June's War: Tales of a Land Army Girl

By June Stonebridge

June Stonebridge belonged to the Women’s Institute in the village of Helpringham in Lincolnshire, England, during the 1960s, and it was here that she was asked to lead one evening’s entertainment with a talk about her experiences in the Women’s Land Army during World War 2: apparently you could hear the laughter outside in the street and the meeting ended much later than was usual!

She subsequently gave several similar talks in the area around, and one such was at the general meeting of the local British Legion. This gave June the idea of writing a book of her wartime exploits and eventually of getting it printed. Sadly, she never achieved this before she died – but with her family’s help her dream has now been realised!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press UK
• Release date: Mar 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781982283414

Book preview

JUNE’S WAR

Tales of a Land Army Girl

JUNE STONEBRIDGE

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Copyright © 2021 June Stonebridge.

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ISBN: 978-1-9822-8340-7 (sc)

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Balboa Press rev. date:  03/31/2021

INTRODUCTION

The Women’s Land Army was originally founded in Great Britain in 1916 for the recruitment of women to work on farms during World War 1. It was re-founded in June 1939, immediately before the outbreak of World War 2.

By 1943, 87,000 girls were employed on farms, replacing those men who had gone to war and increasing the agricultural force which played such an important role in feeding the British population throughout the war years.

June Stonebridge, who was born in 1917, became one of those girls as a member of the WLA. This is her story, told in her own words, of the trials and tribulations of an ordinary but patriotic girl caught up in the almost-overwhelming task of feeding the nation from 1939 until – and even after – the end of the war in 1945.

Following their wartime marriage, June and her husband Hubert set up home in Doncaster. Later, after the births of their three daughters, they moved to the small village of Helpringham near Sleaford in Lincolnshire where Hubert died in 1997. June completed this memoir and, later, moved to Lincoln, passing away in 2014.

This book is dedicated to all the girls who worked in

the Women’s Land Army during World War II.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1     Into The Breeches

Chapter 2     Chandlers Ford

Chapter 3     The Night Of The Glow-worms

Chapter 4     A Nightmare

Chapter 5     Fly

Chapter 6     Margie Milks a Cow

Chapter 7     Fire Watching

Chapter 8     Riche Asks For Afters

Chapter 9     Margie and I Get Into Trouble

Chapter 10   A Tea Dance at Covent Gardens

Chapter 11   Jim and Janet

Chapter 12   A Telegram Arrives

Chapter 13   The Wedding

Chapter 14   Bob

Chapter 15   The Last Straw

Epilogue

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CHAPTER 1

Into The Breeches

I STOOD THERE, IN THE middle of the farmer’s cowshed, my boots squelching in about six inches of straw and dung with the awful smell penetrating my nostrils. ‘Oh my god,’ I thought, ‘what have I let myself in for?’ while dreaming of my previous quiet shop-girl life. But then I realised the farmer was speaking: Can you milk, lass? he was enquiring hopefully.

I hated to let him down but I had to tell him the truth, that the only cows I had ever seen before were peacefully chewing their cud in a far-off meadow and that I had never been under one in the whole of my life. The farmer looked down at me as if I was rubbish, then pulled himself together and gave me orders to stay where I was, saying he would fetch the cows in. Would I put the chains on them as they went into their own stalls? And off he went.

I stood there, balancing on all the muck, shivering and wondering how I had got into this mess! Eventually, a huge cow, well it seemed huge to me with its horns, came through the door and walked straight to her stall. Then I noticed more were coming and soon the farmer would be in to see how many cows had their chains on. So I slithered to the first cow and reached for the chain; my hands were shaking so much it was a great effort to fasten it around the huge neck, but somehow I managed the job. Meanwhile, another cow had come into the same stall, placing its posterior such that it blocked my line of retreat. So there I was, stuck, with the rest of the cows still to be chained up, and the farmer about to enter the shed.

Farmer Antwhistle followed the last of the cows in and, of course, noticed all the unchained cows; I dare not look at him. How many cows have you chained up, June? he asked. A funny voice, which I did not recognise as my own, replied, Only one. I am so sorry, two cows trapped me in the first stall and I couldn’t get out. With a most peculiar look on his face, he walked over to the stall and gave the cows a big clout on their backsides, and the animals moved apart. I made my escape from my entrapment!

I felt I must prove myself after all that, so I tried to forget being scared and helped fasten the rest of the cows. Farmer Antwhistle picked up a milking stool and I noticed he put it well under the cow. ‘Oh, he is going to sit on it and show me how to milk,’ I thought. But I was very much mistaken. He pointed to the stool and commanded, Sit on it! I crept under the cow. My head was actually touching the cow and I felt something crawl off the cow and into my hair. Her four legs seemed uncomfortably close and her dirty tail kept swishing near my face. ‘She must be angry,’ I thought, and I was terrified.

The farmer then gave me a bucket, saying: Put that between your knees. I waited for him to show me how to get the milk out: I waited in vain. Now get milking, he said; The more you pull her the better she will like it! he instructed me, and went off to milk his own cows. ‘What an awful man,’ I thought, ‘but I will try.’

There were four things hanging close to my nose so I grabbed two of them and started squeezing. Nothing came out. I then tried pulling them, but again no milk came. So I tried the other two but still no success: only drips and drops landed in my bucket. To make matters worse, I could hear milk pouring into the farmer’s bucket, and that didn’t help my self-esteem at all. I honestly felt I was making the cow suffer and I felt sorry for her. I had actually sat under that cow while the farmer milked twelve others, and I had an uncomfortable feeling that he had forgotten I was there. Honestly, I had wild thoughts of jumping up from the milking stool and running away as far as I could.

I heard the farmer’s milk stop flowing and I guessed he was on his way to see how I had got on with the milking. The next minute, he was stood right behind me. How much milk have you got, June? he asked. Shamefacedly I tipped the bucket up for him to see: the milk hardly covered the bottom, and his face said everything. ‘I’ve got a right one here, God help me!’ he must have been thinking.

With a strained smile, he told me to get off the stool and he would finish milking the cow. I again felt so sorry for the cow which I felt sure must have suffered much with me. I was given orders to remove all the chains from the cows and take them back to the meadow. This I was able to do, and I followed them all the way, then stood and watched them saunter off to eat the lovely, luscious grass.

The job finished for the day, I was given the rest of the evening off, with a warning from Farmer Antwhistle: Be awake early in the morning because I will knock on your door about six for the morning milking. What mixed feelings I had, what a day it had been; but, apparently, he had not given me up for a bad job, not just yet!

That night I could not sleep. The bed was strange and I lay awake wondering and dreading what tomorrow would bring. I felt such a failure, but it was the farmer’s fault. I had been sent there by the Land Army for a month’s training but so far, as regards milking anyway, he had shown and taught me nothing.

Eventually I did fall asleep despite my fears for the morrow, but I had lots of dreams and an awful nightmare. Of course, they had to be about cows, the last thing on my mind before I dozed off: in my nightmare I was running away from them and the farmer was getting furious with me for letting his best milkers escape! I awoke absolutely terrified but fell asleep again wishing I had joined the Army instead.

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I now want to explain how I came to join the Women’s Land Army. War was declared in August in the year 1939 and so men were immediately called up to do service for their country. As time went on, women who were not in vital jobs were also called up to help the war effort. I had worked in the Co-op offices for seven years when I received notice to attend the Doncaster Labour Exchange. When I opened the letter I got quite a shock: it just said they wanted to see me but I guessed what it was for. It was March 1942; the day was lovely with a shining sun and spring was in the air. ‘How lovely,’ I thought, ‘to be out in the sunshine and fresh air instead of a stuffy office day after day.’

When I arrived at the Labour Exchange, I found out my guess was right. The lady who dealt with me calmly told me that I wasn’t in an essential job so I should join something like the Army or Air Force as they badly needed recruits. I told her if it was possible I would love to join the Women’s Land Army. So I signed up there and then and was told I would hear about it within a week.

I was engaged to a wonderful man, Hubert, and we had planned to get married, but it was not to be, not just yet. He was called up to join the Army in 1941 and within six months was sent to North Africa to do his bit. In January he was taken prisoner by the Germans and moved to Italy. I missed him very much but it also made me feel that I also wanted to help the war effort.

So here I was, going to help feed the nation. At that time there was only one week’s supply of food as the German U-boats were stopping it coming into the country. It was a very bad time for Great Britain. After I signed up for the WLA, supervised by a lady called Mrs Fryer, the powers that be did not waste much time and within a week I would be on my way to a farm in Thorne; as this was near my home in Doncaster there was a possibility of being able to get home for my weekends off.

It all happened so quickly, I was quite shaken. My whole life was going to change dramatically. As I caught the bus to work that day, I began wondering what I would be doing this time next week. Such things as dung-spreading never entered my head. Wondering what the girls at work would think, I had no idea but I soon found out. When I delivered the news, they all thought it was very funny. ‘Oh to be a farmer’s girl’ was sung accompanied by lots of animal noises, especially cows! After all I only weighed seven stones and was slim-built, not an ideal size to please a farmer! They liked the hefty ones that could lift a bag of potatoes, not a titch like me. But the demonstration was a laugh: after working seven years with them, I felt rather sad at leaving the girls. The boss wished me well in my new venture, and he also told me my job would be there for me when the war was over if I so wished.

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The fateful Monday morning arrived: I said goodbye to my mother and sister and, with my bag packed, caught the bus to Thorne and the unknown. The fifteen miles seemed to fly by and before I knew it I was standing on the pavement in Thorne High Street. Having no idea which way Great Farm was, I asked a policeman for directions. Yes, he replied, it’s about a mile along the road you’re facing now. I thanked him, picked up my case and was on my way.

Eventually I came to a farm gate with ‘Great Farm’ written on it. There was a lovely green meadow with a herd of cows grazing on it so peacefully but also, to my horror, what looked suspiciously like a bull! I stood transfixed: looking at them filled me with dread; how could I face walking through all those animals?

Realising the farmhouse windows were facing the meadow, and perhaps someone was watching at that very moment, I just had to be brave. Gingerly I opened the gate and slipped through, also taking care to shut if after me. I was absolutely terrified, and I could imagine how poor Daniel felt when he was thrown into the lions den, but I had committed myself and I could only go forward.

There was a track on the left side which eventually led to the farmhouse, so I gingerly started to walk along it. The cows were everywhere, some even on the path, and they looked so enormous, with huge horns which made them look so frightening. But as I walked toward them, they sidled off the track and, thank goodness, the way was now clear as I breathed again.

When I reached the house, I timidly knocked on the door. Quite soon it was opened by, I presumed, the farmer’s wife. Ah, you must be the new land girl I am expecting, she said, and invited me in. I put my case down on the kitchen floor and we shook hands. By the lovely smell coming from the oven a meal was well on the way.

Come on, she said, and I’ll show you your bedroom. I picked up my case and followed her up the stairs and into a small bedroom which seemed very cheerful, but with a tiny window which looked onto the orchard and lots of meadows. The door was more like a garden gate and fastened with a sneck, or latch, but with no lock I noticed. On the bed was a parcel which turned out to be my uniform. I’ll leave you now and get on with the dinner, she said, and off she went down the stairs.

I was very eager to see what was in my parcel so started to explore what the army had sent me. There was a thick, long-sleeved sweater, Aertex buff-coloured shirts, dungarees and a short coat to wear with them, a ‘bum-warmer’ coat and a fawn hat with a badge. Strong walking shoes with studs and steel plates were also included. Then I found the breeches, and I could just not believe it. Everything was my size except the cord breeches. I measured them, and they were four sizes too large for me.

Guessing I would be working after lunch, I decided to change into some of these new clothes. Everything fitted except those monstrous breeches: how could I wear them? After hunting around I found a belt off my mac and threaded it through the loops of the breeches, then pulling it tight around my waist. I thought, well it is passable, that was until I looked at my behind in the mirror. I couldn’t believe my eyes, the sight was unbelievable, what a twit I looked! A sack of potatoes tied in the middle would have been a good description, but the worst sight was when I stood up: the bulge at the back….well, it looked as if I was still sitting down. There was just nothing I could do, I could not go in the fields without them, that would cause a storm! The only comfortable thing I knew was at least they wouldn’t fall down.

With that thought in my head, I walked downstairs and into the kitchen. Mrs Antwhistle seemed to be very busy cooking lunch, so I decided to go outside and have a look around. I could see a tractor in the distance and before long it came into the yard. There were four people hanging on to it, three men and a land-girl. Mr Antwhistle jumped off first and made straight for me. I noticed he looked quite disappointed at my size but I didn’t blame him for that. Later, I saw some hefty land-girls heaving stuff around like a man. Probably, when the lads came of age they would join the forces and leave him. Ah, you’ve arrived, he said; We will go and have lunch and then we’ll get to know each other better.

When we sat down at the table for lunch, I met the whole family: three small children, two girls and a boy. They talked quite freely to me; the older girl was six and went to school, the other little girl was four and the boy three. They chattered away to me which was nice and friendly, so the meal was enjoyable. The farmer asked what was my religion, which at the time seemed strange to me. However, I told him I was ‘Church of England’. His wife then had a little giggle which I also thought rather odd. It was not long before I found out he was a ‘bit of a lad.’

Lunch over, I was told by the farmer