Everything must come to an end

Damian McCarney

If I was one of Richard Harris’ turkeys, I’d keep my distance.
Standing amidst the 80 turkeys rummaging around his frills-free shed, the Celt wonders how Richard - not The Field’s Richard Harris - decides which one to eat himself? He likes to leave it to chance.
“Believe it or not,” he says, mist rising off his breath, “it’s the first one we meet. Last year, we had a white turkey for Christmas and it was absolutely gorgeous.”
Whether they end up on Richard’s plate or buried amongst the spuds on one of his neighbours’ plates, it’s no odds to the turkeys. The frost in the air confirms their days are numbered and at the time of Friday afternoon’s visit to the farm on the outskirts of Belturbet, those numbers are in single digits.
These turkeys have enjoyed a better innings than some of their fellow fowl. Richard had got a batch of poults at one-week-old and had to replace many. “We had a lot of bother with the week-old ones rearing them...
They just won’t eat - very very hard to get them to eat. You have a lot of casualties as well.”
The older batch that he got in at the beginning of September, aged between three to six-weeks-old, well, “they never looked back”.
To the untrained eye Richard appears to keep two breeds - white and black - but he explains that there are two breeds amongst the darker ones, an even split between American Blacks and Norfolk Bronze. However they’re a jolty mass of feathers, and it’s a struggle to spot the difference.
“They [Norfolks] have black and white in them, the American Black turkey is completely black,” Richard says to be helpful.
The blue hue of the Norfolks’ faces, curious snood (flap dangling over their beak) and haemorrhoidal wattle (fleshy bits and bobs under the throat) are mesmerising. It emerges that the American Blacks are harder to get a good look at, they seem a little more wary and shy off into the shadows.
Richard’s friend, Pat McHugh, who helps him rear the turkeys, gives a good pointer in that the Americans have a head of receding wispy black hair.
The whites need no introduction.
“They put on a lot more meat,” says Richard, “they are a heavier turkey than the Bronze or the Black.”
Confirming the point, Pat explains:
“There’s turkeys there from 45lb weight down to 18lb weight. That’s the turkey up there,” Pat says pointing to a majestic white, strutting about the shed as if he’s got two snoods. “He’s 45lb.”
As the Celt wonders what size of cooker you’d need to roast a turkey that size, Richard notes that 45lb isn’t especially big for a turkey. He recalls working in a processing plant in Smithborough in his youth, hanging up turkeys all day, some not far off 80lb.
“You felt it when you got home,” he says with a smile, recalling the strain on his arms.
But those reaching 80lbs must have been some sort of freakish Turkosaurus Rex?
“There was any amount of them,” he says, his hand hovering just over waist height to give an estimate of their scale.

Taste
Is there any difference in the taste between the breeds?
“Not very much difference,” is Pat’s conclusion.
Richard believes it’s subtle: “There is a slight difference in taste, the Bronze and the Black are a better taste of turkey but the most popular and most regular is the white, for breeding purposes and for fattening purposes - they fatten quicker. There wouldn’t be that much difference in the taste.”
“The Bronze turkey is a slightly darker flesh, but very little difference.”
Could he tell the difference in a blind challenge?
“I think I would,” he says with confidence.
Richard enjoys rearing the turkeys; it’s comes natural to him.
“Growing my own vegetables and having chickens and that, we thought it was a natural progression to get on to turkeys. There were a number of locals who asked me if I’d rear them for them. I just got into it that way.”
The only setback is the feed cost, which is “dear enough”. The messy side of the business, he leaves to the professionals - they bring them to an abattoir to “slaughter, pluck and clean them out”.
“We will hang them for three or four days and we will be delivering them probably on the Tuesday before Christmas and on Christmas Eve as well.”
Back to the Harris Christmas table - Richard says it gives him “great satisfaction” to tuck into a turkey he reared himself, and the same goes for the veg. What percentage of your Christmas dinner would be home-grown?
“I think last year it would have been 100%. The gravy would have been the only thing that’s imported into the house. We’ve brussel sprouts, cabbage, turnips peas and beans - I’ve a big freezer and everything’s kept from over the year.”
Occasionally, there’s a Mexican wave of wing-beating and raised pitch of gobbling but they show little aggression.
“They are very passive,” Richard says as one white turkey pecks inquisitively at the Celt’s jacket.
“Completely different to hens or chickens - chickens and hens believe it or not are more aggressive.”
“Do you ever get pecked by them?”
“Oh regular, they don’t do any harm, they peck your boots or that but they aren’t in anyway violent at all.”
“I’m gonna get pecked,” says the Celt in suppressed alarm.
“He’ll not touch ya,” assures Richard, generously resisting a roll of his eyes.
Exposed already as a non-farming townie, the Celt asks: “Do you ever feel guilty eating your own turkey?”
While Pat laughs at the question; Richard gives it some consideration.
“The reason you never feel guilty is because when you start to rear them you know what you are going to do with them.
“It’s like everything else,” Richard reflects, “everything must come to an end, even ourselves. So that’s their life, they are feeding us.”