1941 After a month’s training at a farm in Newton in Cartmel, in the Lake District, called Hare Hills, it was time for a move to an allotted farm.

My farm was in Astley Green, just off the East Lanes Road, belonging to Manchester Collieries head office in Walkden. The farmer, Mr Greensit, with his wife and daughter Jean ran the farm. They turned out to be such very nice people. The house was a Monastery and we lived in one half. In the other half an uncle, aunt and son.

I spent a lot of time down at the other farm, a good walk across the canal through the fields. On the winter nights and early mornings I took a storm lantern. This would not be allowed today as I was only a young girl, but I came to no harm. Thank goodness!

My job now was to go out with a horse and cart to deliver milk to the Collieries. Had to load up with 15-gallon kits, this was heavy work and I was taught how to lift so as not to harm myself. Moseley Common is the only one name I remember, the miners were always so helpful.

Then they bought me a lovely milk float with a pony, which I named Midge. I would have to call at head office in Walkden. We had a lot of very thick fog; this one occasion, coming down the East Lanes Road, I could not see a hand in front of me and went straight over the roundabout. At the same time a tank went the other way. The noise, so loud, frightened my pony, who bolted. I lost all my empty churns. They clattered onto the road. I managed to stop the pony and tied him to a lamppost, retrieved the churns. Phew, what a morning!

I put on a lot of weight, the amount of food we ate was enormous. My sister and her boyfriend came on a visit, couldn’t believe the meals they were given.

We would go to church on Sunday. Halfway through the service Mr Greensit would take me outside for a fag. I laugh when I recall this. The nephew and I became friends, much to the delight of the family. He was called up and joined the Army, thought I would wait for him. Sorry, I didn’t want to get involved, so a move was called for. Many years later I did go back with Bill, my husband, and the children. We got such a lovely welcome. How the children enjoyed the farm.

I moved onto another farm at Mawdsley near Chorley. My friend and I trying to get to the same farm; no luck she was sent to Overton. Eight girls living in a cottage on the estate. I did all the cooking. All I had was a paraffin stove and a side oven, so each morning, as we went out to milk, would put a frying pan of bacon on top of the paraffin stove, and when we got back for breakfast it was nearly ready to eat. Would phone my mother; she would tell me how to make a rice pudding and casserole, these in the side oven. I was allowed a morning off to go a long walk to the only shop. How I got back I do not remember, or who paid for the food.

I was taught to drive the tractor and how to plough; also taught to harness Shire horses to go out alone again to harrow. The first time I spent ages and finished up with the harrow between me and the horses. Oh, how they laughed at me. It was a big farm. We were all in a 40-acre field, with a flat-bottomed trailer loaded up with lime; given the instructions: ‘work on this side and get burnt, work that side to be safe.’ At least half the girls took the wrong side and got burnt.

Down to another farm belonging to another son, for threshing. What a dirty job. I was put on the chaff, the worst job of all. It was dusty, itchy work. A farmhand put a nest of baby mice down my neck, pink squiggly things, one had to learn to be a sport and laugh or they would tease you all the more. Next job! Move the bales into a circle around the machine. We all had pitch forks to catch the rats which ran out as we closed in. Horrible!

In the evening girls and farmhands would walk to Great Eccleston, in a shed we were shown films, it was a long walk in pitch dark, had lots of laughs; enjoyed the night off. Also walked to Rufford, caught a train to Preston to go dancing. On the return journey we were tired out, but it was worth it.

One morning loaded up onto a wagon, taken to Ince Blundle to work with the Italian prisoners of war. It was a good day out, good food. The weather was kind to us as we were working in the fields.

Another son called Hugh took me to market in a 5 ton truck, which I drove. At the market would climb on top of the sacks of potatoes and other produce. A chap said: ‘Throw us some rhubarb Blondie.’ Then I was sent into the room to get a brew, it was full of market men. Oh how I was kidded, I learnt just to laugh at them. We next went to the fish and chip shops with potatoes, had some good lunches.

One day, with yet another son, working just the two of us; muck spreading. We stood back to back working away from each other, all at once he moved and my pitchfork went through his arm. I can’t remember, must have run up to the farm. He was taken to hospital. This was not my fault and I was never told off or blamed.

Many years later, I was married with children, read in the paper how a farmer had died after being dragged off the tractor. It was the old man I had worked for. We all set off to visit and say how sorry we were, invited in but no they did not remember me; they had had so many Land Girls. Even my name Jean Adams. All at once the son rolled up his shirt sleeve, and there was the scar from the pitch fork. We had tea with them the children so enjoyed running about the farm.

When I had first arrived at this farm, my father and sister took me in the car. They were made welcome and must stay for lunch, given a boiled egg each with nowhere to put it. My sister so nonplussed, just a deal table no egg cup, she was then shown what to do, just bang the egg and it would stand up on the flat bottom. I believe she cried on their way home, she did not like leaving me to rough it. I was as happy as a Sandboy.

We were charged for the eggs we ate, one day a hen laid her eggs just outside our door. In no time they were in a pan for our tea, next day we collected them they were awful, as we had thrown out our kipper bits onto to grass and the hen had eaten them. We had fishy eggs, it served us right.

What a lot I learned. How to pick strawberries, also the backbreaking work of picking potatoes; these put into sacks, which we had to carry on our backs, hundred weights. Now we were working like the men we were here for. How we looked forward to a Black and Tan down at the pub. Not long after this work I had to go home. I had strained my stomach muscles; attend Hospital for diathermy treatment. What a treat to have a rest.

Change of farm, at last managed to get to the same farm as my friend. Taveners Farm owned by a gentleman farmer, with two public school boys; one in his late twenties, one in late teens. A daughter, Molly, with a husband. Molly worked so hard doing all the washing, ironing and cooking, she must have hated it.

My job, bring in the cows, milk them, bottle up, in for breakfast. Molly always made a lovely one. Bacon, fried potatoes. Out again to load up the van, crates and crates of bottles for my milk round in Heysham and Morecambe. The van was a Commer with no brakes, given a brick; have gone into many a garden wall. I got to know some of my customers but most at work. Would stop for a break, eat a whole Swiss roll and a pint of milk, always so hungry, finish the job and back to the farm in time for lunch.

Sometimes we helped out on the farm in the afternoon, once a week I drove to Lancaster to collect pig swill. On one of these journeys I had quite an adventure. It was a tidal road; the sea well in. A lorry driver stuck in the middle, he had rolled up his trouser legs and was wading around. All I could do was shout to him: ‘I will tell someone, reverse out if you can.’ Then I had a long drive round. This road goes past the Golden Ball pub which is well known.

One day my father called to see me. He stood in the kitchen, could not believe how we lived, and the home life we had given up to do our bit for the War Effort.

As we collected the cows, would pick blackberries, get a big bowl full, hand them to Molly who would cook them, make a Junket in a very large bowl. These we ate for our lunch, they were lovely. We smoked in those days, could get cheap cigs as Molly’s husband worked on the docks at Heysham.

We had a lot of fun on our time off. Would go down to Morecambe, always on our bikes, dance at the Winter Gardens, visit the Theatre, also the Cinema, Then the long ride back. Up early each morning about 5 am. I sometimes overslept, would get shouted at; into the shippen, laughing and singing, oh this did annoy all of them. I made it up as I was a good worker.

We made friends with some of the soldiers at the camp, would go up to their dances and play Housey, Housey; one memory which stays with me a crowd of soldiers and us dancing and singing along the Prom. Oh to be young and carefree.

Michael, Frank and Alex were good friends, when their wives came on a visit we all still went out together. One night riding up to camp, a road up. I went to the left my friend to the right; trust me to take the wrong way, landed in a hole with water at the bottom, finished up in the Sergeants’ mess drying out. Oh how we laughed!

I started to have a lot of pain in one of my fingers, every time I changed gear caught it on the dashboard it was so painful. Had to visit a doctor who told me that I had a Whitlow. This was my swan song, had to return home. The danger of Tetanus. Saw my own doctor, who lanced it. She was an Irish RC, full of fun, always said: ‘Go on Jean, teach me those swear words you have learned in the Land Army.’

Back to tell you some snippets. When we came in at night from out time out, would open the kitchen door, could not walk across the floor without treading on the cockroaches. The whole room was black with them. Thank goodness our supper was in a tin for us.

Back from my milk round one day wet through, it had poured all morning, Molly says: ‘There’s a mustard bath for you Jean.’ Oh how lovely, not too hot but very welcome. After, find out that the farmer, and my friend, had been in before me. That’s war for you, only allowed 5 inches of water.

Coming back off leave I was on a train, the fog was so thick when we got into the station, no way of getting back to the farm. As luck will have it a girl in the same carriage says: ‘Come home with me.’ Back to her house, she gave me a drink, I slept on the floor. This was the spirit during the war, always ready to help one another. They came from the farm to collect me in the morning, my guardian angel at work again.

Back to the Whitlow. On and on it went, still so painful, had it lanced again but no, it was in need of hospital treatment. Admitted into Crumpsall Hospital, full operation, socks and hat on, told afterwards when it was cut the puss shot all over the place had to wait a few days and then the gauze padding had to be pulled out, this had done the trick. A tiny piece of infected glass from a milk bottle whilst washing up in the dairy. All this had taken twelve months, as I had to attend each day for dressings.

Another memory, we worked overtime hay making for a month and guess what, we got a pound each, our wages were 26 shillings a week. One more thing, on my milk round in Heysham, up a very steep hill, my clutch went. With no brakes came backwards across the main road. Lucky for me an army convey passing at the time. They shout: ‘It’s Jean.’ Saved again! I wonder how many of my nine lives I’ve used up?

Directed Labour decided my future. I was sent to Ferranti’s in New Moston. It was a wonderful life wouldn’t have missed it for anything.

by Jean Whitehead Wilde