As told by Mrs. Laura Briggs, 16 years old and ready for muck boots.

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In September 1941, while most girls were daydreaming about dances and dresses, young Laura Briggs was handed a pitchfork and a pair of sturdy boots. She was one of just five brave recruits Mr. George Howie, the Agricultural Organiser, managed to sign up by autumn. Recruitment had started in May, but with bad weather and a promotion parade so soggy the band refused to play (“instruments must be kept dry, dear”), it was hardly the fanfare they’d hoped for.

Still, wartime farming needed hands, and if hands weren’t volunteered, they were sometimes conscripted—refusal could cost you £5 a day (a king’s ransom in those days).

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Work to Make a Tractor Blush

Laura rolled up her sleeves at places like Knockaloe and Ballamona. The job list?

• Milking cows (sometimes with a song to keep the milk flowing)

• Mucking out (a polite way of saying shovelling muck until your back ached)

• Feeding pigs, calves, and the odd hen who fancied herself a barn inspector

• Thinning endless rows of kale and turnips for a princely sixpence or sevenpence per 100 yards

• Wrestling hammer mills and threshing machines

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She lived right there on the farms-nno running water, no electricity, just lantern light and the warmth of being treated like part of the family. Days started at 5:45 AM, rain or shine.

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Uniforms & Unfashionables

In the early days, Laura wore cut-down overalls made from her father’s work clothes. But in 1942, the Land Girls’ official kit arrived:

• Brown leather boots

• Thick woolly socks

• Riding breeches

• Aertex shirt & green pullover

• Khaki dungarees for summer

No waterproofs, mind you. If it poured, you just got wet and carried on.

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From Hands to Machines

Milking was first done by hand, and Laura swore it kept the cows happier. “A good song works wonders,” she’d say. Eventually, the Alpha Levall milking machine was brought in-quicker, but only as good as the girl using it.

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Hard Work, Harder Fun

Life wasn’t all toil. There were Sunday School picnics, GFS socials, fundraising concerts, and the occasional dance, though one trip to the cinema in Peel was interrupted by a Knockaloe Camp riot, complete with Metropolitan Police.

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The End That Came Too Soon

When the Land Army was disbanded, Mr. Howie reckoned it was too early. Men returning from service couldn’t fill the gap. Laura left with a hernia from lifting, no gratuity, just ten clothing coupons, and unlike the English girls, no certificate from the Queen.

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But she never regretted it. “It made me who I am,” she said. “I’d do it all again.”

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This is the grit-and-glory spirit of the Manx Land Girls—boots muddy, hair windswept, hearts proud.