The Farmer's Daughter Read Free

wheat,’ he told her, as they took their leave of Mr and Mrs Harris and he fell into step beside her. ‘I’ll lend a hand with yours like I usually do.’
    â€˜We’re waiting for the reaper,’ Jean said. Because theColemans only had a very small acreage they did not own a reaper-binder but hired one by the day. Jean had put in a request for it and was waiting to be told when it would be her turn to use it. There was only one field to cut; given good weather, it could be done in a day.
    â€˜Let me know when it’s coming and I’ll alert everyone.’ He meant the villagers who traditionally helped each other at harvest time.
    â€˜Thank you.’
    He let the others go on ahead and took her hand. ‘You are looking tired, Jean. Looking after that farm is too much for you.’
    â€˜I manage.’
    â€˜If you need any help with jobs, just let me know.’
    â€˜Thanks, but you’ve got enough to do on your own farm,’ she said. ‘And it’s not just a few jobs, it’s everything. I’ve advertised for a farm worker but so far I’ve had no reply.’
    â€˜Well, you wouldn’t, would you? Try the Land Army.’
    â€˜Would they be better than the Italians?’ The Italian POWs had been reclassed as collaborators since Italy had changed sides. They were allowed a certain amount of freedom and made full use of it.
    â€˜Lord, yes. The men are far more interested in singing and flirting than work and they will down tools at the first excuse. Either it’s too hot or too cold or too wet. I wouldn’t like to think of one of them annoying you.’
    â€˜Do you think I can’t look after myself?’
    â€˜You’re a woman and a very pretty one at that.’
    She laughed at the unexpected compliment. ‘A woman doing a man’s job. There are lots of us doing that, you know.’
    â€˜I know. I wish you didn’t have to.’
    â€˜I don’t mind. I just want to find some help from somewhere.We managed while Pa was well, but now it’s all getting on top of me.’
    â€˜You would have to apply to the War Ag.’ He said, using the popular name for the War Agricultural Executive Committee, an arm of the Ministry of Agriculture. ‘They do the allocation of labour.’
    â€˜Thanks, I will. In the meantime the boys can help when the school holidays begin.’
    â€˜OK, the offer’s there if you want it. I must go or Ma will be worrying where I’ve got to. Fancy the pictures on Saturday?’
    On Saturday evenings, Jean usually allowed herself a little leisure. Sometimes they went to the cinema in Wisbech, sometimes to a dance or to listen to a talk in the village hall which might be about any subject the organisers thought might interest the population: natural history, what other people were doing for the war effort, cookery, jam-making, make do and mend.
    â€˜Yes, I’d like that.’
    â€˜OK, I’ll call for you at six-thirty.’ He veered off towards the middle of the village and Jean hurried to catch up with her parents.
    As they approached the farmhouse from the lane, she was filled with a feeling of pride and love for the place which had been her home all the twenty years of her life. It was a large rambling structure of brick and flint, typical of the area, with small windows and a pantile roof. On one side, across the concrete yard were the farm buildings; stable, cowshed, and barn. The house and outbuildings were unusually extensive, considering the small acreage they farmed. According to her father, there had once been at least twice as much but, in the bad farming years at the end of the last century, her grandfather could not afford to pay the wages of his labourers and had reduced his holding, leaving only as much as the family could manage.
    The war, with its emphasis on feeding the population, had made a big difference. There were subsidies and fixed prices to