He finished up his life as an outlaw in Australia and the men making the rick of hay all had their own story about him and loved to join in the singing of the song.

Memories Memories. They were great times, but people worked hard to survive.

Mick O Callaghan

27/09/2026