As a journalist, one of the hardest jobs I have ever done is reporting on fatal farm accidents. I have always been struck by the bravery and selflessness of relatives of the victims talking about such a tragic event. Their goal is to try and raise awareness to ensure it doesn’t happen to others. Now, it’s my turn.

This time last year, my uncle died following an accident on his farm. On the scale of tragedy and heartache, it pales beside the loss of a child or a spouse. However, rationalising the relativity of loss is one thing; being confronted with such a loss is entirely another matter.

Farming All His Life

Louis O’Toole was 82. Many would say he shouldn’t have been anywhere near a farm at that age. But it was where he wanted to be, it was what he wanted to do. He began his farming life at only 10 years old, when his father passed away following a short illness. Along with his older brothers, aged 11 and 13, he made the commitment to keep things going. They worked side by side, boy and man, with my uncle Seamus who bought his own place in 1960. Louis then bought a farm about five miles from home in 1969.

Louis O'Toole taking a break from cutting corn in 2018, to chat to young neighbour Noah Roche and his dad David. \ Patrick Browne

It would be unfair to say farming was all he knew. He loved a good match, and was a handy footballer and hurler until he “burst a knee”, probably a cruciate ligament. He would often join us for a puck around when we were kids, and be hecking the next day.

It was simple, really – most accidents are

He went to Lourdes as a helper more than once. No event in his large extended family was complete without his presence. But he was never happier than when he was busy and occupied in the fields.

What happened? It was simple, really – most accidents are. Louis went to have a look at how his crops were progressing one damp Thusday morning last June. He stopped his tractor to shut a gate behind him. In getting down, he fell and was killed by the impact with the ground or the front wheel.

He always came to my mother’s for dinner at 1pm, or called to say he was delayed. When he was late, and didn’t answer the phone, we called over to check on him. I’m glad it was me that found him, because it means I am sure of what happened. I probably have less questions than anyone else.

Familiar faces meant a lot

The emergency services were quickly on the scene. All of them. His yard was quickly populated by a squad car, a fire brigade, and an ambulance. They had to wait for a doctor to come to formally pronounce Louis dead before moving him. In the meantime, our local priest hurried along to perform the last rites.

This all meant that a lot of people were standing around for a couple of hours, waiting. They were all so respectful, as if they had personally known the man. It meant a lot. As is often the case in this little country of ours, I knew one of the gardaí, and one of the fire brigade crew.

Familiar faces meant a lot. I also contacted some of our family and a couple of neighbours, so he wasn’t alone in this loneliest of moments, and neither was I. This also mattered.

The gardaí were sensitive in taking statements and assisting us through the inquest process in March

I was told by the gardaí that a crime scene investigator would come to examine the scene. I was half expecting a vanload of people in white suits, dusting and marking. It turned out to be one man with a camera. Like everyone else, he was professional but cordial, and put us as much at ease as he could while doing his very necessary job.

This attitude continued through the whole process, with John Cloney, the HSA inspector, superb both on the day and ever since. The gardaí were sensitive in taking statements and assisting us through the inquest process in March. There we learned that Louis had severed his spinal cord when falling. This took his life quickly and without suffering, a huge consolation.

A tiny slip by a careful man

The accident happened because, although Louis had applied the handbrake before exiting the tractor, he hadn’t pulled it up to its last notch. Shy of that, it failed to hold the tractor, which must have moved as he was dismounting.

A tiny slip by a careful man. It wouldn’t have happened when he was younger. That said, he could have made a similar slip while coming down the stairs, or stepping out onto a street. We can’t eliminate risk for older people, but we can’t make them live inside a plastic bubble either. As I said earlier, Louis was where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to do. He was aware of the risks of being around machinery at his age, but chose to try to mange those risks.

When younger and older people are involved in the farm, those risks are elevated, and must be constantly assessed

At the end of the day, that is all we can do. But when dealing with machinery, or animals, or heights, we must be ever vigilant. When younger and older people are involved in the farm, those risks are elevated, and must be constantly assessed. I believe Louis would have no regrets.

I would urge you all to do everything in your power to make sure you never have cause to have regrets.

Because while I know many farm fatalities leave more devastation in their wake than this one, I wouldn’t wish the feelings I have gone through on my worst enemy. Stay safe.