My Childhood, Part Six – Out in the fields

Life at home as a seven year old was plodding along very nicely, but even at that young age I always had that nagging urge to go out and earn a few pennies, pocket money in those days was non-existent, I used to run a few errands for neighbours or take pop bottles back to the shop but it was never enough!

As though 8 children a newborn baby and two adults weren’t enough living in a three bedroomed council house my Dad’s mother moved in with us in 1959, this wasn’t the Gran I stayed with whilst my mum had her last child, no, this was supergran! She had been married to a man (my other granddad) who for want of a better description was a bit of a handful and other men avoided him at all costs. I only ever saw him once, that was when I was very young and he had just left my gran for another woman, so my dad after a particularly heavy drinking session decided to ‘call on him’ on the way home, this resulted in him throwing a half house brick through the bedroom window where my illusive granddad slept, the sash window went up and an unshaven chap wearing a striped collarless shirt started shouting obscenities at my dad, this was my first and last glimpse of my second Granddad, I can’t recall how that episode ended up, but I do recall being told later in life that he was a very formidable character and no-one ever messed with him!

Back to my lovely gentle gran, she actually stayed in the ‘best room’ (the lounge) for the time she was with us, I don’t really remember much about that time, I do remember that before she went to bed she would put a chair against the door handle so it couldn’t be opened, whether or not this was a throwback from living with a granddad I had never known I cannot say. She was well known by everyone for her hats, she had hats for every occasion, for every season and every event, so inevitably she also had a vast collection of hat pins!

My first ever memory of the fields was very distant, It happened when my Grandmother organised a trip back to the hop yards of Bromyard where most of the locals went to pick, they would stay in huge barns for eight to ten weeks while the hops were being picked. I was around 16 at the time of the trip and we went by coach, as soon as we got to the Hop yard I could remember the smell of the hops, it was really overwhelming, I asked my Mum about it later and she said that she and Dad had spent a lot of time hop picking when I was a baby, and that was what had probably triggered off my memory.

So it was my Grandmother who introduced me to life in the fields when I was just seven years old! In those days there was always a head picker, in this case it was a lady called Nora who lived on the estate, if she didn’t like you then you had more chance of knitting fog than getting on that lorry!

My Nan was born in 1888 so would have been aged around 70 and was still going in the fields for a few bob to fund her regular Brown Ales and her 20 a day Woodbines. She always travelled up front with Nora who was also in her 60’s.

I went quite often on these ‘picking’ days but my first ever experience was a memorable one. I was so excited that I hardly slept that night, this of course meant that I was really tired as I left home with Nan about 7am clutching my pop bottle full of cold tea and some fish paste sandwiches wrapped in the greaseproof Mother’s Pride wrapper. For an old lady my nan was very spritely and I struggled to keep up with her on the walk through the estate but I was a big boy now – and when I went back to school after the Summer holiday I would be at the Junior school. My shoes were protected on the heels and toes by Blakeys steel half moon protectors which were hammered on, the ensuing noise made me feel like a miner at the pithead, I used to love scuffling along and pretending that I was off to work and would still have that wonderful feeling 8 years later when I eventually did start work.
So, we were stood outside Nora’s house chatting away when there was an enormous row which sounded like one of those old steam engines, I looked up as Norah casually said, “Lorries here, careful on the back”.

It just about managed to stop outside her house, a burly man with a battered flat cap on stumbled from the cab. He had on a jacket with the elbows missing, his trousers were held up with string and rolled up at the bottom, his boots ‘flapped’ as he walked and he had a well lived in face resembling a map of England – complete with contours, valleys, Mountains and two days hair growth.

“Better get a move on, It’s playin up, if she cuts out we’re walkin”

I will never ever forget that voice, it just did not go with that face, it was effeminate and soft.

He placed an old wooden crate on the ground to give the pickers a bit of help to get on to the back, but I was still struggling.

He picked me up and literally threw me onto the back of the lorry like an old rag doll, the others struggled on quickly so they didn’t get the same treatment, I was fortunate in a way as I grabbed the only bucket that was available to sit on.

To say the lorry had seen better days is an understatement, there were hessian sacks spread around, not for the travellers comfort, but to save the backside of the aforementioned from the hundreds of splinters sticking out from the lorry’s bed, in fact, it wouldn’t have looked out of place on a battlefield and I began to suspect that it where it probably came from, It had solid sides about a foot high and then railing type wooden extensions on top of those, so if a child stood up they couldn’t fall over the side – but an adult could!

Thankfully, the lorry engine burst into life and we were under way, the trip off the estate was ok as we rumbled along slowly, but when we hit the main road it soon changed, the first thing I noticed was that all the loose dust on the floor swirled up violently hitting everyone in the face. Some stood up to avoid it but sat down again within minutes as the flies were worse!

The journey was a series of brakes and violent swerves, causing one elderly fellow to question the drivers parenthood by means of a few well – placed expletives, after being told to watch his language he questioned whether or not the driver even had a license, Within thirty minutes we were on a dirt road in a field, although it seemed a lot longer than that, the lorry shook, shuddered and hit every bump and dip, everyone was elated as it finally ground to a halt, the driver came round and dropped the tailboard allowing his bedraggled cargo to alight, by the time the last picker had dropped off the tailboard Nora and Gran were already picking in a row of peas, to say that they were dexterous for their age would be a gross understatement.
A nice old chap showed me the ropes as my Grandmother was too busy picking!

It took me about 2 hours to fill a net that my Gran filled in 20 minutes, the upshot was that I dragged it over to the weighing station where a skinny little chap was waiting, he picked up the net I had struggled with in one hand and threw it onto the scales –
“too light young un, another bucketful”

I dragged it back to the row I was picking and began to fill a bucket, thirty minutes later the skinny chap weighed it again and pushed a token into my hand which I studied with a perplexed look on my face.

The skinny man sighed, “What you’ve got in your hand is worth two bob young un, bring it here Friday afternoon and it’ll be swapped for cash, are you wiv anyone?”

I told him I was with my Gran and strolled away wondering what would happen if I didn’t make the lorry on Friday, what if I became ill, even worse, what if I got knocked over by a bus.

I spent the rest of the afternoon breaking my back filling another net of peas, I looked across at Gran and Nora and they had a row of nets that stretched as far as the eye could see! In fact, everyone had a row of nets except me, I felt really despondent. I was so glad when everyone started to pack up and leave, I couldn’t believe how tired I felt, I was used to walking miles and playing outside for ten hours or more, but nothing had prepared me for a day in the fields pea picking,

Later on whilst the dust swirled around my head I proudly clutched the two precious tokens in my little fist, as I got off the back of the wagon Gran spoke to me for the first time since that morning, “alright young Eric, how did you do today then?

I opened my fist revealing the red lines where I had clutched the tokens. Gran said I had done well for my age and promised that if I couldn’t go on Friday she would cash them in for me.

My first day in the fields was completed, there would be many more involving strawberries (my favourite) and Blackcurrants (my worst) and of course a lot more peas. I went back home to the chaos of home, the smell of Johnsons baby talc and a big slice of Mum’s homemade bread pudding and a mug of well stewed tea.

Within a few minutes I was fast asleep in a chair – It had been a long day!

Until next time ————