Farewell, DJ Aldin

I write this in late October when the herd is thinning. Some of the pickers have finished work for the season and have returned to Bulgaria with the rest due to hang up their secateurs within the next fortnight.

Stanimir and Iva were among the first to finish and were closely followed by Tanya, Snez and Aldin.

Ah yes, Aldin. The very friendly, energetic, fast-picking and slightly mad Aldin.

Aldin gave me the most memorable welcome of all the pickers at Ford when he gave me a high five and has kept up the joviality ever since. If he’s not offering a high five he’s either beatboxing, shadow boxing, encouraging me to start a disco (disco disco disco disco whoop whoop) or joining me for an impromptu dance in the fields or polytunnels. The man can throw some mean shapes, let me tell you.

He also regularly gives me mugs of his super strong black Turkish coffee during lunchbreaks outside his caravan and knows all the words to Pump Up The Jam. His son, Oktay, says he has the coolest dad and I have to admit, he’s a lucky son.

I will most remember Aldin for his companionship during one of the most difficult and draining tasks I have undertaken at Westlands. The job was pruning young strawberry plants in the open but there was 70,000 of them, all on the floor in rows of pots, and I did a good chunk on my own over a fortnight. It took more than a week for my knees to recover.

The pickers would join me after finishing their work in the polytunnels and it was always a relief to have some company. On one occasion I had been pruning for five hours when the pickers arrived and I was seriously flagging. It was no surprise to see Aldin catch up with me on the next row and although the job was no-one’s favourite, he brought plenty of positivity to the field.

I miss Aldin (wearing the Adidas shirt).

“Energy, energy” he would say to me on this occasion with the two of us occasionally stopping for a quick dance, much to the amusement of the other pickers. I played some choice Europop and Old Skool choons to soundtrack the pruning, while he introduced me to some of his music, with bangers from Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Dubai and Albania among others. Some of it would have sounded perfect in a bazaar or Turkish restaurant, but the music and company certainly did the trick and made a pretty tiring job a lot faster and more enjoyable. He coined himself DJ Aldin during the experience, and the tag has stuck.

I sped up thanks to his company and encouragement and when I finished my row I moved over to Aldin’s in gratitude. We didn’t share a row again after that, and the only occasions I have seen him has been passing in the glasshouses or tunnels when I’ve been deadheading raspberries and he’s been picking.

I learned a couple of days ago (I write this on October 24) that Aldin has now finished for the season. I hope he hasn’t left yet because I sincerely want to thank him for his company and the fun we’ve had over the summer and autumn. I will miss the madcap Aldin, and regret the fact I may never get the chance to shout “disco disco” in the tunnels in his company again.

As the farm quietens and the pickers return to their native lands, it strikes me that Westlands is like an extreme summer camp. Ok, the activities are lot more strenuous and it’s work rather than play, but they get accommodation, make friends from other parts of Bulgaria or Romania and they’re here for the summer. Some even start relationships. At the end they pack up and say their goodbyes, with some returning the next summer with others opting for pastures new.

Less than ten pickers now remain on the farm and the place is starting to feel empty. The air is cooling and on occasions the temperature has been in low single figures at Ford. The plug was pulled on the strawberries around a month ago and the frequency of raspberry picking is reducing.

Working on a farm in summer has been an idyllic experience at times, but I suspect it will feel very different when winter arrives and the workforce is down to its bare bones. There have been times where I have worked alone, and there’s going to be a lot more of that as the sun sets on 2020.

Still, the ghosts of the pickers will haunt the tunnels, fields and glasshouses as long as I’m here, with the sound of Aldin’s voice being among the loudest in my memory.