CAVANMAN'S DIARY: 'Bath for sale, one lady owner'

Paul Fitzpatrick

There is a bath sitting on my front lawn and I’m trying to run it – run it off my property that is. Unfortunately, so far, there have been no takers.

The bath was discarded during renovations lately. It’s a heavy duty, cast iron number with chrome taps, about six feet in length, give or take. I’m not much good at guessing weights but I would estimate its mass at about a tonne. It took four of us to get it down the stairs, I’ll tell you that much, and it was a hell of a struggle. Although, to be fair, we probably should have emptied it first...

Originally, I thought she (my bath is feminine) was worthless but cast iron baths are all the rage now, I’m told. They can be re-enamelled, apparently, and people are going mad for them.

The day we ripped out the bath, there was a skip sitting on the lawn. Not surprisingly, I suggested lobbing the thing in, which prompted looks of horror from my fellow bath-carriers.

“Do NOT dump that,” one of the lads warned. “That thing could be worth a few hundred euro.”

I didn’t have to be told twice. The wonders of smartphones are such that, within five minutes, I had taken some photos of the bath and posted it for sale on DoneDeal.

And soon after that, the phone rang. A lady was interested and I gave her my sales pitch. It was big and white, waterproof and with its own taps.
She promised to call back but then, the trail went cold.

That was three weeks ago and it has since become something of an unwanted piece of garden furniture. Yesterday, I inspected it again and found it over-flowing with rain water, which got me thinking.

In my line of work, the weather is largely irrelevant, apart from the odd annoying cancellation of a football match here or there. But for a farmer – and I am hoping one such individual may find a use for my bath – the weather can play havoc.

Last summer was middling. There was a dry week in September and it has been more or less raining since, to the point where farmers are in bother.

Cattle are still indoors and will be for another while – it could be May at this rate before they feel grass under their hooves – but that brings with it its own problems. Slurry tanks are full yet no farmer can spread it because the ground is too wet.

That creates an unhealthy situation in which to house livestock and is another unwanted problem at the height of the calving season.

Fertiliser should be spread soon, too, but again, land is too soggy to drive on. And by soggy, I mean many fields are actually waterlogged.

There were windows in the winter when ground was dry enough but EU regulations state that slurry cannot be spread before February 1, further handcuffing the farmers.

The winter gone by was fairly mild, with little frost, which meant grass kept growing but the deluge of rain has meant that cattle cannot be let out to graze it. This in turn is putting pressure on silage supplies, which will soon be running low.

Where farmers meet, after the usual opening gambits - “many calved yet?”, “how are ya for fodder?” - the weather still dominates conversation, followed closely by the vexed subject of beef prices.

Interestingly, while prices are still low, the live trade is very hot, with a lot of stock said to be going north of the border. Why that is is not clear, which is not unusual in the agri sector, possibly the toughest industry of the lot for the small operator to turn a shilling and where there are so many variables at play.

Then again, that’s always been the way. Farmers have never had it easy and never will. Many – particularly but not exclusively the younger generation – are now taking a much more scientific approach to the job, no longer viewing their farms as hobbies but first and foremost as a business rather than an inherited burden of sorts, a kind of unwanted family heirloom.

But for all that there is a more progressive attitude to running a farm, like the good ash plant for a stick, some things will never change in the world of small farm enterprise.

If there is one thing a farmer likes more than a good old-fashioned moan it is a bargain. And things don’t come any cheaper than for nothing. Zilch, zero, nada.

Which brings me back to my pristine free-standing bath, still there, still over-flowing. The river run past my lawn and, if I can’t get rid of this eyesore soon, I’m strongly considering tipping it over the edge and into the Blackwater.

My plea is this: Is there not a farmer out there, astray in the head with rain and all its attendant problems, looking for a rock-solid cast iron bath, complete with plug and a set of legs, to use as a drinker? If not, over the fence she goes.

So, God bless her, my cast iron bath, with one lady owner and a full service history. And all who sail in her.