Snorter, as the pig was named, had been brought up as one of a human family. For reasons unknown, he was suddenly to be auctioned and would, in all probability, end up as breakfast rashers on someone’s table. A kind-hearted lady thought that this would be the ‘most unkindest cut of all’, and gave £5 to a representative to ensure the winning bid. After all, Snorter was a pet, not a porker to be slain on the alter of auction. ‘Going, going, gone!’ Gone to the anonymous lady’s representative. The crash of the gavel had saved Snorter’s throat from the knife, but left the problem of where to place him. Hence the call from Bristol, and Snorter’s subsequent arrival at Foal.
Snorter was a large, jovial and well conducted person; a real hail-fellow-well-met sort of chap who had a passion for human beings. He could not have enough jolly pals around him and the mere sight or sound of them caused him to bound about like an oversized puppy. Once formalities were over, he did not stand on ceremony, but rolled over on to his back to have his stomach rubbed.
When the weather grew colder and the wind swept over Biggin Hill, he received fewer visitors. Such was his unwonted loneliness, he informed members that he had decided to adopt stable number 4 which he intended to re-name ‘Liberty Hall’. If any of them could spare the time to drop in, he would be very pleased to see them. There was positively no need to write or ring beforehand; he was always ‘at home’.
Later in the year, the summer was hot and Snorter was in fine fettle. Insufficient help at the Farm meant that permanent quarters had still not been built and he was making shift with a cosy little house with a garden all of his own. He was right pampered, being rubbed with olive oil when he was sun burned. Still his amiable self, he continued to be popular with visitors to the Farm and his kind but anonymous rescuer continued to support him in the manner to which he was accustomed.
In May 1967, future visitors to the Farm were informed that they would be welcomed by its official receptionist who occupied a stylish office by the stable block. Opinions varied about its modern-style architecture. Untutored eyes even went as far as to opine that the structure resembled a rather smart pig pen! Visitors were requested not to make derogatory remarks about the architectural style, but just to pay their respects to the official as they entered the premises (i.e. the Farm not his office).
Just over a year later, Snorter, in his role as official receptionist, was beginning to feel disillusioned with his position, so much so that he was moved to write a letter to, as he put it, ‘whoever puts the so-called Newsletter together’.
“Sir I am very easy-going, and up to the present time, my relationships with people have been most amicable. But when my existence is being deliberately ignored, even a friendly chap like me begins to feel disgruntled. As far as this ‘News’ letter is concerned, I might just as well be invisible! Not a word about me for months, in spite of all the work I do for Foal - welcoming visitors. It comes hard, I can tell you, to leave my warm bed, or be interrupted in digging up vegetables in my garden for sometimes hours on end. But have I ever complained? Never. All I ask is for a word of appreciation. Kindly oblige in your next issue, if it’s not too much trouble. Yours peevishly, Snorter.”
Later in the same year an announcement appeared which did something to mollify the disgruntled Snorter.
The second and final part of the tale of Snorter will appear in the Summer magazine.
You may also wish to know there is also a very interesting booklet available which gives a potted history of the beginnings of Foal Farm. ‘A Foal was born’, is available upon receipt of £1.20 (payable to Foal) - write to:- Foal booklet, Foal Farm, Jail Lane, Biggin Hill, Kent.
Go to the second half of the story