Like mother, like daughter

This morning on Ingleby Bank, under a welcome autumnal sun, I was watched with deep suspicion by a yow and her gimmer lamb.

Moorland sheep, we are told, have been fixtures of the North York Moors for centuries, as essential to the scenery as wind and drizzle. With their woolly coats that protect them from the weather, these creatures are well adapted to a life in this charmingly hostile landscape.

If I had to guess, I’d say this yow and her gimmer were Swaledales—sheep with the noble distinction of being able to thrive on grass that other breeds would sneer at. The black faces and white coats are their trademark, in case anyone was unsure. Then again, they might have been ‘mules,’ which are crossbreeds mixing the hardy constitution of Swaledale or Blackface sheep with more commercially attractive traits, such as being good for wool, meat, or simply being able to exist with a minimum of fuss. Farmers are always at this, tinkering with sheep breeds in the eternal quest to create the ultimate multi-purpose animal for selling on at the right time.

For those unfamiliar with the intricacies of shepherds’ terminology, a ‘yow’ is the northern word for a ewe, while a ‘gimmer’ is a female sheep still in her first year of life, this one blissfully unaware of the fact that she’s just a few months away from being rebranded as a yow.

Most moorland sheep are ‘hefted,’ meaning they are allowed to wander around like they own the place, entirely free of fences, a practice that’s been going on for ages, but ensuring that the sheep remain ruggedly content on their own moor. However, with so much carefree wandering, the flocks do tend to mingle at the edges, leading to the age-old problem of figuring out who owns which sheep. For centuries, the legal solution to this conundrum was the ‘lug mark’—a personalised ear mutilation lovingly applied by the shepherd. Each farm had its own special cut, carefully recorded in the local Shepherds Guide. Eventually, this quaint barbarism gave way to the ‘smit,’ a colourful dye mark splashed onto the fleece. Once upon a time, this was done with berries, lichens, and other earthy delights, but modern shepherds have wisely opted for chemicals instead.

These markings were essential during grand gatherings when shepherds would sweep the high moors, round up all the strays, and lead them to the lower pastures. Sorting out whose sheep was whose could wait until later. But alas, the era of these rustic round-ups is fading, thanks to the steady decline in moorland sheep stocking levels. Progress, it seems, stops for no ewe.