September

By September the crops were ripe and gold. It was time for the harvest. Out in the fields a space around the gates was opened up with a scythe then the self-binder was brought in to cut wide swathes. It would go round and around working inwards towards the centre of the field. The sheaves shot out of the back of the self-binder and just lay there in the sun. The men followed along set the sheaves upright by leaning them together in groups of eight. They formed hut-like structures known as stooks. Every farmer seemed to have his own idea for the formation of a stook, each farmer passing judgement on his neighbours method. When they had stood long enough for the wind and sun to dry them, they were ready for loading and carting back to the ‘rick’ yard. Those were long days, often not finished until the sun was setting.
Threshing days were difficult days too. From the moment the great belt started to rotate between engine and thresher, and the drum in the thresher itself began its loud monotone hum, there was no respite. Sheaves were fed into the bowels of the machine with relentless regularity. Out came the corn, straw and chaff, all separated. Men ran up granary steps carrying heavy sacks of grain. But the lightest and dirtiest job was collecting the chaff, which would be used in winter for bedding.
There were always a few times when the thresher would break down. Men would stand around idle. No one worked but they still had to be fed and paid. Various things could go wrong. A belt could break, a fan blade break off the blower, a shaft could fly apart or the grain pan just become clogged. Someone would be sent into ‘Isons’, the ironmonger at Ashby, for a part so that work could resume as quickly as possible. Men got tired, but it was not nerve-tiring - simply physically tiring. The next morning they were ready to start again. Grandma, with some help from a village girl, cooked mounds of food for the work gangs. Stews, roasts, huge bowls of potatoes and vegetables weighted the kitchen table down. Fruit pies and custards filled the side board.
September also meant the Ashby Statutes. Ashby-de-la-Zouch was well known for its annual September fair. The fair had a round-about, swings, a cake walk, a Ferris wheel, a Helter Skelter and dodgems. There were many stalls selling everything from clothes to pottery. Originally the Ashby Fair had been a hiring fair for servants and labourers seeking to change their employment. In former times they would arrive at the fair wearing a ribbon in their hair, but this practice had long gone out of style when I was young. When I was about ten years old, I won a bread knife on a draw at the Fair. I proudly gave it to my Mother and she used it all her life.
I greeted the new school year with less enthusiasm when September arrived. On clear mornings I would wait for the bus while sitting on a milk churn and watched for skylarks as they rose higher and higher into the sky singing all the way. I used to wonder if their stomachs rose in their mouths as mine did when I was on the Ferris wheel.