大象传媒

A Woman for all Seasons:
Memories of ex-Women鈥檚 Land Army 171843 Ella Evans (n茅e Kimball)

Over sixty years ago, girls were still needed on the land; the war was over, but thousands of young men never returned home, so girls were still joining the Land Army. They were leaving home for the first time and going into the unknown. They were mostly town girls like me. I was a kennel maid, so loved being outside鈥� but that鈥檚 another story.
The uniform consisted of brown breeches, green jersey, pale brown aertex shirt and fawn overcoat. You wore your hat at a jaunty angle, more often than not at the back of your head. Along with hob-nailed boots, we had brown shoes, which we polished until they glowed. When you left the Land Army, you had to return your uniform, but I kept my great coat.
You were given six clothing coupons, but you needed one whole coupon for a bra, two for a pair of knickers, one for a hat 鈥� I loved hats, so that was another coupon! I always remember shopping in Ellesmere in the fifties and meeting with Rita Hayworth who was also wearing a hat. I knew she had, like me, originated from a Yorkshire town.
Land girls received no gratuity, no pension, no thanks; we were told we were fourth in line of defence as the fighting service. However, after the war when the girls went back home, it was decided we had been civilians when we were serving our country, despite having been transported from our homes, given an army number and a discharge certificate with a crown on the top. We had two travel vouchers a year and after that you paid your own way.
One of the dirtiest jobs was threshing, especially on the chaff; if you were on the stack, you had baby mice and rats dropping down your shirt front or a mouse running up your trouser leg! At the end of the day, you looked like you had been in a coal hole.
On the farm I learned how to drive a tractor. The farmer said, 鈥淕et on, turn this, push that, and if anyone asks you if you can drive, say yes!鈥� So off I went to collect bales. It was easy getting into the field, but getting out I took the gate post with me鈥� but I did get better.
Whilst I was working at the Richardson鈥檚, Hollybush, his wife was expecting their second child and they asked me if I would look after her when the baby arrived. Of course I said 鈥淵es鈥�, as it would be a change from the land. So every day I was a nursemaid in breeches. They had another son, whom they called Ken; he must be 60 now. Looking back, I can鈥檛 believe how confident I was taking on a newborn baby. It must have been all the baby animals that I had helped rear鈥� this was just another challenge. After three weeks I went back to the farm; to mark the occasion they gave me six silver teaspoons, which ended up in my bottom drawer.
This next tale happened on a very hot day. My friend Eunice and I were dropped at a farm over twenty miles from the hostel. They needed land girls for hoeing, so working away in the field, alongside a vicar who was a guest at the farm, my friend and I needed water. I made my way to the farm house where the door was opened by a woman with very black hair worn chignon style. I requested a jug of water, only to be met with the words, 鈥淗ow dare you leave the field, get back at once!鈥� Returning to the field with a hoe in each hand, I presented them to the vicar, saying 鈥淲e will not work under these conditions 鈥� it鈥檚 all yours. You would give a dog water.鈥� So there were Eunice and I faced with a 20 mile trek back! Of course the next day we had to give an account of ourselves to the officer who supplied the farms with Land Army girls. He struck our names from the list and they never had land girls again. He told us they were Quakers and had no written creed or ordained ministers. I still wonder who their vicar friend was, who by the way did say he was sorry. I know God turned the water into wine, but we only wanted the water!
We were told at breakfast one morning that if the place of work you were allocated to was three miles away or less you had to cycle or walk. This was bad news for me 鈥� coming from a town, I had no need for a bicycle. Nevertheless, off to the cycle shed I went and chose a Phillips bike. So the painful journey began: as no-one looked after the bikes, they were in an awful state of repair. I was now nineteen. Every bruise was a victory. I had no sooner sat on the thing than I was off the other side (all this on a wicked gravel path). Mr Wilson, the gardener, dreaded seeing me; when I was on the saddle I could not steer, so the bicycle ran away with me around the huge garage door, then all over his vegetable patch. Nothing was safe from me. After a hot bath, I was black and blue. When the other village girls thought I had won the day, they gave me a shopping list for Metcalfs in Overton village. On the way back disaster struck 鈥� a herd of cows ambling along in front of me sent me into a wobble, I rode into a pit and needless to say lost all the shopping. The cows won!
The morning came that I was sent to Mostyn Owen, the Erway, whose land girl I was to be for one year. Leaving the hostel early one morning, I made my way to the Erway on my Phillips bicycle. Past Latham鈥檚 Farm I went, down the hill to the Pant small bridge, where suddenly my handlebars came off in my hands. I crashed into the bridge at a rate of knots, leaving my hands and knees bleeding, my overalls torn and the bicycle a write off! I continued on foot to the Erway and worked on the hay harvest all day. I think today鈥檚 workers would have had a month off.
It was while working at the Erway 鈥� on the corn harvest 鈥� that I agreed to work late for 2/6d an hour, but first I had to finish the milking in a hurry. As I took the straps from the cow I had just milked, it kicked me into the next one. Before I knew it, they had me like a football between them. The hooves of cows are very painful, believe me! What鈥檚 more, I was alone in the shippon. To my rescue came Ken Lord; he dragged me more dead than alive from the two cows, so I never did get my extra money for overtime, just a nice iron bed in sick bay. Dr. Casper (Overton) said he had never seen anyone in such a state! But nothing was broken. I looked like the tattooed lady, only my head escaped injury. I had lots of visitors and they all brought fruit and sweets which were still on ration. The hostel held fifty girls and the house at the back ten or more.
On a happier note, I had by now met my future husband Gordon Evans, who collected farm produce from around the farms. Dances were held twice a week in Overton Village Hall with Dick Cross and his band. They knew when the land girls had to leave and we used to have them play 鈥楪ive Us Five Minutes More鈥� by Jimmy Young. We had to be back at the hostel by 10.30pm or else we were locked out 鈥� the warden rang a bell three times and that was it: door shut. We usually left the dance feeling hungry and we would call at Edwards鈥� caf茅 for jam sandwiches which we ate while running the two miles back, in darkness unless there was a moon. We could have won the Olympics, I鈥檒l tell you. Oh yes! I鈥檝e been locked out a few times. I once gave a name I鈥檇 made up to the deputy who didn鈥檛 know me; I called myself Maud Bloodworthy, but I got found out and was duly told off.
It was at one of these village hops in 1947 that I was chosen Miss Land Army (my only claim to fame). The next round of the contest of all the surrounding villages 鈥� Miss Overton, Miss Penley etc 鈥� was to choose a Carnival Queen, all in evening dress. Now that was a problem, as I never owned such a dress. But I had a fairy godmother 鈥� Mrs Nora Edwards who owned the aforesaid caf茅; she lent me a black taffeta dress with bands of red velvet on the bodice which fitted perfectly. On the big night the winner was Miss Penley and I came second. The judges told me later that they were all for me, but that it wouldn鈥檛 have looked right not to have chosen a local girl. I received a box of chocolates which meant more to me than anything, but it was nice of them to say so.
Our social life was very mundane; a group of us, with or without boyfriends, would gather at the Cocoa Rooms in Overton in front of a blazing fire in winter eating sandwiches (beetroot or jam) and drinking tea and just sitting. On a Saturday we went shopping in Wrexham 鈥� mostly for a decent bra. The shop girl got to know me and saved me one as we were still on clothing coupons. Needless to say, we never had an exclusive wardrobe. I remember sewing together a bra and panty girdle to attend a dance at the Polish camp! Worried as always about getting back by 10.30pm, six of us came back in an ambulance and reached the bedrooms seconds before the lights went out. (Our warden after Mrs. Barmforth was a cross between Margaret Rutherford and Hattie Jacques) Well, at such short notice I had to go to bed still stitched into my underwear and what was worse, the next day I went to work picking potatoes. It was like being in a straight jacket 鈥� was I glad to cut myself out of it that evening! Never again!
When the boyfriends called, they were allowed only at the bottom of the stairs where they would call your name, or they could wait in the lounge which consisted of lots of chairs, a couple of tables and a piano, which a few of the girls used to play. We used to have a singalong and I am still doing that at the Senior Citizens sixty years on!
Now we come to the weekly wash, with fifty-odd girls in and out of the boiler room (as it was known) all washing by hand with hard yellow soap or carbolic and a scrubbing brush. No one had their names in their clothing like they do today, but I never remember losing anything.
I did meet up with some quite amorous farmers. On one farm I found myself in the loft above the shippon being chased around. I gave him a hefty push, sending him through the floor, which was weak, and he landed in the manure in the shippon below! After this incident, he was a perfect gentleman and I worked there for a month. I put it down to living so close to nature!
On one farm there was a widow with a seventeen year old son (I was now twenty-one). His mum said I was such a help and would I marry her son, as she approved of me. 鈥淪orry,鈥� I said, 鈥淚鈥檓 engaged鈥� (to Gordon).
Now a word of advice on bulls 鈥� never turn your back on one! For instance, I was mucking out when I heard a shout and suddenly this bull charged across the yard. I ran up a ladder shaking like a leaf, but the cowman was not so lucky; he turned too late and was pinned against the door. He died a few weeks later. I was very careful after that episode. The strangest sight I saw was a bull with a steel plate over its face 鈥� a bit like the man in the iron mask. We were in Overton somewhere and in the next field this creature was running up and down snorting and pawing the ground. We had to work picking spuds with one eye on him, which was unnerving to say the least. Believe it or not, I was a gang leader 鈥� not in today鈥檚 sense of the word, but being in charge of a group of girls for potato picking. Being a leader meant that your wage increased by half a crown an hour, but with the bull in the iron mask, I think it should have been more like ten shillings.
Now, just a word about food. We made our own sandwiches to carry out, cheese and beetroot between four thick slices of bread. Someone, though, got there before me 鈥� a mouse taking samples. So that day I just had the beetroot!
In the big freeze of 1947 everything came to a standstill. We were snowed in at the hostel, so we all helped with the cleaning of the rooms. One of the dirtiest jobs was muck spreading, standing alone in a field with piles of manure as far as the eye could see; but I took great pride in spreading it evenly all around me. Before dinner you made sure you were first in the queue for a bath: even then it did not get rid of the odour 鈥� you needed lashings of Imperial Leather soap, which the chemist in Overton used to save for me.
The first time I used a scythe, I was nearly a hospital case. It was a lethal weapon, the thistles didn鈥檛 stand a chance. At the end of the day my arms were still shaking with the weight of it. While working in a field there is such a wealth of wildlife to see 鈥� a fox playing with young heifers, rabbits galore, the cuckoo flying overhead, calling. The down side was being stung by wasps while picking plums. I was also stung by a horse fly, which caused me a lot of trouble, my face swelling up to twice its normal size with the poison. I went home on leave and was one of the first people to be treated with penicillin 鈥� thanks to Fleming.
Returning to the Germans, I must mention here that at one particular farm a couple of German POWs made slippers out of Hessian sack strips plaited, then sewn together. They were really hard wearing. The laziest people were DPs (Displaced Persons). When potato picking, they would fill a sack then sit on it all day while we girls worked like beavers. Looking back, perhaps they had a bad time in the war and that was their response.
By the time I left to marry in 1949, I knew how to milk, thresh, hoe, help with calving, lay hedges, scrape maggots out of sheep鈥檚 feet, plough with a horse, spread muck, ride a horse, stack corn, whitewash shippons, work in the hay and corn harvest all hours and drive a tractor! The friends I made as a teenager 鈥� well, we are still together today. We are senior citizens and we holiday together each year, but sadly without our other halves. The young people of today who get bored with all that life offers have missed out on these friendships.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.