Admittedly, when it really poured with rain, we did usually leave the field work and go and do work 'around the buildings.' But as a number of the roofs let in water, and as most of the jobs around the buildings seemed to involve a lot of going in and out, and as many of the spouts from the roofs were very good at scoring a bull's eye down your collar, there really wasn't much difference after all!
Many and varied were the wet weather jobs. Perhaps it would be mending sacks - a rather boring job, making huge darns with a sack needle and 'Massey Harris' band, which was very rough on the hands. But it had its compensations, for at least I could find a dry spot and stay there. The meal shed in the field, which was quite near to the ponds was a good spot for this, for I could sit on a sack, and darn away, while at the same time I was able to keep an eye on the activity of any birds on the pond.
Or perhaps Mr. Pick would say, 'Well Mary, its too wet to be on the land this morning. What about taking Prince to George Long's?'
George Long was the blacksmith, and a typical blacksmith he was too. The forge was a fascinating place, and I liked this job. I would go to the stable for Prince, bring him out and give him a drink at the trough as we passed. Once on the road side, I would shut the gate, climb to the top of it and from there to Prince's back. And off I would go down the lane, riding astride and bareback and wishing this could go on indefinitely. Turning into the main York Road, Prince completely ignored the traffic, and plodded along without any trouble. Eventually we would arrive at the forge, and I would tie the halter rope to a huge iron ring in the wall. If the blacksmith was busy, I would have time to look round. There was always a marvelous assortment of harrows, wheels, ploughshares, and farm tools of every variety lying around waiting to be mended, and the yard outside was always filled with a miscellaneous collection of machines. An intriguing place this, and I could have spent hours in it. It was always warm, too, from the huge furnace which leapt into flames a s the blacksmith worked the bellow in preparation for shoeing Prince. I loved to watch him as he lifted a big hoof between his knees, and with a few quick movements took off the old shoe, which fell to the floor with a clang. Then he would measure a new shoe against Prince's hoof, drop the foot and take the shoe across to the furnace.
When it was red hot, he would take it out with some big tongs, put it on the anvil, and hammer it to the required shape, making the sparks fly in all directions. Then there would follow a great spluttering and sizzling as he plunged it into a bucket of water to cool it. At last it would be ready, and he would lift the hoof again, and we would immediately be enveloped in a cloud of smoke as he put the hot iron onto the hoof. I have never smelt anything else remotely like that smoke. It made my eyes and throat smart, and yet I liked it and would go closer for more.
The shoe would be ready to nail, and Mr. Long would stick a few huge nails with thick oblong heads into his mouth, and remove them one at a time to hammed them in. I wondered whether blacksmiths ever had girls as apprentices. I believe I might have made a good blacksmith!
This process would be repeated for each foot, and we would be ready for off. Once or twice when it was exceptionally cold, the blacksmith's wife came in with a beaker of hot tea for me. And very acceptable it was too, as I sat on a large wheel-hub near the anvil and chatted about farming in general, feeling a regular 'farmer's boy' as Mr. Long how the various crops were coming on. Later he would give me a leg up onto the horse's back again, and off we would jog on our homeward way.
It was quite another matter when it came to taking Dolly to be shod. The first time I took her, I imagined that it would be pretty much the same as taking Prince. We started well, and reached the main road uneventfully. But we had barely turned into it when along came a huge Army lorry, filled with rattling cans and a few soldiers singing at the top of their voices. Dolly took one look, and almost shot from under me. I grabbed her mane and hung on, for that was all I had to hang on to. I prefer not to remember the next few minutes! Needless to say, I slid off as soon as got her slowed down a bit, and led her for the remainder of the way. And never again did I attempt to ride Dolly on a main road.
One job we often did when it was wet, was to boil pig potatoes. In the corner of the meal-house was an old copper, and I enjoyed pouring water into this, lighting a fire under it, and filling the boiler with pig potatoes which I had washed in an old bath outside. Then I would do other jobs, and occasionally come back to give them a stir, or stoke up the fire. When they were cooked I would shovel them out and pound them with a thick piece of wood until they were soft. The pigs loved this, and so did the cats. The mallards got their share too in the winter, for Mr. Pick would put heaps of it out on the ice of the ponds for them.
Another job which I liked was making stack-prods for thatching the stacks. These were long, straight ash shoot, cut from the hedges. I like to sit on some straw in one of the sheds, and sharpen the ends of each one with my penknife to a point, then wind a ball of string round the centre of the stick, and stack them together in a corner until they were needed. On this job I really did keep dry.
Once or twice in very wet weather, we brushed down the long festoons of cobwebs from the roof of the stable and cow house, and then whitewashed the ceiling and walls. And once when it was pouring with rain I plastered a wall in the kitchen. It was in bad repair, and under the window ledge there was a hole through to the outside. This caused a terrific draught, straight to where we sat around the table for meals. So I was really glad of a chance to fill it in with one or two bricks and some cement, then with plaster. It looked much better too, and if it wasn't quite professional at least I made sure it kept out the winds. And after Mrs. Pick had papered it, it really looked quite good.
Mrs. Pick never seemed to feel the cold and draughts at all. She said she had her own built-in central heating!
The front door had a hole through it too. Only a knothole in the wood, but it was not very pleasant when a freezing wind blew in that direction, as the door opened straight from the garden into the sitting room. I cured that one with a wide piece of sticking plaster, and it held for years!
Whenever there had been a very strong wind, Mr. Pick would get a ladder and go up on the roof to put the tiles in place again. A very necessary job. Between the boards of the bedroom I had at first I could see the stars glimmering. But after a while I moved to a bedroom over the kitchen, which I liked much better.
When the winds were at gale force, I didn't much enjoy going into the fold, for the whole roof swayed with each gust.
One wet day I got a lovely job. Mr. Pick said would I take the old iron-shod cart into Easingwold and leave it to have new wheels put on, and bring the horse back. I loved to drive a horse and cart, so I set off happily. I harnessed Prince, led him out to the stackyard, yoked him to the cart shafts, and set off up the lane.
Rounding a corner, I heard a sudden clatter at the road side, and looking round I saw that a wooden spoke had fallen out of the wheel. I picked it up, put it in the cart, climbed up and set off again. Rounding the station corner we lost another spoke, and another at the bottom of Chapel Street.
I wondered how many were needed to hold the wheel together, and hope it wouldn't collapse before we arrived. However we got there safely, and I enjoyed driving Prince amongst the buses, lorries and cars in Easingwold. It was the first time I had taken the cart beyond the station by myself, but Prince behaved beautifully.
Leaving the cart, I got a leg up onto his back, and rode him back to the farm.
Sometimes on wet days I would help Mrs. Pick with the butter churning, turning the big barrel-shaped churn until the sound told us that the contents had turned to butter.
One day I helped Mr. Pick to dress the barley seed with a red powder (Cerosan, I think it was) to protect it from any disease when it was sown.
That same afternoon, Mr. Pick set a rat-trap in a hollow near the top of a stack where the hens had been laying for some weeks. For a number of days, the eggs had been disappearing, and he found that they were being eaten by a couple of magpies. Hence the trap, put in the nest, covered with chaff, and anchored by a piece of string to the top of the ladder. He left an egg in the nest, and we kept the hens fastened up for the day. Sure enough, as I went past the stack later in the day, there was a magpie flapping around caught in the trap by its feet. I went up the ladder, for I knew the trap must be re-set quickly if we were to stand a chance of getting the second magpie. I grabbed it by the legs, narrowly missing a stab from its cruel-looking beak, released the trap, and wedged the magpie under my arm so that I could re-set the trap and come down the ladder.
Much as I dislike magpies, I didn't relish the next part, for I had to kill the bird. I was glad that I knew how to do it properly and speedily, and it was over in a second.
A week or two before this, Mr. Pick had shown me how to wring the neck of a young cockerel, then handed one to me, and left me to do it. It was a few minutes before I could bring myself to so the job. Bu the first time was the worst, and after a while I got quite used to it.
The second magpie met a similar fate later in that same afternoon, and the next day we collected ten eggs from that nest.
We spent one afternoon sorting out the laying hens from one hut, as Mrs. Pick had a number of orders for dressed poultry to supply.
Mr. Pick showed me how to measure the distance between the pelvis bones of a hen. If wide enough to take two fingers easily between them, then it was pretty certain the hen was a good layer.
I quite enjoyed working amongst hens though I still think they are silly creatures.
Altogether, in spite of the thick mud which oozed around our feet, especially in all the gate-ways, I found that wet weather could bring along some varied and interesting jobs.