Killing and scalding pigs is a complicated business, well it’s not really, but if you don’t know what you are doing it can be disastrous.
So when someone was going to kill a pig or pigs, quite a lot of the neighbourhood turned up, just to make sure the job was done properly. More likely there was another reason, a lot of people made their own homebrew, some alright, some middling and some bloody vile concoctions that nobody could drink unless they had run out of the more drinkable variety. So most turned up with a demi-john of their brews.
There was a lot of thought to go through to do the job right. The knives had to be sharp, especially the sticking knife. This was a long slim knife as a rule, probably made from a bayonet or a cut down saw. Whatever it was it had to be sharp. Then there were the scraping knives which weren’t very sharp to shave the bristles off after the pig was scalded. Then the razor sharp knives to put the finishing touches to any bristles that had missed the scald in some way which generally occurred for various reasons.
Then there was getting the water to the right temperature. Very important this part was. This was either done in a copper, or perhaps a couple of 44 gallon drums over a fire and brought to the boil. Then there had to be the cold water to mix with the boiling water to bring it down to the correct temperature. This was very important.
Then there was the pigs themselves to inspect. This took a lot of thought and discussion. Their condition, their size, their breed, and finally how much they would kill out at. This was the estimated weight when they were killed, scalded and gutted or dressed to be exact.
This was also very important and such important decisions were generally accompanied by a drink from a demi-john which was also very important. There was the matter of rubbing a hand over the top to clean it before drinking and rubbing it again, then passed on where the whole procedure was then repeated.
While this very important procedure was being done the younger ones who weren’t old enough to drink were busy doing the other important work, e.g. getting the water to the boil, getting the bench on which the pigs were to be put on for scraping and the hooks to hang the pigs with the block and tackles to be got ready. The buckets to ladle the water with and very often, the horse or horses to be caught and harnessed up to the sledge to bring the pigs to where the scalding was to take place after they were slaughtered.
Very often the pigs were shot first with a pea-rifle (22) then stuck. This was the easiest way, otherwise they had to be caught, generally on a very slippery floor, turned over and held while they were stuck. With a big pig this was a very hard thing to do. But it was often done that way. They used to kick, thrash and squeal like a banshee.
But quite often they had a rope put on their front leg with a slip knot on it and let out into a grassy patch, tipped over and stuck there. With practise this was pretty easy as even a big pig couldn’t get far if one or two men held onto the rope, then he couldn’t put his foot onto the ground to get purchase to walk or run.
This was often the preferred method as it saved dragging the dead pig over to where the horse and sledge was. The sooner the pig was taken to the bath or trough to be scalded the better before they lost their body heat.
I was about four and often used to go to a pig killing. If I did a few chores and didn’t get in the way I was given the pig’s bladder. This was a great honour as a pig’s bladder when drained and a bit of bamboo inserted in the urethra and blown up make a marvellous balloon. It had to be hung up in a shed for a few days until dry then could be used even for a football if not kicked too hard. It made a very good basketball too.
Incidentally another use for the dried bladder was when the fat was rendered down. When it was still warm and runny a funnel was inserted in the end and the fat poured in, hung up in a corner of the shed.
The fat cooled and became solid, it was in an airtight container and would last for months, even years.
So on the day in question everything was nearly ready. Five pigs to do. Old Harry asked me if I had a squeal. “No I never had a squeal”.
“We’ll have to get you one. Hey you blokes, the young bloke hasn’t got a squeal. We’ll have to get him one, hell he can’t grow up without a squeal”.
Everyone agreed with that so the first pig came out, he was led onto the grass patch and quickly turned over and he started to squeal. Hell a pig can squeal. There was a confab going on from five or six chaps. After he was stuck he squealed more then it got gradually less and less.
Old Harry and Bob and three or four others got themselves scattered around, suddenly Harry yelled out, “Here it comes, get ready, over by you Bob, quick”. Bob made a grab at something. “Missed it” he yelled.
Larry said, “Here it is, here now”.
I was all eyes.
“Watch out you fulla” Harry called.
“Over here” the old blokes were jumping and kicking. Finally Bob said “The bugger got away, never mind, four more pigs to go. We’re bound to get at least ione”.
By now all swung into action, pig number one was despatched to the tub, lowered into the water. I wasn’t allowed near there. Too dangerous. After a few minutes the hog was pulled out, lifted onto the bench and everyone seemed to know what they were doing.
Then the next pig was led out. The same setup but there was less to try and catch the squeal. It got away again. Harry slapped his thigh and said, “by gripes young’un, I nearly had him”.
I asked him what they looked like. “Well you know what a frog looks like”.
“Yep”.
“Well they don’t look like a frog. You know what a mouse looks like”.
I nodded. “Well it doesn’t look like a mouse either really”.
“Is it half and half” I asked.
“No, its not that either. But when we catch one you’ll know”.
Anyhow soon all the pigs were slaughtered hung up in the shed and things were cleaned up. The younger ones went home to milk while the older stayed to talk about the day’s work and finish the demijohns off. They were getting into the worst brews and the hideous grimaces on their faces made me ask why they drank such awful medicine.
Tom said, “We are just so sorry not to get your squeal we are doing penance. But don’t worry, next time we are sure to get you one. However we have five good bladders here for you for being such a help and for not getting in the way”.
That night and for many nights I lay in bed dreaming of the day I’d get my own squeal. Then I’d be able to help scald the pigs.
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