Christmas time comes around once a year and gives us a lift, a smile, a laugh, a good feeling, a gift or two. The year would be sadder and drabber without it. It is also a great time to count blessings and be grateful for what has gone.

One of the greatest blessings for any farmer is a good neighbour. The one who always leaves you smiling or laughing whatever mood you are in. The one whose number you keep to hand knowing that he is always just a call away. The one who always knows who might buy your cattle or who is selling hay. The one who will turn up to any farm emergency, a stuck tractor or a stuck calf, a hard to handle crop or a hard to handle bull. Such a neighbour can give us a lift, a smile, a laugh, a good feeling and priceless gifts on every day of the year.

A good neighbour

A few months ago, my little community filled the local church to say goodbye to one the best farmer neighbours anyone could imagine. A great farmer who had his own work done by noon most days and helped others for the rest of the day. A great stockman who always got top prices at the marts and prizes at the local show for his Blonde D'Aquitaine cattle and his Jacob sheep. A man who loved pigs, goats, ducks, geese and fowl of all kinds; whose farmyard was a colourful menagerie.

He went into REPS when it started and in typical fashion, took it to the limit, making a bottle island in the middle of a pond in the yard that was connected by a bridge made with an old circular stairs he picked up somewhere. The yard was decorated with signs that he "found" lying around the country and many a person drove down the lane just to see his set-up or bring their children for the surprise and joy of it. He loved that.

He was not a man for committees but always to the fore in every aspect of community life. A great man for tug'o'war or skittles. No field day or show was complete without him adding something colourful and comical. He never married or had children, but for over 40 years, he was the Santa for the local children's Christmas Party, arriving by pony, cart or bike as the humour took him.

One thing was guaranteed, Frank was never ordinary. He always gave it thought and passion and did it in his own unique way. He was both a master of divilment and a walking saint. His name was Frank Jordan. Anyone who ever met him will never forget him. For me and my neighbours, he is, and will forever be, sorely missed.

If I could wish all readers one special gift this Christmas it would be that ye would all be lucky enough to have, or to be, such a neighbour. Happy Christmas!