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I left school when I was twelve and I had to get into service. I went to a young couple who were farmers, and I had to live in. it was about fifteen miles from home and it seemed to me the back of beyond. It was a big rambling place, and I was the only help they had. I got one and three pence a week. They weren’t bad to me, but they used to go out a lot and I’d be in the place on my own. I’d go and look in all the cupboards, under beds, I was literally terrified. I helped the mistress make butter, and sometimes I used to milk the cows as well. Anyway, I didn’t last long. I got so lonely. I went to a butcher’s wife near Wellingborough. She was a terror. There was another maid there, and fortunately we got on well together. We could laugh and cover up for each other if we did anything wrong. We slept in an attic, and we had to be up at six o’clock in the morning. If we were a minute or two late, she’d be there and want to know why. I reckon she laid awake all night long, just for the pleasure of catching us out in the morning.
I had fifteen places in twelve years, and only at one of them was I treated like a human being. They didn’t think of us as people like themselves. We were different. Occasionally my father and brother used to come and see me, and I felt really unhappy when they left. I wanted to say “Take me with you”, but of course they couldn’t. You had to work; your parent couldn’t afford to keep you. Sometimes, if I’d been home, when the time came for me to go back I used to pray that the train wouldn’t come or that it would crash. But it always came.