He had the best view

He had the best view

Probably the best job

Sitting on the tractor

Churning up the earth

Turning up potatoes

The farmer's boy

A jammy, privileged son

With an eye for the ladies

And a wicked grin

He was a wolf

Make no mistake

Not somebody to turn your back on

In a darkened room.

We stood by, waiting

In our own designated spot,

A stretch is what we called it,

Tied around our waists,

A piece of hessian cloth

Torn from a sack.

It was back-breaking

Raking up the spuds

The cloth gathered in one hand

As a makeshift basket

Emptied into the waiting sacks

All standing in a row

From one end of the field

Unto the other.

I worked with my older brother

It took two of us to lift

A full sack up onto the trailer

Later we would ride back to the farm

Sitting on lumpy ‘taters

Singing shake rattle and roll

We were like extras

In a Rogers and Hammerstein musical,

Oklahoma

Where the corn grows as high

As an elephant’s eye.

We ate our tucker

Together

Lying on bales of hay

There was no music there

No time left to play

We ate spam sandwiches

Blackberries from the briar

Warmed our hands

On an open fire

In a brazier

Made from an old dustbin

Good for roasting chestnuts

And potatoes

To eat later

In the ten-minute break for tea

At three

Before the final stretch

Of gathering

When we would pick the last King Edwards

Of the day

And then collapse

In a tired heap of cheap labour

On those handy bales of hay.