Poems by her daughter, Diane Durrant

Evelyn Taylor served as a Lumberjill from 1943 up until shortly after the Second World War ended. Her daughter Diane Durrant, recently started writing poetry and in a beautiful tribute, has used her mother’s time as a Lumberjill as her muse for her poems.

We’re grateful to be able to share Diane’s poem about her mother Evelyn…

Evelyn Taylor -  A Lumberjill (Poem - by Diane Durrant)

Evelyn Taylor was a London girl

Enjoying life that was one big whirl

Then along came World War 2

Of that we know to be true

Then call-up became the norm

They needed women to step-up and work on farms

Evelyn hoped she would come to no harm

As she was conscripted to the Women's Land Army

It was the first time away from home

It was a new chance for her to roam

Sharing rooms with other girls

A new kind of experience was a bit of a thrill

Assigned to the Women's Timber Corp

She became known as a Lumberjill

Learning how to chop down trees

No doubt kept going with cups of tea

Driving tractors and hauling logs

It was certainly a day long slog

Then to Bristol Evelyn went

To work the land in Ashton Gate

Lots of logging taking place

She had to work at quite a rate

Lodging at a home in old Smythe Road

Enjoying downtime off she strode

To a pub called The London Inn

Here with friends to spend an evening

In her uniform and looking fetching

She caught the eye of someone watching

It was the man that she would marry

He was tall and handsome and his name was Harry

Off to London they did go

To let her family meet her new beau

Wedding bells would soon be chiming

A lifetime together was the silver lining

Forgotten Lumberjills ( Poem by Diane Durrant)

In WW2 in far-off lands

Men were sent to fight

To the women left behind, life felt like shifting sands

Now was the time to show determination and strength with all their might

One important task was working on the land

Women were called upon to step up and give a hand

A new group created was The Timber Corp 

Women had a chance to show their worth and come to the fore

Kitted out with jodhpurs and chunky green sweaters

Worn to keep warm in all kinds of weathers

Adorned with berets or colourful scarves on their head

Long thick socks to keep their toes from freezing and stand them in good stead

Trudging through the forest or lucky to get a ride

With their 'trusty' saws and axes by their side

Long days chopping and sawing

Then its shouts of T I M  B  E  R….. as the tall trees start falling

These women affectionately known as Lumberjills

No doubt in downtime, attending dance halls, showing off their jitterbugging skills

They were brought together from all walks of life

Doing their utmost to serve through adversity and strife

After the war had ended

Some hardworking women returned to previous lives by then

Leaving behind jobs to be filled by bedraggled returning servicemen

It's sad to note, some women may have lost the comradeship of those they left behind

No medals or commemorative awards were given to dedication for those years, we find               

Until, for some women, far too late, acknowledgement was defined

Letters were sent to those still alive, with a belated thank you tendered

In 2008, from the then Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, they were finally remembered

By then the families of those who served

Can give thanks with love

Then appreciate the statue in their memory at the National Arboretum 

And no doubt, think of them with forever endless pride, so well deserved

For their contribution to Great Britain's hard-fought and longed for freedom

A writer called Joanna Foat researched the Lumberjills 

She realised there was scarce mention 

Has written books for further attention

And encouraged commemoration of those almost forgotten LUMBERJILLS 

OUR MUM  (Poem - by Diane Durrant)

Our Mum

Always in the kitchen

Always sometimes knitting

A gentle happy mother

Never one to over-indulge or smother

Our Mum

Of those old-fashioned days

When Mum was in her own domain

Doing all the household chores

In between tackling her crossword maze

Our Mum

Had lots of superstitions

“Don’t pass on the stairs”

“Don’t put new shoes on the table”

“It’s seven years bad luck for a cracked mirror”

“Throw salt over your shoulder to ward off bad luck”

Our Mum

Had lots of sayings too

“That dust will be there tomorrow” 

Ha – never one to worry about a bit of fluff!

Another “Old age never comes alone”

When referring to her old aching bones

Our Mum

Loved the colour Lilac

Lilac flowers a favourite

A Fushcia bush, to her, a Lilac delight

She called it her “La Bella Evelyn”

Our Mum

Made our Christmas’s so special

Giving us one of Dads socks to hang by our bed

That’s 8 socks for 8 children filled with goodies as well

Poor Dad endured saggy socks but never complained

Our Mum

Made toffee apples on Bonfire nights

Trays of coconut ice, fudge and more delights

The best part were chips in cones

A Sunblest loaf wrapper curled into shape

Holding our newly hot chips, what a jape

 Our Mum

Took home brewing to a new stratosphere

Preferring to make wine, never beer

With demi-johns gurgling away

Any concoction, she could hold sway

“Let’s give it a try” she would always say

Our Mum

Passed on her love of tea

For some of us at least

She unleashed a beast

Whenever stressed, a cup of tea is the best

Our Mum

The best in the world

Always there to welcome us home

Even when slapping a hot poultice on scratches and cuts

A lovely hug after was worth all the hurt

Our Mum

Gone, but a loving mother remembered

A childhood of freedom

Another time when children played happily outside

Home was where the heart was and more beside