Fight For Your Dream (18 page)

What Next?

There's a well-known saying, often used in the business world, which is ‘success breeds success'. In hindsight that's just what happened to Mayfield Alpacas in the Chamber of Commerce Business awards. Shortly after the euphoria of my win in the Yorkshire awards, I was informed by ‘Business Link' that they wanted to submit our business through to represent Yorkshire in the National awards. Apart from feeling very flattered, I felt I had nothing to lose as all the hard preparation work had already been done. The presentation ceremony was to be held in London but, as we were absolutely certain we wouldn't stand a chance, we didn't even bother travelling down to attend! Big mistake. When the news came to say we had actually won we were all totally dumbfounded!

Winning the UK final meant that we went forward to the World finals which were to be held this year in Tokyo. Needless to say we were not placed in the top three, but for Mayfield Alpacas to be put forward to represent our country was, for me, accolade enough.

Considering I was primarily an alpaca breeder, and breeding top quality alpacas was the mainstay of my business, I began gathering different species around me. From the early part of my diagnosis I started off with ducks, and then the goslings arrived. Ducks are beautiful, comical things, and the more time I spent around them the more I came to love them. They waddled around our garden, splashed in the pond and genuinely made us all smile. Mums adored them, so much so that every Saturday they would wander out into the garden to feed them brown bread, which they'd bought for them. All my ducks became familiar with us, they were all given names and often they would happily eat out of our hands. I became a member of the Poultry Society of Great Britain, and regularly Nigel and I would go off to shows at weekends. One year Nigel bought me an incubator for my birthday. I fancied collecting the eggs from my ducks and incubating them myself, so Nigel took it upon himself to source the correct incubator for small-scale breeders. I was thrilled, and thirty-five days later I had a variety of breeds of call ducks. I was even there to video their birth. I kept a close eye on the eggs once they were near to hatching and, sure enough, at around 2.00am one Friday morning, I saw several of the eggs starting to crack near to where the ducklings were ‘pippin' through the shell with their egg tooth. I cried, it was amazing to watch. I'd never experienced anything being born into this world before; well, only on television, and there's no comparison to watching it in real life.

Once the business was becoming established, I decided that it made sense to move my ducks up to the farm. I missed not having them around. I'd become accustomed to them, and wanted them to enjoy their massive playground of forty-two acres. Prince, too, was introduced to his new home. The barn housed several custom-made stables, built by ourselves, and Prince settled in like an old hand. He had always been the laid-back type and reasonably happy to be on his own, which most horses are not. However, I did advertise that livery was available, and it wasn't long before another two or three horses joined us on the farm. Prince was as happy as a sandboy with his new friends, but always remained top of the pecking order, and still has done to this day, despite his twenty-two years.

Whilst my little empire was gradually expanding, I was mindful of the fact that, if I was ever to hit the big-time breeding alpacas, I was going to need a substantial influx of alpacas on the farm. Gestation period being fifty weeks made rapid expansion a non-starter. I would have to approach this with some intelligence, and I thought I might just have a plan. Joy Whitehead, from Bozedown Alpacas, had already imported some alpacas and was about to do the same again. If I could tap in to Joy's knowledge and skill of doing so, why couldn't I? It transpired that this group of alpacas would be of supreme quality, and supposedly the best group of alpacas ever imported into the UK. If anyone could organise it, then that anyone was Joy, and I wanted to be a part of it. With all Joy's contacts and previous experience, this was an opportunity not to be missed. The plan was to fly out to Peru where we would be met by guides, who would then to take us high into the mountains to seek out the premium alpaca farms at high altitude. No hotels would exist where we were bound for, sleeping under canvas would become our home for fourteen nights, and a once in a lifetime experience of being truly at one with nature.

However, it was not to be. Three weeks before the trip my health once again let me down as it had done so many times in the past. My immune system was already compromised because of the full removal of my lymph nodes during my breast surgery. It would appear that I probably contracted some kind of infection whilst working at the farm and, consequently, with no lymph glands to drain out the fluid, the infection just stagnated in my arm. The symptoms at first were fairly insignificant, apart from a mild discomfort in my left wrist and lower arm; until a feeling of sheer exhaustion started to sweep over me. I left work at lunchtime, showered and climbed into bed. Three hours later I awoke to an agonising pain in the whole of my left arm, together with a burning sensation. I can only liken it to hot steam escaping from a boiling kettle; it was so painful even to touch lightly. ‘Jesus Christ,' I whimpered, ‘what the hell's wrong with me?' My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car's engine. Raising my head off the pillow I glanced to my right to see the bright green numbers emitting from our digital clock/radio; the time was showing 5.36pm. ‘Thank goodness,' I thought, ‘he's early for once.' ‘Hi, love,' Nigel shouted, as he came through the porch door into the dining room. ‘Bun, I'm down here in bed, can you come?' I replied.

The brightness of the main light being switched on by Nigel made me squint for a few seconds. I sat up in bed, cradling my left arm in my right, and Nigel sat down next to me and stared at my arm. ‘What the - what's happened?' he said, as he continued staring at my arm. ‘Not very well, bun,' I groaned. After a brief explanation Nigel picked up the phone and rang Mr Shorthouse (my breast cancer surgeon). Five minutes later I was being bundled into the car en-route to Riverdale Road, Mr Shorthouse's home address. It took only a matter of seconds for Mr Shorthouse to diagnose the problem. I had contracted septicaemia! (Also more commonly known as blood poisoning.)

Events rather overtook me after that. Nigel drove me the short distance to Thornbury Hospital to be admitted onto a ward. Guess which one... Yes, it was Mappin again. By the time we arrived Mr Shorthouse was already there. He'd made all the necessary arrangements and I was ushered immediately to the ward, where several medical staff were on hand to assist. I was deteriorating rapidly by this stage. I was feeling faint and sick and desperately wanted to lie down. My shoulder and chest were now hurting, and my legs felt like I'd just run a back-to-back marathon. I can remember some sort of large machinery being wheeled into the room; it was grey in colour and had a glass side. That's all I can remember before darkness took me over, and I passed out.

And There's More

When I finally came to, I was hooked up to a drip with an individual monitor on the side of it. Bleeps and buzzers were emanating from various pieces of machinery, and an oxygen mask was strapped over my nose and mouth. I felt as though I was being suffocated, so I was reaching up to remove the mask, when I heard a voice say, ‘Hey you, that was quite a scare you gave me.' As always, Nigel was by my bedside. He reached for my hand and kissed it gently. ‘How are you doing?' he said, stroking my forehead. The lighting was fairly dim, but it was still light enough to see the tears welling up in Nigel's eyes. ‘I'm sorry, bun,' I muttered. ‘Hey, what for?' he questioned.

‘All this mess,' I snuffled.

‘Don't be silly, I just want you better,' he smiled. ‘Rest now'.

Apart from the Septicaemia being life-threatening, it's also made me very poorly and extremely weak for several weeks at a time. Unfortunately for me it wasn't the first and last time. I was terribly disappointed about Peru. Obviously, there was no way I would be well enough to travel, although I did contemplate it until Nigel and my surgeon said, ‘No way, with a capital N.' It would have been suicide to do so. Although I never made it to Peru, I did manage to secure some alpacas from the ill-fated trip.

Six months in quarantine in Switzerland, and they would be allowed into the United Kingdom, but not until. I would just have to be patient. And patient I was, although I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to spend some time visiting the alpacas whilst in quarantine. As is usually required, Joy would have to make a trip out to Switzerland to oversee part of the quarantine process and, as luck would have it, Joy invited me to join her. I was thrilled and said, ‘Yes' immediately. For me, that trip sealed our friendship. We just had a great time together; we shared our love of alpacas over evening meals, and talked into the early hours whilst sipping the occasional glass of red wine. That trip also taught me a great deal. Joy had arranged a team of various specialists to join us in Switzerland for certain processes that needed to be carried out with the alpacas. A vet was flown out from England along with a video cameraman; also a very well-renowned alpaca expert, called Eric Hoffman, was flown in from America. I'd read several of his books, so I was very excited at the thought of being able to meet and work with him. A lovelier man you couldn't wish to meet. After a couple of days we were all comfortable in each other's company; and boy, did we have some laughs! On one day we had an exceptionally early start. We knew we had loads of detailed quality grading to do with the alpacas, so when the going gets tough the tough get going. I'm not sure to this day what started Joy and I laughing, but it was one of those girly occasions when the two of us just did. The five of us (Joy, the three men and me) were loading the car with equipment for the day's work ahead, when we both started laughing, at what I don't know, but we did. We were holding our sides crying with laughter. The men stood like cardboard cut-outs staring at us in amazement; they just didn't get it. The more they stared, the more we laughed; we were debilitated with laughter that much that neither of us could climb in to the car. Anyway, we thought it was funny even though nobody else did!

Following that first bout of septicaemia I've had several more since, all of which have seen me hospitalised. The problem with this is that I was by then extremely susceptible to infection which, in turn, caused even more problems because of the farm work.

In the end it was decided that the best possible solution to all this was to place me on daily antibiotics. I wasn't particularly happy about this, but beggars cannot be choosers, and I thought if it keeps me out of hospital then so be it.

The number of people visiting the farm was increasing year upon year, and more often than not we were asked by visitors if there was anywhere to buy a coffee or drinks from on site. This got me thinking. I prepared a short survey asking visitors to complete what other facilities they might like to see at the farm. Over a period of months it was unanimous; a coffee shop was the answer. Armed with survey results, we applied to Sheffield City Council for planning consent to change an area of the barn into a coffee shop. Within weeks of the planning permission being granted we set out to have the coffee shop completed for the start of the summer season. As with all these deadlines it was a race to the finish. The Friday evening before we opened, Denise, Mark (my brother in law), Nigel and I were still desperately trying to put the final touches in place to enable us to open as planned the following day. Four very tired people locked the doors at 4.00am that Saturday morning. We opened our doors to the public five hours later on Saturday 3
rd
July 2006.

Baby Boom

Business was booming and so were babies. Well, I actually mean cria's (baby alpacas). This particular year saw thirty-five cria being born. I'd been involved with these wonderful creatures now for eight years.

Eight years on and my life was looking very different. The success that business brought me enhanced my confidence considerably. Throughout my life I'd been a relatively quiet person. I didn't like confrontation, my self esteem was extremely low, and I didn't feel that my opinion was of any interest to anyone. Nigel would get frustrated at me doubting myself all the time. Almost every decision I tried to make would involve asking Nigel if he thought I was making the right decision.

Now, though, I was beginning to find I had a voice, a voice that people actually wanted to hear. I can remember being amazed that people/customers wanted my opinion and advice on alpacas. That in itself I just couldn't comprehend. I'd always been the needy one. Suddenly I was beginning to realise that yeah, probably I might have some self worth after all. I was in demand for speaking at ‘after dinner presentations' to various groups, something of which I never thought in a million years I would be capable of pulling off, let alone confident of doing.

I can remember one particular occasion. It was a Saturday evening. Garry was a colleague of Nigel's, and his wife had been diagnosed with breast cancer three years earlier. Jean and Garry were very sympathetic to our situation, having experienced it first-hand. When I arrived home from hospital there was the most beautiful bouquet of flowers at our front door; they were from Garry and Jean. From then on Jean rang me on several occasions; I enjoyed our chats. This particular Saturday evening Nigel had persuaded me to meet up with them for drinks and dinner at a local country restaurant. Reluctantly I agreed, but that evening was the start of me being my true self. I was sick of putting different hats on to suit different people at different times. I decided that I would have my half of bitter instead of the Gin and tonic that I thought a young lady should choose. I was going to be me whether they liked me or not; I would be true to myself no matter what the consequences. At times I do tend to say and do ridiculous things, but that's just me. As Nigel has always said to me, ‘Elaine, just be yourself and people will love you for who you are.' I know this may sound rather simplistic to most people, but throughout my life this had been a real issue for me, I never thought I was good enough. Not any more though. The tides were a-changing.

Due to the workload of running a growing breeding herd of alpacas, plus a coffee shop single-handed, it was proving very stressful. My on-going health problems didn't help the situation either. I started experiencing minor dizzy spells, but over a number of weeks the so called ‘dizzy spells' were extending in time. Sometimes it was a matter of hours before I could focus properly again. I can only explain the feeling as being light-headed, pretty much how you sometimes feel when you've had one too many! Nigel was convinced that we needed medical advice. Denise, my sister, worked at the Royal Hallamshire Hospital as a secretary to an ear, nose and throat consultant. Fortunately, she was able to get me an out-of-hours consultation, which proved rather enlightening. Hours of tests took place to determine what the various conditions could be. The outcome was that the common condition was diagnosed as acute stress! ‘Stress': I always thought that was a polite way of meaning ‘unable to cope', and I suppose I just couldn't. Looking back now though, I'm surprised I ‘coped' as well as I did for as long as I did.

In essence, I was running two separate businesses. The prognosis was that the dizzy spells would worsen, plus added complications, if I didn't change my lifestyle: and quickly. I immediately took this as a sign of failure. I desperately didn't want to fail, but the truth of the matter was that I could only run one of the businesses competently. Reluctantly, I agreed with Nigel that the sensible option was to advertise the coffee shop for lease. Again, looking back it was the right decision. I realised soon afterwards that my one passion had always been working hands-on with the alpacas. Over a period of weeks the dizzy spells lessened until they seemed to just drift away and peace was restored once more.

It was round about this time that I met Fred. Fred was the husband of the lady who leased the coffee shop, Lesley. Most weekends Fred would help Les out in the coffee shop. It was a busy little place, especially in summertime, so an extra pair of hands was always welcome. Quite often Fred would wander out onto the farm to see what jobs Rachael and I were doing. Rachael was my one member of staff helping on the farm at that time. One particular afternoon, Rachael and I had run some stud males down from one of the far paddocks. Bearing in mind we have forty-two acres, you can appreciate the farm is spread out over quite a large area. Far Ringinglow paddock, as we refer to it, gives you a clue as to where it is in relation to the farm building.

Roughly every three months, we trim all the herd's toenails. The studs were the only group left to do, so I decided that in the two hours we had available, that would be a good job to complete before the end of the day. The studs had other ideas. The farm building and surrounding area had been designed by Nigel, so it was very well thought out; ease of use was a priority. All our home paddocks could be accessed and worked so that animals could be run back and forth to ‘catch pens' by just one person. All my alpacas are ‘well handled', and familiar with my voice and those of my staff, so it's never been a problem calling them towards the myriad of gates we have accessing the different paddocks. Alpacas are extremely intelligent creatures and are very quick to learn.

In the early years, I brought all my alpacas into the barn during winter nights. Sometimes a paddock of animals would be split into two separate pens in the barn overnight. Over a period of nights, each alpaca instinctively familiarised themselves with their allocated pens and quite happily organised themselves, peeling off to their designated pens. How smart is that? For some bizarre reason, this particular afternoon the studs just didn't want to co-operate. Fred was stood nearby watching this little fiasco take place. When he offered his brawn to assist, I gratefully accepted. After a brief explanation on how to restrain an alpaca, Fred proudly strode into the catch pen to prove his masculine prowess. Warrior, the alpaca who stood opposite him, hummed loudly and looked him up and down with a knowing look. Fred stepped towards Warrior and commented, ‘Now then, Warrior, you won't get the better of me, so let's be a good lad, eh?' Immediately that his outstretched arm made contact around Warrior's neck Fred was catapulted over the post-and-rail fence into the adjacent catch pen!

A surprised Fred struggled to his feet, with his glasses barely intact, diagonally across his face. With pursed lips and a smile I lightened the situation and quipped, ‘Oh, yeah, I can see you've got a handle on him Fred.'

From that day on it was the beginning of a wonderful working relationship between Warrior and Fred... only joking, between Fred and me!

Since that day we became firm friends, and have remained so ever since.