by Mary Arden
‘I know that I don’t look very strong, Mrs Bridges, and I certainly couldn’t drive a plough, but there must be something I can do to help you, like preparing lunch for the farm workers, feeding the hens or mucking out the stables. I’m more than willing to give you a hand about the farmhouse and help you to feed the animals,’ I said enthusiastically.
Mrs Bridges then asked me if I was comfortable with horses. I told her that I had ridden all my life and loved horses. She then asked me if I knew how to drive a pony cart, as that could be useful as I would then be able to deliver farm produce around the villages. I told her that I’d only driven one for fun, but that I was sure I could soon learn to do it properly, if her husband had time to give me a lesson.
‘I’m very willing to learn anything new. The thing is,’ I said emphatically, ‘there’s a war on, and you need help, and I’m willing to give it, so here I am!’
I noticed that there was a large pile of crockery waiting to be washed up in the sink and a bucket of potatoes nearby ready to be peeled, so I stood up and said, ‘As I’m already here, perhaps I could make myself useful and do those dishes for you and then have a go at the potatoes?’
She looked a bit taken aback, but then smiled and said that if I was sure, she would be very grateful, as she had to admit that it was starting to get too much for her to do so much on her own. She then told me that a few local girls had helped her in the past, but they were all working in factories making uniforms and things like that now.
As we worked, Mrs Bridges told me that she provided her farmhands with lunch everyday, which usually consisted of a bowl of vegetable soup with bread and cheese. I asked her how she managed the rations, and she explained that farmers received extra coupons at harvest time and that they made their own cheese when they had surplus milk. They also grew their own vegetables, and that she also made stock for the soup from chicken, mutton and beef bones.
‘And if we need the men on a Saturday, I make them a pasty for a treat,’ she said smiling, now starting to relax in my company.
‘Oh, may I watch you make them?’ I asked delightedly. ‘I’ve never learned to make a pasty, neither has our cook.’
‘I am rather proud of my pasties, I don’t mind telling you. In fact I’ve won a few prizes in my time,’ she told me beaming from ear to ear.
As I peeled the potatoes, Mrs Bridges prepared the vegetables for the soup, and told me about her daughter, who had left home to join the ATS. She said how much she missed having her to chatter with while cooking and doing the household chores.
Suddenly the back door opened and a man’s voice called out, ‘I’m back, put the kettle on love.’ I presumed it must be Ted Bridges. I heard him kick off his boots and wash his hands under a tap in the adjoining scullery, and when he came into the kitchen and saw me, he asked his wife, ‘So who’s this then?’
‘This is Miss Arden, Ted, and she is helping me in the kitchen this morning.’
‘Is that right love? In that case, now that my dear wife has her own maid to help her, perhaps she could make me a cup of tea?’
‘Oh, now Ted, don’t you start with your teasing!’ Mrs Bridges exclaimed.
‘Actually, I haven’t just come to help your wife in the kitchen; I want to help you in the fields and with the animals too,’ I said to Mr Bridges, as I put the heavy kettle on to the hob to boil.
‘What, you mean like a Land Girl?’ Mr Bridges asked. ‘I applied for one of those a long time ago, but I was told that there weren’t enough to go around at present.’
‘I know that, which is why I decided to volunteer my help,’ I explained.
Mrs Bridges beckoned me to sit down and then cut three large slices of apple cake to go with our tea.
‘What we really need is a young, strong man rather than a little lass like you,’ Mr Bridges said kindly, as he drank his tea.
‘I’m willing to feed the hens, collect the eggs and jobs like that,’ I said eagerly, before Mrs Bridges interrupted.
‘Bobby can show her what to do, Ted.’ She then turned to me and explained that Bobby was a local boy, who often helped them with things like cleaning out the henhouses and the stables.
‘He’s a bit simple in the head,’ Mrs Bridges continued ‘and he looks a bit strange too, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He doesn’t say much either, and when he does try to talk, he dribbles a bit, but if you talk to him slow and quiet like and never shout at him, he soon learns a new task. I hope you won’t be afraid of him,’ she said looking a bit concerned, so I told her not to worry and that I was very good with young boys, as I had a younger brother who I used to clean out our hen house with, so felt sure Bobby and I would get on just fine.
Mrs Bridges then taught me how she made her special soup, so that in future I would be able to make it the same way myself. I asked her whether it mattered which vegetables were selected and whether she used chicken, beef or mutton bones to make the stock. She tut-tutted and said that she couldn’t afford to be so fussy; she made the soup out of vegetables that were in season or that she had spare; as for the stock, she used whatever was available.
‘If Mrs B’s soup is orange, that means we have too many carrots needing eating, if it’s green, then it means the beans and peas are in season, and if it’s just white, that means its leeks and potatoes again,’ Mr Bridges butted in with a big grin on his face.
‘Mrs B’ then told me that she always wanted plenty of onions in her soup, and so one of my tasks would be to dig them up from the garden behind the stables, along with some parsley from the herb garden.
A week later I started my new job as a ‘Weekend Land Girl’ and was put to work straightaway: Mrs B asked me to lay the newly scrubbed kitchen table, putting out the plates, breadboard, spoons, knives and forks ready for lunch. When the farmhands came into the kitchen, one by one, I was surprised that many of them looked quite old. I had assumed that they’d be young, healthy boys between fifteen and twenty, but then realised that all the young, healthy country lads had been called up at the beginning of the war, and that the men now sitting around the table represented the available manpower.
As I served the bread and cheese not one of the men looked up from their plates, or said a word except to ask one another for the salt, butter or the jug of cider. They looked worn out, although they still had half a day’s work ahead of them. It really must be hard work, I thought to myself.
After I’d washed up, Mrs B took me to the barn, where I noticed some old carthorse tackle hanging up next to the cart; she said that Mr Bridges would teach me how to drive it when he had the time. She then took me to a field to show me their daughter’s pony, Star. My eyes lit up, ‘I’d love to take her out for a ride one day, if you’ll trust me with her.’
Mrs B smiled and said sadly, ‘Star seems to pine for our Hilary almost as much as we do. I warn you, Miss, that pony has become very difficult to handle, and might even need breaking-in again. There are plenty of bridle paths all around us, and most of the farmers have never objected to Hilary riding around the fields, but make sure you shut all the gates firmly behind you, nobody has time to go chasing after loose cattle these days.’ She then paused and looked at me quizzically, ‘Have you done much riding? Star can be quite frisky and she’ll have you off in a jiffy given half a chance.’
I explained that I’d ridden plenty of bad-tempered or naughty ponies in the past, so felt sure that I could handle Star.
When we went back to the kitchen to discuss arrangements for the following weekend, Mrs B said, ‘You do understand that we have no spare cash to pay you, Miss Arden, and that this is voluntary work?’ I reassured her that it had been made perfectly clear on all the posters that the work was voluntary and that I was happy to help.
‘I’ll feed you when you are here, of course,’ she insisted, ‘and I will ask Mr Bridges if he will let you ride Star from time to time.’
‘There’s just one other thing, Mrs Bridges,’ I said, smiling, as I was about to leave. ‘I’d be
very grateful if you’d call me Mary, I am called by my surname so much in the Wrens, that I fear I will forget my own name soon!’
‘Well my name is Susan,’ Mrs B announced, ‘and the old man’s called Ted.’
Early the following Saturday, I found Ted in the barn sorting out the feed. He explained what he wanted me to do, pointed out the different sacks of grain, and then told me what mixture to give all the various animals on the farm.
‘If you can feed the animals for me, Mary, that would be a big help as it will allow me to get on with some of the heavier work that’s needed around here.’
He then walked me around the farm, giving me a list of small jobs that he felt I could manage, including cleaning the horses’ tackle and collecting eggs from the henhouses. He asked me to wipe the eggs clean in the scullery, before putting them in racks in the larder for Susan to sort. They sold dozens of eggs each week, which was a big help with their finances he confided, as they fetched a good price.
‘Bobby used to do it, but he’s a bit clumsy and crushes them in his hands sometimes,’ Ted told me. ‘He doesn’t seem to know his own strength, so I would rather you do it when you are here.’
As if on cue, a gangly boy appeared by the gate with a herd of cows.
‘That’s our Bobby, bringing my girls in to be milked,’ Ted said, pointing at Bobby and laughing; ‘he loves them cows like they be ‘is own sisters!’
When I took a closer look at Bobby, I could see that he was singing happily to the cows and patting their rumps. As he came towards us, he looked at me and then quickly averted his eyes shyly for a moment. When he looked at me again, I gave him a big smile and was rewarded with a crooked smile back.
Ted looked at me and nodded, ‘I think he’s taken to you already, Mary.’
‘That’s good,’ I replied.
‘I will teach you how to churn the butter next time you come,’ Ted said, ‘but for now, can you go and help Susan?’
When I went into the kitchen Susan grinned at me and said, ‘So your mother has a cook does she? I thought you must come from a well-to-do family by the way you talks.’
‘Yes, Susan, I’m sorry about that,’ I giggled apologetically, ‘I do hope I don’t appear too high and mighty. The truth is that my mother hates cooking, and as she drives an ambulance all day, she needs someone to help her in the kitchen.’
‘No need to apologize, I need someone to help me in the kitchen too these days, and that’s why you’re here!’ She pointed to the soup, ‘Now stir that please, will you Mary, while I cut some bread up?’
On the Monday morning, I requested permission to see the First Officer Wren and asked her permission to work at the farm one afternoon each week, as well as the Saturdays that had already been agreed. She said yes but on condition that it did not interfere with my work and that I was sensible and did not take on more than I could manage. As two squadrons had recently left for a tour of duty our workload was now less than usual, so Anne was more than happy for me to spend additional time as an unofficial Land Girl.
Over the next few weeks I worked harder than I’d ever worked in my life before, and didn’t even find the time to ride Star, but it felt right to be doing all I could to help the War effort.
I also managed to make friends with Bobby, who enjoyed practical jokes just like my brother William did. One day he placed an egg on the kitchen chair hoping that I would squash it when I sat down for lunch, but fortunately, I noticed it just in time. Not to disappoint him, however, I lowered myself gently over it, and then after making loud cluck-clucking noises and moving my arms around like chicken wings, I stood up and produced the egg as if by magic. He shrieked with laughter and clapped his hands with delight. The farm hands all applauded too, and after that, Bobby said he would do anything for ‘Miss Mary.’
When I arrived at the Bridges the following Saturday, I was a bit surprised to find a number of the local farmers and their wives all standing in the kitchen.
‘We’ve come to cheer you on,’ one of the farmers said to me with a broad grin. When I looked blankly at him, he explained, ‘We’ve come to watch you ride Star.’
Apparently Ted couldn’t wait to see how I managed his daughter’s frisky pony, and he had invited his neighbours to watch me make a fool of myself. While I changed into my jodhpurs, Ted saddled up Star, and then when I mounted her, he held her head firmly for me while I tightened her girth.
‘Will you open the gate for me please, Ted, as there’s no point in getting Star excited before I have had a chance to ride her?’
Ted and his friends grinned at one another, obviously thinking that Star would throw me off in a couple of seconds, and they would have a good laugh at my expense, but what they didn’t know was that I had been feeding Star with carrots and apples over the past few weeks and gaining her trust; so I felt quite confident that she would do as I asked of her.
I leaned forward to give Star a friendly pat, and gently guided her through the gate; she was as good as gold. Then, suddenly, with no warning at all, she lifted her head, sniffed the air, and decided it was time to have a good old gallop, but fortunately, I was prepared and we took off like a bullet. I held the reins tight to control her and then kicked her on with my heels.
By the time we had reached the top of the steep field, Star was already exhausted and slowed down to a canter of her own free will. I then loosened the reins and allowed her to carry on at her own pace, eventually trotting through a gap in the hedge and into the next field in a very dignified manner. Behind me I heard a loud cheer.
When I went back into the farmhouse to change, Ted and his friends were standing outside the back door waiting for me, clapping.
The atmosphere was very different the next time I came to the farm. As I walked into the kitchen to say hello to Susan, I sensed that something was very wrong. Susan had her arm around another lady, who I had never seen before, and they were both crying. I wondered whether there had been an accident and one of the farm workers had been hurt, but when Susan pointed to a fawn envelope on her kitchen table, I knew what it was at once: a telegram bringing bad news. Susan’s friend’s son had been killed in action, while serving on Special Ops. He was her only son.
We had all felt so light-hearted the week before, when we were working in the fields; but the reality of what was going on elsewhere was never far away and this sad news brought the war close to home.
I suggested to Susan that she took her friend home and stayed with her for as long as she needed, and that I was quite capable of giving the farm hands their meals by myself today. She took me up on the offer, so I set to and made a soup in the way that Susan had taught me. There were no complaints from the men, and Bobby stayed behind to help me wash up.
A month later, Ted announced that, as it was now time to get the main harvest in, there would be a lot more faces to feed over the coming weeks, so they’d really need my help. All the local farmers were going to come and help at the Bridges farm and in return Ted and his men would return the favour for them later on.
‘I could do with help turning stooks, and that. Do you know what stooks are Mary?’
‘Well no, not really,’ I said honestly.
‘Stooks is sheaves of hay, wheat, corn or barley freshly cut and tied into bunches and balanced six at a time into the shape of a pyramid. They then ‘ave to be turned each day so that the wet side is turned to the outside, and so on, all down a row, understand?’
I nodded, ‘I am a quick learner, just show me once, and I will do my best.’
Ted showed me how to lift the sheaves, and then Bobby and I, along with some of the other farm workers, gathered them together into stooks. I had no problem doing this work, but when it was time to turn them, so that the wet hay inside the sheaves was on the outside in order to dry in the sun, that was a different matter altogether. When it came to the last two remaining sheaves in each stook, there always seemed to be a little field mouse hiding inside them; it would then run over my feet, which wo
uld make me squeal, as I was terrified that they would run up my trouser legs. This made Bobby double up and cry with laughter every time. When I explained my fear to Bobby he suggested, ‘I do inside; you do outside’ so from then on, I would leave the last two sheaves in each stook for him to de-mouse, and move on to the next one.
Apparently when Ted heard his new Land Girl screaming, he wondered what on earth was going on, so had asked Bobby, who then told him about my phobia with mice, which made him roar with laughter. Susan told me that Ted had thought that it was hilarious, and that when he had told the other farmers they had fallen about laughing too, so now I was known as ‘Mary Mouse.’
Ted told me the next day that he was concerned that, as the weather was so sultry, the men would need to have several rest breaks, and it was likely that they would run out of cider by midday, so he asked me if I would ride Star to the local pub, and carry back a small barrel of cider.
‘A drink of cider will help refresh everyone, but you’re not to pay for the barrel, just ask ‘im to mark it up on the slate,’ Ted instructed. After giving me the landlord’s name, and writing down directions of how to get there, I left the Bridges’ farm and decided to take a short-cut across the fields where there would be no gates to open or shut.
When I arrived at the pub, the landlord was standing outside to greet me. He told me not to dismount, as he had the barrel ready. Disappearing for a few minutes, the landlord returned with the cider barrel and a lad to hold Star’s head, while he secured the barrel between the stirrup leather and the saddle. He fixed a strong rope around the barrel, like a handle, so that I’d be able to hold it steady, but he had tied my leg to the barrel by mistake, which made us both laugh. Thankfully, he soon got it sorted out, and once the barrel was secure, I turned Star around and kicked her on.