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Self-Sufficiency in Style

stop the world?

part three

In part one and two, we brought you up to the start of Britain's Swine Fever Epidemic and made some startling claims about its significance. 

We introduced Canada and the United States into the picture and explained that Britain is merely the cockpit where the coming together of many factors was mishandled.

The writer introduced himself into the story and explained a little of his life before smallholding.

But he was not the only one with a past...

"Have you ever seen a blood test taken from a pig before?"

We said that we hadn't.

"It is not very nice, it is better that the public do not know," he said..

Spare them the details.

You can tell your troubles to a pig.

Vera, our sow, was almost a pet. Friendly, amiable and trusting; she would cheerfully honk as we came into sight and hold a conversation over the fence.

She would enjoy a shower in the hot weather, roll about in her wallow and, when she thought she might get one, beg for an apple.

Cleaner than the average dog, and probably more intelligent, she was persuaded to co-operate with the vet as he put a wire noose round her snout, pulled her head back and probed with the needle for blood.

It was a long arduous and unpleasant job. The pig was distressed, the vets out of breath and we were upset too.

We didn't make a fuss, the job had to be done for the sake of the neighbouring farmers and there was no point in making the vets' life any harder.

We knew the pig did not have swine fever - and as a previous vet had admitted the only reason they were doing it was to get money out of the European Union. "Just a question of getting the right bits of paper in the right place," one had said.

That statement will haunt Britain's Veterinary industry for many years, we are now giving evidence on widespread and massive fraud to the EU.

An ill -judged word and the quick-tempered can finish up in the dock rather than working alongside it.

And someone else on the smallholding was experienced in "holding their cool."

Mrs P was well capable of handling a crisis without any help from the writer.

Not a place to throw your weight about.

The worst kind of bloody news hit a bowler hatted London.

In the very early 60s, an acquaintance and neighbour of mine had been killed, with his girlfriend, on the banks of the Thames. 

The killer had horrified the country by posting bits of the bodies in bloodstained packages to the "Daily Mirror." 

Normally, in those days, the police would hide some of the nastier details to be considerate to the relatives, but on this occasion, we got all the facts on the front page.

It was a sensation. A modern "Jack the Ripper" story.

Mrs P seemed to get her fair share of stalkers, but seemed to have no problem dealing with them - on one occasion with the threat of a well aimed knitting needle.

She had moved from working on the opposite side of the river to the City of London, where the Tate Modern now stands,  to take a job nearer home.

She became the receptionist at a new power station at Northfleet, also on the banks of the Thames, twenty or so miles to the east.

The first sign of trouble was a series of notes, unpleasant in tone, with even odder enclosures. They became worse and eventually the matter was reported to the police when the stalker became confident enough to seek a rendezvous.

Mrs P agreed with the police to keep the suggested appointment. The police had the dark damp riverside staked out. 

The man didn't turn up, much to everyone's disappointment, not least  my fiancée who clearly had every intention of making his arrest memorable.

She was particularly incensed by the police failure to give her a lift home in the darkness after the abortive meeting.

That could have been a disastrous mistake, a few weeks later the "Daily Mirror" murderer was caught. 

Yes, you have guessed, he worked at the power station. It was the same man.

Not safe for a woman alone.

The writer was later to have  the unnerving experience of watching his wife through his office window, with an armed customs officer and a couple of drug smugglers - also thought to be armed. They were caught and gaoled.

It was a relief when she joined the Specials, the volunteer police, when she became a grandmother. She was at least under some degree of supervision - and had the protection of a uniform.

You can read the rather funny story on Finding the Good Life

Anyway, from a colourful background, both of us were well able to hold our temper and our opinions to ourselves, when necessary. We also knew how to keep our eyes open - and collect evidence.

It was about four days after the first set of blood tests, on 30 August 2000, when a vet with two assistants arrived to take more blood tests. We were a little surprised, but the woman vet was adamant:

"Any sows and twenty percent of any offspring." 

It was clear from the discussion with her assistants that the instruction was from above. She had no discretion.

We accepted the situation with good grace. We were still concerned for our neighbouring pig farmers and trusted that the government knew what they were doing.

What happened next will long be remembered.

Twenty percent selection.

The extension - hardly a matter of animal health.

She suddenly stopped and demanded. "Who is that?" It was the builder working on our house extension. 

The writer told her who it was.

"I haven't licensed him," came the reply, before seeing the look of astonishment and conceding -

"We will put him down as a relative."

Overseas readers, will need to know that, not surprisingly, Britain's Ministry of Agriculture had nothing to do with licensing builders.

This all seemed very odd.

She spotted a missing ear-tag and commented aggressively. 

Mrs P bristled. She was obviously about to remind our unwanted visitor that she was in a private home and supposed to be dealing with a serious epidemic of pig disease, not a temporary missing ear tag.

The writer intervened with a warning glance to Mrs P, who picked it up and co-operated - "We have been waiting for an expert to arrive. We have got a spare ready but can't bring ourselves to do it."

To defuse the tension: "We will give you a cup of tea when you have finished, in exchange."

The friction eased. The woman was clearly unaware that she was now being very closely watched, agreed to fix the tag.

Her assistant stepped into the role later, when she seemed unable to do it.

Gladys is a law abiding cow.  As you can see, she has the required two ear-tags since a calf. She had pulled one out a few days before on a fence. We had obtained a replacement and were gathering up the courage to fit it..

Vera tried to hide in her arc - this one, photographed today.

After what happened, we have not had the heart to replace the healthy pigs eventually slaughtered at our home by government order.

A nation of animal lovers?

Poor Vera, the pig, was terrified, having been blood tested a few days before, she was wary, ran to her house and tried to hide.

With the help of the two assistants, the wire noose was placed round her snout and her head wrenched back against her house.

The wire marks were on her snout for days afterwards. Despite repeated attempts over nearly half an hour, no blood was obtained. The ground was littered with bent needles.

To my surprise, Mrs P, following a few whispered words in her ear, held her cool.

The vet, no doubt thinking that she had terrified a couple of smallholders into silence, asked that she could take blood from one of the off-spring instead. 

Of course, we agreed - to get her to release the sow.

The piglets were not that small and after a struggle, two were blood tested, one male, one female.

Although we did not know at the time, she had  injured one of the youngsters. She must have known. We were treated to a long anecdote about how someone had tried to sue the State Veterinary Service for injuring a pig - and had lost. We did not grasp the significance at the time.

She settled down to record the blood- tests. To our amazement she insisted on recording the blood test on the piglet as coming from the sow and tried to involve Mrs P in the deception.

Mrs P corrected her and was told , "You are too honest for your own good."  It was clearly a threat.

By this time we thought she was stark raving mad. An interlude followed in which she was abusive down her mobile to, what seemed to be, her Spanish assistant in Scotland.

Faked blood test and the first threat.

There was a degree of bragging about the hotel she was staying at - the best in the region - at taxpayers' expense.

Still smiling through thin lips, we gave her a cup of tea as promised and with relief saw her off the premises.

At first, we decided not to report her.

"The government is in trouble," the writer insisted to Mrs P," they are short of vets and they have picked up a bad one. They have sent two assistants to keep an eye on her and only sent her to people who they know do not have swine fever. The real vets will be at infected premises." 

Mrs P was far from convinced with this argument, but reluctantly agreed.

We began to change our minds a day or so later, when one of the piglets had a blood vessel hanging from his penis. Knowing little about Swine Fever, we tried to report it as a sick pig, not as a government injured pig - and  became very concerned.

It was quite clear from the conversation that the Ministry were certain from our identity that we did not have Swine Fever. Our pigs had been abused for some other purpose. We were baffled by the reaction. They would not send anyone out.

They quoted Royal College of  Veterinary Surgeons' rules, which seemed very odd to us, as we were talking to government employees - our employees and there is a legal obligation on us to report illness that might be notifiable.

They were not even interested in a report of illness - and none too polite about it either. There was no chance of telling them discreetly that they had a lunatic running about the countryside - the Ministry was not in a listening mood.

We had one very sick little pig, but nobody wanted to know.

We were left to call our own vet to the scene. Despite paying their bill and making written requests we have been unable to get a report.

As always, please check my facts, you are not going to be asked to take much on trust. You can do most of it from your computer.

The East Anglian Daily Times did carry a report of government vets living in style at the best hotel in East Anglia. The writer told them and was named as the complainant. The government later said they got a "special price."

It seems impossible to find the report. All the original reports have been moved. You can try searching for "swine fever" in the archives. You get some peculiar results after the first couple of pages - and all archived results have the wrong dates.

In due time, the hard copy can be provided for examination. Nobody can hide a full edition of a regional newspaper.

You can trace much about the Swine Fever Epidemic from http://www.pighealth.com/csf.htm  

The development of one of the biggest ever crimes has been carefully documented by an eminent, although sometimes individualistic, Cambridge veterinarian. He has shown more courage than the rest of his profession. 

It was a chance meeting that changed our minds. Together, we met a pig farmer owning one of the sixteen farms that did have Swine Fever. The pigs were all killed. The poor man was distraught.

He mentioned a vet bragging about living in the best hotel in East Anglia. The words seemed familiar. A little questioning elicited a description of the woman involved.

It was unmistakable.

Our strange vet had been active on an infected site before coming to us.

We were stunned. It looked as if they had an impostor in the middle of an epidemic faking blood tests and travelling from "dirty" to "clean" sites. 

The name on her lapel badge was androgynous - just like mine. The writer thought she was probably a veterinary nurse that had lifted the papers from a male partner, and set out to make some quick money in a crisis.

This turned out to be completely wrong, but it was weeks before we began to learn the far more sinister truth.

At the time, we just thought it was our duty to do something to stop her activities.

Little did we know that doing something was to lead to the worst crisis of our lives. Our lives and freedom were to be put in danger, our home violated, because some of the most important people in our land were outright crooks and criminals...

...and before you relax in Ireland, Canada or the U.S., Australia or New Zealand - this trail leads straight to your livestock underworld too.

the world of food and agricultural crime

from

 the appropriately  named Hangman's Cottage, just to the south of Misery Corner.