Harkness – MacGillivray Stories

When I turned 11, when my brothers were 15, 16 and 18 years old, I had been tasked to carry on the ‘proud’ family tradition of potato-picking for Higgins. On the other hand, Sandy, Alistair, and Stuart, had moved on to ‘bigger and better’ things – working in a canning factory, amongst other jobs. With tradition, I also carried with me memories with boils and lumbago. You can read about how that started in: Child Labour in Post-war Britain.

Pulling a wagon load of kids, Higgins would drive us out to the potato field with his tractor. Like the ‘plot system’, or the 3-field system of the Middle Ages, everyone was given a ‘plot’. This was measured out by one of Higgins’ labourers using pitchforks stuck in the ground. Then, each child ‘serf’ was given an equal plot to work on.

Incredibly, the advanced industrial society of Britain in the 1950s was still using pitchforks! Of course, we had never heard of Wat Tyler and the “Peasants’ Revolt” of 1381! There, peasants armed with pitchforks demanded better economic conditions. Otherwise, we had perhaps protested against our low pay. 

The Devious Plan

It soon became evident to me that the smaller the plot, the less spuds there would be to pick. I also realized that by moving my pitchforks closer together, I would have a smaller plot. With that, I would get fewer spuds to pick.

I started looking for the perfect opportunity to narrow my plot. When I thought everybody was looking the other way, I lifted up one of the pitchforks. Next, I moved it a yard or two closer to the other pitchfork of my plot, plunging it down into the soft earth as hard as I could.

Unfortunately, while keeping an eye open to make sure nobody saw me execute my devious plan, I inadvertently put the fork straight through my own foot! Miraculously, I didn’t feel a thing. That also probably meant the spike might have bypassed all the nerves. I drew the pitchfork out of my foot and plunged it back into the earth again.

The Aftermath

I carried on working, embarrassed by my failed plan. After working for two or three more days, I developed a backache. Thinking it was just normal considering we worked like donkeys, so I didn’t think too much of it. So I kept the hole in my foot a secret because telling anyone how the hole got there was almost worse than dealing with it in silence. It wouldn’t look good since I was already suspected of throwing hundreds of newspapers over a wall when I was doing paper rounds. That was also a task I took over from Sandy. 

After picking potatoes for two or three days, it became evident that a blonde boy had taken over Sandy’s role as ‘Hero Potato Picker’. On the fourth day of the week, Thursday, I could hardly pick potatoes anymore as my back was getting stiffer and stiffer.

The Redundancy

Higgins saw that I wasn’t much use and paid me off making me redundant. I was quite disappointed as I didn’t receive full pay. It also meant I would not be given the ‘Hero Award’. He gave me my redundancy pay of £1 2s 6d for four days work. The £1 2s 6d was one pound two shillings and 6 pennies. I always wondered how pennies were abbreviated ‘d’. It was only until later on that I learned that the Latin word for the penny coin was denarius, explaining the abbreviation. 

Walking home with my tail between my legs, I shamefacedly gave my mother the £1 2s 6d (about $1). I know this seems like it isn’t much; though it was not much for a four-day wage, it had its purchasing power back then. My mother smiled and said, “It’s alright, don’t worry”. She gave me 2s 6d from my wages and said with a smile, “Here is some pocket money for you.”  

“But what about the other £1?” I asked.

“We’ll need it to buy you a pair of new shoes,” she answered.

I didn’t put much thought into her answer, but could not argue with a plan to get me a new pair of shoes. With my hard-earned money, I went down to the shops to spend my 2s 6d (about 10 cents). I also bought a large bottle of Tizer (Lancashire soda pop).

In retrospect, 10 cents is not much pay for four days work, a hole in your foot, and a back injury! Although this didn’t really occur to me at the time, but was recorded unconsciously on my ‘hard disk’ as a point of ‘injustice’ of my childhood experiences.

Facing the Consequences

Eventually, we went to the doctor called Doctor Cameron. He simply said, “Don’t worry, it’s just lumbago.” He then looked at the boil on the underside of my foot, and without further ado took out a scalpel and sliced it off in a jiff. 

“It’s common; during the potato-picking season, I always have a few worried parents coming here with their kids. He needs to rest in bed for two or three days and he’ll be as right as rain before you know it,” Doctor Cameron tried to reassure my mother.  

A faced a more dire consequence about lumbago when I returned to school and had to tell my teacher about it. You can read more about that here: Favoritism in the Classroom