Evelyn Dunbar Baling Hay 1943 (1' 6" x 2': 45.8 x 61cm) National Museum of Wales, Cardiff
Baling Hay is the third, and maybe the most remarkable, of the three Women's Land Army paintings which had their genesis in Evelyn's stay at the Institute of Agriculture, Usk (now Coleg Gwent) in January, 1943. It's such a bold, confident and compelling composition that I find myself wishing Evelyn had executed it on a larger canvas than on the modest 18" x 24" she gave it.
The baling machine previously seen in Threshing and Baling, Monmouthshire (the subject of the previous post) has been moved to the haystacks of another farm in the area. Or maybe it's another part of the same farm. I don't know where it is, but readers who know Monmouthshire may recognise the location. Tarpaulins will have been removed from the stacks of hay mown the previous May or June, and the Land Girls, who may form part of a team assigned to the baling machine contractor, are pitchforking what some used to call 'birds' nests' of hay into a hopper, in which the hay is compressed.
A guillotine, suspended above the hopper, drops down to slice the compressed hay into the required length; a belt-driven rack - you can see the drive-belt on the extreme right - inches the bales forwards to where two Land Girls seated either side of the rack are ready to tie the familiar rectangular bales with prepared wires, using pliers to twist the wire securely and to remove excess. The Land Girl in the right foreground, clad in winter greatcoat (with the WLA shoulder title, a red crown on a green background) is bringing forward a bundle of pre-looped wires, and judging from the amount of hay to be baled they will all have been used by the day's end. One of the very few figures in the entire canon of Evelyn's work to be shown looking out of the frame, she is looking up at the sky, perhaps wondering when the rain will start again.
Hay - and straw - bales tied with wire may be familiar to older readers. I remember as a youth occasionally manhandling such bales, loud with complaint about the wires cutting into my fingers. Wire ties have long since been replaced by automatically-tied baler twine, or by plastic netting enveloping much larger drum bales. Baling machines like the one Evelyn has meticulously painted are only found in farming museums. Although this can't have been her intention at the time, Baling Hay has become a historical document, a valuable record of past agricultural practices.
Evelyn claimed that during her extraordinarily rain-sodden stay of several weeks at Usk that January, there were only three fine days. (Indeed, the word 'Usk' is a Celtic word for water.) Baling Hay must show one of them. It will have been important to ensure that the hay stayed dry: wet hay will become mouldy and unfit for animal feed the next winter. Once again we have the Dunbar message of promise and confidence in the future.
There are certain clues as to how the various tasks are divided up to make the most of a fine day. Speed is essential. There are nice contrasts between the disparity of uniform and different layers of clothing. It's cold: the Land Girl in the centre foreground, who has commandeered a bale to sit on, has a full, if unorthodox, uniform of boots, overalls, whipcord or corduroy breeches, plus a non-uniform plaid lumberman's jacket or fleece and a sack to cover her lap and knees. Maybe she's also wearing the familiar WLA green jersey underneath. She's sitting on another sack. She finds she can work more deftly without gloves, and you can imagine her having to warm her hands every now and then, maybe by placing them inside her jacket. For the Land Girls on the haystacks, however, the work is so physical and warm that they've stripped down to their breeches and green jerseys. The one in the centre, feeding the hopper, has even got her sleeves rolled up. As always, Evelyn is observing very accurately.
The Land Girl on the right of the bale rack is curiously under-dressed compared with her opposite number: she has probably just come off haystack duty in a muck sweat, grateful to be able to hand over her pitchfork to the previous occupant of her bale-seat, sit down and do a bit of wiring until the next change-round. In a few minutes will she too be looking for extra layers to put on? She has already pulled up the shoulder-straps of her overalls.
(Text © Christopher Campbell-Howes 2012. All rights reserved.)
The baling machine previously seen in Threshing and Baling, Monmouthshire (the subject of the previous post) has been moved to the haystacks of another farm in the area. Or maybe it's another part of the same farm. I don't know where it is, but readers who know Monmouthshire may recognise the location. Tarpaulins will have been removed from the stacks of hay mown the previous May or June, and the Land Girls, who may form part of a team assigned to the baling machine contractor, are pitchforking what some used to call 'birds' nests' of hay into a hopper, in which the hay is compressed.
A guillotine, suspended above the hopper, drops down to slice the compressed hay into the required length; a belt-driven rack - you can see the drive-belt on the extreme right - inches the bales forwards to where two Land Girls seated either side of the rack are ready to tie the familiar rectangular bales with prepared wires, using pliers to twist the wire securely and to remove excess. The Land Girl in the right foreground, clad in winter greatcoat (with the WLA shoulder title, a red crown on a green background) is bringing forward a bundle of pre-looped wires, and judging from the amount of hay to be baled they will all have been used by the day's end. One of the very few figures in the entire canon of Evelyn's work to be shown looking out of the frame, she is looking up at the sky, perhaps wondering when the rain will start again.
Hay - and straw - bales tied with wire may be familiar to older readers. I remember as a youth occasionally manhandling such bales, loud with complaint about the wires cutting into my fingers. Wire ties have long since been replaced by automatically-tied baler twine, or by plastic netting enveloping much larger drum bales. Baling machines like the one Evelyn has meticulously painted are only found in farming museums. Although this can't have been her intention at the time, Baling Hay has become a historical document, a valuable record of past agricultural practices.
Evelyn claimed that during her extraordinarily rain-sodden stay of several weeks at Usk that January, there were only three fine days. (Indeed, the word 'Usk' is a Celtic word for water.) Baling Hay must show one of them. It will have been important to ensure that the hay stayed dry: wet hay will become mouldy and unfit for animal feed the next winter. Once again we have the Dunbar message of promise and confidence in the future.
There are certain clues as to how the various tasks are divided up to make the most of a fine day. Speed is essential. There are nice contrasts between the disparity of uniform and different layers of clothing. It's cold: the Land Girl in the centre foreground, who has commandeered a bale to sit on, has a full, if unorthodox, uniform of boots, overalls, whipcord or corduroy breeches, plus a non-uniform plaid lumberman's jacket or fleece and a sack to cover her lap and knees. Maybe she's also wearing the familiar WLA green jersey underneath. She's sitting on another sack. She finds she can work more deftly without gloves, and you can imagine her having to warm her hands every now and then, maybe by placing them inside her jacket. For the Land Girls on the haystacks, however, the work is so physical and warm that they've stripped down to their breeches and green jerseys. The one in the centre, feeding the hopper, has even got her sleeves rolled up. As always, Evelyn is observing very accurately.
The Land Girl on the right of the bale rack is curiously under-dressed compared with her opposite number: she has probably just come off haystack duty in a muck sweat, grateful to be able to hand over her pitchfork to the previous occupant of her bale-seat, sit down and do a bit of wiring until the next change-round. In a few minutes will she too be looking for extra layers to put on? She has already pulled up the shoulder-straps of her overalls.
(Text © Christopher Campbell-Howes 2012. All rights reserved.)
Further reading...
EVELYN DUNBAR : A
LIFE IN PAINTING by Christopher Campbell-Howes
is available to order online from
http://www.casematepublishing.co.uk/index.php/evelyn-dunbar-10523.html
448 pages, 301 illustrations. £30
is available to order online from
http://www.casematepublishing.co.uk/index.php/evelyn-dunbar-10523.html
448 pages, 301 illustrations. £30
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