I should explain that societies discuss the motions chosen for debate, vote and their delegates go to the AGM, which I think are held in the Albert Hall, but if I’m wrong someone will correct me. It takes up the whole of the May meeting, so we don’t have a lecture or whatever that day. I say ‘we’ but I haven’t been a member for several years, though I’ll start going again some time, I daresay.
To set the scene – it was high summer and a blistering hot day. Jane had to move a flock of sheep from one field to another some way down the road. The sheepdog rounded them up and they set off. Along came PC Jobsworth, wanting to see her identity card. She was wearing – well, I don’t know, but it can’t have been her breeches, must have been a skirt because she didn’t have pockets and so she couldn’t produce her card. It was the local copper, he knew her and, as she said, even the most determined spy wouldn’t be likely to round up 100 sheep with a dog and drive them down the road. But he wouldn’t listen, and bent her ear for a considerable time, while she had to watch the sheep wandering in all directions.
The point was, of course, that the person most inconvenience by id cards is the honest citizen.
She was good with animals. I’ve already mentioned the horses and that she took particular, justified pride in driving a cartload of hay through a gateway where any error would mean disaster. The cows liked being milked by her too. Hand-milking, of course. She was gentle and knew the personality of each cow. One was knows as a kicker though, timing her kick to when the pail was nearly full for maximum disaster. And it was inevitable, Jane was caught one day. Over went the pail and over went Jane, flat on her back. “You sod!” she exclaimed – which went all over the neighbourhood, no one had ever heard her swear before.