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Country diary 1905: The hayfield is the scene of one great massacre
The air is heavy with the sweet scent of new mown hay, for everywhere the farmers are taking advantage of the weather. Beneath the teeth of the whirring machine the tall grasses already browned and scorched, go down alongside their enemy, the yellow rattle; rich clovers, yellow lotus, budding knapweeds, thistles, and all are swept to useful death together. The insects hum and buzz above the fallen grass, the swallows and martins skim to and fro, snatching right and left with such rapidity that we do not see them snatch. The many hued caterpillars which were feeding on the grass and weeds, the yellow-green, dark-eyed inhabitants of the frothy cuckoo spit, and many tiny creatures fall and will starve.
The hayfield is the scene of one great massacre. Sometimes a brood of young partridges fails to dodge the death-dealing machine, sometimes the corncrake crouches too long, sometimes a foolish young rabbit which had ventured out into the field dare not leave the ever-narrowing circle. It is business for the farmer, pleasure for the amateur haymaker, but it is far otherwise for the creatures, great and small, which lived amongst the rich growing grass.
The Guardian's Country diary column first appeared as A country lover's diary on 21 March 1904, becoming A country diary a couple of years later. For most of its first decade, Thomas Coward (bylined TAC), a retired textile bleacher from Cheshire, was the sole diarist.
