ON A FRONT LINE FARM

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume 77, 1 September 1942, Page 2

ON A FRONT LINE FARM

WORK BY WOMEN IN A DANGER ZONE ■ A 8.8. C. broadcast by Margaret Thursby) l have a farm near Dover. The land and the village belong to my eldest son. His ancestors have lived in this part of the world since the days of William the Conqueror, nearly 900 years ago. I came back to look after the place and farm. 1 (lew back by Clipper four days before war broke out. I had lived in England during the good years, so thought I'd better do what 1 could to help when things weren’t so good. We live in Ringwood, a little village near Dover. It is a real farming village. with a lovely old church, a blacksmith shop, village store and cottages for the farm labourers. The only other buildings are farm buildings. The village has a Tithe barn (in which in olden days they came and took onetenth of what you grew instead of making you pay taxes). There is the granary and a windmill where we grind corn for ourselves and neighbouring farmers. In fact, you couldn’t imagine a more peaceful looking place. It has not changed much since the war, except there arc no large stacks in the village because of incendiary bombs, and there are lots of road blocks and barbed wire.

But farming life goes on. We have a mixed farm of about 500 acres. There arc 50 cows—pedigree Guernseys and Redpolls. 300 sheep, some chickens, ducks, pigs, and a lot of arable land — more than before the war. as they’ve asked Us to plough up a lot of grass. We've done that and also we've ploughed up some down land that used to grow nothing, and on it we are onw growing a grand lot of wheat.

I have a wonderful farm manager, bailin' we call it here. His name is Mr Pittock. He has worked here for 40 years aiid never had one day off for sickness, and now gets very few days off for anything. We only have one man of military age. The rest are old and they work hard and long. It’s not just straightforward work either.

The other day one worker was only just missed by a bit of shell weighing 121 bs. Another was machine-gunned. All the men are often on duty at night, as they are either in the Home Guard or they fire-watch. Sometimes they are kept awake at nights by bombs, but they all turn up in the mornings. It is very difficult to get new labour when a man does get called up. We wanted a new shepherd and had quite a few applications. But they wouldn’t come when they heard where we were.

At haymaking time or harvest time the army lends us a lot of men and that is a tremendous help. So, by hook or by crook, we get workers. The labourers’ wives help, but they have to go home ana cook for their husbands. Then I have two land girls. One came from London and she lives in the house with me. There is a boy who has just finished private school. He is working until his call-up. He has been accepted by the Fleet Air Arm. We three live together. The land girl aged 21, the schoolboy and myself. Wc have all our meals together and get on very well . We have a big thing in common—the land. The villagers wondered how these town folk would get on, but they are workers, so it is O.K.

I had the best compliment I’ve had paid me since the war yesterday. Mr Groombridge, who has a farm next to ours, came up and shook hands with me and said, “I want to congratulate you.” I couldn’t think why. Then he said. “I’ve wanted to congratulate you on your work. I’ve been watching you a lot.” My work consists of driving a tractor. I try so hard, but I just can’t go straight. I’ve got a lot of excuses, but first I want to hand my thanks on to those in America, making these tractors for us that a novice like I am can handle so easily. (I can even crank it!) And it isn’t the tractor’s fault when I go wrong. I’ll tell you my excuse Sometimes I watch the convoys go up the Channel and they look so lovely. It often means when you see them that they will begin shelling from the other side. But convoys are lovely to watch. But 1 must watch where I’m going. Then there are pylons and enormous posts in all the fields to keep the enemy from landing, and it’s not funny if you get caught between two iron posts with a disc harrow on. behind. Then I have to go around some bomb holes, and bombs make an awful mess; then around the most frightful barbed wire entanglement. I realise it would be tough on the Germans if they came. But it’s touch on the farmer now, I must say the army does the best they can about it, but it really breaks your heart when you have arranged to grow a field of hay and an officer says, “We will be wiring up a bit of that field — through the middle, a bit 50 foot by 100 foot,” or “We will be digging trenches here.” Then we have to get busy and think how to grow more hay somewhere else, as we aim at being self-supporting to save shipping. But to return to my life on the tractor. I won’t make any more excuses. I am getting a bit better though not expert yet. It’s grand work though sometimes very hot and sometimes very cold. My first day I wore riding breeches, two pairs of woollen stockings. fur-lined boots, two sweaters, a sweat shirt, a big overcoat and scarf. I’ve still got a stiff neck from the east wind. I began work at 7.30 a m., after having had breakfast, not earlier now because we have double daylight saving. I work until 12.30, an hour off for lunch, and then—well it depends. Mr Pittock, tlie bailiff, says, "Are you going to stop early to-day?” He means 6 o’clock. After that overtime begins. On my first day I did not consider 6 o’clock early. I had done 9J hours. But the seeds had to be got in and the others were still working. Luckily it was dark by 8 o’clock so we all had to stop. Now it stays light until about 10.30. But I usually work 10 or 104 hours. And on days when we don’t use the tractor only 8 hours. Then I plant seed potatoes or paint gates or hoe. I like the work. I feel well and I’m learning a lot. There are lots of excitements as well. Mr Pittock was the first person there when one German plane came down. You can’t always see which it is Sometimes our planes make forced landings on our fields after having been shot over France. T don’t like that.

I very seldom hear the sirens, though they go often enough My tractor makes too much noise, but I do hear the shelling or bombs, of course. But one couldn’t take cover or there would be no work done. One day I looked up and saw so many planes over me; I had heard nothing so I thought they were gliders. I was certainly relieved when I saw they were our side going to give the Germans something to think about. It was a grand sight, it’s grac’d at night, too, when you see the sky all lit up when were raiding the French coast. I’m not on my tractor when 1 see that.

Our life is not without its brighter moments. There was the day when I was going up and down and 1 saw some soldiers carrying a stretcher. “Too badl thought, “that man has been hurt on manoeuvres.” T went on and saw a soldier rush towards me He dropped down on the edge of a bank and aimed his rifle. I was scared. I thought, “This is a crazy man and he probably shot the man I saw carried away and now he’s going to have a shot at me.’ Then suddenly soldiers appeared from all directions and the shooting began. Blanks, of course, thank goodness 1 was in the middle of their battlefield. —in no man's land — i felt a bit surprised. But it was a good battle.

Then there was the day when we heard a bang. The cows were being milked. We have an electric milking machine. Suddenly all the cows looked around. They weren’t being milked any more We had to finish them by hand. The electric light was fixed by the next day. The animals are pretty used to the

explosions and noise now. They were very frightened at first. We did have ne trouble with the ewes at lambing time when we got some close ones. It '■•kes you forget to be afraid yourself when you wonder how the animals are. If one has landed in a newly sown field that you have worked hard on—you think of other things—mostly to say. How 1 wish I could show you all around the farm instead of talk. I’d like to introduce you to all the workers. I’d like you to see the animals and the fields arid what we grow I’d like you to see our American tractors and farm implements at work. I’d like you to see our planes going over and to see a convoy of ships. But come and see it after the war if you can.