What is the right thing to do with old farm machinery? It depends, I hear you say, and that's a good answer.

I have to admit that for many years I have been adopting the "stick it in gap and forget it approach". For most of the year this works just fine. However the lack of greenery in winter means I can see glimpses of rusty iron challenging me to come up with a "final solution". During the frosty time in February, I finally got the loader and pulled two oldies out from their resting places. They are now in full view and ready for the "final solution".

The trouble now is, the memories associated with them have all come tumbling back to haunt me. As a chap, I loved farm clearance auctions. It was "chap heaven" sitting on every machine with a seat and exploring every nook and cranny of those old farm places. Both of these machines were bought by my Dad at such auctions and I still remember the excitement of bringing them home. In both cases, we had to drive over twenty miles on our old Fordson Major with no cab or child seat. A stand up at the mudguard or sack on top of the lift arm was all I wanted. It was a full days job and Dad and I would talk about what we saw in every field on the road. It was Winter and dark when we got home and I still remember rising early next morning, excited to go out before breakfast to check it was still there, to handle it and take in the satisfaction of a "new" machine in the yard. I loved machinery then.

It was a short while after that I had my first "driving" accident. 'Twas my very first time driving on my own encouraged by Dad. I had been looking behind to pull the rope that tripped the rake, to deposit its load, when I faced around to see I was on collision course with a big Wexford gripe and ditch. Not having the legs or wit to press the clutch or pull the engine stop, I pulled the steering wheel hard to starboard instead. However, the ditch was still fast approaching so I quickly and bravely mounted the mudguard and abandoned tractor.

There was "language" in the air as all gazed on tractor and machine stuck in the ditch at a "rakish" angle with a broken exhaust pipe. After a neighbourly pull-out, a more noisy tractor was put running again. In truth I was shaken by all this but Dad just showed me the engine stopper and put me back up again. His favourite expression was "never let it be said your mother reared a gibber".

As I grew up, I became fully responsible for working these machines. They each had problems. The wheel rake was too wide for our gates and you had to change the wheels to move from field to field. There was a lever jack and a stand with it. A bit of patience and a particular routine was needed. It was really a two man job rather than a one chap one and often resulted in delay, frustration, tears and skinned knuckles. First we used it for raking in the hay for cocking but then the Allis Chalmers small round baler came along and the rake was retired. For another few years, I was ordered off to "fine rake" after the bales were removed with shouts of "waste not want not" ringing in my ears. Thus, slowly but surely, my love affair with machinery evolved into a love-hate affair.

Both the Lister wheel-rake and the Ransomes three-point linkage disc harrow, come from the pre-welder era. These heavy iron sculptures were made by sweat-covered foundry men and blacksmiths, stripped to the waste in hot, noisy engineer shops. I was fortunate to see such work close-up in the great Pierces Foundry in Wexford.

These were built to last forever and in spite of being overgrown in a gap for forty years, they remain structurally sound and worthy of respect. I still don't know what the final solution is though. They are paused in the purgatory between the hell of the smelter and the heaven of the museum or vintage show. I am afraid it may be the former but now that I have them out and pictured, I will put them up on Toplink and let the fates decide. If anyone has another solution I would love to hear it.