The Land Girl

TH ELAND GIRL DIARY OF A RED ARMLET—I. Monday.—Sprout picking all day, in a biting north-easter, with intermittent showers of sleeiy-rain when we just have to stop. We look like monks from the Middle Ages, standing therewith sacks round our middies, another over our heads alike cowl, and our numbed hands tucked up our sleeves for a moment’s respite! Who eats all these sprouts, any­way? (But I managed a good plateful for dinner to-day...) Tuesday.—Took a ton of sprouts to the station. Kitty is a maddening horse: she looks down suspiciously, and steps coyly sideways at every puddle on the road. Found half the R.A.S.C. at the station, unloading poles. Had lo put my sprouts in the very end truck and when I came to getaway, had to back Kitty through a space only half an inch wider than The cart, between a lorry and a pile of sleepers. The Army watched breath­lessly, but if they expected to see me scrape the paint, they were disappointed! The Corporal grinned as 1 extricated my­self. “Old bus goes quite well in re­verse!” he said. Wednesday.—Cleaning and pulping mangolds all the morning, and straw carting all the afternoon—a vicious circle, with heifers as motive pow'er! Library evening. Quite a lot of customers. Am still amused at the village classification of books as “man’s books ”and others! Had to call “Time, Gentlemen!” and chuck them out at half past seven as Ted, the Boss, and Mr. Baker had developed the usual argument on local politics. Thursday.—Station trip again, and again cornered by R.A.S.C. lorries, this time without any chance of getting out till they had finished, so I infilled 20 minutes shifting some stuff from one truck to the other—or rather lending my cart for George and Albert to do the shifting. Took back six bundles of empty bags, the spring mattress for next door, and a couple of dozen new ploughshares. Mr. Naggs has got the threshing tackle suppose it’ll be down our way next. Friday.—More cow’s grub and straw for the week-end, and then up the Quarry to fetch down a couple of loads of sugar beet seed. An impressive job as although the bags weigh only a hundredweight, they are enormous and I feel a Colossus as 1 stride easily across the yard with one on my back! At half past five, join­ing the queue at the backdoor for pay envelopes, realise I haven’t seen half my mates all the week. Fred has been plough­ downing by the Brook since Monday. Johnnie and the others threshing, and the rest picking brussels. Pay envelope woefully short byway of income tax. “Ah,” says Fred,“ you’ll have lo get married, girl!” A noble pile of groceries on the kitchen table when I get in—and Turkish Delight for my sweet ration, but no biscuits for Mr. Patch. Saturday.—Reward of virtue. Having done enough cows’ grub for the week-end yesterday, spent the morning cleaning the car. Frank came and pinched it half-w'ay through, to run up to the threshing field brought it back nearly as bad as when I started. Got the worst off and began to polish when it started to rain, and I had to shove it into the garage. Proceeded with the job in half-dark, by guess and by God. Sunday.—Got drenched while feeding my rabbits: the fire brigade practising in Martin's orchard. Stan was on the hose, saw me, and flicked it in my direction! forWent a walk up the hill after dinner: garden too sodden for digging. Corn is nicely up now, and lamb’s tails dangling in the hedges. W.L.A., 9600. Kent W.A.E.C. has distributed“ Glamour Bands ”to its threshing gangs. To make these“ Glamour Bands” you take two strips of material 30 ins. long by 8 ins. wide. Lay one strip on top of the other, then round off one side so that one edge of these strips is absolutely straight and the other edge is curved to­wards the end. Next join the strips across the ends and down the curved edge for 6 ins. The effect will then be that of a child’ s bonet, ending in long sidepieces. This is worn with the bonnet part over the head and the loose ends are crossed, tied round the head and knotted in front. This would make an excellent headpiece for any dirty work or(in white material) for milkers. With apologies to “The Lost Chord” I was seated one day in the greenhouse, I was weary and ill at ease, And my fingers wandered idly Over the celery leaves. 1 knew.not w'hat I was doing, Or what 1 was dreaming about, When suddenly a voice cried“ Farren, That’ s the tenth buttercup you’ ve pricked out.” Warwicks. N. Farren, 68993 Competition Results and names of winners will be published in the April number. 6 March, 1944
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