Features
Half a Wild Rotavator
We used to have an allotment on the Trent floodplain. Solid clay, it was, and impossible to reduce to a tilth unless you had a lot of time and a big Moulinex. You had to dig when possible, smack it about with the spade as you went, and not tread on it until surface-dry, otherwise it compacted into wellie-shaped rockpools. Later, you could slice it into wedges with an entrenching tool, before garnishing with seeds; preferably large ones that wouldn't disappear for ever under the slabs or down the cracks.
One year we had a very late wet spring, and a neighbour who had less time than I did, and more money, suggested going halves on renting a rotavator. I wasn't very optimistic: clay; wet; slimy; panning; cost... but we had little option.
Mad machine
It was an attractive orange colour, and 'not too heavy'. That was the good news. The bad news was that it took John all morning to do half his allotment, and we never got round to mine at all. What an evil machine. 'Not too heavy' meant it had no mass to counteract the swirling forces of the blades. Consequently, instead of scything and chopping the sward, it ran off like a mad thing, skittering over the surface like a mutant supermarket trolley, with John hanging desperately on trying to stop it overturning and going for his legs whenever it barged into a tussock. His temper wasn't best helped by the steady drizzle.
Tamed brute
But after half an hour he got the measure of the brute, and by leaning heavily on its horns, and pushing and heaving (with an occasional encouraging 'Ole!' from me) he eventually got it to apply its 2½ horsepower ('horsepower'? Where do they get these terms from? 'weaselpower', more like.) more or less vertically. But then he hit another snag. Once the trollop had dug a bit of a notch, it wouldn't go forward. And after a minute or two it couldn't go forward because it was too involved in plunging ever deeper and deeper like a mechanical pig after a truffle, and you can't push a machine out of a hole, even if it's 'not too heavy', and the land is dry and tractable. Our land was wet, greasy and claggy, and John had balls of clay building up under his wellies, and his gloves offered less and less grip on the slimy handles. After four hours he gave up. One half of his patch looked like the Camargue, and the other half like the Somme. Defeat.
Mechanical wisdom
But it was useful experience for our future smallholding. I now knew that what a rotavator needs is a) adequate power, b) weight, and c) wheels. With a competent 5-weasel engine driving a pair of grippy wheels, the driver is free to steer and guide, rather than chase and wrestle. Adequate weight ensures that the force from the cutters goes downwards into the land; and the wheels and weight combined mean much greater stability, and hence safety. A little skittering gremlin is a menace.
Our ideal would have been the classic Howard Gem, but we settled for a tidy s/h Howard 352. It's smaller than the Gem, but sturdily built, and has served us well for some twenty years... despite having twice been run dry of oil. Don't ask. I still shudder. We either plough-harrow-rotavate, or just rotavate three times, or less if the land has been covered in black plastic.
Avoiding tears
If you've never used a rotavator you'd be surprised at how similar it is to driving a performance vehicle. You can't fight it, or you'll end up overturned and in tears. The knack is to keep your eye on the road ahead, pick the best line, taking due note of any rocks, string, spades, children etc in the way, and then guide the machine through, with a gentle touch and occasional lean on the handlebars. It's a job that requires a skill all of its own. The rotavator is the one tool I never let visitors use, unless just to 'have a go' on a straight and even patch.
Two disasters
I turned it over myself once, trying to remedy a particularly bad bit of ploughing (my own proud work). I went into a deep furrow at too sharp an angle and there was no way I could hold it. Slashing blades and leaking petrol everywhere. Never again! The only other mishap I've had was when I was hauling hard back on the bars, against the cut of the blades, to alter a line of approach. Slowly but surely, both rubber grips slid off the handles. The machine trundled slowly on, leaving me sat on my dignity on the floor, still clutching both handles. Oh, how we laughed.
Gillian Westbrook has been appointed to the new position of
General Manager with IOFGA. Coming from a background in the regulatory area...
