My lover: A Cornish expression used during friendly conversation. Not to be confused in any way as a romantic gesture. Can be used regardless of gender.
I was on a visit to Molly Inys when I encountered the Tremaynes. Molly was a client of many years standing. Her husband had some sort of high powered job that involved a lot of travelling, particularly to Russia and countries in that region. Molly had two terriers, one was a Norfolk terrier and the other was a Norwich and they looked almost identical apart from the ears. The Norfolk has drop ears whilst the Norwich terrier has erect ears. Denzil and Demelza were adored by Molly but basically, they ran rings around her and I was a regular visitor to the house to sort out a variety of problems.
Theft of everything from clothes and shoes to children’s toys, jumping up, chewing, not coming when called, the list was endless. I suspected that my constant visits were sometimes somewhat unnecessary but with two small children and a husband away so much Molly required a modicum of adult conversation and this entailed inviting all and sundry for coffee including tradesmen. This particular visit was 100% necessary as it was to dissuade Denzil from stealing off the coffee table. His latest escapade entailed stealing a box of Cadbury Milk Tray chocolates which required a visit to the local veterinary surgeon.
Whist I was explaining the remedy for the latest of Denzil’s misdemeanours, we were interrupted by a knock at the door. Molly’s good friends the Tremaynes had arrived for a prearranged cup of coffee. It transpired that Mr Tremayne was a shepherd and farmed the property adjacent to Molly. The man was a much-admired exponent of the art of working sheepdogs and had many trophies as a testimony to his skill. We chatted for a while and I expressed an interest in watching working sheepdogs. I have to admit that stimulating as the conversation was, Mr and Mrs Tremayne were as Cornish as it was possible to be with an accent to match. I admit I struggled to keep up.
“Next time you be passing come by.” It was an open invitation and within a week I had taken up the offer.
Mr Tremayne was chopping wood when I arrived and his two dogs Roy and Spot were not far away from their master. From a dog man’s point of view, the interaction between shepherd and his dogs was always fascinating for me. A trainer I may be but I was in awe of these guys particularly men like Mr Tremayne.
Yes, it was my job, basic training, behaviour, protection etc but to work a sheepdog was so specialist. Obviously, I knew the mechanics of the art and would have loved to train one myself but it would have been cruel to have a trained sheepdog without having any work for it to do.
To work one sheepdog was difficult enough but to work two simultaneously was awesome. I remember expressing my admiration in my early days only to be told by a grizzled old veteran who came from a long line of shepherds.
“It comes through the titty milk, my lover”
Not a very scientific explanation and obviously it was an art handed down from father to son.
An invitation into the kitchen gave me a large mug of tea and a slice of fruit cake home-baked by Mrs Tremayne.
The sleeping arrangements of a sheepdog vary considerably depending on the shepherd. Some live in the barn and while this might appear harsh I had no problem with this because if you think about it the dog gets to snuggle down in amongst the hay bales and without doubt, this made for a very comfortable, warm, dry bed for the night. Others had a kennel and some come into the house.
At the Tremayne residence, there was a variation on living in the house as the dogs had their own room just off the kitchen. It was fairly small, what one would call a box room and it had a modification built-in. A dog door had been installed allowing the dogs to go in and out for toilet purposes, thus ensuring that Mr Tremayne could relax at the end of the day.
The door to the dog room was slightly ajar and imagine my surprise when I saw peeking out what appeared to be a lamb. I did think for a moment that I had imagined it but when it appeared a second time I had to speak.
“Mrs Tremayne,” I said” Unless I am very much mistaken there is a lamb next door”
“It’s Sloppy Joanna Mr ‘odson”.
“Sloppy Joanna?” I asked.
Mrs Tremayne smiled indulgently.
“Sloppy Joanna was an orphan lamb, in order to try and get a ewe to adopt her we took the fleece from her dead lamb wrapped the orphan and tried to encourage the mother without a lamb to think that the orphan was hers. She looked quite ridiculous they always do. It was like she had a big loose sweater on, you know like a sloppy Joe.” So the boys are called Sloppy Joe and the girls Sloppy Joanna. Mrs Tremayne stated at the ceiling with a wistful smile. “Yes there have been a lot of Sloppy Joe’s and Joanna’s over the years. ”
“Unfortunately it wasn’t entirely successful this time, her adopted mum rejected her after a while and Sloppy Joanna then had to be hand-reared.”
I don’t know if it continues but in those days the use of wrapping an orphan lamb in the fleece of a dead one was quite common amongst sheep farmers That and hand-rearing makes lambing time extremely busy.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, wait till my husband gets back with dogs then you see somit special.”
After about half an hour Mr Tremayne came in and much to my apprehension the two dogs went immediately to the room designated as theirs. Mrs Tremayne saw the look on my face, gave me a broad grin and put her finger to her lips. She made a mug of tea for her husband and silently beckoned me to follow her. At the dog room door, she indicated that I should look inside. Unfortunately, this was in the days before a mobile phone with a camera incorporated was commonplace so no photo exists of the amazing sight the befell me.
The dog’s bed was an old mattress covered in a tarpaulin. Roy and Spot were at each end and in the middle was Sloppy Joanna!!
I had never seen anything like it; a lamb sandwiched between two sheepdogs. A lamb sandwich!!
We returned to the table and I raised the subject with Mr Tremayne.
“How did that come about? ”
“Missus was ‘and rearing lamb and she just wandered inta dog room.”
“Fascinating,” I said.
“Well, it were so tiny when the dogs met it that I reckon they decided it wern’t worth rounding up.”
“You do realise” I said “this is quite unique, got to be worth a bob or two to the newspapers, you could make some money.”
Mr Tremayne favoured me with a hard stare.
“What and ‘ave them bloody people traipsing about the place, not bloody likely.”
We chatted for a while and arranged to meet up at a forthcoming sheepdog trial.
And what happened to Sloppy Joanna? Did she end up on the dinner table?
No, this rather unique lamb spent her life in one of those inner-city animal children’s farms. She was so hand tame she was perfect, she spent her life being petted by children and adults alike and assisted with giving children, in particular, the chance to interact with animals. Children were also introduced to environmental issues, plus an opportunity to learn about animal welfare and farming in general.
“If slaughterhouses had glass walls we would all be vegetarian.”
Sir Paul McCartney
With subtitle or not?