South Africa

In May the shearers come and set up their hurdles and shearing gear. It’s hot and dirty work. As I stood and watched them yesterday in the sunshine, I remembered a wood engraving by Clare Leighton, in her beautifully illustrated The Farmer’s Year (reissued by Little Toller and still available). Though her shepherds used hand shears, I don’t think much else has changed. The air is still thick with the smell of lanolin and dung, and the sheep still huddle together as they wait their turn. When each is done, the fleece is twisted and rolled tightly, and bundled into a sack, and the shorn ewe struggles to her feet and then leaps away. Is she relieved to be free of all that wool? It’s hard to tell.