The quiet of the cornfield

After the combine harvester and baler have done their work the cornfield is quiet except for the cackle of rooks which descend looking for slugs and morsels to eat. Farm labour is minimal today. In hours we have one and three-quarter men and additional when teamwork is needed. When I first arrived here, we had a dairy as well and the workforce was five. T's first year back from New Zealand it was just him which nearly broke him and jobs were left incomplete as he tried to manage everything.

From "Jefferies England" first published in 1937:

"One day I observed a farmer's courtyard completely filled with groups of men, women and children, who had come travelling round to do the harvesting. They had with them a small cart or van - not of the kind which the show folk use as moveable dwellings, but for the purpose of carrying their pots, pans, and the like. The greater number carry their burdens on their backs, trudging afoot.

A gang of ten or twelve once gathered round me to inquire the direction of some spot they desired to reach. A powerful-looking woman, with reaping-hook in her hand and cooking implements over her shoulder, was the speaker. The rest did not appear to know a word of English, and her pronunciation was so peculiar that it was impossible to understand what she meant except for her gestures. I suppose she wanted to find a farm, the name of which I could not get at, and then perceiving she was not understood, her broad face flushed red and she poured out a flood of Irish in her excitement. The others chimed in, and the din redoubled. At last I caught the name of a town, and was able to point the way."

Often walking through the fields I find pottery shards, usually blue and white china, sometimes the Willow Pattern, and I think of the times past with picnics in the field. My mother-in-law at the end of a long day used to go down to the pub and return with jugs of cider for the field workers.