Aiming to make some money with hedging in the winter months, our jobbing young forestry contractor finds himself taking sides in a dispute between neighbouring farms.

NOW that farming is shutting down for winter, the landowners I’ve been nagging for the last six months to do something about their hedging have suddenly decided it’s a priority. Without wishing to be too cynical, this is probably because this is the only cash generator at this time of the year – the stewardship schemes. Now I’m the one getting nagged.

Despite my time being occupied by more organised clients, these people expect me to drop everything, arrive, assess the ground, recommend a contractor, advise on tree species, order the trees and then have them in the ground yesterday in order to claim their money before the looming deadline. To that end I’ve been doing my best to accommodate them, although my assessments are usually by torchlight after a full day’s planting elsewhere.

WANT MORE FROM DANNY? 

While many married couples walk along promenades on a Sunday, my wife and I (and our dog Madge) frequently walk along field boundaries across a wide range of countryside. I have found her watch to be particularly helpful as its GPS system tells you to within 0.1 m exactly how far you’ve walked. This is much easier than dragging a measuring wheel when calculating distances prior to ordering plants. It’s surprising just how many farmers are clueless as to how much fencing they’ve just had installed, even though it’s likely to have been written on the bill from the fencing contractor. The dog generally has a great day out.

Last week I had two jobs out of my local area which required assessing (pricing) for a local land agent. One involved two farms directly adjacent to each other, where there was clearly a level of animosity between the two. Having visited the farms I certainly left with a preference for the one farm. As I waited at the bottom of an immaculately railed drive to one of the farms, a brand new orange Hilux , now several minutes late, slowly made its way down to where I had agreed to meet. Inside were two very large gentlemen, clearly father and son. Looking at them I assumed their lateness was down to an extended lunch. 

The son introduced himself by making some derisory remark about my working vehicle having the appearance of a council van.

“At least I own it,” I thought to myself. The father, clearly out of breath from the effort of driving, lent out the window and said: “Follow us if the four-wheel drive works on that thing.”
I looked at him and, noticing that his shiny new Hilux was equipped with road tyres, asked: “Do the tyres work on yours?”

My car is a workhorse equipped with BF Goodrich all terrains and, while the car may be dinted and dirty, with tears in the upholstery and sawdust on the dashboard, it is a workhorse. We arrived at the hedge across an even, dry grass field which made me question what all the fuss was about. I looked at the job: 200 metres on flat ground, no rocks or old root plates, no pinch bars required – cream, really. It was a bit embarrassing as to why they couldn’t just do the job themselves.

I ran through the spiel (even though it’s clearly explained on the government website), the mix of trees I would use, where I’d source the trees and when the work could be done (hopefully when they’re away, so I don’t have to speak to them again). They actually seemed vaguely interested until I mentioned visiting the neighbouring farm, at which point they launched into a long rant detailing the history of every misdemeanour the neighbours had made over the last decade.

They were the devil incarnate and I had better make sure I get paid up front.

When I arrived at the devil’s lair you could instantly tell there was a lot going on. The place was a s---thole! Bent gates, burst bales, rats galore and everything else seemingly held together with wire and binder twine. He rolled up in his clapped-out black Navara and managed to smoke two hand-rolled cigarettes in between his pulling up and saying hello. For the hour I was with him I’m fairly sure he smoked the entire tobacco pouch.

While his portly neighbours only worked with sheep, the devil did sheep, cattle and arable and drove livestock wagons up and down Wales at night. He was installing six times as much hedging as his neighbours and was doing all the fencing himself. He had already sprayed and cut the grass without me suggesting it and had sold a shed full of cattle in order to fund the project which he intended to replace as soon as the money came through – as well as fencing and hedging the rest of the farm.

The man was a grafter and I admired him for that. When I raised the issue of the neighbours he confirmed the conclusion which I’d already drawn. He described them in words I couldn’t possibly print, but they were far from complimentary and he was particularly damning over their willingness to interfere in other people’s affairs. From a farming background myself, I know just how important it is to get on with your neighbours, but in this instance I could see the difficulty and the resulting tensions and I was clearly on the devil’s side. I could see his long-term aim and the effort he would make, provided his lungs held out.

A few years back, when I was in New Zealand, I was sharing a beer with big ginger-haired Aussie. It had been a very long, hot day and, as we sat under a tree sipping an ice-cold tinny, we began to discuss the topic of wealth. His rough, hard-working appearance belied an interior of intelligence and considerable experience of many years in the industry. He told me something which has stuck with me ever since.

During the discussion on wealth I had begun to talk about bank accounts and the availability of funds, when he looked at me and said: “You know what, Danny? I don’t think anyone’s got any money.”

It seemed like a throwaway comment at the time, but from the other side of the world to here his statement is proving true.

It’s generally cash flow that kills a business. You assess the job, buy the materials, do the job and then wait to get paid. You need the money to buy the materials for the next job and to pay your suppliers, so if the money isn’t forthcoming then you’re stuffed.

I know this is a familiar story and some of the biggest culprits are local authorities who, when you don’t pay them, have lawyers lined up to attack. Unfortunately for me, I’m often finding someone doesn’t have any money about a month after doing a great deal of work for them. As with the above, I outlay staff, fuel, wages, materials and accommodation (and a huge amount of time) only to find out they were hoping to sell the firewood before paying me for processing it, or for the government to pay them for a hedge I planted six months earlier.

If I’m ever in a position where I have to borrow money in the name of business, then I do so from friends and in return pay them back at the current rates of interest. With larger amounts I would go to a bank. Unfortunately, it would seem that many landowners and contractors have no morals when it comes to owing money and would rather engage in an ‘interest-free piss-take loan’ at my expense. And so, to avoid my hedge-planting business cash flow being wiped out by bad payers, I have introduced a 75-per-cent up-front deposit which covers materials and a good chunk of the labour.

Deposits on most jobs are five-figure amounts and once I’ve assessed the ground, selected the species of trees and marked out the ground I ask for the deposit. With some, the money hits the account the same hour, but others go very quiet. After a little bit of nagging they then hold up their hands and admit they don’t have the funds to continue.

On the outside I’m very polite and insist they get back in touch when funds allow, but inside I’d like to hit them with a pinch bar for the time and effort they’ve wasted in the full knowledge they could easily have bankrupted a small business. Quite often it’s the man with the shiny orange Hilux that can’t pay and the guy making good with wire and binder twine that can and does. 

It just goes to show that no matter how many wagons you run or how many acres you farm or how many tree surgeons you employ, the words of that scruffy, wise old Aussie ring true: “You know what, Danny? I don’t think anyone has any money.”