Catharsis in the Carrot Field

Mrs Grace Murray

I was 15, and a very troubled teenager when my Day of Destiny came in June, 1955.

Yesterday, I ran away from home. The Rector had called me to his office. "No!" he thundered, "You may not have a week off school for swim training camp. Your marks are deplorable - especially maths and physics. If you don't do more work and less swimming, you may as well leave school right now!" My heart plummeted. Swimming was the one thing I did better than my brilliant, beautiful big sister. I trained four hours daily and hoped to get a place in the Commonwealth Games squad. That would make my parents like me. The Rector glowered, waiting for a response. I snapped, "Fine!" and stomped out. I tossed my schoolbag in a litterbin and hiked the eight miles to Glasgow. I had just enough money for a bus ticket to my grandmother's village in Fife. Before approaching Granny, I called in at the local fruit farm where I'd worked the previous few summers. Mr Anderson was delighted to see me. He was desperately short-staffed and said I could start at 5o'clock the following morning. "I won't be a burden," I assured my startled grandmother. "I've got a job, and I'll help out in the house and garden." She hugged me, and said I could stay as long as I wanted. It was super at Granny's. She never compared me with my sister. There were fields behind her cottage and a brook in front, teeming with trout. Nearby were the woods and moorland I'd roamed so happily as a child. I would never go back to Paisley with its roaring traffic, sooty air and crowed tenements.

This morning began smoothly. The other seasonal workers are itinerants, barely literate and up to all sorts of tricks, so Mr Anderson had me supervising them - weighing and tallying their baskets of berries. We managed to get the 7am order off to Cupar market on time and Mr Anderson was pleased. He said he liked the way I'd handled the pickers and spotted their scams. He hinted that if I really wasn't going back to school, there might be a permanent job on the farm.

After a breakfast break, Mr Anderson set David, a neighbouring farmer's son and me to hand weed a field of carrots. It was a horrible job - back-breaking and dirty. We could not have guessed that the farmer was testing us.

David and I worked alongside, in adjacent rows of the feathery green plantlets, but hardly spoke at first. I was shy of boys, self-conscious of my recent physical maturation and David was taciturn by nature.

Once we relaxed a bit, we discovered that we had much in common. We both loathed school, and both suffered from a dominant sibling - in David's case, an older brother who would inherit his family's farm.

We grilled in the shadeless field. Heat radiated from the parched earth and choking dust rose from every weed we shook. My perspiration-soaked hair dangled irritatingly. David noticed, and fished a length of twine from his pocket for me. I felt his eyes on my breasts as I lifted my arms to tie up my hair. We both blushed, and worked on in silence.

At the end of the next drill, David flung off his damp shirt and I found myself admiring his lithe, bronzed torso. He caught me looking. I blushed again, but he grinned. To cover my confusion, I asked about his future plans and discovered that he too had just left school and was hoping for a full-time job here. I wondered guiltily if this could be the one Mr Anderson had just half-promised me.

David enquired in return about my plans and I confided how my ambition to be a teacher was ruined now I'd been expelled for too much swimming. He was interested in my training and we discussed that for a while, then David put his head on one side and asked, "Isn't it boring, pounding up and down a pool?" "Not really. I can think - and it feels good when you stop." "I'm a runner. It's nicer out of doors, and you get a buzz from that too." "I'd like to try." "I'll take you out one day." We arranged a time and place.

When it was knocking off time, David went off home through the fields and Mr Anderson was waiting for me at the gate. He'd been watching us. He said my rows were good, still well cleared and firmed at the end of a long day. He'd noticed I'd had the initiative to stop and mend a hole in the rabbit fencing. The upshot was he offered me a job - proper training, with day- release to agricultural college. I asked to sleep on it.

"I'm home!" I carolled, then froze on Granny's threshold. My father was sitting at the kitchen table. Before I could bolt, he said, "Sit down, pet, and listen to what we have arranged." They had spoken to my coach and he said my selection was secure; I could ease back on the evening training sessions. The school wanted me back; I'd taken the Rector too literally. College admissions said I'd enough subjects already without maths and physics; I could drop those. "So come home, sweetheart. We miss you so much."

I looked down at my hands. I was no longer the petulant child who had fled yesterday. I felt valued and secure here with Granny. I'd given satisfaction at work and been offered a job with prospects. I'd formed a friendship with a boy and made a first date. David had made me realise that my obsessive swimming was pretty boring. It had been a desperate search for identity and acceptance - a crutch I didn't need any longer.

Two very different paths beckoned. Would I give up my new-found freedom and return to a life of dependency in town, or would I remain here in the country? It was decision time. . .