I was born in Stoke on Trent and joined the Womens’ Land Army in 1943 spending the war at a farm in Somerset.  After the war my parents suggested that if I did not wish to leave the Land Army I should be transferred to a farm nearer home.  So on 1st August 1946 I came to live and work at Church Farm, Whittington which was owned by Mr Sydney Baxter and his lovely wife. 

I can remember my first day at Whittington as if it were yesterday.

I caught the bus from Stoke to Lichfield having spent some time on leave with my family.  The bus took me to the old bus station, where I caught a second bound for Tamworth.  As the bus did not go through the village, I got off just before the turning for Common Lane and began my long walk.  It was an exceptionally hot day and I was dressed in full uniform complete with great coat and carrying two heavy suitcases.  The walk into Whittington seemed endless, but just as I was nearing the village I met a gentleman (Pat Withers) and asked him for directions to Church farm   “Just around the corner, my dear “he replied. Pat used to empty the meters. Every year until he passed away he would remember the anniversary of our conversation and would always say “I was the first person you spoke to in Whittington”. 

Mrs Baxter had got a wonderful meal waiting for me – one of many I was to enjoy in her home.  However, she was somewhat surprised to see me arrive under my own steam.   Mr Baxter had thought that I was travelling by train and had gone to the station to meet me! 

The Baxters had two sons, Gordon and Roy.  Mrs Baxter, along with Roy, took me up the back stairs to show me my room and half way up Roy pointed towards a bedroom door and whispered “See that room there, that’s where the ghost lives”.  He was a lively little boy and loved nothing more that to tag along on a Sunday afternoon with me and my date.

My chores around the farm involved milking and dairy work, unlike the much more demanding work in Somerset.  I also delivered milk to the village, the Barracks and Botany Bay by horse and cart.    My day started at 7am with the milking.  By the time I was ready to go on my rounds my pony and trap was waiting for me on the yard.  My horse was called Bess and she had a lovely nature.  The village was very quiet in those days and all you could hear in the morning was the clip clop of Bess’s hooves on the road.  Although the war was over milk was still rationed but I used to sneak a drop more for people with big families if I could spare it.  The milk was carried in big heavy cans and customers would have their jugs ready and waiting for when I called out “Milko”.  Pregnant women were entitled to 7 pints of milk a week, elderly people got more.  Bess knew the route by heart and would stop in the right place without any prompting by me.  When we had finished she would gallop home.  I remember a favourite trick of the band boys at the barracks was to blow their trumpets loud to startle her and make her bolt.  I soon became wise to them and would hold her reins tightly as we approached them!  When the weather was really bad, thick snow and ice, Mr Baxter would accompany me on the round.  However, he never got down from the cart!!

I met my husband during my stay at Baxters and we married on 26th June 1948.  Harry Wincup worked as a farm labourer in those days and was a very quiet chap.  However, he did use to come and help out with the milking, even when he wasn’t supposed to be there.  One Sunday morning he said “Don’t think I come here just to see you”.  Until then it hadn’t crossed my mind, but then…..  We were supposed to have married in the May but Harry was attacked by the bull in the farmyard and was lucky to escape with his life.  However, he made a full recovery and the wedding went ahead in Stoke.  A bus load of  Wincups, Bridgens, Clays and others headed towards the Potteries for the ceremony. 

Harry’s mother was a Bridgen before she was married and Harry was one of seven children, Bill, Ted, himself, Sid, Sylvia, Doug and Les.  Doug used to like to help out on the milk round. I stayed at Baxter’s until my first son Raymond was born in July 1949; we then went on to have David in 1952 and Alyson in 1958.  I have been very happy living in Whittington, have made many, many wonderful friends and have very happy memories of my early days here.