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My days in the Women’s Land Army, 1942 — 1945 Part 1
The author of this story has agreed that it can be entered on this ´óÏó´«Ã½ website,
It was 1942 when I received my call up papers, but not for one of His Majesty's Services. Being 18 years old I, like all boys and girls of that age, had to do one's duty for King and Country. When my papers came I was so horrified to read that my orders were for munitions or the buses. No way did I wish to do either of these, so off I went to the city to find the recruitment offices. First, I went to the WRNS; they were not taking on any more girls at that time. Then I tried the WAAF, from which I had the same response. This left the ATS, and still the same answer. Obviously, there were hundreds of 18 year old girls at that time.
I didn't fancy nursing. My mother, bless her heart, had been very protective that I shouldn't see illness in any way. If we were out shopping and she heard an ambulance, she would herd me into a shop so that I wouldn't see it. Travelling on the bus to the city we always sat with our backs to the window when passing the Infirmary. As for the dentists, well that was a No, No. So, you can see why nursing was out of the question.
This left the Women's Land Army ('WLA'). There were posters around showing a Land Girl so I went to volunteer. I was interviewed by Lady Tetley, who did her utmost to dissuade me. "You may be working with rough people. You may have to do very nasty, dirty, heavy work" she said. Well, I guess I looked rather undernourished, being way under seven stones in weight and I was very shy and timid. However, I was not going to be put off and so I joined. How many times I remembered Lady Tetley's warnings.
My papers duly arrived, giving me information as to where I was to go and when, asking me to collect my uniform and to hand in my clothing coupons and ration book.
The uniform was not what you would call glamorous, but in keeping with the work. Walking out uniform consisted of a felt pork pie hat in khaki with a badge on the front, a cream coloured air-tex shirt, green tie, green long sleeved sweater, khaki coloured corduroy breeches, three quarter length woollen stockings, also in khaki, and a heavy pair of brown brogues. To complete the ensemble we were issued with a heavy three quarter length coat, again in khaki - altogether looking very earthy.

´óÏó´«Ã½ing outfit consisted of Me, in my uniform, khaki coloured dungarees, heavy canvas leggings and very heavy boots, then a green scarf to cover our heads.
Now I was ready for the off, to a place called Grewelthorpe, eight miles north of Ripon. My parents proudly waved me farewell, along with neighbours, many of whom had known me since I was a baby. I had to catch three buses to arrive at my destination, followed by a mile walk up a very steep hill. However, before I took the walk, I asked a lady the way to Johnson's Farm and she insisted that I go into her house for a bowl of soup to help me on my way. It was very kind of her, but I remember the soup so well after all these years, thick, greasy, leek and cold. Ugh!
I reached the farm tired and weary because apart from a mile's walk uphill, there was a very long drive to the farmhouse. I presume that I was given tea, but I do not remember. But, I was told that I should go to bed early because I would be up early in the morning.
There wasn't a bedroom for me, but they had put a camp bed on the landing along with a bowl and jug of water and better news to come, the toilet was in the backyard. My clothes had to go in my suitcase and the toilet was outside. I was told that I would have an early call the following day at 6 a.m. and that I had to get the cows in for milking. I was shown where the cows had to go and all I had to do was call `CUSH, CUSH' and they would come. I was not told that I had to quickly tie each one up as they entered the building. You can imagine the chaos. The cows who went in first quickly ate their fodder and then tried to exit whilst the other ones were trying to get in. Phew! What an experience. Although I am sure that the farmer knew that I was a new recruit, he didn't explain why I should tie up the beasts quickly as they entered the shed.
Another day he asked me to feed the hens. As I remember the feed went into a tower like structure. Well, I forgot to put the grit in and so the eggs were produced shell-less. Must have been heaven for the hens!
My stay on this farm was very short lived, only three weeks, because I had a telegram from Geoff, my fiancé, to say that he had received his call up papers and was going into the RAF. I was so upset, because he had been very ill and was told that he would have at least six months deferral. The farmer thought that I had better take a few days leave, which I did. But wouldn't you know, during my time away, an official of the WLA decided to visit the farm to see how I was getting along. She was very cross with the farmer and told him that I couldn't go back to the farm, even though he requested my return, because he had given me leave without asking the authorities. That was that.
I returned home and after saying bye, bye to Geoff, who went to Halton in Buckinghamshire and then to Scotland; I started enquiring about another posting. The South of England, I thought, would be nice, but no, I was sent to Knaresborough, one hour away from home. Nice for my parents because I would be able to go home every weekend. But I had the adventure bug in me, not having been away from my parents before I went to Grewelthorpe.
Knaresborough was not a farm, but a row of Nissen huts, three actually. One where the sleeping quarters were, one where the dining area and kitchen was and the other ablutions. The sleeping quarters consisted of two rows of bunk beds with a chest of drawers to be shared by four girls and in the centre of the hut were two coke stoves. .
We had to be up early in the morning, queuing up for the toilets and then the wash basins. After dressing, we had a meagre breakfast followed by having to make a dripping sandwich and one teaspoon measure of tea being put into a piece of paper. This was our lunch. Quite hearty for a working girl, don't you think? ,
There were three vans to take us to the farms and some girls working locally would use bicycles. We only worked in gangs of five if we were haymaking, threshing or potato picking.

Many farmers were quite human, but a number really wanted their pound of flesh and expected us to do really heavy work, like carrying sacks of potatoes on our backs. If one grumbled the farmer would say "What's do yer think I pay thee for, sitting on your backsides?"
I will never forget one farmer I was sent to. All on my own, I was sent to a 10-acre field to top and tail beets. You could hardly see a hand in front of you, the fog was so thick. I sang to try to keep myself company, but it was so eerie and after what seemed hours, I thought it must be time for lunch.
I found my way to the farm and asked if I might have my tea brewed and where I could have my lunch. The farmer said, "You can't come in the house. You will have to go into the wash house." So, off ! went, tail between my legs. ! was so cold and miserable and, to my horror, there was a dead pig lying in a pool of blood. ! returned to the farmhouse and told the farmer that t couldn't eat in there because there was a dead pig. His reply was typical of the man. "It's dead. It won't hurt thee and there's nowhere else." This farmer was the cause of my having to leave the WLA, but that will come later. However, I reported him and his farm was banned until that fateful day. However, I returned to the field to do my day's work and oh was I glad when the van came to collect me at 5 p.m.
Continued in part 2

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