I first saw Tom when I saw the Foden stuck in the unsurfaced road three days with the rear axle broken in half. This was one he bought from a scrapyard in Birkenhead, worn out and brakeless as evinced by the breaking down of a neighbour\u2019s fence as he drove it home first trip and the regulator stuck. If my memory is correct the reg was M 2632 \u2013 pre first war.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He lived in Moreton, near Birkenhead, otherwise known as Bucket Town due to the sanitary arrangements or else debtors retreat, and the village consisted of caravans, shanties, or for the more affluent war surplus army huts, and such was the poverty that at dusk furtive figures could be seen moving the furniture in barrows from places where they could not pay the rent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Foden was kept at the end of our road, an unsurfaced lane as was all Moreton in 1928, and Tom brought gasworks ashes which were free and tipped them to make the road passable, my father helping to spread them, and thus being acquainted helped in fixing the Foden, chiselling the razor sharp teeth down to mesh the gearwheels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tom learned to drive the wagon by helping a local haulier as second man (unpaid). Billy Bontoft was a fellow Wigan chap like Tom, and was a TXXXXXXXXXXXXX, a law to himself. On one occasion they were in a northern mill town when there was an almighty bang from the rear and the wagon stopped dead, blocking both tram tracks. The back axle had snapped in half, no wonder as it was necessary to carry double the legal weight in order to make the job pay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Quickly Billy shovelled the fire out and filled the boiler up and said to Tom \u201cHast gotten out owt of thine on\u2019t wagon? Only my coat \u2013 get it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tom followed Billy as he walked away from the derelict wagon. \u201cWhat are we going to do about it?\u201d \u201cFind the nearest railway station, that firm was no bloody good to work for and we\u2019re going home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On another occasion they were out in Wales and drew up at a wayside pond to fill up with water. This was always a cause of friction between farmers and drivers, horse owners resented ponds and horse troughs having water taken. Large firms had no trouble as the water boards erected cast iron water boxes and you paid a water licence annually and were issued with a key that opened them when you inserted a tally like a corrugated penny, but both licence and tally cost money, which led to a thriving black market in keys and tallies at the price of a packet of fags.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As Billy rolled out the hose one of the two men who had been working at the far end of the field approached and said \u201cDon\u2019t you put that hose in the pond. If you do I will cut it in half,\u201d brandishing his sickle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIf you cut the hose you will go in the bloody pond yourself,\u201d and as the man advanced at the hose Billy took him by the scruff of his neck and seat of his pants and threw him in the pond. He crawled out and went to the wagon and took off the sack which was covering the name of the firm on the door and took details. Meanwhile another farmworker came over \u2013 \u201cOh you\u2019ve done it now,\u201d he said, \u201cdon\u2019t you know he is the local Justice of the Peace.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I first saw Tom when I saw the Foden stuck in the unsurfaced road three days with the rear axle broken in half. This was one he bought from a scrapyard in Birkenhead, worn out and brakeless as evinced by … Continue reading