WWII: Never a dull moment at the mill

(Redirected from Never a dull moment at the mill)

A fascinating new booklet has just been published by Derbyshire Library Service telling the story of Peggy Smedley’s 40 years living at Dale Abbey windmill. Here, we reproduce a short extract from the book dealing with Peggy’s first few years at the windmill during the Second World War.

Peggy Smedley, former owner of Dale Abbey windmill leaving the windmill for the last time in 1982

Turning the Dale Abbey post windmill had to be done by hand

Peggy and George Smedley’s son, Howard at their Dale Abbey windmill home

George Smedley, former owner of Dale Abbey windmill, with children Margaret and Howard in the late 1940s

IT was 1942 when I went to live at the windmill at Dale Abbey. The Smedley family had lived at the mill for many years. My husband worked the mill, as had his father and grandfather before him.

Sometimes called the Dale Abbey Windmill, it is also known as the Cat and Fiddle mill. It had the date 1788 on a cross-tree in the round house – the place at the base of the mill to which the corn was delivered to be ground.

Its big white sails, four of them, could be seen for miles.

The windmill is a post mill, which means it has to be turned into the wind. When I was there this was done by hand.

It was wartime when I first went to the mill. Farmers were being asked to grow as many cereal crops as possible, along with sugar beet and root crops.

I met my husband, George, when another girl and myself were part of a gang who worked with a threshing machine, going from farm to farm threshing ricks of corn.

Many of the men had been called up for service in the forces so, although my friend and I were not part of the Land Army, we were both farmer’s daughters and so used to farm work.

We knew Mr Bown who owned the threshing set. He had, in fact, worked with my own grandfather when he himself had owned a similar machine.

I soon learnt that there were things one did – and did not do – living close to a windmill.

When the mill was working, the sails swept quite close to the ground so it was not wise to cross under them.

A person or even a big dog could be seriously injured by the sails, for in a good wind there was much power in those sails.

George was particular in making sure each customer’s order was kept separate, weighed and ticketed.

One day, he had stopped the sails to fill the hoppers with the next customer’s order and was just releasing the brake to start the sails off when there was a shout.

He looked out and saw that a man had tied a pony’s rein to the bottom sail, having bought some corn to be ground. He never did it again. When there was no more grinding to be done, the shutters on the sails were fastened open to let the wind spill through.

The biggest danger to a post mill is if the wind suddenly changes and comes up behind the sails. Unlike tower mills, and some other types of mills, our mill had no tail fan and so had to be winched round by hand.

There was a chain winch connected to a series of posts around the mill.

As a roller on the end of the tail pole was turned by hand, it moved the body of the mill round on its centre post; the steps that led into the mill being lifted clear of the ground by a lever.

When the sails were facing into the wind, the steps were lowered to the ground and, being on the opposite side to the sails, helped stabilise her.

If we were busy and George wanted to make use of a good wind, he would fill up the hoppers and leave me in charge while he did the milking.

The wind is not something that can be switched on at will, so when there was a good wind blowing, we had to make good use of it – early morning or late evening – whenever. We charged one shilling per hundredweight or £1 per ton.

During war time, the blackout regulations meant we had to be very careful not to let a light show. We had no electricity so we used paraffin lamps inside and lanterns outside and in the sheds.

All the shed windows had to be covered. It was quite a performance.

At first our only water supply was a tap across the field, so all water for the stock had to be carried in milk churns.

Our drinking water was also carried in this way but we had a supply of soft water collected in a cistern for washing. Unfortunately, it dried up in summer, then all the water had to be fetched. The spring of 1943 brought gales. At the back of the cowsheds was an old sandstone quarry and the wind brought sand blowing across the hill. It made our faces sting and our eyes run and it was difficult to breathe.

We let the cows out to the trough for a drink, a few at a time, and then took them back into the sheds.

That evening, two were taken ill. I went to a neighbouring farm to ask if they would ring the vet.

By the end of that night, in spite of the vet’s efforts, two were dead, another could not stand.

The weather played a big part in our lives. On top of the hill we were exposed to the wind, whichever way it blew.

If we had snow, the wind blew it off the fields and piled it up around the house and buildings, so we were very good at digging our way out to the animals and down to the road to get the milk churns away.

In November 1943, our daughter, Margaret, was born.

The cottage was very old, with beamed ceilings.

It had a big, black cooking range which had an oven on one side and a boiler for heating water on the other.

Even so, when the doors were shut and the lamps lit, it was very cosy, for George always made sure we had plenty of dry sticks to start the fire and stir it up if it got a bit sluggish.

In fact, our friends teased him about the amount and length of sticks he brought in each evening because he liked to boil the kettle for an early cup of tea before he put the coal on.

Our bedroom had windows facing south and north and, if the wind got up in the night and changed direction, the sails started to rattle and George knew it meant he had to go out and turn her.

If there was a calm period, we had an iron plate mill driven by a tractor to do the grinding.

In the summer, when the cows were out to grass and farmers were waiting for their crops to ripen, there would not be much grinding. But then there were mangolds, turnips and kale to hoe and then hay-making.

We had a long garden and grew our own potatoes and vegetables and had apple, damson and plum trees. My mother, father and brother lived down in the valley on a farm and George’s sister and her husband farmed near us.

Margaret liked to sit in the pram and watch the cows until, one day, one poked its nose under the hood. She was not so sure about them after that.

Once Margaret was walking we had to fence the back yard to stop her getting near the mill.

Living with a Windmill, by Peggy Smedley, is available to order via any Derbyshire library or post-free from the Local Studies Library, Derbyshire County Council, County Hall, Matlock, DE4 3AG, in return for a cheque or postal order for £2 payable to Derbyshire County Council.

Pages linking here