Team Leader

Things have changed greatly in the two years since I last posted on this blog.

For a start, I’m now back in journalism. To be honest, although I’m a born writer, I’m still not entirely sure it was the right decision as leaving Westlands was genuinely the hardest thing I’ve ever done and went against most of my instincts.

But what’s done is done and I will write about the last few months of my Westlands tenure in due course. I can’t just consign it to memory, especially as I’m always dreaming of it.

So why have a returned to this blog?

At a family gathering a few weeks back, my brother-in-law’s dad was telling me how much he enjoyed reading my “very well written blog” (thank you Chris) and why I no longer posted.

It all comes down to time and quite often I fell asleep on the sofa after coming back from the farm from a day of physical work.

It’s been pretty much the same with journalism, as I rarely switch off and find myself writing stories even when I should be chilling. Since I enjoy writing so much, sometimes knocking out a story doesn’t feel like work.

Back on the beat in Petersfield. The town's eminent historian, David Jeffery, told me 'we are very lucky to have you' after accompanying him on this job. This copy of the Petersfield Post featuring my handiwork has been sealed inside the statue on The Square.

But since I’m holiday, and so much has changed, I’ve decided now’s a good time to get this blog up and running again. It will be a mixture of things, and there will be a lot of focus on the half-marathon I’m currently training for in memory of my late father-in-law, but for this first post in two years I’ve decided to keep with the farming theme.

The following entry was written in early 2023 during the Christmas break but I never got round to publishing it. It’s been sitting in my documents folder on my laptop since then, and re-reading it has brought back so many memories.

If any of my old farm colleagues read it, then I hope it does the same. Спасибо!

Team Leader

I DON’T recall being asked if I would like to become team leader. It was kind of thrust upon me.

Graham was still on the hunt for a replacement for previous supervisor Christian when the first Ukrainian pickers arrived in March 2022. Since I had experience and there wasn’t too much in the way of supervising to do – how hard can it be to snip tiny raspberry plants? – I ploughed away with Halyna, Natalia and Viktoria in the tunnels while the search continued.

There was a little bit of interest and a chat was planned with an Indian university student who grew wild strawberries in the Himalayan foothills, but nowt came of it. So the vacancy was never filled, and I became the pickers’ de-facto team leader.

The Ukrainians and Viorica made my introduction to team leading very easy. Amid my constant checking up and encouragement they listened and changed their picking methods. They eventually picked to weight, cut down on stem size and built up speed. They also asked questions and advice on how to improve, which is what you really want to hear.

“How do I know if I’m doing it right?” said Alina to me early on with the use of Google translate.

“If you don’t see me,” I initially replied because if I leave them alone, it’s because I think they’re doing their job properly. The first few weeks of picking flew by, deliveries to supermarkets started, and everyone was very happy. But it couldn’t stay like this, as the picking team would triple in size over the coming weeks from 7 to 21, and that would be a test.

The Ukrainian trio of Alina, Halyna and Viktoria. How I miss them.

Looking after five happy female Ukrainians and a Moldovan was one thing, but I had trepidations about overseeing a larger group with a mixture of Moldovans, Kazakhs and Kyrgyz. My Russian, for one, was very limited and we were in the dark over the quality of worker we were getting.

This doesn’t apply to all of their countrymen and women, but we’ve discovered in the past that Romanian and Bulgarian workers can be hot-headed, stubborn and little bit lazy. We’ve found some slinking away for a quiet cigarette in years past and there’s been the odd argument over stealing fruit, ethnic origin and faithfulness of the, ahem, Romany type.

My knowledge of Kyrgyzstan is predominantly limited to the findings of the excellent Erika Fatland book Sovietstan: Travels through Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan. I can tell you that Kyrgyzstan has a small German-speaking enclave, is incredibly beautiful with mountains and crystal clear lakes, is the most democratic of the ex-USSR Stans and is a world leader in kidnapping-women-to-become-wives. True.

But as for their work ethnic? No idea.

As I’ve written before, we always try to recruit locally first but as it’s an unappealing job to most Hampshire folk, we use a recruitment agency to get pickers. But because Britain isn’t as appealing as it used to be to Romanian, Bulgarian and Eastern European pickers (**cough cough, Brexit, cough cough**) and there’s no longer freedom of movement, the agency is looking further afield for potential workers.

So while many Romanians and Bulgarians now choose to work in Germany and Holland, the agency has sounded out markets in the Soviet Stans, Nepal and even counties afar as Thailand and Indonesia. Global Britain, eh? I personally think it’s madness but if it gets the berries picked, then I guess it’ll have to do.

The first pickers to arrive from Kyrgyzstan were Bolotbek, Aida, Aibek and Asel. It took them the best part of a day to get from Bishkek to London before they were shamefully cheated out of a large sum for transportation from Heathrow to the farm. The driver was one of their own, too. Graham, being the kind soul he often is, helped them out with food from Fareham Tesco but it can’t have been the best welcome to life in Britain.

The Kyrgyz contingent, looking very serious. Their work ethic was terrific.

Their work ethic was fine and they soon found their feet and speed. Aida quickly became one of the fastest and was picker of the week a couple of times, but the same couldn’t be said for poor Asel. She suffered with allergies and didn’t really integrate with the other three. She often ate alone at lunchtime and as her allergies allegedly worsened, she began isolating herself in caravan pleading illness. She didn’t stay long, and we suspect she returned home.

The language barrier wasn’t the problem I thought it would be as Valentyna often translated and there is some crossover with Russian and Ukrainian, which I am still learning. Numbers are the same, for instance, as are important words like “work” and “Wednesday”. Google Translate and the Say Hi app are essential, though, as is patience.

Cousins Timur and Akbar were our Kazakh contingent and couldn’t be more different to each other. Whereas Timur was tall, lanky and tech-savvy, Akbar was only about 5’ 5” and looked like Wong from the Doctor Strange movies. Timur’s height made picking the outside rows in the polytunnels tricky, while Akbar always found plenty of things to talk about and point out.

As picking intensified and the group expanded, familiar problems arose. Most hated picking the outside rows in the polytunnels as there is little room and a low curved ceiling. It’s slow going and a little claustrophobic as the strawberry plants are centimeters from your face and the ground can get a bit weedy. While some of the pickers just got on with it, others moaned if they had to pick more than one while it was the same story with the pole runs (see my second entry) in the greenhouses.

At one stage we had 16 pickers – one for every strawberry tunnel – so I kept a tally and made sure every team member did one each, just to keep things fair. But with the group expanding to 20+ and fruit quantity increasing it became harder to manage, so it became pot luck. Rows are picked on a first come, first served basis so if you finish a row and the next is an outside one, unlucky. Exceptions were made though, and if I noticed that a picker had done two or more I would get someone else to take their place.

Yeah, I know I'm sexy. Me wearing a traditional Kyrgyz hat gifted to me by Erlan, bless him.

When I watching checking and scanning I would wander around the tunnels to make sure picking was going ok. Occasionally I would send pickers back to re-do their row if they missed lots of berries or did a poor job of cleaning while a real bugbear was seeing pickers holding more than two strawberries in their palm. You’re not meant to hold more than two in each hand because they become susceptible to bruising and wetness if they rub. And if they’re a little bit bruised when they’re in the punnet at the farm they will be much poorer after a 100-mile delivery to our processing centre in Maidstone.

Each pallet of fruit is graded with blue being perfect, green being good, followed by yellow, orange and red. Red means rejection and can be down to very poor quality or infestation, while yellow and orange mean a varying number of issues. I would get upset if pallets were given a yellow grade, especially when the depot would send high-definition close-up pictures of the offending bruised, wet or rot-affected strawberries.

I hated picking in the greenhouses in the rain because there is the odd leaky section and the plants underneath get wet. If the pickers have wet hands and have bad practices, like holding half a dozen strawberries in their palm, then the berries at the bottom of the punnets would turn mushy. I had to get tough with some of the pickers occasionally because of this, but there were occasions when I threw trays away because the contents was so poor.

My confidence and assertiveness grew with the role but there were times when I struggled with the transition from worker to manager. The previous season I was one of them, picking berries and following orders but this time the shoe was on the other foot. My instinct was to help, to get picking when they were struggling but you have to step back. If you’re too friendly and help too much then you can jeopardise your authority.

Graham said it’s quite a common issue and made the following point: if you work for a plumbing firm with multiple workers, who is more important? The plumber who completes one job at a time or the manager in the office who directs them all and handles enquiries? The plumber may complete the job, but they and their counterparts wouldn’t get to all their jobs without guidance from the chap in the office.

I love this picture Ryan took of me sifting plants in early January.

The next to arrive were Alex (Moldovan), Avazbek and Kurmanbek (Kyrgyz) and Lydia (Ukrainian). Alex just got on with things and didn’t take much encouragement or training, just one of those people who plugs away in the background. But after a while we realised he wasn’t at the farm to make up the numbers and his picking rate was one of the best.

Although it died a bit of a death as the season went on, we introduced a “Picker of the week” and “most improved picker” scheme. The recipient of this chocolate-based reward was usually the picker with the highest rate (hello Viktoria R and Aida) but I tried to reward as many people as possible, especially if I had seen a leap in quantity or quality. Another recipient was rewarded for prioritising cleaning plants and removing missed berries and waste over her own picking.

I also brought in an “Average kg/ph” board to show pickers how fast they were working. Admittedly the people at the top and bottom were roughly the same on each pick but everyone took an interest and regularly asked what their speed was. We want the pickers to be competitive, but not overly so, as it means more fruit and a better picking rate. Erlan, who was one of the last Kyrgyz to arrive, said it definitely motivated him and the pickers but he was a very competitive soul, bless.

Going back to recruits, Avazbek was a joy to work with. Although his command of English was minimal he very quickly grasped the fundamentals of strawberry and raspberry picking and took to some husbandry tasks like a duck out of water. Bolotbek and Aida, who had experience having previously worked on a farm in Kyrgyzstan, were possibly even better and they flew through some tasks like a greased-up hippo on a waterslide.

The picking class of 2022 were the best we’ve worked with but that’s also because they were the least troublesome. Having no hot-headed Romanians or Marxist-minded Bulgarians helped a great deal, but that didn’t mean the season was trouble-free.

The first time I had to exert some authority was in the last greenhouse during a pick in early May. I noticed one of the rows had been missed or very poorly picked and wasn’t impressed. I said “WHY HASN’T THIS ROW BEEN PICKED?” in a slightly angry voice and all the Ukrainians immediately helped out. They reacted to my change in demeanor and the watching Graham liked what he saw on both fronts. I can be a timid person but the reaction worked a treat and I surprised myself by being so assertive. Looking back, I think maybe this was the moment when I realised it was going to be ok.

A few months later one picker got very stroppy because she refused to remove her earrings, claiming they aided her balance and were medically necessary. If such a condition exists, then I apologise in advance, but we thought her excuse was bollocks and imagined she was duped into buying the earrings by a dodgy Slavic doctor/conman. I mentioned this to a first aid trainer and paramedic a few weeks ago and he gave a very puzzled look, all but confirming our prognosis.

Anyway, jewellery is prohibited on the farm because if an earring or nail ends up in a punnet and finds its way to a supermarket it can lead to all sorts of legal issues and a big fine. We eventually came to a solution but the picker got very shouty with me and our interpreter and came within a whisker of being sent to her caravan.

Supermarkets only sell strawberries above a certain diameter, so anything that goes through this ring is too small. Thankfully we also have buyers that aren't so picky, and I always thought the smaller ones were the sweetest.

Another got into an argument with a few other pickers because he assumed you could “reserve” a row in one of the raspberry tunnels. He knew it had the most fruit and left his trolley in the row the night before. However, rows are definitely not exclusive and are first-come, first-serve so when someone else bagged the row during the morning afterwards an argument started. This picker did not get their wish and was assigned to another row.

On another occasion Ryan sent two pickers to their caravan for chilling in the barn and playing on their phones with an hour to go before hometime. They had been trusted to work alone but after finishing their task they decided not to find myself, Ryan or Graham and opted for some downtime. These two also had time management issues and on another occasion I found myself raising my voice was when one of them returned to picking 45 minutes after starting a 30-minute lunch break. It’s not like the trek from his caravan to the tunnels is a long one, as they are just separated by a track. Every day they were the last to return from lunch and on this occasion, with Steve watching, I thought enough was enough. I rarely shout but I had warned them about their timekeeping several times in the past and on this occasion I felt it was warranted. Their relaxed attitude had been noted by the other pickers, too, so maybe it was right thing to show them up in front of their colleagues. I will say their timekeeping improved a tad after this outburst.

Now seems a good time to go back to the Kyrgyz as this laid back individual and his homie were from Kyrgyzstan. They were very polite and one of the two was actually a decent raspberry picker as his rate was often top five and there was little wrong with his berries. They quickly made friends with the other Kyrgyz but that became a bit of a problem because their bond with a couple of pickers led to a bit of silliness and a drop in speed and standards.

Steve mentioned around this time that you couldn’t allow the pickers to get comfortable because that leads to complacency and a drop in production. The old man speaks the truth because this friendship affected the work-rate of at least one Kyrgyz and when we had to lose a few pickers in August, the last in had to be the first out. Another of the original Kyrgyz was also considered because they became too chummy with one of the aforementioned duo and did more chatting than picking. Little things like doing chin-ups on support girders and wrestling in the rows also rankled, especially in the middle of big jobs where everyone had to muscle in. Strong words were had.

The big warning came during a marathon planting session when Graham and I had enough with their speed and attitude. The trio and were told to stay at home the next day and lo behold, productivity improved massively and we got the job done.

It was interesting to hear that during this job Bolot and Erlan complained to each other, and then to me, about another picker whose attitude and work quality was deemed to be poor. It’s galling when you’re working hard and seeing someone else not pulling their weight and this picker also spent the next day at home. Bolot and Erlan are both cut from the same cloth as they worked incredibly hard and took a lot of pride in their work. The former was a little intense at times but that came from a promethean work ethos and a desire to accrue as much money as possible to take back to Kyrgyzstan.

I gave Erlan is first taste of English professional football. Thankfully Portsmouth won 3-1 against Bristol Rovers on this occasion.

Erlan was the baby of the group and helped his case by having an excellent grasp on English so he understood instructions and learned quickly. I knew we had a good student by the second day after I asked him to re-pick his row as he missed a lot of good and bad berries. He was completely cool with it and did the job well. On the next pick he asked out of the blue if I could check his work, which was validating and great to hear, and by the end of the week his picking rate was rising fast.

Unfortunately, the summer was also one of the hottest in record, with weeks of no rain and temperatures nudging an unbelievable 40c at one point. The water in our reservoir dropped to a worrying level, and our fruit suffered from restrictions. We picked as early as possible to avoid the early afternoon heat, with pickers assembling in the tunnels just before 5am. This meant I had to get up at 3.30am every day for a week, enough to give me time to have a cuppa and pick up the Kyrgyz from Westlands, but it was no biggie. We sometimes used the early afternoon to finish to go to the beach in Lee on the Solent, while I’ll admit to falling asleep in a shady spot of the farm on occasion after hometime had been called.

I’ve mentioned the sea before, and one of the greatest things I did at the farm was take the Ukrainians and the inaugural Kyrgyz, plus Timur and Akbar, on a day trip to Portsmouth via the Gosport ferry. I will never forget the reaction of the Kyrgyz in the minibus when I turned onto Lee on the Solent seafront, and they gazed and talked excited about seeing The Solent, shimmering and looking almost Med-like in the summer sunshine. We returned here throughout the summer, and I think outings like this were important as it’s good for bonding and it’s good to have a break every now and then.

Speaking of treats, one of my greatest achievements was introducing pickers to Tunnocks. I am addicted to Tunnocks, both the tea cakes and wafer bars, and have received boxes on several occasions for Christmas and my birthday.

One of my greatest achievements on the farm was introducing the pickers to Tunnocks. I am awaiting a thank you payment from the Glasgow producers of this legendary foodstuff.

So on one shopping trip to Lidl in Hedge End, Erlan started talking biscuits with me. I quickly directed him to Tunnocks, calling them the finest thing to come our of Scotland after whisky and Irn Bru. He duly selected a packet, and the following trip he and his colleagues each had multiple packets in their baskets. Next time I’m in Glasgow I will collect my royalties from their factory in Uddingston.

Although we lost some of the crop – the raspberries died a heat-related death, unfortunately – the season was a terrific one. It was agreed the team was the best in our relatively short history, and when pickers started asking if they could come back the next year, the answer was almost a near-always ‘yes’. I took pleasure in saying they were the best group of pickers we’ve ever had at the farm, and having spent the best part of four years with previous cohorts, I know it was definitely true and not lip service.

A lot came down to the size of the group as 20-30 is a manageable figure, and allowed us some luxuries like work outings and communal shopping trips. This might get harder as the farm expands, especially if we get more caravans and a workforce of 50-plus, not including temporary workers brought in from other farms.

Aww, thanks Emilbek...

We got a taste how an influx could work the following summer when we brought in four Ukrainians from a farm near Romsey we’re close with to help out. Graham specifically asked for Ukrainians because of their work ethic and because of Viktoria, Alina and their native contingent on our farm. It also helps that I was, and still am, learning the language, so they were a little taken back when I introduced myself.

“Dobrohoo Ranko,” I said to them. It means good morning in Ukrainian, and there were a few “oohs” from our guests at the introduction, with the group replying likewise. But I continued:

“Menez zvatee Paul, laskavo prossimmo do Westlands Farm, preeyemno poz nay yomotizz”

Which means my name is Paul, welcome to Westlands Farm, nice to meet you. Throughout the day I spoke as much Ukrainian as I could, even saying things like ‘give the grey trays to Graham please’, which blew him away, and our newest recruits fitted in nicely. The two inexperienced pickers, who had never picked a strawberry before, were up to 28kg/ph by the end, but things remained under control even with the influx. Graham later sent a message saying he was impressed about how I dealt with the extra numbers and language skills, which was nice.

But I think the best feedback came from the temporary workers themselves. One called the farm “a dream” to work at, being a lot more personable than the 200-person farm they’re based at, while another asked to get a transfer to Westlands. We couldn’t arrange it, but I wouldn’t have said no to her or any of her colleagues. It often felt we had something special at our farm.

I’m not pretending being a team leader was a perfect experience, as it wasn’t and I made mistakes. Sometimes I misjudged finishing patterns, and we didn’t stop picking when or where we wanted to, while the feedback from Maidstone often got me down, being consistently yellow. I was told not to worry about it, but it made me feel like I couldn’t get the pickers to attain perfection. Sometimes rows we’re picked too lightly, or too slowly, where I demanded a rise in standards and better cleaning. It cost us time, and time is money. And then there's my never-ending ability to forget and lose things...

But it’s always a learning curve and I genuinely think improvements came with experience. I’ve always had a bit of a yearn to lead, and I think that’s shown in some of my previous jobs, like running supermarket departments or organising work or snooker trips, so I will always appreciate being given the chance I had.

I’ll always look at this period with rose-tinted glasses, as red as the strawberries that dominated my life for years.