History

The Tatties

Growing up near a rural area in Scotland in the 1970s and 1980s meant that our holidays were spent picking tatties rather than having some leisure time away from school.

Mum would wake us up in the early morning to get wellies and waterproofs on before catching the farmer's bus out to the fields. We would wait at the bottom of the road for the bus to pick us up for a day's back-breaking work. The bus was always easy to spot as it was a ramshackle double-decker and was painted a lurid shade of pink. After boarding the bus we would drive to various spots around the town for all the day's pickers and would eventually reach what seemed like the biggest field of tatties in Scotland.

Tattie pickers

Everyone was given a 'bit' or 'stint', measured out by the foreman. These were meant to be equally paced out over the length of the field but there was always arguments between my sisters and myself over who had the biggest bit. The smaller the bit, the less tatties to pick!

The arguments were worse if my sister and I were sharing a bit. Doing a half-bit each meant that we always left a few tatties in the middle, arguing over who had to put them in the baskets before the digger came round again.

'The digger's coming!' would ring out across the field as everyone tried to pick their bit before the digger ploughed up the next bit of field. Children would try and stick the digger with piles of stones so the digger would stop and we could have a rest. Sticking the digger never seemed to work and the only rest we had was at 'peece-time' and 'dinner-time'. Peece-time food was usually a sandwich and soup from a flask. If we were feeling energetic and the 'shaws' were dry enough then we'd light a fire with the dry shaws and bake tatties straight from the field - who would think that a half-burnt tattie could be such a treat?

A land girl strawing a potato clamp in the 1940s

Another treat came in the shape of Granda who would walk out to visit us if the tattie field was near the town. He would help us pick for an hour or two and would pull the shaws out of the remaining bits for the day so we could have an easier time of it until it was time for home and a well-earned rest.

Bringing the peats home

Many a summer break was spent on the moss. The moss was not one particular location which you'd find on a map but any piece of land which was used to cut peats or turf as it's also known. 

Unlike going to the beach, going to the moss was not a much anticipated keenly awaited experience. Indeed it was the exact opposite as dread of the aching backs and midgie bites loomed ever larger as the day grew closer.

A family outing like no other, everyone had a job to do. Once the peats were cut, initially by a lathe and later by machine, the first job was to stack them to allow the peats to dry. So that they dried thoroughly you then went back and turned them around to allow the other side 'at the air'. 

After this came the job of bagging them. Nothing about this entire experience was particularly pleasurable, the only good thing about this stage of the job was that you knew the end was in sight. Once bagged, the turf was taken home on the back of a tractor and trailer and stored in a shed to keep them dry. 

Peat bog

Any complaints about a sore back, cut fingers (dried turf is rough stuff to delicate hands), midgie bites or general hunger before tea-time was met with a 'it's for your own good' type response. After all, the more turf which was cut and brought home would mean more to burn and keep the house warm during the coming autumn and winter months. This toil wasn't even rewarded with pay!

Tea time provided the only and very welcome break from the production line - turf was cut in lines and you'd be assigned a patch to cover. There was no high tea here, lunch was sandwiches which were usually placed in large biscuit tins and tea from Thermos flasks. Then it was straight back to work.

By the time you got home, you longed for a) a bath and b) your bed. If you were really unlucky, the whole experience would be repeated the following day or as often as necessary until the peats were brought home. 

This isn't something you see as often these days though I did wonder if it would become more popular given the current economic climate, increasing energy prices and fashion for self-sufficiency.

Those days on the moss are now a distant memory and in a strange way, it would be sad to see this custom passing. Perhaps it will return someday, in a new guise, ready to inflict more sore backs and tender hands on another generation who aren't familiar with it. If you've never experienced it, as some folks would say, 'you don't know you're born'.

The Island Bloggers share their memories

Ruthodanort from Unst - "I picked tatties when I was about five and got paid a couple pounds for a day's hard labour! And for ten years or so I was forced to spread, raise, bag, stack and cart peats every summer. I hated that at the time, but have fond memories of the picnic lunches up the hill. And of course peat reek is a nice smell to have comin' oot the lum!"

Brambles

Plaid from Upside down land - "Living in the southern hemisphere puts a slightly different complexion to harvest. I remember not only harvesting tatties but growing them when our children were small. I would cook and bake a cake to take 'down to the farm', and after an early breakfast we would set off. Baby in pram, older kiddies wandering around and generally enjoying being out of the town. We went down regularly to mound up, then to harvest. Dirt under the nails? That just proves we had worked. To be able to eat our own crop all winter was the ultimate. We also went blackberry picking. As a child I think I may have eaten more than I picked, but as I aged, and determined I was going to make not only blackberry and apple jam, but also a blackberry and apple pie for dinner, the amount consumed whilst picking deteriorated. The sun always seemed to shine then!"

Island Life from Western Isles - "We should be going up to Stornoway at some point over the next few days and we're going to take the kids to the Grounds to look for conkers and brambles. I used to do this with my mum and dad as a kid and absolutely loved it. Brambles was mum's department and conker finding was dad's! Then we'd take the conkers home and dad would put them all on a string and we'd have hours of fun. And with mum we'd bake a bramble and apple pie - yum!"