大象传媒

This contribution to WW2 People鈥檚 War was received by the Action Desk at 大象传媒 Radio Norfolk. The story has been written and submitted to the website by Tim Edwards (Volunteer Story Gatherer) with the full permission and on behalf of Mrs Esther Watson (nee Cohen).

Easter 1943, a lull in the London Blitz, with my parents we went to Richmond Park where we saw two healthy and smart-looking Land Girls also taking a stroll. My mother turned to me and said, 鈥淎s you are nearing call up age, why not see if you can get into the Land Army?鈥� I didn鈥檛 need any second telling. The very next day found me enrolling at the Oxford Street London Recruiting Office.

Two months later a Kitbag arrived at home with all my Land Army uniforms, a travel warrant to Dorchester and a letter stating I was to be 鈥楪ang Labour鈥�. What with the heavy boots and the words 鈥楪ang Labour鈥�, I couldn鈥檛 think what that entailed. I was soon to find out.

Arriving at last in Dorchester with other new recruits we were met and taken to a beautiful house, Rothesay House, South Walks, which could accommodate thirty of us. In a shed were bicycles for our use for getting to work although it was too far for us to take taxis, an old meat lorry was sometimes used and we worked as far away as Corfe Castle.

鈥楪ang Labour鈥�, our first day of work in a gang of thirty was Flax Pulling, no hard labour in that. Second day, four of us were sent to a farm to carry out threshing. I could only pitch up one sheaf of corn, to me the pitch fork itself was heavy enough, and I ended up crying as I had blisters on my hands. The farmer said to me, 鈥淣o use you crying misses you鈥檒l get used to it.鈥� He was right, as eventually I joined a threshing gang travelling from field to field because this work was warmer through the winter and half a crown extra in my pay packet every week for threshing was a lot of money in those days. Threshing wasn鈥檛 easy work. Four of us worked hard, two girls pulling the dust back, one pitching up the corn (by this time I could pitch up three sheaves of corn at a time) and one girl helping the farmer to load up the drum on the top of the threshing machine. Not too bad, except when we threshed peas and beans which bounced back, hit you on the nose and brought tears to your eyes. Barley, no matter how much you wrapped up, would get into your clothes and prickled your skin all day. So much for threshing by hand, now I think the farmers have new methods.

We had to use metal buckets to gather the potatoes in, these buckets would bruise your legs as you raced up and down the lines all day trying to keep up with the tractor. The driver of the tractor wouldn鈥檛 slow down for us, so he wasn鈥檛 very popular. Hoeing wasn鈥檛 too bad, Harvesting was very refreshing in the Springtime but the very worst was Sugar Beet pulling a week before Christmas. The Sugar Beet was frozen and so were our hands and feet as it was a slow job. In fact the farmer would stop us and make us run up and down the lane to get our circulation going again. He did give us some holly to take home for Christmas. On the tube train back in London we had to put it under our seat as it was pricking into all the commuters!

One day two of us were sent to Fern Down near Bournemouth to pick Cranberries. We were billeted in a very nice house and each morning for a week, out we went to a bleak, cold field and, kneeling on sacking, picked these small berries which grow in small blades of grass. The grass was frozen but we were not allowed to wear gloves as the berries had to be picked very tenderly so as not to bruise them, our poor fingers were frozen.

Each Christmas I relate this tale to my family, telling them how the Cranberries are picked and not to waste a drop of the Cranberry sauce!

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