Children having holidays to help with Potato picking. Does anybody have memories of this they would like to share.
Source A Short Geography of Lincolnshire.
Vistor comments
5 Responses
I am Roy Whitney, 91 years old. Birth place, Poynton, Cheshire.
This extract may be of interest from my unpublished book, “Memories of my Childhood -Teenage Years during World War 2 ”
Potato Picking
During the early years of the war, it was a regular custom that towards the end of August, we village children would be enlisted to assist in gathering in the harvest, mainly potatoes, which meant potato picking.
It took shape like this. George Arnold, a farmer’s son, came into the village calling us younger lads, and girls together and telling us: “You are potato picking today”.
That was the simple message, and that is exactly what we did. We picked potatoes, all that day, and as many days as we were needed.
Potato picking is hard physical work. And guess what? We got very hungry, I certainly did.
What a delight, and relief it was to see Mrs Arnold, the farmer’s wife coming towards us in the fields, carrying heavy baskets containing butties (sandwiches) and tea at mid-morning and mid-afternoon. We called it “Baggin”, an old Poyntonian adjective, as we picked ever more potatoes.
The highlight of the day was dinner in the Barn. We had as many chips as we could eat, and a plentiful supply of drinks. But, ever so soon, it was back to work, and more potato picking.
I am Roy Whitney, 91 years old. Birth place, Poynton, Cheshire.
This extract may be of interest from my unpublished book, “Memories of my Childhood -Teenage Years during World War 2 ”
Somewhat closer to home was Jones’ Farm, and Mr Jones had a horse called Captain. He was used to do all sorts of different jobs. On one occasion, I remember well, Captain was harnessed with another horse pulling the potato thrower, similar to the set up shown in the photo below. But, the one I am describing was a two horse powered machine!
(Cannot paste photo)
All went well for a while, two or three rows of potatoes had been thrown, and picked. Then Captain decided he didn’t want to pull the potato thrower anymore, so he sat down.
It was comical to watch the farmhand using all sorts of coaxing methods to get him up again and carry on pulling the thrower. Eventually he was successful, the farmhand, I mean! We were then able to carry on with our work.
5 Responses
I am Roy Whitney, 91 years old. Birth place, Poynton, Cheshire.
This extract may be of interest from my unpublished book, “Memories of my Childhood -Teenage Years during World War 2 ”
Potato Picking
During the early years of the war, it was a regular custom that towards the end of August, we village children would be enlisted to assist in gathering in the harvest, mainly potatoes, which meant potato picking.
It took shape like this. George Arnold, a farmer’s son, came into the village calling us younger lads, and girls together and telling us: “You are potato picking today”.
That was the simple message, and that is exactly what we did. We picked potatoes, all that day, and as many days as we were needed.
Potato picking is hard physical work. And guess what? We got very hungry, I certainly did.
What a delight, and relief it was to see Mrs Arnold, the farmer’s wife coming towards us in the fields, carrying heavy baskets containing butties (sandwiches) and tea at mid-morning and mid-afternoon. We called it “Baggin”, an old Poyntonian adjective, as we picked ever more potatoes.
The highlight of the day was dinner in the Barn. We had as many chips as we could eat, and a plentiful supply of drinks. But, ever so soon, it was back to work, and more potato picking.
Thank you. Please use photos and would love more memories. Regards Geoff
Many thanks, very much appreciated, Roy
I am Roy Whitney, 91 years old. Birth place, Poynton, Cheshire.
This extract may be of interest from my unpublished book, “Memories of my Childhood -Teenage Years during World War 2 ”
Somewhat closer to home was Jones’ Farm, and Mr Jones had a horse called Captain. He was used to do all sorts of different jobs. On one occasion, I remember well, Captain was harnessed with another horse pulling the potato thrower, similar to the set up shown in the photo below. But, the one I am describing was a two horse powered machine!
(Cannot paste photo)
All went well for a while, two or three rows of potatoes had been thrown, and picked. Then Captain decided he didn’t want to pull the potato thrower anymore, so he sat down.
It was comical to watch the farmhand using all sorts of coaxing methods to get him up again and carry on pulling the thrower. Eventually he was successful, the farmhand, I mean! We were then able to carry on with our work.
Thanks Geoff