A WEDDING AT WYBERTON

It's a Rum Life Book Four Volume One

“Northcote Diary 1984 to 1994”

WEDDING AT WYBERTON

(about 1986)

This episode from the late 1980’s, will always stick in my memory for the sheer anxiety it caused and huge demands it made on my creatability and repair ability!

Wyberton is a small rural suburb of Boston, Lincolnshire. It has its own mediaeval church and there is still the site of its once important castle overlooking the river and estuary to at one time, the third most important port in the Country.

We had been engaged to deliver a bride and her father to Wyberton Church for her wedding and after the ceremony transport the bride and her new husband to their reception at the village hall some two miles away.

The route had been surveyed thoroughly and we had selected to park our lorry for unloading close to the village hall.

“Hebe”, our “Dales” mare and full name “Ashwood Claire Louisa”, was to power the carriage as the bride had selected our ultra elegant “Bow fronted Brougham”.

CARRIAGES

I should explain that at this time we were using two carriages for weddings.

Jupiter, our extrovert part bred dales, (skewbald coloured) brown and white, always worked with our beautiful “Victoria” carriage.

This had wide, swept back mudguards, elegant varnish bodywork and beautiful springing; it followed the typical design for ladies’ made popular by Queen Victoria herself. This carriage was basically open with a hood for inclement weather.

The second carriage was a “Bow fronted Brougham”. Following on a pattern of elegant town carriage designed by Lord Brougham, this had room for two people and was somewhat smaller with beautifully paint work in dark red and black. Forward facing doors on both sides allowed entry to a green leather fitted interior illuminated by most elegant curved glass windows at the front. Normal pattern carriage drop door windows gave a good view of whoever was riding in splendour.

“Hebe “worked with the Brougham as she was smaller in stature than Jupiter and being a black horse herself, suited the “equipage”.

The journey to Wyberton church was uneventful and the bride had been safely delivered when disaster struck.

DISASTER

We were all relaxing, myself, daughter Helen (the groom) and Hebe; after the first part when butterflies always fill me with trepidation. My thoughts before all these events are on the off chance that something untoward should prevent us actually getting to the venue on time!

This time, the unforeseen struck us quite suddenly as we were resting under trees immediately outside the open church gates.

A noisy, bright yellow fork lift truck burst out of a yard immediately to our front and began to roar down the road towards us.

The road was not wide by any imagination and we had nowhere to go and avoid this “monster” which had immediately caught “Hebe’s” attention and set all our hearts to our mouths.

To our right side, behind and ahead of us we were contained by the churchyard wall which continued in solid stone splendour about four feet high as far as we could see.

On our left were a row of smart houses with large front gardens and boundaried at their front by a long, large and deep dyke.

The fork lift rattled and banged and roared its way forward totally oblivious to the terror it was creating in the mind of the horse never mind the human attendants.

Despite all our efforts to attract his attention, the driver seemed in a world of his own.

Then, in the blink of an eye, it was all over.

“Hebe” made her decision which was to avoid the truck the only way possible.

Like an arrow from a bow, she ripped the reins from my hands and dived sideways through the church gateway. There had been no time to take any preventive measures, it had made no matter to her that the carriage was still attached.

Her only concern was for the yellow monster that had filled her vision and mind with unaccountable terror.

The nightmare then began. The damage was stupefying.

“Hebe” was now stood just inside the gateway with carriage attached as normal.

The church gateway had not been sufficiently wide to allow the carriage through

when we had first arrived! Things had now changed.

CHANGES

The right hand gatepost of solid stone and some four feet square and five feet high, was now lying flat inside the churchyard and its gate still attached, beside it.

It had been pushed over, quite intact by the pressure of the carriage body as it twisted thorough an acute 90 degree angle, propelled by the horse.

The off side, previously beautiful, wooden carriage body was to say the least badly damaged. The door would not open.

But there was even worse to see. All four rubber tyres from each of the wheels were lying on the ground at drunken angles.

By now the horse was calm and happy to be facing away from the road.

Our major problem as I could see was in getting the bride back to her reception two miles away in a damaged carriage with only one working door and no tyres!

I left Helen to speak sweet nothings to Hebe I began my search for something to help me remount the tyres.

Now a little explanation.

Wooden horse drawn carriage wheels have either the older iron rims around the wooden wheel. These are incredibly noisy and vibrate in a foul way as they were designed to cope with unmetalled roads.

More modern sprung carriages had a slotted clincher rim system attached to the outside of the wheel. The specially designed rubber tyre is designed and extruded with a thinner line of rubber of either side of the tyre itself. The whole fits snugly in the grooved rim. But it has to be slid into the groove from one end with plenty of lubricant and gradually slide, in that groove, completely round the wheel.

BACK IN WYBERTON

We had neither lubricant, a jack for the wheels or time on our side. I estimated that now we had about 20 minutes before the bride emerged from the Church for the group photographs and then, a maximum of one hour.

Just down the road I did find a lady cutting her lawn and decided that she was our best hope.

In fact once the situation was explained, she was a marvel. Somehow she had her son’s tool box at hand and I selected a number of screwdrivers and various hammers to aid my endeavours.

We moved Hebe and the carriage back on to the road and faced her in the direction we should take for our return. This put the undamaged side on view and problem one was solved.

The tyres were a complete nightmare on their own.

At no time were they ever designed to be fitted the way I was trying. But bit by bit, by levering and hammering; tugging and pushing, they were almost back.

Almost, but not quite!

The rubber just would not push back exactly is it had been.

To anyone who knew about these things, the wheels looked dreadful, but I thought they would get us the two miles we needed to go.

I returned the tools to the lady with my profound gratitude and returned to the carriage with five minutes to spare.

Some serious explanation had to be made to the vicar about his gatepost and all in all the wedding party were disappointed to have “missed the fun!”

We managed the return journey without problems.

The gatepost cost in the region of £500 and the repairs to the carriage cost over £2500. The complicated wrought iron steering turntable beneath the front of the carriage had been bent out of line too!

Such is life as they say!

           Hebe with the actual carriage, (at a different venue). The telephone No is very old!

STOPPED BY AN OFFICER FROM “VOSA”

  

I'ts a Rum Life Book Four Volume Two

Northcote Diary 1994 to 2008

STOPPED BY AN OFFICER FROM “VOSA” (2004)

I suppose, if asked to explain to an ordinary citizen, (that is someone who is not involved in running or “operating” heavy commercial vehicles), who “VOSA” are, I should say they are the “Gestapo” of the lorry industry!

VOSA, or Vehicle and Operator Services Agency are a government body that “police” everything to do with heavy commercials. They are responsible for the testing stations and spot checks at the roadsides. Everything regarding legislation for commercial vehicles comes under their control. They are very much like the VAT officers in that they have special powers to demand this and that.

Under normal circumstance, the people one avoids like the plague!

THE ACTUAL DAY

Well on this day I am going to tell you about, one of these people was following me after I had collected a load of hay from our supplier Mr Morris Gee at Croft.

The roads in that area around Skegness are bad. Fen roads, built on marshland; they are narrow and have steep cambers with deep dykes on both sides. I had been diverted from my normal route by road-works and on approaching Burgh le Marsh to eventually join the main road and turn for home, I stopped to check my load.

There were 14 round bales of hay on the flat bed of the lorry and another 12 on the twin axle low loader trailer. The whole “ensemble” had been thrown this way and that crossing these dreadful “fen” roads and it was wise to ensure all the securing straps were still holding everything properly before joining the busy “A” road. A car pulled up behind me and I thought the driver was under the impression that I had stopped for some obstruction or other, despite the fact that I had indicated that I was stopping. The driver introduced himself as a VOSA officer and said he had been following me for some little while and become interested in my vehicle and load. Thus began the “interrogation”!

Where had I come from? Who’s vehicle was it? Where was I going? How much did the load weigh? The last question was difficult to answer as hay is a variable. Every bale is different but in “round” figures they can weigh about five hundredweights each. This gave me about three and a half tons on the lorry which was well within its limit and another three tons on the trailer which was registered at three and a half tons “gross”; that is trailer and load!

“JUST COME THIS WAY SIR”!

The officer certainly knew his “onions” and quite soon told me he wanted my lorry to follow him to the nearest commercial weighbridge.

Fortunately this was not too far away, some three miles in the direction of Skegness, in the opposite direction to one I wanted to go. Here he found that as the trailer was “close coupled” he could not get a reading of the exact weight of the trailer and its load. The trailer axles are quite close together, so part of the load is carried by the lorry, via the tow bar of the trailer and it is not a sensible idea to detach the trailer while loaded. The total weight of trailer and its load on the weighbridge was just inside the three and half tons. To prosecute me, he had to show that I had overloaded the trailer on one of its axles, but because of the way the trailer was constructed, he could not prove it!

He was not going to give in though as the vehicle I was driving had no road fund licence displayed in the lorry window. I had explained that it had been “off the road” for several months as it was only basically used for collecting the hay and straw we used. I was genuinely certain that a tax disc was on my desk in the office and I had just forgotten to display it! He declared that he would follow me to the Horse Centre and check my vehicle records. (Here, I should explain that a “responsible” vehicle operator keeps good records of regular safety checks on vehicles and servicing.)

Back on my desk, the tax disc was for the second lorry, the horse box. I had forgotten to tax the hay and straw lorry! Black mark there, but he said that provided I did tax it that day he would not prosecute! He asked endless questions about the operation of the Horse Centre and after about an hour declared that we should have an “operator’s licence”. I did know all about these things from my days at ECYB Transport and was also confident that as we did not sell anything the Lorries carried, than we were not required to have this kind of licence which was expensive and demanded far stricter controls. It also meant that someone in the operation of the centre needed to have a Transport Manager’s Licence. Fortunately, I do have one of these, and argued my case vociferously!

ADAMANT

The Officer was however adamant and insisted we applied for the statutory “operator’s licence”. This involved newspaper advertisements declaring our “intentions” so that neighbours and “uncle tom cobbley and all” could protest to the proposal of the Horse Centre becoming an “Operating Centre” for commercial vehicles, if they felt inclined. (To digress a little here, it had only been a couple of years or so before, when we had been collecting second hand pallets, donated to us, to raise funds; we could have genuinely been caught out for not having one of these licences, as at that time we were actually selling the pallets.)

We also had to prove to the Traffic Commissioners that we had sufficient finance available to operate the vehicles properly. We were lucky with this requirement, as we had been left a legacy and there was still some money in the bank. This is not normally the case!

If we could not conform to everything required of us, or indeed if there had been any objections locally, then the Lorries would have to go; that would have been a disaster!

The licence was eventually granted and we had to pay a further “hundreds” of pounds for the actual licence itself. But, now, the sanctuary for horses was officially an operating centre for two commercial vehicles and could theoretically apply for more. The status of the premises had been changed forever and in the future, this could be to our advantage!

I did also get the road fund licence that day, and I never did see that officer ever again.

Five years later when the licence came up for renewal, the Centre had become an official registered Charity so we did not renew the licence as the status of the whole operation had changed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE WINDMILL EXPRESS

It's a Rum Life Book Five

Northcote Diary 1994 to 2008

THE WINDMILL EXPRESS

(short version)

The Windmill Express with William and May providing the power.

The actual “Windmill Express” as it arrived after being built new by Andy from Croxdale, County Durham (picture front and to the left) and his friend Steve from Hetton. Andy and Steve donated the dray to the centre after building it from all new materials and land Rover running gear and hydraulics. Also helping is John, see story (front right) from Grimsby.

You will more than likely have just read the Straw Bale Story and this is the sequel......

IT HAPPENED IN ALFORD

Now we jump several years to about 2002. Alford, a small market town just north of Spilsby had asked us to implement a horse drawn ‘free taxi’ type service in their town to coincide with their regular craft markets during the summer months. Being still constantly short of funds and always looking for different avenues to earn some money, we agreed.

The first obstacle was a ‘taxi’ licence. (Still resolved to stay within the law). Our local District Council began by throwing all sorts of obstacles in our way and it was only due to Alford Town Council giving their whole support that we succeed. Alford town even paid the substantial charge demanded by East Lindsey District Council for the licence fee. The 20 seat heavy horse dray even had a ‘taxi plate’!

The first day of our new venture dawned and one of our helpers, John, who had a four wheel drive vehicle had agreed to tow our horse trailer complete with ‘Cracker’ to the site. I was to go a different way by a longer, quieter route with the actual dray, towed behind my Subaru pickup truck.

I had fixed an ‘A’ frame to connect the dray to the tow bar and arranged proper lights. The only thing missing was brakes on the dray which were normally operated from its driving seat and worked on its back wheels. There was no way I could incorporate these into the towing arrangement.

By taking the journey carefully, I could not see any real problem despite the dray being quite large, but no one would travel with me!

PLANS SCUPPERED

Everything went to plan until entering Alford and I stopped on a junction just opposite the church in the town centre. It was a bank holiday and the traffic nose to tail on this main route to the coastal resorts.

I waited my turn and manoeuvred slowly into the traffic flow but unbeknown to me the ‘A’ frame had become dislodged from one end of the turntable at the front of the dray behind me. A small cotter pin had twisted on its shaft and managed to spring out of place. The shaft had moved sideways and only one end remained located on the dray drawbar. As I moved forwards and to the left the dray followed to begin with, I could sense nothing untoward, but as I then turned to the right on the next bend, the dray continued straight on and even though it was only travelling very very slowly, it managed to mount and travel across the pavement and lodge itself in the front window of the local art gallery, pushing the adjacent brickwork back by several inches!

By this time the ‘A’ frame was shaped like a ‘U’ and the whole scene was covered in shattered ‘georgian’ bow window frame and what seemed like all the glass from every window in the area.

The bank holiday traffic began piling up behind me and the first thing I managed was to trip over the remains of the ‘A’ frame and fill my palms with broken glass. Eventually I pulled the dray out of the shop window and resecured it to the pickup truck. Borrowed a brush from a kind shop owner three doors away, left a brief note of explanation on the broken shop window and prepared to move off. I only had about three hundred yards to travel to the site where we were to begin our day.

During all these comings and goings and dodging of impatient traffic winding their way past me, I had noticed a gormless looking chap in the doorway of a rundown looking premises opposite; he stared at the situation and rather than offer any assistance took out his mobile phone and began to dial. I think I knew who he was dialling too!

John was already on site and wondering where I had got to. After enlightening him as to the hazards in the streets of Alford I despatched him to the local windmill to try and locate a mobile welding technician. (ever hopeful at 8.30am on a Bank Holiday Saturday)

The drawbar of the dray was sufficiently damaged so that it could not function for the initial turnout of the ‘Windmill Express’ ride service, a name created for special publicity for these events.

I began to dismantle my cobbled up and broken ‘A’ frame watched over by Cracker the horse when a large white saloon car arrived with red strip down the side and ‘Police’ in bold letters all over.

The constable was not unduly perturbed and invited me to sit in his passenger seat while he ascertained the facts of the morning’s incident. After a few moments he wished he hadn’t as I began to drip copious amounts of blood all over his carpets.

IT’S A SMALL WORLD

He raised his eyebrows at the mention of ‘Windmill Express’ and I had to explain that it was only a name and what it was all about! I explained what had happened and where I had come from. At the mention of Heavy Horse Centre his ears pricked up and his eyes concentrated firmly on my face.

“Haven’t we met before,” he asked. “I seem to remember something about a land rover and trailer of straw,” he continued.

I quickly explained that from that day I had been particular to stay within the law and everything today was legal and roadworthy.

He had a look at everything including the horse and could see where the cotter pin had broken on the drawbar of the dray resulting in the accident. He knew I had left a note for the shop and told him I would be around to see them when they opened their premises. He asked me to produce the relevant vehicle papers for the truck at our local Police station and that was the last I heard of the incident.

Oh, it cost our insurance company over £2000 to repair the shop window and damaged brickwork and I must admit it never looked so good afterwards.

John did actually manage to find the local mobile welder and with the draw-bar fixed the ‘Windmill Express’ did turn out to work in the town for the day.

ends

'It's a Rum Life' THE STRAW BALE STORY

''It's a Rum Life''

Northcote Diary Volume One 1984 to 1994

 THE STRAW BALE STORY

This must have been about 1993....it was a bad time all round!

It was during the time that we had no helpers. We had no money either !

The National Lottery had begun and drained all the spare cash that families used to go out on day trips. Over a hundred and fourty million pounds every week had been taken out of the National Economy and put into gambling.

Small animal sanctuaries up and down the Country were feeling the draft.

We were told by our accountant that we were insolvent after our income had dropped by £18,000 in the last year. Our previously paid staff had to go virtually overnight and Ruth and I were left on our own with over fifteen really big horses including old Goliath and his pal who needed really special care.

We owed our vets over £10,000 and they were being marvelous. They had real confidence in us and kept coming, at that time several times a week. Our total debt grew to £38,000 and eventually Ruth began to pay this back bit buy bit from her own nursing income. In the meantime she helped me clean out several horses before beginning her own work at 8.30 each morning.

The morning of this particular incident, we had no straw for bedding and I contacted a farmer friend down on the fens to see if I could call and collect some that same morning just as soon as my stable tasks were finished.

A MESSAGE

At this point I must mention that I remember quite clearly receiving a message in my head saying, something like 'leave it for today'.

In another story you will have read about my 'Easter experiences' and my introduction to Christian faith.

Sufficient to say that I did not pay heed to that message. All I could see in my thoughts was that the horses would have no bedding for that night. I had to do something about it. So I coupled the old Land Rover up to my even older single axle straw trailer and began the journey.

Admittedly, due to the fact that the Land Rover had no road tax disc or current MOT certificate and the trailer brake controls had been broken for several weeks I did decide to take the more minor roads.

THE CONFRONTATION

Duly loaded with a full compliment of 10 large round bales of straw, I started my return journey. Just before approaching the turn off for the minor roads

I had to make another decision. Did I take the quieter roads that were very uneven and undulating and run the risk of loosing a bale or two or did I take the smoother route along the main A16 trunk road.

The A16 won and there began the next problem. Just approaching Keal Hill

where the fens joined the Lincolnshire wolds there are two lay- byes, as I approached the first, a policeman suddenly appeared, as they do and waved me into the lay-by.

'Pull in here for a few moments please sir, ' he said. 'Just to let that long line of traffic behind you get past.'

'Oh and while you are here we will just take a look at your vehicle.'

The tax disc, or rather lack of it was the first thing to be noticed. This prompted me to say,' well you might as well know the truck has no current MOT either!'

Everything they checked on the vehicle worked perfectly.

The load was secure, but the trailer brake cable that was in two pieces was tied up with string. This caused a raised eyebrow or two, but the fact that the landrover is a strange beast and falls between two catagories in the Department of Transport Contruction and Use regulations got me off that problem.

The horse centre name was plastered all over the doors of the truck cab and the officers duly cautioned me that they would be reporting the fact that the vehicle had no tax disc or MOT.

'BUT' after I had gone to great lengths to explain all the circumstances, they did say that if I could buy the Tax disc within 12 hours they would not report that particular problem, which would just leave the MOT.

With that I continued back to the centre where on unloading the trailer, the picture you now see was taken. There was some chance for a laugh despite all the drama of the day!

But you do see the question remains......the message I received earlier that very morning had been proved to be quite correct. This only helped to increase the strength of my Faith!

Ends copyright RKS

JO JO CAME TODAY letters from France originally written in 2011

JO JO CAME TODAY

... letters from France, written in 2011

We have been promising ourselves that we should have Jo-Jo come round and empty our old septic tank. It is rather a fosse and somewhat different to the proper tank that many readers will have experience of in their back garden.

This relic was installed when our house was new and built for M. Fresneau ‘Pere’ in 1968, in those days in France, household plumbing was still a bit primitive.  Our toilet, not to be mistaken with a W.C. was a normal type porcelain affair, sat over a brick shute that emptied into this large concrete tank adjacent and under the house. Instead of the more normal ‘U’ bend you get in a W.C., this one had a plastic ‘lid’ at the bottom with handle attached, handle on the outside I might add. 

One simply flipped the lid and everything shot down the shute! 

 

Without a modern ‘U’ bend of course, there was always a bit of a pong in the ‘little room’. In fact ‘going to the loo’ was sometimes to be avoided until it was un- avoidable!

PLANS

Last year we managed to afford a new ‘gleaming’ septic tank, which was planted in the garden behind the house and connected to a long arrangement of filter pipes elsewhere in the garden.  This whole arrangement does not happen overnight in France.

Unlike the UK where until fairly recently one could borrow a JCB and suitably out of sight, simply bury a septic tank wherever you wished; here in France the procedure takes best part of a year. An inspector is booked to come and survey your property to see if it will sustain a septic tank and its filters. 

Once this hurdle is passed and the actual site plans have been received, you can look for your approved contractor to provide an estimate of cost.

The whole thing took us two years from start to finish. The new bathroom is finished too complete with “proper” WC; and now we have approval from the smart young lady who came to inspect the new drains and filter beds. We asked her for her ideas about converting this old ‘fosse’ into a collection tank for rain water. Of course the water will be used on the garden, “be sure to use plenty of bleach,” were her last words. We did not think bleach mixed with our rainwater, no matter how dilute, would help our garden plants to grow; so we decided to just give it a good wash out.

This is where Jo-Jo comes in, he is the farmer - father in law of our good neighbours André and Roland and he owns a useful gadget called a slurry spreader.

I was dozing in a chair in the conservatory having enjoyed a good lunch of crunchy cauliflower cheese and nice slice of fish. This was followed by a cut price tiramisu found at Super ‘U’ in Bourgeois this morning. ‘Use by today’ it said so we duly obliged and very nice too.

JO JO ARRIVES

The tractor turning into the drive at three thirty, duly had me on my feet post haste and we quickly had the machine in place and sucking at the tank contents quite happily. Jo-Jo is a tall well built chap, always very jovial and was stirring things up in the tank with his huge oversized suction gadget and I went off to find the hose and coupled it up to our well - water irrigation pump. 

The ‘fosse’ was only about half full and after a few minutes we had worked out that when full it would hold three thousand five hundred litres of water.  As the residue smelly liquid reached the bottom we directed a good jet of clear water onto the walls and floor to dilute what was left.

The tanker was still sucking happily and we had our heads down into the ‘fosse’ cleaning this and that quite unaware of the mayhem taking place behind us. If you can picture those comic strip characters with soap suds in a fountain or too much soap in a washing machine, well this was many many times worse!

This slurry tanker holds about two thousand five hundred litres when full and we had not bothered to watch it as the ‘fosse’ was only half full; there would be plenty of room! But in fact it was overflowing, all over the courtyard in front of the house.

As Jo-Jo turned round, prompted by some sixth sense, he leapt up and used some strong words finishing with a French version of ‘it’s never done this before’! It was all the result of the pump sucking a mixture of effluent and air with the ‘fosse’ being almost empty.

The result was something like a giant grey sausage on wheels totally surrounded by creamy grey/brown froth as it poured and cascaded out of the large round inspection hatch similar to a submarine conning tower. It could have been just like a huge whipped up blancmange or angel delight, but this one was over eight feet high and about 20 feet long. ‘It’s just the froth’ said Jo-Jo confidently!

WHAT A PONG....

But that froth had a pong too, not that we two noticed it much at that time as we had had our heads down inside the ‘fosse’ for several minutes and were ‘immune’!

“I’ll move the tractor out into the roadway,” he said; “you find some brushes to get rid of this stuff”. (All in “colloquial” French.)

I suggested that perhaps it would be best to rinse some of the spectacular ’foam’ from the slurry tank before he ventured onto the highway. That done he moved out of the way. It was a good job we both had ‘wellies’ on, even though it was just ‘foam’ it was not the kind of stuff one would like wrapped around ones ankles and socks! It did in fact brush away quite easily, it will take a day or two or even three for the smell to go though.

Jo-Jo was back in a few minutes, I didn’t ask him where he had left the slurry, one doesn’t ask these awkward type of questions in the countryside; and we finished rinsing the inside of the ‘fosse’. ‘Impeccable’ was the result, which could not be said for the courtyard.

Now, Ruth appeared on the scene having slept through all the trauma! Just as well she had not seen that ‘mountain’ of slurry foam spreading across the courtyard a little earlier. The day finished with a “petit coup” or to those not initiated a glass of wine all round.

ends

TO INVERNESS AND BACK AGAIN

  

TO INVERNESS AND BACK

From Ivy House Tales 1970 to 1984 this story from about 1974

We had just finished painting our “green-goddess”; a fairly ancient, long nose 7.5 ton Ford lorry with new second-hand flat bodywork. The lorry came from Glenton’s “Wonderloaf” bakery in Grimsby by way of Herbert Epton the local heavy haulage contractor in our village of New Bolingbroke. Herbert had the contact at Glentons who told him when any surplus bakery vehicles were coming up for sale, they were fairly high mileage but only lightly used having been delivering bread all their lives. They had also been well maintained.

All the Lorries came with big van bodies and had to be altered if need be.

The “green-goddess” was the first of several vehicles we bought from Herbert and formed the basis of our initial ECYB “lorry fleet”. 

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

Carting commercial tyres from tyre retailers to the Tyre Manufacturers Adjudication centres had become the basis of our independent business since I had left the employ of Firestone. Moving boats, ECYB’s initial business had been proved to be altogether too hazardous and fickle to make a serious living. Firestone local boss Fred Popham and I had discussed the whole matter at some length after I had admitted to ‘escaping’ for the odd day or two to deliver boats to various distant parts of the UK.

(see “Filling up with a Magyar 9” in Book Two)

My knowledge of the tyre trade through working for Firestone had introduced me to the problem encountered by all the tyre retailers in the UK in getting commercial tyres with supposed problems, back to the official centres set up and paid for by the UK Tyre manufacturers working together. There they were examined by engineers from the individual manufacturers on a rota basis and where necessary raised credits for any manufacturing imperfections. Collecting these tyres from retailers and their subsequent delivery had become the basis of our business.

The first vehicle we purchased was an elderly Volkswagen transporter "split windscreen" pick up which we fitted with a tow bar. Next we purchased a small lorry from a poultry farm at Swineshead; a short wheelbase BMC FG (three penny bit cab) light truck of five tons or so gross capacity with a flat open body. It was fitted with the same three litre six cylinder petrol engine as the MG’C’ and really flew along. Not the ideal transport for our needs but it was available and cheap. We added a 16 foot single axle trailer to this vehicle to give it the capacity for twice weekly trips delivering ‘complaint’ tyres to Burton on Trent our local Tyre Manufacturers Conference depot. We soon outgrew this little lorry and hence the search for something larger.

The first ‘Wonderloaf’ Ford, of about 1962 vintage was fitted with the same four cylinder diesel engine as was original equipment in the famous ‘Fordson Major’ tractor series of the late 1950’s; a long stroke, slow revving engine, with bags of pulling power, but not much top speed. The lorry had a normal type cab and long bonnet. We did not have pots of money available for smart paint jobs hence ‘the green goddess’ was lightest green and white. Paint we had in stock!

The complaint tyre collections had begun within Lincolnshire and initially only took a couple of days each week. Other clients were needed to help pay the bills and we had already begun to deliver goods for J.H. Rundle's Engineering works based in the village. Their own lorry was engaged on deliveries of really heavy items and we soon became fairly regularly engaged in their smaller deliveries initially using our Volkswagen Transporter pick up. (See Bus and the auger).

MAKING UP A LOAD

This trip to Inverness was more unusual. John Rundle had happened to mention that they had a complete set of three Cambridge (gang) rolls for delivery to the Blacksmith at Inverness in Scotland but the amount they could afford to pay for their transport would not cover the cost of a lorry on its own. With some applied thought I asked if they had any other items to go in that direction and it so happened that their iron foundry were finishing an order of lead sash window weights for a period housing project in Dundee.

I had another new client in Skegness who made children’s slot machine amusements and managed to add a consignment of their ‘money in the slot’ bar billiard tables destined for Perth. The three items made a reasonable load for the long distance run without having to bother finding a load for the return journey. They were also relatively high value and the billiard tables fragile. 

The lead sash weights went on first, laid flat on the back of the lorry. I travelled to Skegness to put the billiard tables on top and then returned to New Bolingbroke to load the Cambridge rolls on the front behind the cab. All in all I should think the load exceeded my maximum permitted four point five tons but the lorry looked happy once everything was sheeted down and ready for the off.

I remember distinctly that Saturday morning in Rundle’s yard roping and sheeting the last of the load.

John Rundle’s father (Jack snr.) was taking a great deal of interest in what I was doing. Readers of ‘Changes to the Town Hall’ will recollect that ‘Jack’ was one of the original Management committee of that historical building. Now well retired, he had been instrumental in the expansion of Rundle’s during the era of steam. He still retained an active interest in everything going on in the business and after watching me for several minutes he said, “I’ve never been to Scotland, will you take me with you?”

I was deeply honoured that this wonderful elderly gentleman who was almost 80, years old had sufficient confidence in me and this gaudily painted very second hand lorry to wish to come on the round trip of between six and seven hundred miles into some seriously wild countryside.

I think it was the thought of passing Culloden and Balmoral, Tomintoul and Blairgowrie; Edinburgh, Perth and Dundee that had excited his serious interest.

After a few moments I said we would have to speak to his son John (himself in his late 50’s). John was quite speechless, but after I had explained that due to promised delivery times and huge distances, I would have to sleep in the lorry while travelling over the top of the Cairngorm Mountains; there would be nowhere convenient to stop where a bed could be found for the night.

I do regret that no way could be found for the old gentleman to accompany me as he would have seen splendour like nothing he had ever seen before in his whole long life. But the journey was not without difficulty; due to the costings and mileage I could take no longer than two days for the journey so stops would not be frequent. Ministry Log Books were still the method of keeping journey records so timings were ‘flexible’.

NOT WITHOUT INCIDENT

Dundee was my first stop with the billiard tables and then I was back in Perth before the end of that first day to deliver the original ‘Georgian’ pattern lead sash weights at the prescribed building site where some of the huge classic Perth residential buildings were being faithfully restored. A brief stop here to choose my best route to find myself in Inverness by 8am the next morning.

I really did stop for the night on top of the Cairngorm Mountains; it was very cold I remember and while wrapped in my sleeping bag stretched across the bench seat of the lorry cab, gave due thought to old Jack Rundle and what he would have made of the journey.

At daybreak I began the last lap north allowing sufficient time for the blacksmith at Inverness to open his shop; but fate was to take a hand and not long after I started, one of the diesel injector pipes on the engine broke clean in half just above the injector itself.

There was nothing I could do; the engine ran on three cylinders and the remaining now unconnected pipe pumped measured amounts of diesel everywhere except into the engine. These older engines were very simple in design and not sufficient allowance had been made for excessive vibration and different engine speeds between the tractor where the engine was first used and the lorry. From time to time I was to learn, these pipes just broke off fairly regularly. Each of the four pipes was totally different in length and shape; they were quite strong in themselves but needed more bracing where their longer lengths passed over the top of the engine. The lorry being an early 1960’s model and very basic; it had no sound deadening material in the engine bay or anything else to prevent the very strong smell from the diesel fuel that was being sprayed liberally over the entire engine.

From the first public telephone box I could find, ( no mobile phones around yet ) I phoned ahead and explained my problem. Bit by bit I pressed on and managed to arrive at the Blacksmiths shop only half an hour or so later than expected. Forewarned, he surveyed the damage and quickly stripped the pipe so that he could braze the two broken ends together. I was even more pleased that old ‘Jack’ was not with me on the journey as he would have no doubt found that last leg to Inverness worrying to say the least.

REGRET

The trip back home was uneventful, the repair held and a new pipe quickly fixed in place.

Unfortunately, ‘old Jack’ Rundle died a few months later, he never did get to Scotland; but perhaps it was best he did not make his first trip to Scotland in a very smelly, second hand lorry with only three cylinders working during its crossing of some of the highest mountains in the land!

ENDS

KS copyright 2013