A Pullet On The Midden

by Rachel Knappett, Lynne Verrall (Narrator)

Rachel Knappett was sent, as a land girl, to Bath Farm in South-West Lancashire. Her friends were incredulous, thinking that the area was all coal mines and factories. She was the only land girl and, in fact, the only female, attached to a group of highly experienced laborers who were unused to working side by side with women. Initially they were highly doubtful of her ability to do the job, but gradually she came not only to earn their respect but their friendship.

Audio Cassette

First published January 6, 1998

Reviews

[Sylvester (Taking a break in 2023) · Rating 5 out of 5]

The title got me.( Loose translation = A chicken in the barnyard.) I love books with old words. And it was great for that, and for everything else. Here we have the story of Rachel, a Land Girl, learning the ropes on Bath Farm in South West Lancashire. She and another Land Girl, Marjorie, are the only female hands on the farm, and they have to learn everything from the beginning. But both women are hard-working and full of good humour - seeing the farmwork through their eyes was a pleasure. Rachel describes all the different aspects of the farm, the different crops (potatoes, corn, cabbages, etc.), planting and harvesting, the animals, and the people (I completely fell in love with the Irishmen, but then, I always do). I thoroughly enjoyed this book - there were a few pages that droned on a bit, but for the most part, I found the description of how things were done very interesting.( One day we will need books like these terribly - we will have completely forgotten how people managed, and farming like this will be a lost art.) Anyway, I'll include a couple paragraphs as a sample.

127) "The time I enjoy the bullocks most is on the great day when the winter is fading and the magic of spring is once more stirring the earth. Then the prison gates of the midden are thrown back {they are kept inside all winter} and the cattle are let out for a run in the pasture.
At first they step forth gingerly, not knowing what lies ahead. They gaze wonderingly at men with sticks guarding all the gaps except the one leading to the pasture. They smell the cindered yard doubtingly and enquire plainly with their eyes what this is all about. Then one of them throws up his head and snorts. He has caught the smell of new grass borne on the spring air. He charges like a mad thing into the pasture with all the others behind him. Then all the lot of them go crazy. After the long winter they are free again. They tear around the field, their hoofs thundering and their tails on end. They fight each other, horns to horns, foreheads to foreheads, slipping and slithering over the damp grass. They bound, kicking their heels into the air, they jostle each other. Finally they form into an irregular mass and gallop steadily round and round, up and down, with a terrific gambol every few yards. It is quite impossible to watch them without feeling a tremendous surge of exhilaration which nearly forces one to go mad with them.
After a time, they become a little quieter, and start nibbling joyously at the sweet grass, which must taste so lovely after the roots and chaff. They must feel as we would fell if, after a long diet of biscuit, someone presented us with an enormous peach. In spite of the grass, they cannot graze normally for some time. Every now and then one of them is overcome, infecting all with madness. Away they go again, tearing, galloping and crazy, making this the grandest day of the year."