The Lumberjills of Scotland By:  Rosalind A. Elder   T/855  
It was the year 1942.  The designated meeting place was “Under the Clock, Glasgow Central Station.” I was awaiting the arrival of the Forestry Commission
representative who was to escort our group to a training camp in Brechin, Angus.  I had joined up only a week earlier and had no idea of what being a lumberjill in
the Women’s Timber Corp., entailed.  A new experience I hoped.   What I did not realize was that I was going to work harder than I had ever dreamed possible. I
was sixteen years old, but said I was a year older; no one questioned it, so... I was on my way.  I boarded the train with enthusiasm, but not without some
apprehension.
 
On arrival at Brechin, Angus, we were shown to our quarters and army cots, promptly issued with black leather boots, overalls, uniforms, and of course, wellington
boots and a sou’wester.  Time was of the essence, and none was wasted on preliminaries, training would begin in the morning so were advised to get as much sleep
as possible. Next morning before daylight, we clambered aboard an open lorry, and were shipped off to the woods, to begin our first day as foresters.  It was
something of a shock when handed a four and a halfpound ax and shown how to “lay-in” a tree.  With a short demonstration on the use of it,  felling, snedding and
the loading of tractors and trucks followed.  At 5 p.m. we were advised that dinner awaited us back at the camp, and that as we were only two miles away, we
should start walking.  Most of the girls had huge blisters on their heels from the new boots.  I carried mine over my shoulders, walking the entire way in my socks.
Eventually we toughened up and proved that we could handle the job,  by the end of the month’s training we were tossing logs,  felling trees, cross-cutting logs and
loading vehicles. I had elected to become a horsewoman; others had become tractor and lorry drivers.
 
Training completed, we were dispersed throughout the countryside to various forestry camps  I was sent to a new one in the Highlands, in the village of Advie,
Morayshire.  Fortunately, several of my friends were also assigned to the same place.
It was a cold snowy day in December when we alighted from the train at Advie station.  On the siding we noticed a row of empty flat cars waiting to be loaded,  we
guessed who would be providing the timber.
 
The camp was set up in a field far from civilization,  about forty of us shared two long wooden huts.  The ablution shed was in the centre, reached by a long
duckboard.  A dining hut and cook-house made up the  remainder of our new home.
It was rugged, draughty and most uncomfortable.  We knew our work was vital to the war effort. Our only source of heat was a cast iron stove, which we stoked
until it was red hot. I had been a junior in a public library in Glasgow, and found the lack of decent reading material a real hardship.  One of the girls had a
phonograph, her favourite singer was Tony Martin,  and I memorized lyrics to his songs whether I wanted to or not.  We entertained ourselves as best we could,  it
was a drastic change from life in a big city.
 
The local people held weekly dances in the village hall. We learned to dance reels, strathspeys and jigs in no time.  We soon found that “Mr. Coutts’s Jubilee Band
” was a far cry from “Joe Loss and his Orchestra.” Eventually we formed out own concert group.  I took part in a number of skits and sang in the choir.  We made
many friends among the boys from the Canadian Forestry Corp, and the Newfoundland Forestry Unit. My  particular job as a horsewoman was quite arduous.
After the lumberjills had felled the trees, I would move in with the horse, tie a chain around the bole of the tree and attach it to the swingle bar. Then, leading the
horse through brush and around stumps, deliver the tree to the girls in the clearing.  Here the trees were cut  into mill logs, pit props, telegraph poles and pulpwood,
crosscut and loaded. My quota was about sixty trees a day, five and a half days a week.  In the summer we worked until 6 p.m., until dusk in the winter.  We Scots
were given New Year’s Day off  in lieu of Christmas and Boxing Days,  our annual holiday was one week. Our half-day off was on a Saturday,  we hopped on our
bicycles and rode the ten miles to the nearest town for an afternoon at the pictures, a snack in the cafe, then on to the local dance. We danced every dance!  Jitter
-bugged and waltzed to the music of the Canadian Forestry Band,  they were terrific! We rode our bicycles home after the dance. The night ride along the quiet,
dark country roads was an adventure in itself.  It was eerie!  the sound of scurrying in the bushes, owls hooting and small animals squealing.  It was worse on a bright
moonlight night  when the trees cast weird shadows.
 
We covered those roads at break neck speeds, and being city raised made no attempt to investigate the strange noises. I was very happy being outdoors all summer
long, tanned and healthy.  I particularly enjoyed the beautiful scenery of my native land, watching the golden eagles fly over the heather hills, seeing the morning mist
lift from the mountaintops on my way into the woods.  In the spring we heard the cuckoo call echoing across the valley.  Early mornings found me up at dawn,
shoveling out the stables, feeding, watering and grooming the horses before starting work was no fun in the winter. Falling out of bed, going through the creepy old
churchyard on the way to the stables with my paraffin lamp held aloft was scary.
 
We had Italian and German prisoners-of-war working beside us, the Italians used to sit on a pile of logs at lunch-break, singing “O Sole Mio,” as though their hearts
would break,  all they wanted was to go home. I was promoted to leader-girl, the only “rank” in the W.T.C. I wore a special badge on my sleeve, and received an
extra 10 shillings,   I smile when I remember my whistle and alarm clock.  My job was to ensure that the others did not linger over their break periods, the prisoners
found it highly amusing when I blew my wee whistle to signal their return to work.
 
The war finally ended, we were engaged mainly in thinning out trees,  some of us were preparing to marry our overseas sweethearts.  From Loch Strivan we could
visit Glasgow by steamer, this of course, meant an eight mile cycle trip to the nearest bus stop. I have fond memories of my Women’s Timber Corps., days, and
when I reminisce, I think  of  sunshine, laugher, the scent of freshly cut wood and the voices of the lumberjills calling ....... Tim...berr!
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