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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by a volunteer from Oxford ´óÏó´«Ã½/CSV on behalf of Pat W and has been added to this site with her permission. Pat W fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

PEOPLE IN STORY: Pat W, early 20s in the war
LOCATION OF STORY: Oxfordshire
MAIN AREA OF INTEREST: Land Army, rural life
TITLE: ALWAYS JUST THAT LITTLE BIT OF COLD IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH

When war was declared I was in Exmouth — no, in Lympstone, near Exmouth - and I was very, very happy. And then one day two ladies came up and said ‘You’re in the Land Army’. I said ‘I don’t want to go in the Land Army, I want to go in the marines, the ladies’ marines.’ ‘No, you are in the Land Army, you’re already in, sign here’, that was it. No choice. So I thought, well, if I’m going to be in the Land Army I might as well live near my mother, who lived in Oxford, and I transferred to the Oxford Land Army, and I was sent to Bampton, which meant I lived in a big barn of a room, and I had to cycle 5 miles to work every day on an open road, and I thought, I’m not having this, and as it was all very new and Oxford Land Army didn’t really know what they were talking about they said ‘All right then, try this one’, and they sent me to Ewelme. Now I was very happy there, very happy. The farmer, Mr M, he was in the Navy, in charge of a corvette, so he wasn’t home, and his wife was running the farm, with my help and the cowman for the dairy herd, and the horseman for the horses and stable work, which worked very well. I would be up and in the cowshed by 5.30am for milking, then cleaning and washing the cowshed after the cows were back in the field. Breakfast was at about 8.30am, then back to work — lunchtime varied depending on what work was on hand. The day would finish any time from 6pm, except during harvest and haymaking, when we would stop when the dew rose, or when a cow was calving.

I did all the dairy work and helped with the cows with the cowman, and he was very good and he treated me as if I was a man, so we had no bother there. I had done a certain amount of dairy work — I expect that was why they put me in it in the first place, because I had done dairy work, because I went to an agricultural college. We looked after the herd in every way, veterinary work, bulling. And it was my job to hold the cow while the cowman got the bull to mount — which was not always very easy! But we managed, and you get the knack of it don’t you. We had two bulls, one great big one, who was a softie and no trouble at all, and a young one, who was a devil. He’d have you on the floor quick as anything if you gave him the chance. But they were both good. I remember, a line of elm trees had to be cut down because of the airfield runway. And one of the bulls, he used one of those tree trunks as a play thing for some time after — rolling it down the slopes, pushing it with his head — oh, he did enjoy it!

When I had finished my dairy work in the morning and had got everything cleared up, I had to go into the fields, for which I had to see the horseman. And I was given anything to do because I did not go out ‘til later and it was what needed doing - haymaking, corn time … you did it, you stacked up, We had prisoners of war come by the lorry load and help with hoeing. The Germans would work like Trojans, the Italians — no way did they want to work, all they wanted to do was talk and sing and knock about … truly, but I mean, they all did some work, so it all helped us.

Attack, fire and treacle

The only snag was, as the war went on, not at the beginning, but as the war went on, any German planes that came back over us, which was quite often, if they’d got any ammunition left, they would strafe us in the fields, so we had to take cover whenever we could, even if it was under straw bales, but I mean that was not every day, but too often! Because the aerodrome was adjoining us, it was the photographic department. It was all Spitfires, well most of them, and we knew what the weather was going to be, which helped us on the farm, because of whatever colour the aeroplanes were - so that they were camouflaged in the sky, but not necessarily here, but over the Channel. If they were white, sort of cloudy white, it was going to be a cloudy day, blue if it was going to be a sunny day, or they would be mottled, all sorts, which was very helpful for us. We just took it for granted that they knew what colour to bring them up. They had to be camouflaged as they had no weapons.

We got to know the sound of our engines, and the German engines, so that if you heard the wrong sound you could take cover. We were very lucky for bombs, I don’t say we did not have any, we had two or three, but it was mainly strafing with machine guns but — there’s always a but. Mrs M had a little boy and I was putting him to bed one night and he always wanted a story. So I was picking out his book, the one he wanted, and he was at the window. All of a sudden — the window is open — I heard an alien aeroplane, so I dashed over to the window, and coming up was a — oh, I can’t remember the name of the plane, but it was a German fighter plane — and I grabbed the boy to pull him down, because of knowing we got strafed in the fields, but oh no, oh no, [he wasn’t having that!]. But the pilot, bless his heart, he just went over, and waved and smiled, and I thought ‘I bet you’ve got a family at home’. I mean, war was war, but they were the same as us really, mostly. But I will never, ever, forget that man’s face — because I was so frightened, you know.

The photographic unit had a big Nissen type hut in among our barns for developing, so we got involved with the air force like that, the NAAFI van used to come up the drive and we used to partake from that. But after some considerable time, one hot summer, it burst into flames, badly, [because of inflammable materials in a hot corrugated Nissen hut] and they did not save the actual unit because they were so busy saving the barns and the cottages. And there was a stream going through Ewelme, a watercress stream, which ran along by us, and they used that as well as their water, and drained it, and there were fish everywhere, and we lived on fish for days! Everybody was going out with buckets and picking up the fish — so that was jolly good.

We were having a tidy up in the barns, to see what food we had left for the cattle, that sort of thing, and we found a barrel of black treacle, which they used to feed to the cattle on occasions, little bits. I am not ashamed, because we enjoyed it — but the cattle did not get it! We lived off black treacle. Everybody came with their jam jars. And the same thing happened when we found a bees’ nest and the honey. Wicked, but then it’s food.

We had a gun emplacement for a short time on the field. Mrs M had a little Cairn, a Cairn dog [which] used to go round the airman, they liked her, and eventually they moved on, and so did the dog! Mrs M complained about it, they traced the dog to the coast. But she was still in someone’s jacket, never saw her again, it was very sad. But then, that’s the sort of thing that used to happen during the war. The airman wanted a little pet in their coat, you know what it is, something warm and friendly. Because it is a cold time really. You make a life and in a funny sort of way you are happy, yes you are, but there is always that background, and always just that little bit of cold in the pit of your stomach.

Food

We were alright for milk, but even so you had to give in a quota. It was not ad lib as it were. If you had a good cow that was supplying well, then you could, but occasionally we did get eggs for milk. But that was all. We did not keep chickens, the cottagers did, but it was difficult getting food for them, they had to scratch about, so we did not get many eggs. And there was fruit from the fruit trees, but food was … at the very beginning … you see Land Army girls were the poor relation, we were not in the services, and we did not have the same wages, and if we went down into the village we were not allowed in the NAAFI because we were not service people. Not at the beginning, not unless you were invited in with someone. We were the poor relation. We did for a short time, it did not last long, we did have Woolton Pie. This depended on your local baker, who got order. We were lucky, we had the chappie in the village, and he made beauties, they were more like pasties, they were very good — but it did not last long, they couldn’t afford to keep that going.

Sugar and saccharine were difficult. A friend of mine was diabetic and couldn’t have sugar, and wanted saccharine if he couldn’t enough, and my mother used to queue up in Oxford in B, something off the aerodrome — anyway, it was barter. But, rationing, you just took it for granted somehow, you moaned about it but it was no good moaning, you made it spread as best you could with your little bit of butter. People had their different ways, we were each given our own little bit, and I always used to save mine up for a week and have a real good feed, but Mrs M, she would have a scrape each day, that sort of thing.

Of course, my dog used to bring home a hare sometimes, but we did not have rabbits or anything like that — rabbits have a warren, and are all closed in, and quick, but a hare will run, run for miles.

How It Ended

Just before the end of the war we got bombed — just the odd one. Oh, previous to that there was one came over and strafed us. Joe, one of the workers, and I, got into a barn and were flat up against the wall and a bullet came through the roof and went down between us and never touched us. Well, I was that side and he was this side, and we sort of looked at each other! But I was not so lucky the next time. I was in a barn, and one end was hit, and it crumbled, and I got caught under a beam. I was not physically hurt, like broken bones and things like that, but I was very, very badly bruised, and I had to leave the Land Army. I had to go to hospital and when I was better I was put into one of the Ministries, in Magdalen College for a short time. I was checking letters, or something simple, and I nearly went mad — used to being out of doors and working — nearly went crazy. Anyway, that was a short time, and they [the Ministry] went back to London, and we were put to another Ministry, and eventually we went out to Blenheim, and we were in Nissen huts in Blenheim, on the courtyard there, and then they decided they wanted to get rid of the Nissen huts so we got put in the Palace, and we worked in the Palace, which was very good, and we used to go out by bus every morning, and come back…. So I did not finish right through to the end of the war in the Land Army. Actually, I finished up as a correspondence clerk — not good at it at all! You had to sort out what was going to happen and then write a letter to these people to tell them. I just used to chat on, and I had a very good typist, who turned them into proper letters and made them more business like — disposal of iron and steel I think it was.

Then at the end of the war, we were all chucked out, ‘go find your own job’ [they said]. They were no longer interested, you were unemployed. I went to work at the Zinc Development Association, which was very good, but they packed up and went back to London — you see, they were all gradually getting back to normal. So then I got a job at Oxford University Press.

In the Land Army we used to have a uniform, but didn’t wear it, unless for special occasions, we used to wear breeches, and I used to wear overalls, you know, dungarees, things like that. Oh, the jersey was very useful and the shirts, they were aertex, they were very good at the beginning, and the jerseys were very good, but the breeches were shapeless, yuk. (Laughs). We were just given one of each item, but you see you went back when they were worn out, well, you did not wait until they were worn out, but you didn’t always get one, if they hadn’t got one they couldn’t give it to you. And the coat was quite useful to go to town in the winter, because I quite often wore the uniform to come into Oxford because you got more respect than if you were a civilian — naughty, isn’t it. Did a lot of things like that, under the counter and that sort of thing. One place I know, in Dorchester [on Thames] — a chappie there, you could get things from him, you could get shampoos, and a bath cube, and things like that, toothpaste instead of using salt. Nobody ever knew [about him], of course!

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