WHEN DID YOU LAST SEE A COW?

In Newcastle upon Tyne people see them everyday on the Town Moor, a 1000 acre city centre area of common land where cattle graze.

Photograph of a cow drinking from a trough and a woman standing on the opposite end

Annabel

I was getting the bus back from town, the cows were running along the road. I got off and a few people helped round them up. They jumped back over the fence. I’m surprised they don’t try to escape more often.

Sometimes we would wake up and the cows would be in the garden. I’d shout, ‘Oh look, the cows are in the garden.’ Now they’ve put up this fence, that’s not going to happen any more. Mum’s a really keen gardener, so the cows getting into the garden, she was usually really upset, because they cause chaos. Usually if one came in the whole herd would follow.

When the clocks go forward in the spring you see the cows. As children we were always super-excited. You feel sad, because in October the cows would be leaving. You always had a relationship with the cows, you would notice if one was lame, or if one was making strange noises in the night; you would feel a sort of responsibility.

"One of the reasons I became a vegetarian when I was eleven, was because of the cows. I loved the cows so much. I can’t watch them leaving the moor. I love watching them coming, but I don’t like watching them go."

Photograph of a mother leading two children through the Town Moor at night

Menisha

We got stalked by cows on the moor. We were walking across there on a Sunday. The girls were like ‘Mummy!’ their voices were going up. ‘Mummy, I think we should run.’ I was like, ‘I don’t think we should run. I think we should just walk very calmly. They just want to be with us.’ Just look ahead; don’t look back. The girls were a bit concerned. People talk about close shaves, but there’s never incidents, are there? There must be something about their temperaments where they’re, kind of all right? They’re just inquisitive. And they’ve all got their own personalities.

The moor is an important thoroughfare from one side of the city to the other. I work on the other side of Nuns Moor, it’s just about thinking space and a bit of time to myself, which I don’t have in most other bits of my life.

"It's a space where I can just breathe and be calm."

Close cropped photograph detailing brown fur on the side of a cow

Rachel

I think I’ve always paid attention to them. I always get really excited when they return, I go out and say hello. This year, one cow just walked straight up to me as soon as I did that. Which is really unusual.

They really like the lime leaves on the trees that run down the little drive. In the spring I’d pick shoots with leaves on them. They really like those. They like them once they’ve fallen in the autumn as well.

"I think animals give you a lot of comfort, don’t they? I think we can have very sort of, intense friendships with non-human animals."

They seem freer, don’t they? I wasn’t aware of the farmer coming every day. It always feels like they’re out having quite a nice life. You can have that sort of romanticised vision of freedom. The fences around the edge of the field. They could jump those easily. They’re quite often in herds, the herd in this field, and then a herd in the other field. I’d be thinking, you could just jump that and go and visit each other.

There was a group of musicians practising in this field once. A saxophone, and a guitar, and, perhaps, an accordion. Maybe five of them. And the cows were so fascinated, and circled them, kind of like, just what is it? They’re so interested in different noises. Cows, I feel they’re like, a bit like toddlers. Maybe they don't know their own power.

Photograph of a woman looking over her garden fence on to the Town Moor

Rosemary

Once, I woke up in the morning and there was a cow looking after a newborn calf. That’s years and years ago, a long time ago. That was quite exciting.

At that time, the fence wasn’t very good, and they managed to get into the garden. They seemed to like coming through the hedge and stampeding round. You know, just occasionally. We could just open the gate and shoo them away and they would usually go out again.

I’ve lived here fifty-six years, and I think they’ve only been in about five times. The children used to love it. I think having country grandparents, and walking through their fields, they felt more confident amongst cattle than town children.

One year, all the dog walkers fell in love with one of the cows. It had a special number stamped on its back. It had a sweet nature, and everybody loved it. When the other cows all went off, this one, they bought it, and placed it in a nice farm up in Northumberland. They fell in love with it.

There were many more wild flowers on the moor. There was not a lot, but more than we’ve got now. No cattle. They didn’t come till about the Eighties.

The appeal was that we had always half-wanted to live in the country, and then when we were in the house, we looked out on a completely open space. But when the cows came, we were very excited. We were really pleased, it was more country, wasn’t it. I think there weren’t as many dogs in those days, not so many people walked their dogs on the moor as they do now. I get a bit worried sometimes when the dogs start running round after them, herding them, and that sort of thing.

"I’d like to know where they come from and where they go. It might upset us of course."

Abridged from interviews by Michele Allen 2020

Michele Allen is an artist working with photography, sound and video based in North East England. Her work often deals with environment and sense of place with projects developing over long periods of time often in connection to specific locations or working with community groups.

Her photographic publication Ruminations produced for FIELD is available direct from the artist.

michele-allen.co.uk

As part of the FIELDS film programme her films Westwood and Ruminations will be screened at Beverley Guildhall 10 September and Hexham Forum Cinema 28 September, Star & Shadow Cinema 21 October and Everyman Cinema Lincoln 18 November 2021.