Post by 0urkid on Jul 31, 2010 9:11:32 GMT -1
This is the story of my first day working at a job as a carter in 1952, when I was an eighteen-year-old with a head full of feathers instead of brains.
All of this is perfectly true. No embellishments.
Anyway, it was summer, and I was on holiday from my job on the coal-face at Bradford pit. A young friend of mine, Jimmy Smith, asked me if I would like to earn some extra money, cash in hand, driving a horse and cart for a couple of weeks. The job consisted of collecting rolls of cloth for Broadbents of Ardwick Green and delivering them to various warehouses around the city centre. Nothing to it. Or so Jimmy said.
When I explained that I had never actually done this type of work before, he reassured me.
“Just tell Mr. Broadbent that you have worked with horses. You’ll be O.K. If he asks if you can harness up, tell him ‘yes’. I’ll be there to help you out”.
The next morning, I arrived with Jimmy at the stables, situated in the aptly-named Paddock Street at the rear of the Green, and was introduced to old Mr. Broadbent. He asked the inevitable question: “Have you done this type of work, before?”
“Oh, yes”, I fibbed, “I worked a milk-round for Dobsons’ Dairies until recently”.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave……………
Once inside the stable, I was introduced to my charge, Tommy. He was an old boy of thirteen, tractable, friendly and fond of an easy time. He was also quite intelligent, as I was soon to discover.
My first job was to fit Tommy’s collar, something which I assumed would be no trouble at all. However, try as I might, I could not get the collar to go over the horse’s head. I found this puzzling, as I had seen dozens of horses wearing them, and knew that the wide bit went at the bottom. What I didn’t know, was that the collar is first fitted upside down, wide bit at the top, and then twisted once it is over the horse’s head.
While I was going through this pantomime, Mr. Broadbent, having heard the commotion, came into the stall and enquired what was happening. He then told me what I was doing wrong. I nodded, did as he said, and the offending collar went on effortlessly.
Mr. Broadbent didn’t say anything, but I knew my cover was blown.
Fortunately for me, Jimmy then came in, Mr. Broadbent tactfully left, and we finished the job together.
Finally ready to start the day’s work, I set off behind Jimmy on his cart for my first assignment. I decided that, never having driven a horse and cart before, it would be safer to lead Tommy out of the yard by the bridle, and get up on the cart when out of sight of Mr. Broadbent.
Just as I reached the gateway leading out into the street, I felt an almighty blow on my ankle. It was as if I had been struck with a 20lb. sledge-hammer. What had in fact happened, was that I had got too close to the horse and he had clipped my ankle.
I stifled a yell and hobbled the remaining few yards to where I would be out of sight of the stables. Thankfully, I got up onto the cart and started off behind Jimmy.
My instructions were to follow him to a place called the Bird Cage in the town centre in order to collect my first consignment of cloth. Great, but what Jimmy hadn’t told me, was that Tommy had a top speed of about four miles per hour, whereas his horse could travel half as fast again.
Inevitably, I quickly lost sight of Jimmy and realized that I would have to find my own way there.
It now occurred to me that Tommy, who had made this same journey every day, five days a week, for years, would be capable of finding his own way there if I gave him his head (a term I had come across many times in books).
With this in mind, I dispensed with using the reins for controlling him, and allowed him to carry on as he felt fit.
It was a beautiful sunny day, and Tommy seemed to perk up at being given this amount of freedom. His pace quickened, and within a short space of time I found myself half-way down Stretford Road. This, of course, was not part of my itinerary.
Stopping at a phone-box, I rang the Mr. Broadbent’s number in order to get precise directions. He wasn’t exactly delirious with joy when he heard where I was, but told me to turn the horse around and head for Oxford Street in the city centre.
Some time later, we reached the Grosvenor Street junction and turned into Oxford Street. This is where things began to go seriously wrong. When we reached the Gaumont cinema, it suddenly dawned on Tommy that his day of leisure was about to come to an abrupt end. He obviously recognized his surroundings, and stopped dead. No amount of cajoling or threatening would persuade him to move. Fortunately, a passer-by saw my predicament and asked what was wrong. When I told him, he took the reins from me and gave the horse a swift smack on his under-carriage. Tommy immediately began to move off, and grabbing the reins, I steered him in the direction of the Bird Cage, which was next door to the News Theatre cinema.
My problems were not yet over. As we turned left into the entrance, the rear wheel of the cart became hooked on the bumper of a car which had been parked on the corner. With the aid of several passing volunteers, the cart was eventually separated from the car, and I finally drove into the warehouse yard.
Once loaded, I was told to proceed to Granby Row, where I would unload at one of the premises there. I had brought some sweets with me as a treat for Tommy, and gave one to him before we left. Another mistake. After that, he wouldn’t move anywhere until he had had a toffee. He obviously thought his dreams had come true; he had a real sucker here.
We set off on the journey, and all went well until reached Sackville Street. As we drove along, I heard several clunking sounds and looked back to see that a projection on the cart had removed the door handles from four parked cars. In those days, the handles weren’t recessed as they are now, but stood proud of the bodywork.
Not wishing to become involved in any insurance claims, I hurriedly turned into Granby Row and from there into the warehouse yard to unload.
The first thing I had to do, was give Tommy the by now mandatory sweet. He thought he was entitled to one every time we arrived at or left premises.
I managed to get through the rest of the afternoon ( and a bag of sweets) without further event. Then it came to going-home time.
It seems that cart-horses have a built-in clock, which tells them when they have finished work and it’s time to return home. Tommy certainly had. He suddenly became imbued with energy, and began the journey back to the stables at speed I hadn’t believed him capable of.
On the way, I decided to stop at a little café for a cup of tea. I went inside, paid for my drink and sat down at one of the bare tables.
I hadn’t been there two or three minutes, when a chap dashed in through the door.
“Anybody here own a horse and cart?” he asked.
I stood up, proudly. “Yes, I do”, I said.
“Well, you had better go and get it. It’s straddled across the junction at the Charles Street traffic lights, causing chaos!”
I dashed out and ran up the road, to see a bewildered Tommy with his driverless cart slewed across the road, surrounded by a sea of angry motorists.
I rapidly climbed on board, turned Tommy around, and we set off once again in the direction of the stables.
When we arrived, I discovered that I was late, and the stable yard was locked. I gave Tommy another sweet, patted his muzzle, and and left him outside the gate while I went round to Mr. Broadbent’s house to tell him I had arrived.
Mr. Broadbent returned to the yard with me, but imagine my horror when we turned the corner and found that Tommy had gone. Complete with cart.
It seems that he had decided that he was hungry, and had wandered off in search of fodder. We found him ten minutes later, on a nearby patch of waste ground and oblivious of the cart, happily munching grass shoots.
Lodging him safely in the stable for the night finally brought to a close my first day as a carter. For the remainder of the fortnight, things went fairly smoothly.
Well, as smoothly as they can when you have a horse that is in control of the situation.
All of this is perfectly true. No embellishments.
Anyway, it was summer, and I was on holiday from my job on the coal-face at Bradford pit. A young friend of mine, Jimmy Smith, asked me if I would like to earn some extra money, cash in hand, driving a horse and cart for a couple of weeks. The job consisted of collecting rolls of cloth for Broadbents of Ardwick Green and delivering them to various warehouses around the city centre. Nothing to it. Or so Jimmy said.
When I explained that I had never actually done this type of work before, he reassured me.
“Just tell Mr. Broadbent that you have worked with horses. You’ll be O.K. If he asks if you can harness up, tell him ‘yes’. I’ll be there to help you out”.
The next morning, I arrived with Jimmy at the stables, situated in the aptly-named Paddock Street at the rear of the Green, and was introduced to old Mr. Broadbent. He asked the inevitable question: “Have you done this type of work, before?”
“Oh, yes”, I fibbed, “I worked a milk-round for Dobsons’ Dairies until recently”.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave……………
Once inside the stable, I was introduced to my charge, Tommy. He was an old boy of thirteen, tractable, friendly and fond of an easy time. He was also quite intelligent, as I was soon to discover.
My first job was to fit Tommy’s collar, something which I assumed would be no trouble at all. However, try as I might, I could not get the collar to go over the horse’s head. I found this puzzling, as I had seen dozens of horses wearing them, and knew that the wide bit went at the bottom. What I didn’t know, was that the collar is first fitted upside down, wide bit at the top, and then twisted once it is over the horse’s head.
While I was going through this pantomime, Mr. Broadbent, having heard the commotion, came into the stall and enquired what was happening. He then told me what I was doing wrong. I nodded, did as he said, and the offending collar went on effortlessly.
Mr. Broadbent didn’t say anything, but I knew my cover was blown.
Fortunately for me, Jimmy then came in, Mr. Broadbent tactfully left, and we finished the job together.
Finally ready to start the day’s work, I set off behind Jimmy on his cart for my first assignment. I decided that, never having driven a horse and cart before, it would be safer to lead Tommy out of the yard by the bridle, and get up on the cart when out of sight of Mr. Broadbent.
Just as I reached the gateway leading out into the street, I felt an almighty blow on my ankle. It was as if I had been struck with a 20lb. sledge-hammer. What had in fact happened, was that I had got too close to the horse and he had clipped my ankle.
I stifled a yell and hobbled the remaining few yards to where I would be out of sight of the stables. Thankfully, I got up onto the cart and started off behind Jimmy.
My instructions were to follow him to a place called the Bird Cage in the town centre in order to collect my first consignment of cloth. Great, but what Jimmy hadn’t told me, was that Tommy had a top speed of about four miles per hour, whereas his horse could travel half as fast again.
Inevitably, I quickly lost sight of Jimmy and realized that I would have to find my own way there.
It now occurred to me that Tommy, who had made this same journey every day, five days a week, for years, would be capable of finding his own way there if I gave him his head (a term I had come across many times in books).
With this in mind, I dispensed with using the reins for controlling him, and allowed him to carry on as he felt fit.
It was a beautiful sunny day, and Tommy seemed to perk up at being given this amount of freedom. His pace quickened, and within a short space of time I found myself half-way down Stretford Road. This, of course, was not part of my itinerary.
Stopping at a phone-box, I rang the Mr. Broadbent’s number in order to get precise directions. He wasn’t exactly delirious with joy when he heard where I was, but told me to turn the horse around and head for Oxford Street in the city centre.
Some time later, we reached the Grosvenor Street junction and turned into Oxford Street. This is where things began to go seriously wrong. When we reached the Gaumont cinema, it suddenly dawned on Tommy that his day of leisure was about to come to an abrupt end. He obviously recognized his surroundings, and stopped dead. No amount of cajoling or threatening would persuade him to move. Fortunately, a passer-by saw my predicament and asked what was wrong. When I told him, he took the reins from me and gave the horse a swift smack on his under-carriage. Tommy immediately began to move off, and grabbing the reins, I steered him in the direction of the Bird Cage, which was next door to the News Theatre cinema.
My problems were not yet over. As we turned left into the entrance, the rear wheel of the cart became hooked on the bumper of a car which had been parked on the corner. With the aid of several passing volunteers, the cart was eventually separated from the car, and I finally drove into the warehouse yard.
Once loaded, I was told to proceed to Granby Row, where I would unload at one of the premises there. I had brought some sweets with me as a treat for Tommy, and gave one to him before we left. Another mistake. After that, he wouldn’t move anywhere until he had had a toffee. He obviously thought his dreams had come true; he had a real sucker here.
We set off on the journey, and all went well until reached Sackville Street. As we drove along, I heard several clunking sounds and looked back to see that a projection on the cart had removed the door handles from four parked cars. In those days, the handles weren’t recessed as they are now, but stood proud of the bodywork.
Not wishing to become involved in any insurance claims, I hurriedly turned into Granby Row and from there into the warehouse yard to unload.
The first thing I had to do, was give Tommy the by now mandatory sweet. He thought he was entitled to one every time we arrived at or left premises.
I managed to get through the rest of the afternoon ( and a bag of sweets) without further event. Then it came to going-home time.
It seems that cart-horses have a built-in clock, which tells them when they have finished work and it’s time to return home. Tommy certainly had. He suddenly became imbued with energy, and began the journey back to the stables at speed I hadn’t believed him capable of.
On the way, I decided to stop at a little café for a cup of tea. I went inside, paid for my drink and sat down at one of the bare tables.
I hadn’t been there two or three minutes, when a chap dashed in through the door.
“Anybody here own a horse and cart?” he asked.
I stood up, proudly. “Yes, I do”, I said.
“Well, you had better go and get it. It’s straddled across the junction at the Charles Street traffic lights, causing chaos!”
I dashed out and ran up the road, to see a bewildered Tommy with his driverless cart slewed across the road, surrounded by a sea of angry motorists.
I rapidly climbed on board, turned Tommy around, and we set off once again in the direction of the stables.
When we arrived, I discovered that I was late, and the stable yard was locked. I gave Tommy another sweet, patted his muzzle, and and left him outside the gate while I went round to Mr. Broadbent’s house to tell him I had arrived.
Mr. Broadbent returned to the yard with me, but imagine my horror when we turned the corner and found that Tommy had gone. Complete with cart.
It seems that he had decided that he was hungry, and had wandered off in search of fodder. We found him ten minutes later, on a nearby patch of waste ground and oblivious of the cart, happily munching grass shoots.
Lodging him safely in the stable for the night finally brought to a close my first day as a carter. For the remainder of the fortnight, things went fairly smoothly.
Well, as smoothly as they can when you have a horse that is in control of the situation.
