I left school at 14 and went to work in the office of a Yorkshire woollen mill that made blankets but there were no real prospects and so four years later, when the Second World War started in 1939, I had a real opportunity to change my life because everyone aged 18 and over was required to do work of national importance, either in a factory, the armed forces, the fire service or the Women's Land Army and that is what I chose.

Soon after my interview at Bradford, I was accepted and within days I was being measured for my new uniform consisting of a hat, overcoat, trousers that laced just below the knee, two pairs of long socks, two shirts, two pairs of overalls, one pair of shoes and the badge of the WLA. There was no wet weather clothing, underwear or tie and after that you had to replace everything at your own expense, even having your shoes mended.

My first posting was to Braceborough and I was given a travel warrant to get by train to Sleaford where I was met by a truck that took me to Braceborough Hall which was to be my living quarters with lots of other girls who had already arrived. It was a large, old-fashioned residence and there was no electricity and so we used paraffin lamps for lighting and solid fuel stoves for cooking. None of the girls knew a thing about agricultural work and we all found it very hard going to start with but quickly became used to the various jobs we were given while working outdoors soon put a tan on the pale faces of those girls who had come from the towns and cities.

Each day, we were allocated to work on a particular farm and I particularly remember planting potatoes on one of them where the field was so huge that it took all day to go up and down one row, dragging a tray of seed potatoes behind. Threshing wheat was also arduous because we had to do the dirty and menial tasks while the men were given the more skilled duties and I landed up working in what was called the pulse hole where the chaff and the husks from the wheat were discharged and you had to bag it up and carry it to the upper storey of the barn where it was stored as animal fodder. It was a horrible job and when you are threshing wheat there is a fair chance of disturbing mice and on one occasion when I was taking a break, a mouse thought that my trousers offered a safe refuge from danger and started to ascend, causing great merriment among the onlookers, but I managed to catch it and despatch it before it got too far.

Braceborough was an isolated village and there was not much entertainment but we did occasionally go to a nearby army camp for a dance and at weekends we could always catch the bus into Stamford but we had to make sure that we didn't miss the last one home because it was a very long walk. We once went to work on a very large and prosperous arable farm and were asked to work overtime and afterwards, we were invited into the farm kitchen for supper, tucking into a massive feast of eggs and ham, a monster meal at a time when food was rationed.

In 1943, I heard there was a vacancy for a farm hand at a dairy in Bourne and I applied and got the job which turned out to be with the Curtis Brothers in the Austerby and the WLA arranged for me to lodge with Mrs Annie Newton at No 6 Alexandra Terrace. Her husband had been called up for army service but her two sons and a daughter were still at home. The owner of the dairy was Mr John Angel Curtis, an elderly man who had retired and did not take an active role in running the business which was left to his family, Charlie Curtis, the eldest son who looked after the office and the coal business they also ran, John Richard who was in charge of the animals, Lucy was responsible for milk production while Tom and his wife looked after the deliveries. 

When John Richard discovered that I came from Yorkshire, he asked if I could get them some clogs, that is leather-topped boots with wooden soles and an iron walking surface on the heel and foot, rather like horseshoes. They were ideal for working among the slurry and water in the dairy but could not be bought in Bourne and so my parents arranged to supply them whenever they were needed.

My main job at the dairy was to muck out the cows but there was another Land Army girl called Jean who helped with milk deliveries and other members of the Curtis family also assisted. After a while, I was taught how to bring the cows in for milking from the nearby fields. Each had a name and we soon got to know them and which would be at the gate ready to walk down to the dairy but there was always a tail end Charlie. On the way back from the fields, we went along South Road and then down the Austerby, both free of traffic in those far off days, and it was a constant battle to keep the cows off the front lawns because home owners had no appreciation of the free manure that was often dropped outside. When we eventually got the animals into the farmyard we had to ensure that the correct cow went into its regular place for milking and if they got mixed up we had to work very fast to get the matter sorted out or else there would be a confrontation between two of them that was liable to turn nasty and cause some damage.

I was then required to learn how to hand milk the cows and to ensure that every drop of milk was removed from the udder, otherwise it could dry up. We were allotted the same cows each day and so ensure that they got to know us and vice versa, and so we got used to the one that were liable to put their foot in the milk pail or clout you with its tail which could be very painful. One of my cows did actually start to dry up and I was not flavour of the moment for a few days but it was not my fault because a bull from a neighbouring farm had got over the fence and did what bulls do and so this animal was actually in calf and that was the cause and when the truth finally surfaced, I got my stripes back.

I was either fearless or naïve when dealing with animals and on one occasion I decided that the bull needed to be mucked out and I went into his box with my shovel and brush without a care in the world and started work but John Richard arrived and told me to get out quick. At that moment, the bull decided that it didn't like company and I just managed to get out and close the gate before it charged. That is one lesson I remembered: never trust a bull, no matter how mild they may appear to be. On another occasion, some new milking cows arrived in a wagon and as there was no one else around to lead them out, I took charge and tied them up at their new standings which caused some consternation because this was not supposed to be work for a novice.

I eventually moved from working in the dairy to milk deliveries and it was a sad occasion because I took over from Jean whose husband was in the Royal Air Force, a member of a flying crew, and was lost in action. She was utterly distraught and had to leave because she could work no longer. I have no idea how she overcame this ordeal because we never met again.

Milk delivery was a very different type of work. There were no bottles in those days and the milk was ladled out from a measure on the doorstep into a waiting jug. It was therefore a daily necessity and I had to be out on the rounds in all weathers, because sunshine and snow, wind and rain, the milk had to be delivered and sometimes I had to change my clothes several times. The plus side was that I no longer had to contend with the cows and I was also meeting some very pleasant people although there were exceptions. One customer wanted a quarter of a pint of milk delivered twice a day but he was unlucky. Another was a woman I nicknamed Mrs Mucky Jug for obvious reasons and I especially remember a lady teacher who made me a warm drink every day. One customer tried to trick me when she paid her bill by giving me the money a day late each week and so at the end of eight weeks she claimed that she owed nothing because she had paid me the week before, an old trick, but she never won because the account book always proved her wrong although it never cured her and she kept on trying the same dodge.

The dairy was very considerate if anyone had a delicate baby or child and they would ensure whenever possible to provide the milk from the same designated cow at all times. On Christmas Day, we had a merry time on the round and many customers gave me presents and there was often a glass of good cheer and a mince pie but I had to refuse after the first one or two otherwise the rest of the round would have had no milk that day. My boss, Tom Curtis, didn't fare quite so well one year because all he got was a ¼ lb. packet of tea. Some of the winters were quite severe with continuous hard frosts and as we had to measure the milk out of the churn in pints and half-pints, the can started to gather a coat of ice on the inside because of the constant exposure and we often had to beg some hot water to thaw it out before we could continue or the customers would get short measure.

There were also one or two naughty incidents on the round. We used to leave large churns at different spots around town ready for collection as we went on the round to use as the filled ones became empty and one spot was in West Street. One day, a soldier who was billeted near to our drop told me that an old gentleman who lived close by came out each morning and took a jug of milk from the top of the churn, which would be mostly cream as the milk had been standing for a while, and replaced it with a jug of water. He should have known better because he was a retired dairy farmer and apart from stealing milk, our dairy could have been in serious trouble if it had been tested and found to contain added water. I reported the incident to Tom who had some strong words to say to the old chap and he never tried it again.

Among those people in Bourne that I did get to know I remember particularly Dr John Galletly, the general practitioner whose surgery was in North Road. He was known to everyone as Alistair and he was also the Medical Officer of Health for the WLA. I first met him while based at Braceborough when I contracted ringworm and was taken to his clinic a number of times for treatment. It was a bit drastic and painful because the fungus on the skin was burned off with iodine painted on at regular intervals. After that, I often saw him while on my milk round and he was very concerned to hear that I was working seven days a week with only one week's leave each year. The Curtis family did not think anything amiss with this working practice because they had worked this way all their lives but after a while I complained and got a half a day off each week although that was no real benefit because on those days I had to have an early start and a late midday finish because the milk still had to be delivered. On one occasion, I was ill and had to visit Dr Galletly and when I started to recover, he insisted that I return home to Yorkshire on extended sick leave. 

When I left the Land Army in December 1946, I realised that there was no gratuity similar to that paid to members of the armed forces and other services on discharge and when I told Dr Galletly he was most annoyed and wrote about it to The Times, and it was quite a serious thing to have a letter published in those days. He said that to his knowledge, the Land Army girls worked harder than most of the other services yet had less paid leave and they should therefore have been rewarded by the government for helping feed the people in wartime. But it was to no avail and although the subject was raised repeatedly, we never got a gratuity.

But I did get a husband. While lodging with Mrs Newton, our next door neighbours in Alexandra Terrace were John and Elsie Pool whose youngest son Trevor was still living at home, although their oldest son Cyril had been called up by the army and their daughter Gwen was in the fire service. I never thought that Trevor would end up as my husband. He was spoiled for choice because another Land Army girl was living at No 4 but we met and started courting and when Trevor was called up for the Royal Navy Fleet Air Arm, I moved into the Pool's house as their lodger and stayed until we got married in December 1946. We began married life at one of the cottages in St Peter's Road and stayed until 1953 when we moved to start a new life at Halifax in Yorkshire where we still live. But I often remember those days in the Land Army at Bourne, hard-working but very happy, and I would not have changed a moment of them.

NOTE: This article was written in June 2003 by Winifred Pool (née Jones)
of Halifax, West Yorkshire. She died on 5th February 2004 aged 80.

See also More memories of the Land Army