Hop Picking During The War

I hated hop picking. We started in 1938 to help pay for my sister's uniforms when she went to Ashford County School. At first my mother was slightly ashamed but soon entered ino the spirit and competition as to who could pick the most bushells. We had a half bin with the Worsleys having the other half. Mrs Worsley's father had been a police inspector in Tunbridge. The Worsleys were Scottish from thc 'Black Douglas' clan. (I learned much later my mother was from the Royal Stewart clan.) They supplied milk from theiir cows and coal. They also ran the fire station with their horse, which normally hauled the coal car, pulling the fire pump on its wooden wheels. Normally the horse had two speeds, stop or a slow amble, but once attached to the pump it would break into a gallop. The Worsleys were notoriously late starters so the milk was delivered in time for tea. I was let out early from hop picking to go home and cook my father's lunch - I still enjoy cooking. In 1939 I started at Cranbrook, having 'won' a scholarship. The hop fields were a great place to watch the Battle of Britain being fought overhead. At first we took cover in the ditches but soon ignored the spent bullets digging up the ground all around us. Then, in my school holidays; I delivered telegrams on my bike being paid by the mile - the beast was Frittenden for six pence. Later I was approached by one of the Days (local family who farmed all arpund Staplehurst) to be his 'bookie' in the hop fields for the great sum of 15 shillings a day. By that time I was specialising in maths at Cranbrook. I followed the measurer around entering the 'tally' into the farmer's master book and the picker's own book. Most of the larger ladies, from London, kept their books inside their bras for safety. One perk for the 'bookie' as I was called was the attention of the many pretty girls. Sometimes I slipped them an extra bushel with a knowing wink for my 15 years. After we moved to Tenterden I was again approaced by another of the farming Days who had been let down by his regular bookie. At 16 I was well into the ways of the world and regularly gave one of the girl pickers a lift on the crossbar of my bike. Two years later she was in the ATS and saluting me, a newly commissioned, snotty nosed, second lieutenant. To this day I still don't know why I didn't identify myself.