I used to work for a local pig farmer during the summer holidays carting straw for him. Dawn 'til dark, pitching five courses by hand then elevating the last four, the work used to last for about six or seven weeks, first the barley where you'd get the haulms under your skin, the the wheat which would cut your fingers down to the quick of your nails. Fantastic fun, bloody hard work, and I have shoulders and chest to bear testimony to the sheer hard graft of it all. Every day used to finish at the local pub where we'd have a few beers before dragging ourselves home to an agonising bath. The pay was great, and as a student I paid no tax, so it was all cash in hand. No time to spend any of it, so I was always absolutely minted by the start of term.
The farmer had several hundred thousand head of pig. He had agreements with virtually every arable farmer in Warwickshire and some in Hereford, where he got the straw for what it cost him to bale and cart it. Occasionally he wanted some of us to nip to Hereford to help out there, and flew us in his Jet Ranger to save time.