Fight For Your Dream (17 page)

Nigel's Dad - A True Gentleman

I was rapidly approaching another milestone in my life: my fortieth Birthday.

Some months earlier the usual team, which consisted of Nigel's dad, my dad, Nigel and I, were struggling to unload the steel purling that would form part of the steel framework for the barn roof. As I recall, it was a windy November day and, from the back of my Shogun, several tonnes of steel swung precariously at the end of a heavy duty strap. Although this was proving to be quite a tricky manoeuvre, all seemed well until a gust of wind swung the load towards the back of my car. Dad instinctively put his hand up to steady the swinging steel, and his left hand was punched through the back window of my car. Although the injury did not seem too severe we took advice from a consultant surgeon, who recommended an exploratory operation to make sure that the tendons in dad's wrist were not damaged. Pre-operative routine blood tests revealed that, unbeknown to us all, dad was suffering from a blood condition known as Mylodisplasia, commonly referred to as pre–Leukaemia. This diagnosis dropped a bombshell for all of us, and explained dad's declining health over the previous months. I can neither convey, nor try in a few sentences, to express the aching sadness which we all felt.

Nigel's dad was a very brave and proud man, but the debilitating disease took its toll over the following months, culminating ultimately in dad's death in October 2003, just two weeks after my fortieth birthday. In dad's early career as a headmaster, he was highly acclaimed for pioneering new ways of teaching children with limited language skills. Dad was no snob, and never discriminated against less fortunate people. In the old-fashioned sense of the word he described himself as a true socialist, believing throughout his life that, as a community, we should all work towards the improvement of the lives of those less fortunate than ourselves. My dad described Nigel's dad as, ‘A true gentleman'. Never was this more aptly spoken.

In the aftermath of dad's death I busied myself trying to support Nigel's mum and indeed Nigel himself. I'd lost someone who I held very dear to my heart, but Mum had lost her husband of over forty years, and Nigel had lost his dad. It was a horrendous time in all our lives but, for me, I was hindered by the dreaded cloud of depression and OCD that had begun to approach me once again. I tried so hard to push it away, I really did. I'd talk out loud to myself, ‘Don't fold now, Elaine; don't give in, and don't let it win.' But it did win. It engulfed me like a tornado.

Several dismal weeks followed. I hated myself for my weakness. Nigel and his mum became my carers like so many times before. Nigel decided he had no option other than to hire in the help of Vicky and Smeltings Farm. Prince (my horse) and the alpacas needed to be looked after, as well as my ducks and geese. Nigel was full-on running his own business (Airflow) and then, taking over from mum in the evening, looking after me. He certainly hadn't the time or energy to be mucking out horses and alpacas. Vicky, as always, was prepared to lend a helping hand wherever possible, and she did. Eventually my condition improved, and with that some form of normality resumed over a period of time. I wasn't yet well enough to cope with major decisions, but I was getting there, albeit slowly.

Bring it on

I got my first lucky break only a few weeks after moving up to the farm. We had transferred our original five alpacas to the farm, as there didn't seem any point in not doing. After all, there were still only seventeen alpacas on forty-two acres: oh, and Prince, my horse. The internal infrastructure of the barn was still some way off being completed, but we always knew that it was not going to happen overnight. The project would take a great deal of money to fund, so we had to cut according to our cloth; and so early on in the business' infancy, we didn't have much cloth to cut with! As luck would have it, I'd been introduced, some six months earlier, to a lady who was interested in alpacas. So, I took the bull by the horns and put a call through to the lady in question, Lorna Hunter. I felt I had nothing to lose, but everything to gain, she could always say no. Remarkably, she said yes. After making arrangements with Lorna, I eagerly looked forward to meeting her the following weekend at the farm. ‘Remember,' Nigel had said when I excitedly told him, ‘it's not a sale until you have the money. Make sure you get a deposit from her to secure the animals.' ‘I know, I know, but I'm halfway there, aren't I, if she's coming to look?' I replied. ‘Oh, love,' Nigel said, ‘you've got a lot to learn, don't be too disappointed if she doesn't go for it.'

Nigel's concerns, fortunately for me, were unfounded. Lorna signed up for six pregnant females. The only problem was that the females were not pregnant. I reassured Lorna that I would put the girls into calf as soon as possible with suitable stud males, all of which would be unrelated. Obviously, from a breeding perspective, it was important that the females were impregnated with different studs, so future pregnancies would create a wider gene pool for Lorna. Also, I would have to arrange with Joy to collect another white pregnant female from Bozedown, as I had not got sufficient white animals to sell myself at this stage. Lorna was happy and I was ecstatic! The sale totalled around £28.000 plus VAT. Wow, what a start!

Nigel's initial reaction to my first sale was, well, let's just say he was gob-smacked; actually so was I. If only I could have known that not all business deals run so smoothly.

The alpacas had begun to cause quite an interest at the farm. In the early days we had to rebuild our dry-stone wall about a dozen times. So many drivers took their eyes off the road to look at the strange, woolly, long-legged animals that graced our paddocks, and inadvertently ran straight into the wall at the top of the farm drive. We found this rather amusing but the drivers did not!

It was, similarly, one of these occasions when the alpacas were spotted, quite by chance, by a freelance journalist. Penny Baddeley was a pretty, slim, ginger-haired lady with lots of freckles. Her daily commute involved passing our farm and, when the alpacas were established in our paddocks, she thought what a great story this would make for our local newspaper, the then ‘Sheffield Star and Telegraph'.

The completed article was front page news, entitled ‘Unusual Animals in Ringinglow'.

(Co-incidentally, years later I taught Penny's son, James, who came to me from university as part of his training to become a vet).

This would be the first of many newspaper articles, radio interviews and television interviews to come over the following months and years. I'd had a tiny taste of the limelight some years earlier when I was training for the ‘Star Walk', which of course I did win. Being the daughter of an ex-Olympian I did stir up quite a deal of interest. However, I couldn't have anticipated in my wildest dreams the interest which my latest venture would cause.

Before I get ahead of myself, there was still the small matter of my first sale to complete, so we'll back-track to that first.

Okay, yes, the sale. I telephoned Joy to tell her the good news. ‘Well done, Elaine,' said a surprised voice. ‘That's a large sum of money by any standards'. I imagined Joy on the other end of the phone calculating the inevitable 75% of the sale that would, in due course be coming her way. After all, if it wasn't for Joy's generosity I wouldn't be in the fortunate position of being associated with Bozedown and, believe you me, being under the Bozedown umbrella was a pretty big deal for me.

Joy was a lovely lady, but also a very shrewd businesswoman. I made arrangements to collect another white pregnant female the following week, from another associate breeder in the north of England, as that would save me time and money on a nine-hour round trip, plus fuel. Again, and fortunately for me, a member of Joy's staff had to drive the tortuous route all the way up to Aberdeen to make a delivery of alpacas, so it was suggested that they could pick up the last alpaca for Lorna and deliver it straight to her on the return trip, which was more or less en route from Aberdeen. I was completely happy with that. In essence, it didn't quite turn out as straightforward as I had hoped. It was early September and, as usual, the majority of alpacas in the UK had been shorn by then, mine included (alpacas are sheared once a year). However, alpacas can, and do, look quite weird once they have had their fleece removed. Have you seen the spectacles advert with the farmer and Border Collie dog? I apologise to those who have, but for those who haven't it goes like this: a hill farmer shears his sheep but, because he needs a new pair of specs, he also shears his border collie by mistake. The look of embarrassment and indignation on the dog's face is superlative! Well, that's just like the alpacas. They look nude and a shadow of their former self, apart from a large tuft of fleece on the top of their head. (This is for weather protection and is called the top-knot).

Anyway, back to the story, the first thing I heard was when Lorna rang me in a bit of a state. Apparently, yes, they had delivered the alpaca but, to Lorna's amazement, it had got what she described as large yellow spots on it!!! I was bemused, but surely I was hearing things; was this another breed of the lesser-spotted alpaca that I hadn't come across until now?

The outcome, it turned out, was quite an innocent one and, once I had made the short trip over to Lorna's farm in Harrogate, all was revealed. The alpaca in question had been treated for some areas of hair loss after shearing, hence the bright yellow cream dotted on strategic parts of the alpaca's body. I could understand Lorna's immediate concerns though, it did look rather odd! Anyway, all's well that ends well and, after the initial shock and explanation, we were able to have a good laugh about the whole situation.

Business of the Year Award

The sales just kept on coming. As the sales kept on coming, so did the publicity, so did my reputation as a highly regarded alpaca breeder, which culminated in my business acumen being noticed. Over the years I had always been frustrated that I had never realised my true potential. I knew that I had it in me, but I didn't know what was needed to get it out. I know now, it was passion. I suppose my first taste of self-satisfaction came a few years earlier. Everything Nigel and I have embarked upon has been completed to as high a standard as possible. Our sailing exams were one such example. It seemed bizarre to me that the law allows a person to buy a boat and head out to sea without the necessity to have any formal training or qualifications. We were determined that this was not going to be the way for us. However, neither did I anticipate that Nigel would set us up for three years at night school, as well as several classroom exams; oh, and, of course, all the practical exams to boot. Yes, he certainly intended to be thorough! Joking apart though, as I have said before, the sea takes no prisoners, it needs treating with far more respect than sometimes people give it. Fortunately for me I did have the additional home tuition from Nigel. I think I would have struggled far more with the technical aspects of the chart work and navigational theory if Nigel had not been there to guide me. Nevertheless, I was immensely proud of myself to pass the exam alone, and to ultimately become a qualified skipper. On the evening that I received my results, I cried. I cried tears of happiness, but I also cried tears from years of self doubt. Nigel cried with me, and so did his dad. They knew what it meant to me, not just all the hard work for a pass, they knew what the pass meant for my self esteem.

It was whilst we were in Jersey that I received the call. We had sold Juliet, our twenty-four foot sailing boat, for a larger version. The equity we had in Juliet enabled us to purchase a hull and deck moulding for another sailing boat, a ‘Countess 35', which we named ‘Ocean Breeze'. Never shy of a challenge, we yet again set about completing another project. The project would see us out of the water for two years in total. It was a frustrating time. We wanted to be out sailing, but we also wanted a larger boat. We couldn't afford to buy the finished article without taking on a marine mortgage, and we certainly didn't want the pressure of another mortgage, so when all else fails ‘we build it', simple as that, or not!

At the time of delivery we were still living on Dobcroft Road. She (a boat is always classed as a lady) was shoe-horned into our front garden with inches to spare. At just over 35ft she took command of our small front garden! The night she arrived was a bitterly cold December evening with a heavy frost. I'm still grateful to this day that it was night-time, as our neighbours would have thought an unidentified flying object was landing. It was certainly a tight squeeze. The following morning, when our neighbours opened their curtains, they must have done a double take. ‘Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's our nutty neighbours again!' Let's put it this way, Ocean Breeze definitely gave people something to talk about; she became a local landmark in the area!

Anyway, back to the phone call. Joy and David were on board holidaying with us (Joy, my riding companion, not Joy at Bozedown)). We were planning to sail over to St Malo in France for a few days. The forecast was good and the weather was settled. We had made the trip a few times before, but not with Joy and David. Joy had expressed her concerns over the seven-hour passage, so I was determined to make the trip as hassle-free and as enjoyable as possible for her. Chart-work was something I had to do, as I needed to practise a fair bit to make sure I remembered what I been taught. It just came so easily to Nigel, which did annoy me a tad; I suppose I was jealous really. Nevertheless, I had to keep my hand in, and whilst I was doing just that at the chart table I answered my mobile, ‘Good morning, Mayfield Alpacas.' The voice on the other end was a man's. It turned out that he was ringing from the Sheffield Chamber of Commerce.

We had previously worked with Business Link South Yorkshire in connection with some grant funding for the alpaca visitor centre at the farm. Unbeknown to us, Business Link had been contacted by the Chamber and asked if they knew of any rapidly expanding local businesses that had a good business plan and an interesting product. I listened to what the man had to say. ‘We would like to put Mayfield Alpacas forward for the Yorkshire business awards'. You can imagine my surprise, it couldn't be anything to do with me, I thought: and not my little business. He must have dialled an incorrect number, but hang on, he mentioned Mayfield Alpacas by name. Indeed, after asking him again, the penny finally dropped; actually it did seem to be me he wanted. So, after picking myself up from the saloon floor, I listened to what he'd got to say with some amazement. Apparently, he told me, I'd been recommended by Business Link, and could I submit a business plan, trading accounts and other supporting documentation. With Nigel's help we sent off the information and thought that would be that.

A month or so later I received another phone call to say we had been short-listed, and that we were invited to attend the presentation awards at a local venue called Baldwin's. We knew Baldwin's very well. It was the venue where we had held our wedding reception all those years ago; only back then it was called the Omega, still owned by local business man David Baldwin. It was a posh place and we were told that the dress code was ‘black tie'. My first thought was, ‘What a waste of time, surely a micro business like ours had no hope of competing with the giants of industry and the modern high technology businesses working in computing and medicine?'

Nigel and I debated whether we should bother going but, to our surprise, a week before the awards we were told we had been short-listed for an award of some kind. The awards night came. It was a ‘formal do'. All the men were in their best bib and tucker and the ladies in all their finery, ‘posh frocks'. We didn't really know what to expect, but immediately, as we got out of the taxi, we sensed that this would be no ordinary evening for us. Wayne Paige worked for Business Link, and was the chap who had assisted us in securing the grant funding for the visitor centre some months earlier. Wayne was there to meet us at the main entrance, and then ushered us through to the suite where the Dinner and presentations were to take place later on in the evening. Nigel's mum accompanied us, along with Joy and David, as we had been given some complimentary tickets by Business Link. The champagne was flowing, and we were all handed a glass before Nigel and myself were swept off to be introduced to the ‘big wigs' from the chamber. I shook hands with so many people that my arm was beginning to ache. Every now and again a photographer would ask us to pose for a photograph with the various different people we were being introduced to. At the time I did think it seemed quite strange that we were attracting a fair bit of attention, but to be honest I was quite enjoying it. Dinner was finally announced by the bang of a gong, and everyone was asked to take their seats.

The function room was laid out with round tables that seated about ten people. Our little group consisted of the five of us, Wayne and his wife, and three others who we had only been introduced to earlier. Whenever Baldwin's host a formal dinner, you know you're in for a real treat. David Baldwin, the owner and head chef, is always very hands-on to maintain his impeccable standards of food and silver service. Tonight would be no exception. After saying grace, everyone tucked in to the beautifully presented cold seafood platter - it was delicious. Next was the soup course, cream of chicken and mushroom with hot crusty roll and butter. Dinner was to be five courses but, because I was both a little nervous and excited, I had already started to panic about not finishing my meal. I had always been brought up to clear my plate; being wasteful cost money and it had been hard-earned by my dad. Nevertheless, portion sizes were not over-zealous with so many courses, so I didn't do too badly.

Main course was traditional roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, finished off with a choice of either chocolate soufflé or fresh fruit salad. Cheese and biscuits followed, accompanied with port or a liquor of your choice, and finally coffee and mints. By the end of dinner everyone seemed relaxed and happy, people were chatting and laughing and obviously enjoying the evening. Mind you, the alcohol does wonders for a bit of Dutch courage.

The first person to interrupt the laughter was a gentleman, whom I presumed was part of the Chamber. A microphone had been placed immediately at the side of their table. After a quick tap of the microphone to test for sound he said, ‘Ladies and Gentleman.' He must have realised he needed to speak louder, as he repeated, ‘Ladies and Gentleman, please may I have your attention. It gives me great pleasure,' and he was off into his well-prepared spiel. The next lady to be introduced to us all was a tall redheaded lady called, Julia Gash. In the 1990's Julia Gash was one of Sheffield's leading businesswomen, designing fashion for the young and selling it to the Far East. She won export awards, showed Princess Anne around her factory and had tea at Buckingham Palace. In 2000 she launched Gash, a website and shop specialising in erotica!

‘Crikey,' I thought, ‘tea at the palace, no pressure there then.'

It seemed to me that Ms Gash and I were very different people. I would no sooner be spotted wandering around an erotica shop than, I dare say, neither would Julia Gash probably be spotted up to her knees in muck working on a farm. Heigh-ho, it wouldn't do for us all to be the same. However, we did have one very fundamental vision in common, and I think that was the word ‘passion' again. Passion for our vocation, and passion for what we were trying to achieve. She too had been dealt a difficult hand in business some years previous, but she survived.

She survived, I believe, because of passion and that single-minded determination to carry on fighting, never giving in even when the odds are stacked against you. I do truly believe you have to have hope, whether it is facing a personal financial crisis or a personal medical condition. In similar ways they both knock your world sideways, but you still need hope, and sometimes, just sometimes, something comes along to make sense of all the madness! This is my opinion anyway, because I lived through it. That evening in Baldwin's was surreal.

‘And, the winner of the 2004 Business award of the year goes to Elaine Sharp of Mayfield Alpacas'. The sound of my name and Mayfield Alpacas resonated in my head. I was dumfounded, stunned, but above all, for a few seconds I doubted what I thought I'd just heard. Was I dreaming? Reality took over only when Nigel took my arm to encourage me to get out of my chair. Everyone was looking at me, and they were clapping, smiling and nodding simultaneously. It was unbelievable. Nigel, with his arm around my shoulder, leaned towards me and kissed my head and whispered, ‘Well done, girl.' With a gentle hand on my back he reassuringly urged me to go forward to receive my prize. As I glanced back to look at him, I will never forget the look of love and pride in his eyes, as he remained standing clapping with everyone else. In my head I was saying, ‘I couldn't have done it without you, Bun.'