Lilies on the Land

the Lion Part, the Lions part

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2015
• Print ISBN:
  9781848421134
• eBook ISBN:
  9781780015309
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

A revealing, funny and wonderfully moving portrait of four women who sign up to join the Women's Land Army during World War II.

Based on one hundred and fifty letters and interviews with original Land Girls, along with songs from the period, Lilies on the Land charts the personal journeys of four women who join the Women's Land Army – determined to work endless backbreaking hours on farms across the country in a bid to do their best for the War Effort.

But how do these women, all hailing from different walks of life, torn from their families and bereft of all basic home comforts, deal with the hardships of farming life and the pressures of war? Maybe work clothes full of mice and toilet rolls falling from the sky are just what it takes for these girls to get through…

Lilies on the Land was devised and first performed by the Lions part in a 2001 touring production. It was revived at the Arts Theatre in the West End in 2010, and then toured in 2011 and 2012.

This edition includes notes on staging and performing the play.

ACT ONE

1939–1942

It is now Sunday 24th January 1965. The play moves to autumn 1939, as the women recall when they joined the Women’s Land Army.

Radio playing BBC Home Service.

MARGIE: In a bedroom, rollers in her hair, dress on, applying her make-up at the mirror.

PEGGY: In a farmhouse kitchen, in an apron, at a table, preparing lunch for the family.

POPPY: In a drawing room, wearing her coat, ready to go to church, with flowers.

VERA: In the kitchen/diner of a small flat, wearing a robe, with a coffee, about to start typing.

It is 8 a.m. The BBC announces Winston Churchill’s death.

POPPY. He’s gone –

PEGGY. Shush –

MARGIE. The old bugger –

VERA. He jilted us –

Radio comes up and fades out.

PEGGY. Well I’m blowed… (Calls.) Jim…

POPPY. So many… so many…

MARGIE. Oh my God… I’m going to be late…

VERA. He jilted us.

The radio continues with Churchill’s speech.

CHURCHILL’S VOICE. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France,

We shall fight on the seas and oceans,

We shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be,

We shall fight on the beaches,

We shall fight on the landing grounds,

We shall fight in the fields and in the streets,

We shall fight in the hills.

We shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God’s good time, the new world, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.

The radio broadcast fades and ends under the WOMEN’s voices.

MARGIE. Eee, that darned poster.

VERA. Jumper and breeches.

PEGGY. ‘Lend a Hand on the Land.’

POPPY. A girl, head held high, golden hair, smiling and proud…

PEGGY. On a hayrick.

POPPY. That’s what started it for me.

MARGIE. In me mind’s eye, I saw before us green fields…

PEGGY. Crops of vegetables.

POPPY. Perhaps flowers.

MARGIE. All things bright and beautiful.

VERA. Girls in green and beige…

VERA and MARGIE. Their faces and arms…

VERA, MARGIE and PEGGY. Tanned…

ALL. Hair flowing in the breeze…

POPPY. And wielding a pitchfork! My mother wanted me to join the WRNS: elegant and sophisticated; admirals and their wives were all prepared to pull appropriate strings.

VERA. ‘Dig for Victory.’

PEGGY. ‘Your Country Needs You…’

MARGIE. The Army and all of them were in Newcastle at the time. You couldn’t see anything for uniforms

POPPY. Men in uniform.

MARGIE. And I wanted one.

PEGGY. I had the choice of domestic work in hospitals, the NAAFI, or the Women’s Land Army. Well hospitals was out cos I was a bit squeamish, and the NAAFI, well, my mother vetoed that. ‘You’ll be serving strong drink to men over the counter, over my dead body.’ So that left the Land Army… ‘A nice healthy outdoor occupation for a lass.’ But I didn’t know one end of a cow from the other.

VERA. Well, I’d just been to college and I worked in a bank, a reserved profession. I wasn’t allowed to wear trousers and I loved the look of the breeches. So I thought, well maybe, I’ll join the Land Army, do something for the War Effort. When I talked to my boss, he was very unpleasant about it, he said I was making things difficult for him. My stepmother was horrified: ‘You’re wasting your education. You’ll soon be bored working with yokels who are wood from the neck up.’ The next day, I went and signed up.

MARGIE. I wrote to the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries for the necessary forms. I found a lot of questions to be answered…

QUESTION ONE (POPPY). What type of land work would you like to do?

MARGIE. I put Market Gardening and Horticulture.

QUESTION TWO (VERA). Which part of Britain would you prefer?

MARGIE. I put the South of England, thinking that most of the fruit and veg was grown there.

QUESTION THREE (PEGGY). Would you care to be privately billeted or hostel billeted?

MARGIE. I put hostel billeted, as I thought it would be nicer to work along with other girls and have the company. However, they didn’t take any notice of my replies and I was recruited out to a ‘private farm’ in Murphy Tyers, Murphy Hill, outside Darlington.

PEGGY. I was surprised to find I had to go to Oxford Street for my interview. I stood in front of this lady, with what I call a five-pound-note voice. She twirled a gold pencil continuously in her long fingers, as she fired a barrage of questions at me:

INTERVIEW LADY. ‘Do you think it’s all going to be feeding chickens with lovely weather?’

PEGGY. ‘I have been hop-picking, you know, since the age of three.’ Well, she jumped back as if I had fleas.

POPPY. For my interview, I was wearing a stylish new cotton frock that my aunt had made for me. It had a red-and-black pleated skirt and a splash of poppies on the bodice, I borrowed my friend’s high-heeled sandals, and to complete the picture, my hair was piled on top with two ringlets hanging over my forehead – which was, after all, the fashion and it looked great on Veronica Lake. My gaze went to the poster. The Land Girl was smiling, as though advertising toothpaste, and… dressed in a uniform. ‘Am I prepared to swap my dress style for that?’

MARGIE. When I got home from work one day, there was me uniform. ‘Parcel upstairs for you, Marge.’ Pop had put it on the bed for us.

ALL. Two green jumpers.

Two pairs of breeches.

VERA. (Good.)

ALL. Two overall coats.

POPPY. (In light khaki.)

ALL. Two pairs of dungarees.

Six pairs of long socks.

PEGGY. (Woollen.)

ALL. Three Aertex shirts.

VERA. (Shapeless.)

ALL. One pair of ankle boots –

POPPY. (Those boots, Mummy wept when she saw them.)

ALL. One pair of shoes.

One pair of gumboots.

POPPY. (Wellingtons.)

MARGIE. (For when it’s wet.)

ALL. One hat.

MARGIE. (Gorgeous.)

ALL. One green tie.

One overcoat.

VERA. (Not actually issued until 1943.)

ALL. One mackintosh.

MARGIE. (Down to your ankles.)

ALL. Two towels.

One oilskin sou’wester.

One red armlet… and a metal badge.

MARGIE. The signing-up certificate said:

VERA. ‘You have made your home fields –

PEGGY.…your battlefield.’

The WOMEN reveal Land Army uniforms under their clothes. This may be done in silence or during the dialogue. Throughout the next speech a song is quietly sung, perhaps one of those from the play repertoire or a well-known song from the war years, like ‘Wish Me Luck as You Wave Me Goodbye’.

Every time I think of that day I chuckle to myself. The uniforms came in standard sizes. The breeches were supposed to reach just below the knee, but mine came down to my calves and bulged beneath my knee-length socks. The heavy brogue shoes I could hardly lift off the ground. You can imagine how I looked. Wish me luck.

MARGIE. It bucketed down the day I travelled to Murphy Tyers. Me mam took me. There I was, all in me uniform. We got a train into Darlington and Mam hired a taxi and he took us to Murphy Hill. I’d never seen anything like it; the driveway was all muck and plother, potholes full of water. When I got out in the stackyard, it was bucketing. I bent down to pick me cases up. Taxi man had just thrown them out, got back in and he was away before I could even say goodbye to me mam. They’re off, and I’m standing there wondering where I was. Me hat looked like a wet lettuce. Then I saw this figure standing in the doorway doing this… (Beckoning with finger.)

MR BAINBRIDGE. Look what they’ve sent us, she’d make a good ornament for t’mantelpiece.

MARGIE. I splodged towards the door and went in.

POPPY. My mother saw me off on the Watlington Donkey from Prince’s Risborough to Lewknor Holt, having first seated me safely beside two elderly ladies, headed for the same destination. The train only had one carriage, at the station they had to bring steps for people to alight. The train was to arrive at four seventeen.

VERA. My calling-up papers arrived, number –

The numbers overlap each other.

10873.

POPPY. 148785.

MARGIE. 26538.

PEGGY. 0101337.

VERA. And my travel warrants and instructions. I caught the quarter past nine train to Manchester and then the slow train through Wigan, and got off at somewhere called Hoscar, miles from anywhere. There was nobody to meet me, no taxi, no one. I just stood there. It got dark.

STATIONMASTER. Well, what are you still standing there for?

VERA. It was the stationmaster. I explained to him what had happened.

STATIONMASTER. You can borrow my bike. I’ll walk home.

VERA. I’d never ridden a bicycle before.

STATIONMASTER. No...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Introduction
• Original Production
• Characters
• Act One
• Act Two
• About the Authors
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information