Lords of the Farm

A few months before this experience, we had already met a friend and arranged to work in England. It's nothing official (just a so called job), but the company the friend works for is always hiring. It's actually an agency that specializes in seasonal work throughout the British Isles. We intend to work from the beginning of September. We are said to be very welcome at this time as the potato season starts in the autumn days, not to mention countless other jobs.
We are told that Vanstomp has a base that offers caravan accommodation and you are transported to the works in company cars. Large kitchens, fridges, showers and washing machines are commonplace.
Workaholics are welcome here and their job involves helping out in the fields, in small companies and large factories. It's a job that the locals don't seek out, and it's low paid even by British standards. But for us Czechs it still means a once high salary. For the two of us, the main thing is not the pounds we have earned, but getting to know a new country, understanding local customs and gaining new experiences.

At the beginning of September, we arrived at Vanstomp base, located just outside the famous university town of Cambridge.
To our surprise, no one knows about us. The Polish staff manage the situation and really get us busy in no time. The only problem is accommodation, as the caravans are occupied and will be for at least a month. We will be satisfied with the tent that is lent to us by the company. We are not made of sugar!
We receive training on how to lift the load properly and similar "very helpful lessons", we are given work clothes, the rules are explained to us and we are shown around the camp. The most frequent workers are Poles, Czechs, Bulgarians, Slovaks, but there are also from Spain.
The commute to work varies depending on the company you work for. Mostly, however, you work five days a week, eight to fourteen hours. Saturdays are optional. Without trying out the work, we get on the list of workers who are willing to come to work on Saturdays. After all, every pound is good.
Tent pitched and already preparing our snacks for tomorrow's work day. We will dress as warmly as possible for the night, as our sleeping bags are not ideal for September weather in windy and rainy England. The mattresses are missing from our kit - what's a caravan for, right? The first night we are assaulted by an island "rain with a breeze" that lightly penetrates our tent.
Wet, cold and with circles under our eyes, we set off for our first work shift. To make matters worse, while wringing out our socks, we leave our pre-prepared snacks in our soaked bathroom - read tent.

We'll start with the potato pick-up. Nothing physically demanding, just the head spinning from the thousands of potatoes bouncing on the belt. The next days (since we are new) we jump from one job to another. They simply stick us with the jobs they need in a hurry, or what shall we say, the jobs nobody wants.
We don't mind, we don't grumble, we don't complain and we don't pick and choose. It's probably a kind of ritual, maybe a game of nerves, where managers test the mental resilience of workers. In the fortnight of this "test" we taste jobs like sticking labels on chips, picking pumpkins, picking beets for a fortnight, and repairing the racecourse. We experience incredibly sunny weather picking onions while wearing a raincoat in a big wind, with snot wrapped around our heads - getting black bagged and picking up trash after the Sunday market.

Apparently, we've been successful and are offered a steady job until the end of our contract. For better money and a mobile home. We'll form a team with a Dutchman, a Spaniard and a Welshman. The joy is great and we are curious about the new job and especially the location. We have to operate a mobile potato line.
You come to the place ordered by the farmer. The whole line is set up and you don't move until you've milked the farmer's entire crop. Not just any farmer can afford this transfer line, so when we are on site, we work from morning to night to make sure the expensive line is only paid for the necessary time. The line can separate the potatoes from the dirt, largely sort out the bad pieces and wash the good ones again. The operator more or less oversees the process, keeping an eye on the bad potatoes that want to stealthily make their way into the select few. Our customers are committed to high quality and therefore no doubts are forgiven.
For us, a job is a multiple advantage. We're in a different location each time, whether it's around Cambridge, Canvey Island, Ipswich, Southfleet and more. We sleep warm, have privacy, earn multiple pounds and our three companions are fine (we didn't experience the submarine until near the end, but given the time we spent together it's understandable). It's silly for us to speak Czech in front of the rest of the group, so we speak English amongst ourselves. On the few days we have off, we try to get to know our surroundings while integrating into the local culture. Veronika drives the car with the steering wheel on the left and we visit a classic English pub. We watch football at the bar and cheer on the eleven heroes on the turf, drink pints of foam-free beer and hug the fans furiously after a goal. There's no denying this is part of England too!

And perhaps just a brief observation about the English to finish.
For example, you're a litter picker and you speak in a way where you can tell you're not British. You ask a gentleman in a jacket for directions and he is very willing to give you advice, help you without being rude, doesn't act arrogant and even more so appreciates the work you do for his country.

Thank you, back then, still European England. It was very nice!