Stories
The Joys of Potato Picking - 1960
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8.30am: I am walking to the top of the main road to wait for Farmer
Giles's truck to arrive. Bridget and Sandra, my best friends, were there
already along with some of our neighbours. There was also Peter Turner,
little Malcolm Collett and Shamus from school. Nobody knows what
Shamus's real name is. He came to the village from Ireland a few years
back to stay with his Aunt, from that day onwards he was called Shamus.
Good job it's not raining because it's the open truck hooked on to the
back of the tractor that has been sent to take us to the farm. We piled
on and I managed to squeeze myself between Fatty Carter’s mum and Mrs
Fuller. As we set off I spotted Mr McDowall pumping the pedals of his
bicycle in an attempt to keep up with us.
Around the field people were already spacing themselves out. Myself,
Bridget and Sandra decided that today we wanted a full pitch. The extra
money will pay for the pictures, with some left over for mooching about
the shops. It is twelve shillings and sixpence for a full pitch and five
shillings and sixpence for halt. Farmer Giles's totter comes along, he
takes our names, measures out the pitch and gives us a ticket. Here
comes the tractor on its first ploughing, throwing the potatoes up on
top of the soil. Quickly we pick them up and put them in the sack before
the tractor makes the next round of ploughing.
Dinner break, everyone stops. The totter and tractor driver go back to
the farm house.
Mr McDowall loads a full sack of potatoes onto his bike and wheels it
away. The rest of us sit down on the newly turned earth. Bridget, Sandra
and I eat bread and margarine sarnies, and pass a bottle of orange
around. The sound of the tractor starting up told us it was back to
work. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mr McDowall rushing back
to his place in the field.
4.30pm: The tractor finally stops. We gather the last of the potatoes,
not forgetting to put some in the carrier bags we had brought with us.
Trudging up to the van we hand in our tickets to the totter and are
given our payments. Dirty and tired we pile back into the truck and are
dropped off at the top of the main road.
Janet Owen