Bill Chalton: Bellingham memories. Learning to fly

Northumberland, history, memories, learning to fly

By Bill Charlton

Bill Charlton preparing for Shark Patrol

Learning to fly
After moving to Coffs Harbour in New South Wales in 1995 I learned to fly. The Cessna 172 was my favorite plane which could carry 4 people, and I often had a full load. I used to do the Shark patrol between Woolgoolga and Nambucca Heads for the Radio station here in Coffs.

Pat and I often would go up for a spin for an hour or so, and it was great fun and a great sense of achievement for me. I haven't flown for a while as the Department called CASA started to get a bit hungry for money, as all these Departments do these days.

In September 1995 I also did a Parachute Jump from 10,000 ft over Coffs Harbour. It was a tandem jump but was very exciting. On the way down I took 11 Pictures of the area. I was pleased that I learned to fly when I did, as it's not as popular now because of the extra costs.

While we were in England on holiday in 1996, we hired a plane and flew from Carlisle airport right down the military road to the Fairshaw road-end then across to Wark and up to Bellingham. We did a couple of orbits and then on to Kielder over Kielder Water, back down to Lane Head and over by Cairnglastenhope to Green Head and back to Carlisle. It was a most enjoyable flight for us to fly over the old haunts.

Bill Charlton and new Cessna Skyhawk

Bill Charlton: Bellingham memories: Smoking experiments

Northumberland, history, humour, childhood memories, wartime 1939-45

By Bill Charlton

Smoking experiments
In our junior years in 1940/41 Cliff and I experimented in smoking by collecting dog ends off the road, looking in empty cigarette packets for a cigarette or cards which we used to save for a collection and swap with other lads in the village. The cards were printed in sets or different subjects such as famous footballers, famous cricketers, famous trains and so on.

At odd times we’d buy a clay pipe for a halfpenny each, and fill them up with ‘baccy’ we’d saved for a few puffs with the pipe each, Alas, one day we were caught by the local bobby Dick Oliver who was a Special Constable. He lodged at the croft and was on his way to start his duty shift in the village. He told us not to smoke that rubbish as it would make us sick,

He told us he’d show us how to fill a pipe properly with real tobacco when he finished his shift that afternoon, as he lodged with the Wright family two doors from us at the Croft. Well true to his word, we met him at the seat at the Show field entrance where he then showed us how to cut the ‘Warhorse’ tobacco with a knife, how to rub it in the palms of our hands to break it up before filling the clay pipes which he’d also brought with him.

The ‘Warhorse’ tobacco was strong black stuff ; he didn’t tell us this but we learned it later! Never mind, he got us all lit up and going full steam, and off we went up the Dunterly road puffing away like old hands. When we reached the farm, the Muscovy Ducks which were often out the front eating the grass did’nt look the same to us.

Instead of white, they looked green and by this time we were starting to feel a bit dizzy and sickly. That brought us down to earth a bit about smoking for a while. But a week or so later he caught us out again smoking fags, so he just took us into his digs (Mrs Wright’s house), put his hand up the chimney and blackened our faces with soot. Then he kicked our backsides out the door.

We didn’t dare go home so we set off down to the Tyne to wash it off but that just made it worse. Unknown to us he had told Mother what he’d done, so we got in trouble again. Dad was away in the war and perhaps Dick was trying to keep us in line - which he did.

Bill Charlton: Bellingham memories. 1940s cars

Northumberland, history, humour, wartime, 1939-45, cars

By Bill Charlton

Dad’s car
Dad’s fist car was an Austin 7, which he bought just before the war. Dad was called up for war service and one weekend when he came on leave, he put the car up on wooden blocks to keep the tyres off the ground in the garage,

Cliff and I would spend quite a bit of time in the garage with this new fangled machine pretending to be driving it using all the gears and double de clutching and steering as the wheels were off the ground.

After a year or two, when Dad was on leave he registered the car for a three months to give it a run around, and he asked me if I’d like to learn to drive. ‘Yes’ I blurted out, so he took me for a spin around the Bridges. Settling into the driving seat off we went up the Hesleyside road all the way around the Bridges and back home. Before we got out of the car Dad said to me ‘You haven’t driven before’? ‘No” I said.

Well Dad said to me there’s not much else that he could teach me, so when I was old enough I got my ‘Provisional Licence’ on the 3rd April 1945. I still have it today in my archives.

After the war was over Dad sold the Austin 7 and updated to an Austin 10 for a few years before getting a Hillman. He then changed it once again to a Cortina as he was building a Caravan. The framework was of aluminium and ash, the same wood as used to build the famous wartime Mosquito aircraft. When it was all finished, Mam and Dad toured Scotland a couple of times before it was sold.

Bill Charlton: Bellingham memories. Wartime diet

Northumberland, history, humour, wartime 1939-45

By Bill Charlton

The bridge over the North Tyne at Bellingham
The tiny cottage at the end of the bridge, (which at one time must have been a toll house) was nicknamed 'the rabbit hutch' and the nice lady who occupied it (who nobody knew much about) was inevitably called 'The Rabbit' (but not to her face!)

Rabbit pie
Often in the war years things were a bit tight in the food and money department, and Mother would at times ask us lads what we’d like for our dinner tomorrow night. Without hesitation Cliff and I would both blurt out ‘Rabbit Pie please’.

Mother’s response was then you’d better get out and catch some! So off down the byre we’d go to collect some snares, and take off around the wood side of the show field fence looking for runs to set our snares.

After a while and half a dozen snares later we would wander out into the open field and off the rabbits would go for cover where the snares were set. Then we’d retrace our tracks to collect our next dinner, but first we would have to gut and skin them. This along with the offal went down an old rabbit hole and stomped in with our hob nail boots.

Mother would then prepare the meat by putting it in a white vitreous enamel dish of salt and water to soak over night. What we didn’t need the dog would get. The next night at dinner Cliff and I would scuffle over the kidneys so mother had to share them out between us to keep us both happy.

Trout & ducks
Brother Cliff would often go fishing in the Tyne for trout, and on his way down to the Riding stone area where he would fish, his Aylesbury & Khaki Campbell Ducks would follow him to the river for a swim around while he fished. After he’d caught a couple of trout, he’d make his way back home with the ducks following him.

Bees
Cliff and I used to keep bees and we had a couple of hives. We’d collect the honey when required and keep a check on the Queens to see how many new Queen cells were developing.

During the war years we used to be allowed 10 lb of sugar per hive to make candy to keep them alive during a hard winter, When the bees swarmed we would go out and collect them in a cardboard box to start a new hive. It was great fun keeping bees and interesting.

Bill Charlton. Bellingham memories. Cairnglastenhope

Norhumberland, history, childhood memories, 1940s

By Bill Charlton

Cairnglastenhope Lake

Cairnglastenhope – a great kids' adventure
Going back a couple of years before the 1939-1945 war started, my Dad (Bob Charlton) planned a great adventure for us kids (me and brother Cliff and our cousin Tom Thompson). It was to cross over the fells and visit Cairnglastenhope Lake being 5 to 6 miles distant from the Croft.

So one Sunday spring morning we all set off over Dunterley Fell with our packed lunches heading west towards the Mesling Crags, crossing over the moors covered in Bent grass. We all chatted away to each other enjoying our hike toward the Lake,

Then coming across lots of depressions in the ground, Dad explained that years ago people dug these holes to extract coal from quite shallow seams, and worked them out to a radius of about 6 to 8 feet. They then moved on another 20 ft or so and started another new shaft. Over the years all these shafts eventually caved in to form a crater-like depression, all covered in Bent grass good cover for foxes to hide.

After a while we needed a bit of a rest, so sitting down on a bit of a ridge to have a drink, Tom asked Dad what the bones were he saw. Dad very coyly said that someone had stopped for a rest once, and that was all that was left of him (or her).

Needless to say we kept plodding on over the fells past Watson’s Walls and on towards the Lake called ‘Cairnglastenhope’ where we had lunch and a good rest, feeding the hundreds of seagulls which were nesting on the very tufted boggy ground at one end of the lake covered in rushes,

We managed to collect a couple of eggs and blew them to add to my collection, which my Uncle had given me to treasure. We got great delight in feeding the gulls with bread crusts by throwing them in the air for them to catch in flight.

The older lads from the Chirdon side used to collect the eggs by having a long cane rod with a spoon tied on the end as the area was very spongy and soft. I believe the eggs were used to keep the fox hounds in good fettle for hunting. Our return journey was a great sense of achievement and lots to tell our Mother once we were home again. We often went for long walks over the fells on Sunday mornings with Dad while our Mother baked scones, cakes, and Gooseberry and Rhubarb tarts in the oven before preparing Sunday dinner for all of us. We were a much loved and well fed lot of kids.

Bellingham reminiscences - trip to Cairnglastenhope

By Archie Mason


Reprinted from the Bellingham Heritage Centre Newsletter, Autumn 2009.
See the contacts for the Heritage Centre on the blog for more information.

We left the village by the road over the Tyne bridge then up to the cemetery at the Croft, where we turned right to go as far as Dunterley farm. There we made a left turn to the road to that goes over Dunterley fell into Warksburn, and headed for the remote farm of Pundershaw.

It was there that we had to leave our transport - usually it was a bicycle but sometimes we had the luxury of the a family car, or a bumpy ride on one of the cattle wagons of a local contractor - but there the road ended and all the vehicles had to be parked at Pundershaw. The thought of walking didn't discourage us as we were all full of energy and raring to go - of course this was still early in the day.

From the farm we went walking over the moorland going west and following the course of the Pundershaw burn or the Blackburn stream (different maps have used different names) for a distance of about two miles, where we arrive at the objective of our trek this day, which was, (again depending on which map was in use) Cairnglastenhope or Blackburn Lough.

The Lough was a mysterious and remote little lake, maybe a bit bigger than a couple of football pitches, that suddenly appeared for no reason at all in the middle of the moor. I can't recall being able to see signs of habitation in any direction so it was a lonely place to be.

I said 'suddenly appeared' because it did just that - for as we were climbing a slight slope towards the lake we could not see the water until we were about ten or twelve yards from it when it appeared at eye level. Of course anyone who was not deaf or blind would know something odd was near because of the raucous screaming of the gulls being disturbed, as the little lake was a nesting place and breeding area for seabirds.

I don't know how the birds found this place, as you couldn't get much further away from the sea than this part of the country; but find it they did. There were many different species of seas birds, some small and others were quite large, but all of them were very aggressive - and who could blame them when their breeding grounds were being invaded.

There were hundreds of them, all very possessive of their nests and in the reeds and rushes all round the lake, and we all had to be wary of the mock attacks from any direction. Most nests were near the water but some eggs were just laid in the moorland grass, yards away from the side of the lake - it was getting a bit crowed near the waters edge.

Near the lower end of the lake, there was an area where the reeds and rushes had grown then died, and had formed a thick mat of rotting material that floated on the surface of the water. It was so thick that it was possible to walk on it which was an eerie sensation feeling it bouncing up and down as we walked across it to get out towards the edge. We did this to reach the furthest nests, because part of our reason for our visit to the lake was to collect gull eggs.

We must have had some unconscious sense of preservation of the environment even in those days , as the rule was to take only one egg per nest from the usual four that hand been laid. There was a little test to check its condition - dropped in water the good egg sank, but if it floated it was not a 'good egg'. We had all brought sandwiches and a drink to sustain us throughout the day, so the collected eggs were carefully packed in handfuls of grass ain the now empty haversacks we had brought with us, and taken back home where they were fried and eaten.

The strange part was that from what I remember, the eggs were not very palatable at all. The yholks wer a brilliant orange, almost red, and when cooked, the white of the egg just turned into milky- 'see-through' consistency and all had a very unpleasant taste of fish. So it was hardly with the trouble of collecting the eggs but the main reason for the whole trip was the adventure of going to the little hidden lake - the eggs were not a very welcome bonus and excuse.

The return journey home would be more subdued, We would be tired and hungry and possibly uncomfortable with wet feet - if you visited a little lake in the wilds then you were expected to end up with wet feet - that was part of the exercise. However on the plus side, we would all be glowing with health and the satisfaction of spending a day out in the open air and already planning our next adventure.

I have used the past tense all along because its seventy years since I visited the lake and, if it is still there, it will be a different place.

Archie was brought up in Bellingham and on leaving school he joined the Royal Navy in which he spent his career. He is now retired and lives in Portsmouth.

Bill Charlton: Bellingham memories. 1940s

Northumberland, history, humour, childhood memories, 1940s
By Bill Charlton

Swimming & skating on the Tyne
During the school summer holidays we'd go swimming in the river Tyne which is where I learned to swim. On our way down from The Croft we used to pop the tar bubbles on the road with our sandals, which we wore a lot in the summer months. We used to get long Indian summers in those days.

In the winter, we'd go ice-skating on the Tyne and our mother used to skate too. I learned to skate around the diving board holding on to it for confidence. The two local stars were Jean Milburn and Jack Telford and they used to help us young folk improve our skills.

In the evenings and after dark we used to stack steel barrels which had been cut in half and placed one on top of each other with the open end upper filled with branches and logs, which gave a nice fireplace in the middle of the river on the ice for night skating. The fires would melt the surface ice a little which made for good smooth ice next night.

One year when the ice broke up, we found a salmon frozen into the ice with a piece bitten out of its neck probably by an otter. The local Catholic priest measured the ice thickness one year while we were there, and it was 18 inches thick. During that particular winter, Kit and Joe Maughan used to cart sand from the island in the river with horse and cart over the ice into the opening, and stockpile it for building work.

The Northern Farmers meal store
During the autumn we laddies would go down to the Northern Farmers into the meal Store and help load bags of feed for the local farms, and ride on the back of the wagon around these farms, sitting on the bags of feed and cake slabs. It was great fun eating a few of the smaller dog biscuits and locust beans etc. Approaching the farms, there were often apple trees around, so we'd collect one or two on our way in or out as the case may be. It was a fun day for us.

From gas to electricity
We used to have gas at the Croft in those days which came from the Bellingham gas works. But up at the Croft we had problems with water in the pipes as the gas would come through in surges as pressure built up to force its way along the pipes. Water lay in the low points along the pipe track down near the end of the Tyne bridge. So we always had to have candles at the ready just in case we were blacked out.

But in about 1935 progress arrived and we were fitted out with electricity all along the Croft. We even had a street light too. In the house we gradually changed over to all things electric with the kettle and the iron being some of the first things bought. The old Bellingham gas works was no longer needed and became redundant, later being cut up for scrap. You could smell the gas around the old place for years afterwards.

Honey, fruit and nuts
For more entertainment, we would dig up Bumblebee nests and eat the honey which was in marble-sized sacks by sucking them out. Then there were hazel nuts, beechnuts, buttercup bulbs, wild strawberries, wild rasps and bilberries to supplement our diets. Then in autumn we would collect the uneatable chestnuts to play “konkers” at school which could get very competitive.

We all used to have fun in those days gone by. No mobile phones, TV, computers, or ipods. We made our own entertainment and remember that we all left school at age 14 to start earning a living.

Bill Charlton: Bellingham memories. Dad's call up

Northumberland, history, humour, memories, wartime 1939-45


By Bill Charlton

Sgt. R. L. (Bob) Charlton (1939-46)

Dad’s call up
I can remember when 12 years old coming home from school and having to go into Hesleyside woods to collect my father’s gear and bait bag, as he had had an urgent phone call to report for duty to Wylam along with a few other men from Bellingham as they were all in the local Territorial Army.

This happened about a month before the war started, and their first task was to board the Polish cruise liner M.S. Pilsudski to take charge as the crew had mutinied. Next they were sent to France with motor bikes and sidecars to face the German tanks, ending up in the evacuation of Dunkirk.

After the Dunkirk evacuation
Returning home on leave after Dunkirk, Dad and quite a few other chaps from Bellingham were once again with their families. When they returned for duty, they got split up into different units and Dad was transferred into the Reconnaissance Corps, along with other chaps from the Village.

Their hat badge was also changed to an arrow flanked by streaks of lightning on either side, indicating it was a strike force. After a couple of moves around, they ended up at Langholm just over the Border, so Dad and one of the other chaps from the village would come home for the weekend every fortnight. So I used to pushbike down to the Fairshaw road end and leave the bike at the farm house on a Friday night, then I would catch Fosters Bus back home arriving 7.45pm.

Home by sharing the bike
Dad and his mate caught the train from Langholm to Carlisle, then the Newcastle train getting off at Fourstones and walking over to the Fairshaw road end farm to collect the bike. They would then take turns on the bike riding 4 telephone poles, and leave the bike so then his mate would then do likewise until he passed the walker. Then it was 4 poles and start walking again until they got to the Croft.

Preparing for D-day
This arrangement went on for while until they were moved down South as they were then attached to the Guards 3rd Armoured Division and preparing for landing back on to the Continent. They then moved up to Banff in Northern Scotland to practice landings with air support from Lossiemouth.

Then back they went down south again waiting for D-Day Once over the Channel they moved through France, Belgium , Holland, and finally Germany, ending up in the Krupps factories where Dad fitted his drivers with new tool kits. He did tell me that going through Holland, he saw the cows in the fields were drunk after eating apples from the orchards, as all the fences had been knocked down. Was was over and it was demob time for him and his mates.

Back to the Hesleyside estate
Dad was an ‘estate worker’ on the Hesleyside estate where the main work was in the woods and running the estate sawmill which sold timber in the district. After the war he went back to Hesleyside as the Forman on the estate. In later life he left Hesleyside and went to work for the Weightmans (Willie & John) at Lane Head who were joiners and undertakers.

When the Weightman’s retired, Dad just started off on his own until he retired a few years later. However, folk kept on coming to him with jobs. He started the ‘Pensioner’s Task Force’ in the village on projects like making the walk way from the Tyne bridge down to the river side to opening to the village.

The GINGALL gun
He also restored the old Gingall gun outside the Town Hall. Two of the ‘old retainers’ of the village in those days were Geordie Dagg and Bob Robson (called Bugga Bob but not to his face!)

The refurbished gun 17 April 1975. Left to right, Rev Geoffrey Charles, Bob Charlton, Cnr Angela Allen and Cnr Margaret Murray at the opening of the restored gun

The plaque shows that the old gun had an interesting history. It had come a long way from Fort Taku in China to outside the Bellingham Town Hall. It's interesting that a Charlton was involved in its history, and his family ties with North Tyne must have influenced his presentation of the gun to the village.

Footnote:
Many generations of village laddies helped each other to climb over the iron railings and up on to the gun to imagine firing it. But you had to be on watch, not just for the enemy, but for Sergeant Geordie Fell the village bobby, whose deterrent to juvenile crime was a boot up the backside.

Bill Charlton: Bellingham memories. Australia bound

Northumberland, history, memories, Bill Charlton, immigration, travel

By Bill Charlton

Australia bound
With our emigration application approved, and after the medicals etc, we were given six weeks to prepare to go. It was a very big decision time for us. Do we or don’t we go, was the question. We decided to go, and after two years (which we had to stay in any case as immigrants to claim the assisted passage) we’d either stay or return to the UK. We argued that if we didn’t go, we may have regretted it for the rest of our lives.

So I spent the time making packing cases in the back yard at the Croft over the Easter holidays in 80°F temperatures. The year before over the Easter Holidays we’d had 12 inches of snow – a big contrast.

We left with about half a Ton of cases which went ahead of us leaving for Tilbury Docks where we had to board the P.& O. Liner S.S. ORSOVA. We left on the 1st of May 1965, we stopped at Gibraltar, Naples, Port Said, Aden, Ceylon, Fremantle, Adelaide, Melbourne, and Sydney.

The Charlton clan on the S.S. Orsova, 1 May, 1965 bound for Van Dieman's Land

Sydney Immigrant's Camp
We went straight into the ‘National Camps Corporation Hostel’ for immigrants called ‘Bunnerong Hostel’ in Matraville Sydney. I Named this edifice Stalag Luft 3. We spent 2 years there and made lots of friends while we lived in Camp before moving out to our own house in Caringbah which a southern suburb of Sydney.

Both my parents came out to visit us in 1969-70 and also to see their new granddaughter Susan. While they were with us they both said that we had made the right decision to stay in Australia.

Work
My first job was with the I.C.I. Chemical Plant which was near the Camp and paid good money for shift work, which I did for one year. Having saved a bit we bought a Morris Oxford car to get around a bit and to look at getting a different job away from Chemicals.

I started a new job with Thiess Bros as a fitter on earth moving equipment and spent the next 20 years of my working life there, progressing to ‘Charge Hand Fitter’ having 17 fitters and apprentices to look after. It certainly kept me quite busy plus ordering all parts required to carry out repairs.

Everything was big in Australia!

While on Holiday in 1986, the Company was taken over by a Consortium and we were all made redundant and paid off. I got other work driving a truck for a year, then leaving to work and maintain forklift trucks for a couple of years before selling our house and moving up north to Coffs Harbour and going into retirement

No regrets

Bill & Pat Charlton. From Bellingham
to Coff's Harbour with no regrets

We have never regretted making the move from UK to Australia, and are very happy in the house we have in Coffs, I now play lawn bowls as a recreational sport. I used to play golf but with a gammy knee I’m a bit restricted now. Once I did a good bit of fishing but I ended up selling the 15ft boat we had as every time I wanted to go out fishing the seas were too rough. Gardening, cutting grass and home maintenance keep me busy now.

Photo archive

Part of my retirement is discovering old photos.
Here's one I found recently of Cyril Scott (left) and me having a pint at the Rose & Crown in Bellingham about 1953 - judging by the style of the jackets!

Looks by the glasses that it's nigh time 'te git them in again'!

The Charltons; Family history, Noted Scottish Border Reivers

Northumberland, history, Hesleyside Hall, Bellingham, North Tyne


By Clive Dalton

Hesleyside Hall viewed from the road and the front park - the seat of the North Tyne Charlton grayne (clan)

The Charltons
For more information on the Charltons, and the history of the English- Scottish feuds that they were actively involved in and went on for nearly 400 years, the best source is the following brilliant book:

The Steel Bonnets- the story of the Anglo-Scottish Border Reivers.
By George MacDonald Fraser. 1971
Published by Collins Harvill 1989
ISBN 0-00-272746-3



Notes from book:


CHARLTON (Carleton)
English, although in its alternative form the name appears in south west Scotland, also Tynedale.

The Charltons were one of the hardiest and most intractable families on the English side, and were alternatively allied to and at feud with other Scottish tribe in the west.



Latterly they were engaged in bitter vendetta with the Scotts of Bucleugh. Although Carleton is another form of the name, the Cumbrian Carletons had no alliance or association with the Tynedale Charltons.

Notable family members:

• Lionel of Thornburgh
• Hector of the Bower (reputed to be the greatest thief of the region)
  
• Thomas of Hawcop
  

Family are still in Northumberland.

Garden party at Hesleyside Hall in 1939.
From L to R: Eileen Thompson, Ursula Davidson, Cliff Charlton, Lilly Charlton

The picture shows the back door to the Hall. The family still have the famous spur which was brought to the table to indicate they were out of meat. It was a discreet way of indicating that somebody had better get mounted and spurred and get across to the 'Scotch Side' to do some reiving (stealing).

In today's world they would be classed as terrorists!

And they would have left on their forays via this, the front gate - but before the beautiful ironwork was in plac. Who was the blacksmith who made this?

Kielder forest history: Lord Robinson of Kielder & Adelaide

By Dr Clive Dalton

This Collier photo about 1936 shows children from Kielder school planting some of the first trees in Kielder forest. Their teacher Miss Allcroft (on left) and Miss Storey (centre) are watched by Mr Macdonal and Mr Weir (in cap).

Oot for a bit of a drive

In 2000, Don Clegg took me away for a bit drive oot from Stanners Burn and then along forestry roads, making away west towards the Cumbrian border. On the way, the road passed through what was known as Whickhope forest as before the trees, it had been Whickhope farm.

By the side of the road this notice appeared directing us to a cairn, the final resting place of one 'Lord Robinson of Kielder and Adelaide'. The notice was easy to see as the current crop of trees had been clear felled. We didn't have time to get to visit the cairn and pay our respects - but if we had known what we know now, it would have been an essential walk.

A mystery
What a surprise, and what a mystery it was to find the sign. The mind boggled as to how anyone could have connections with two places on either side of the planet! I was especially interested, having resided on both sides of the planet. What could Kielder and Adelaide possibly have in common? It certainly couldn't be the climate!

Where is the cairn?

The ride (fire break) in Whickhope forest block where the cairn is located

A few old former forestry workers who had worked on those blocks knew of the the cairn, and it had something to do with the start of the Kielder forest. But recent enquiries through a friend at the Forestry Commission offices in Kielder and Bellingham were fruitless. They knew nowt! The Forestry Commission needs to place a memorial to their founder in in some public place like Leaplish.

Whickhope was a well-known and highly-respected farm in its day, farmed by the Beattie family.

X marks the spot (just below the D in Kielder) of the Memorial

What does the cairn look like?
Don Clegg and Paul Gough have made a special mission to the cairn to get this photo. Clearly the stone work was done by a very skilled "waller" to lay the stones so perfectly in such a tight circle. It's a pity he was not named. The cairn is in a 'ride' or cleared fire break between blocks of trees in the forest surrounded by sphagnum moss and heather. Nature has put an beautiful moss crown on the top.

Don Clegg paying tribute to Lord Robinson

Solved - thanks to Google
We must give thanks to Google, as this information below is what a search came up with about Lord Robinson. The image shown here is from forestry-memories.org, and is attributed to have been taken in 1950. Clearly that's his wife Charlotte and one of their family in a very clean 1950s Forestry Commission Landrover. The building in the background looks like Kielder castle. The other person is probably from the Kielder Forestry Commission administration. Confirmation would be welcome.

So the mystery has been solved. What an incredible man, with such a range of talent! And what an honour for our humble North Tyne fells, and indirectly, for all of us born there to have the ashes of such a great man left in our midst. It's nice to see the beautiful sphagnum moss growing at the foot of the notice. May he rest in peace.

ROBINSON, Sir ROY LISTER

• First Baron Robinson of Kielder Forest and of Adelaide (1883-1952), forester.
• Born on 8 March 1883 at Macclesfield, South Australia. Eldest son of William Robinson, blacksmith, and his wife Annie Blanche, née Lowe.
• Educated at Macclesfield and Port Adelaide Public schools; won an exhibition to the Collegiate School of St Peter, Adelaide, in 1896.
• Entered the School of Mines and Industries in 1900 to study mining engineering, and combined study for its fellowship diploma (passing eleven subjects with distinction in one year) with his course at the University of Adelaide (B.Sc., 1905).
• In 1904 while on field-work for both courses he was briefly sports master at Townsville Grammar School, Queensland.
• Following brilliant academic and athletic performances, he was awarded a Rhodes scholarship in 1905 (the second from South Australia) to Magdalen College, Oxford (B.A., 1908).
• He obtained first-class honours (1907) in natural science (geology) and the diploma (1908), with distinction, in forestry (under Professor Sir William Schlich), also representing the university in cricket, athletics and lacrosse.
• In 1909 Robinson was appointed assistant inspector for forestry at the Board of Agriculture and Fisheries, London, and laid the foundations of what was to become an unrivalled knowledge of the forests and forestry of Britain.
• On 26 November 1910 at St James' Church, Marylebone, London, he married Charlotte Marion Bradshaw.
• Seconded to the explosives department, Ministry of Munitions and Agriculture (1915-18), he subsequently became secretary to the forestry sub-committee of the Cabinet Reconstruction (Acland) Committee.
• He was largely responsible for the report which led to the establishment of the Forestry Commission in 1919, and his appointment as its technical commissioner.
• He became vice-chairman of the Forestry Commission in 1929, and chairman in 1932, holding that office for 20 years.
• He was appointed O.B.E. in 1918, knighted in 1931 and raised to the peerage in 1947.
• Lord Robinson is regarded as the chief architect of state forestry in Great Britain, being largely responsible for the planning and initiation of the extensive government plantation programme designed to make the country less dependent on imports of wood, particularly in time of war; for the formation of National Forests Parks for public enjoyment; and for co-operative schemes with private woodland owners.
• Gifted with a first-class brain, an impressive physique, a forceful but engaging personality and tenacity of purpose, he provided inspired leadership, especially during World War II and the following difficult reconstruction period.
• Widely respected internationally, he was regarded as the ‘Elder forestry statesman of the Commonwealth”.
• He was the only man to attend the six British Empire (Commonwealth) Forestry conferences held between 1918 and 1952, being secretary and vice-chairman to the third (Australia, 1928), and chairman of the fourth (South Africa, 1935) and the fifth (Britain, 1947). He was leading the United Kingdom delegation to the sixth (Canada, 1952) when he died.

• Robinson was one of the founders of the Society of Foresters of Great Britain and first president and first recipient of its medal (1947) for eminent services to British forestry.
• He was an honorary member (1940) of the Society of American Foresters and the Institute of Foresters of Australia; corresponding member (1947) of the Académie d'Agriculture de France; and an honorary LL.D. of the University of Aberdeen.
• He returned to Kielder to cut down the first tree in 1948.
  
• He died in Ottawa on 5 September 1952 of pneumonia.
• His wife and two daughters survived him. A son was killed on active service in 1942.
• In 1953 his ashes were scattered in Kielder Forest at Whickhope and a cairn marks the spot.

Master stick dresser: George Snaith of Elishaw.

By Don Clegg & Clive Dalton

A private man
George Snaith was a very quiet, private man and certainly a person to whom you’d apply the word ‘character’. He was so typical of those Northumbrian farming folk of his generation, who had grown up and lived with no modern conveniences and where hard work was accepted as normal. This applied to both the men and womenfolk on farms.

George lived at the Elishaw farm of several hundred acres near Otterburn with his brother Tom and sister Ellen. They didn’t travel far as their only means of transport was a bike or the bus.

Ellen was known as a fantastic cook, and was famed for her wonderful teas provided at the ‘threshings’ when local farmers went to help each other. The Snaiths had lived at Elishaw for generations and other branches of the family farmed at Blakehope and Hindhaugh.

Blakehope farm near Elishaw where another branch of the Snaith family farmed (Deric Charlton)

A powerful man
I (Don) worked as a Daft Laddie at Shittleheugh which was the farm next door to Elishaw and I remember in particular, his physical strength. He was not a tall man and at that time in the 1950s he would be around 60 years of age.

On one occasion I saw him lift a 16 stone bag of seed oats off the roadside where Billy Lawrence from the Northern Farmers in Bellingham had dumped it. Now remember, 16 stone is two hundredweights (224lbs or 101kg) and to lift it off the ground on to his shoulder and carry it away was an amazing feat of strength. George thought nowt of it.

Sixteen stone bags were common in those days, but most of us struggled to get one up high enough off the ground to carry it without the help of an assistant. The trick was to get a helper to give you a swing with the sack, and then turn underneath it and let it land on your shoulders and then stagger off with it. The timing and mutually-agreed instructions of ‘after three’ were critical. You had to gave total trust in your helper as many thought it a great joke to see you buckle and collapse. George Snaith didn’t have any of these hassles!

Horsepower – Clydesdale v Suffolk Punch
The horse was the farm’s motive power in those days, and the Clydesdale was the breed of choice on both sides of the Border. But for some reason George preferred Suffolk Punches. They are an interesting breed, and bred with solid muscular bodies but very small feet. This helped them walk between the rows of plants on arable farms in their native Suffolk without damaging plants. Unlike the Clydesdale they had ‘clean’ legs with no ‘feather’ (hair) on them so they didn’t get clogged up with mud so were ‘easy care’.

Suffolk Punch in New Zealand owned by Connie Smith

I (Clive) would bet that he probably bought them from the Waltons of Anton Hill who purchased a railway wagonload from Suffolk. I was a small village laddie at the time (around 1947) and was in Bellingham one day, when there was the clatter of hooves of an approaching stampede.

Across the Hareshaw burn bridge and up around Dobbin’s corner came about ten big golden brown horses at full gallop. There was a rider in front leading the way, and Tommy Walton from Anton Hill was behind them with a whip goading and whooping them on. The pounding of their unshod hooves on the road at full tilt was something to behold. I was about to take cover in Baden’s archway!

Years later I worked at Anton Hill for an Easter college break and led muck with one of these wonderful beasts. I got the full story from Tommy about the Waltons buying a railway wagonload, and driving them from the station at full gallop, non-stop to Anton Hill. He said the trick was to keep them galloping in a tight group so odd ones wouldn’t veer off. Tommy broke most of them in and sold them to local farmers. He told me that the lovely quiet mare I was using was one of the toughest to break. Thank goodness for me she’d learned her lessons well.

Tommy & Sailor
I (Don) remember that George’s horses were called ‘Tommy’ and ‘Sailor’. One day after work George led Tommy back to the field by the halter, with the halter shank wrapped around his hand. As he opened the field gate, Tommy banged through and in the process caused the rope to remove one (maybe two) of George’s fingers.

George calmly collected his digits and biked the two miles to Otterburn to see the doctor. But sadly for George, the doctor’s surgery that day was held in Bellingham. So he remounted his bike and went on over Hareshaw to Bellingham, a distance of 8 miles, up and down the many steep hills. I’m not sure what the outcome was in those days before microsurgery. And he probably carried his finger in an old handkerchief in his pocket and not in a box of ice.

One day in the hayfield next to the farm, Tommy took the gee, and set off at pace down the field towards the river Rede in the shafts of the hay bogey, complete with pike and George on board.

When he reached the river Tommy turned sharply and in the process smashed the bogey shafts. When George eventually got Tommy calmed down, he yoked him into the roller and spent the rest of the afternoon driving him up and down the field so that the memory got implanted in the horse’s brain. It must have worked as Tommy never took off again.

The anvil challenge

George seems to have had liking for anvils, which were the pinnacle for anyone who claimed to have physical strength. The smithy was the place to show this, as it was where young men tended to gather in a village, and there was always heavy objects around like anvils and cart wheels, either single ones or a pair on an axle. These young bucks were often described as ‘being strang i’ the back and light i’ the heed’.

Picture shows the anvil in the Bellingham Heritage Centre from the Smithy at Stannersburn. Normally they are a two-man lift, and a struggle at that.

Nancy Prebble (nee Snaith) said that George had a party trick where at agricultural shows he would challenge anyone in the crowd to lift an anvil off the ground. Most of course failed, as it is at least a two man job to even move then never mind lift them. Well of course George would not only lift the anvil, but he’d throw it a few feet away from it’s original position. Nancy witnessed this many times.

Anvils now make great garden ornaments. This mini one 250mm
long is much easier to lift! (Photo Ken Prebble)

Tennyson’s Brook
George was a fantastic craftsman. I (Don) watched him making a many-blade pocket knife (Swiss army knife style). He used the tines from a muck grape to make the springs and blades and it was all done, including hardening and tempering, over a paraffin lamp.

When I knew him, he was working on a set of sticks based on the poem ‘The Brook” by Tennyson. He had about ten finished. They were amazing as not only were the horn heads carved into birds such as herons and kingfishers, he had also removed the bark from the shank, and had carved the words of that particular verse he was working on in a spiral around the shank.

On to this he then carved and coloured (with natural dyes from nuts, berries and heather) every conceivable creature and plant mentioned by Tennyson. They were incredible works of art and nowhere would Tennyson’s words have been better illustrated.

A magnificent collection of George's sticks, from a photo in the essential reading on this subject - Border Stick Dressers Association: The First 50 Years by Wilf Laidler. Available here.

Sadly George didn’t quite complete the project. He had 17 lines left to do when he died in 1962. Some of this amazing collection of sticks is housed in Alnwick Castle, while others are in the care of the family.

Pocket knife and paraffin lamp
I (Clive) was fortunate to be taken to visit him one night by George Richardson from the Riding farm in Bellingham, who knew him and my interest in sticks. It was early evening and George Snaith was in his workshop, lit by a paraffin lamp on the bench, working on a stick in The Brook series.

The few tools he had lying on the bench were a shock to my eyes as I was accumulating rasps of all shapes and sizes, and was the proud owner of a new ‘Surform’ rasp which had just come out.

George’s main tool was his pocket knife. But what blew me away was his knowledge of literature, and the deep thinking he’d obviously put into his Brook series. He’d certainly thought as much about each line as Tennyson had – maybe more! I felt I was in the presence of a Northumbrian farmer who was also a philosopher - and who had left school at 14.

Competitions
George Snaith, along with a shepherd from up the Coquet, Ned Henderson (see right), are credited with getting stick dressing going as a competitive sport. It has always been competitive in a quiet sort of way, for when shepherd’s met, and especially at cross-Border events like marts, their sticks were a statement of who they were and the farm they were from.

Brian Tilley, in a nice piece in the Hexham Courant (5 February 2009), reports that George and Ned each produced a stick with a brown trout carved on the handle for the show at Thropton, so showing dressed sticks was launched as an art form. George and his fellow stick dressers didn’t work from memory, they’d go down the burn and catch a trout to lay on the bench to makes sure proportions and colours were perfect. George’s work has taken the word ‘perfection’ to a new, higher level.

Norman Tulip
The other great stick dresser at the time was Norman Tulip who shepherded at various places in North Tyne and Coquet, and it was George who was his tutor and mentor – after a while! Brian Tilley tells the story that Norman walked all the way to Elishaw to see George, hoping to learn a few tricks of the trade. He knocked on the door which opened about six inches and a gruff voice asked what he wanted.

When Norman explained, he was told te gan away and cum back with some sticks he had dressed. A few months later, Norman arrived back with some of his work, to be greeted again by the door just ajar, but this time a hand came out and grabbed the samples before it was shut again.

Norman ‘hung aboot’ for a while and eventually George came out to admit that Norman had some talent, and that he’d teach him the tricks of the trade. But there was one important condition – that Norman never sold a stick he’d made. Norman Tulip kept this promise to the day he died, although there were many times he’d be offered big money for them.

Sticks for King & Queen
Many members of the Border Stickdressers Association, and especially Snaith, Tulip and Henderson all made sticks for Royalty, when on their visits North or for Royal wedding presents.
Once the King (George VI) and Queen Elizabeth were about to visit the area and George was approached to make a stick for the Queen. He asked ‘whee was maakin the stick for the King?’ When he was told that it was Norman Tulip, his reply was “Well he can make both buggas then.’

George Snaith was the first President of the Border Stickdressers Association and the Duke of Northumberland was always keen to give support as a patron. It was a wise move to have Prince Charles as a current patron, as his influence was clearly important in the battle the Association had with the EU over the law to incinerate tups’ heads for BSE control. The dispensation obtained from the EU bureaucracy for horned tups for stickdressing was a major coup.
The cantankerous side of George Snaith would have rejoiced at that.

Stick by Don Clegg
Stick handle made from burr elm and shank of Ash.


What use is a stick? elsewhere on Woolshed 1.
The art of stick dressing in a Border tradition on Knol.
George Snaith - the Master - carves his place in history in the Hexham Courant by Brian Tilley

Daft Laddie tales of North Tyne & Rede: Donald Clegg

Donald Clegg
(Image at left from The Northumbrian Magazine)
Don organising his squirrel feeder

Donald Clegg was born at Rochester in Redesdale. After Grammar school he worked as a postman delivering mail on foot to farms around the area.

He worked on farms in Redesdale and after being called up for his military service and 'doing time' helping the King and the new Queen Elizabeth, he returned to farm work in the North Tyne valley.

He then decided on a career change, and went to St John’s College in York to do teacher training after which he taught at Bellingham and Wooler. It was at these schools that his interest in Outdoor Education developed and he went on to specialise in this area.

He continued to apply his expertise at the Wauchope Field Study and Expedition Centre near Bonchester Bridge, and then moved to Carrshield in West Allendale. His knowledge and experience of the many predicaments he faced in his Daft Laddie days was always at hand in his new profession of dealing with people.

After a very successful and rewarding teaching career, he is now retired at lives at Yarrow Corner near Falstone, where he indulges his passion for all things Northumbrian, playing the mouth organ and Northumbrian pipes, and being a noted defender and carer of one of the few remaining populations of red squirrels in the country.

Daft Laddies tales of North Tyne & Rede: My H Samuel's pocket watch

Northumberland, farming, humour, dialect, Daft Laddies, history, 1950s

By Donald Clegg

Don's watch by H Samuel's of Newcastle upon Tyne. It's now in gentle retirement with a new boot lace to keep it safe

Do you remember the H Samuel Ever-Right pocket watch? It cost all of 30/- (£1.50) in the 1950’s and was a must for any self respecting artisan. It had a big, clear face, a chunky knob to wind it up and luminous pointers. Mine sat proudly in the breast pocket of my heather-mixture Harris Tweed jacket that I wore to the Highland Show in Paisley, near Glasgow, one year.

As the jacket got shabbier with age and holes appeared in the elbows it became my regular garb for cold days on the farm, milkin’, muckin’ oot and lookin’ the hill. H Samuel came too. He was always attached to the jacket’s button hole by a length of stylish leather bootlace, alongside the deer’s horn dog whistle that I carried to give an air of professionalism to my woeful performances as a sheep dog handler.

On the North Tyne farm where I was working there was a fairly deep open drain running across the back field and, in a wet lambing time, it could present quite a danger to unsteady young lambs as they tried to follow their mothers across the swollen stream. To ease the problem the boss decided that I should build a couple of sheep bridges across the drain, using old railway sleepers.

With the Fergie and trailer loaded with pinch bar, spade, bushman saw and sleepers I duly set off for the bridge building site on a warmish, sunny April morning. In no time, of course, the Harris Tweed jacket was cast and hoyed on to the trailer along with my woolly jumper. Work progressed steadily until all was satisfactorily completed and I straightened my back to admire my handiwork. All that remained was to collect the pinch bar, bushman and spade and head home for dinner.

As the heavy tools thumped, one by one, on to the trailer bed I suddenly remembered my H Samuel Ever Right pocket watch, worth 30/-, with its stylish leather bootlace, was in my Harris Tweed jacket, right in the firing line! The spade had landed squarely on top of it! Carefully, I examined the flattened remains of my pride and joy.

Miraculously, in spite of having a neat hole punched right through the newly invented plastic glass and through the steel back cover by the watch’s main gear spindle, it was still ticking away merrily and my H Samuel pocket watch continued to be Ever-Right for a canny few years afterwards.

Daft Laddie tales of North Tyne & Rede: Warming up a Korean winter

Daft Laddies, humour, military service, history, 1950s

By Donald Clegg

Caad wintors in Korea
Korean winters can be severe, and even in September, the ground round our camp was frozen hard as iron. Our Field Telephone Exchange (FTE) was housed in a sandbagged bunker with a canvas roof. There was a set of steps cut in the bank leading to the entrance. Inside was a table with logbook, the Exchange with its multitude of jack plugs and leads, a bed and the duty operator’s kit and rifle.

Our Signal Troop was attached to the 14th Field Regiment, Royal Artillery and, though we had our own officers and routine, the RA regarded us as rather inferior hangers-on, especially by their Sergeant Major – a fiery Scot. He never missed an opportunity to find fault with us.

He used to refer to our 6-man luxury ‘basha’ (sand-bag and canvas home) as the Glass Mountain on account of the heaps of empty beer bottles surrounding it! One morning, while mounting the steps to the FTE, he slipped on the ice and landed on his backside and dented his dignity. His already short temper was not improved when he saw that his downfall had been witnessed by half the Signals Troop.

And get your blank blank hair cut!
For the next few minutes the air was blue and we all learned several hitherto unheard of expletives. The Telephone Operator (Tele Op) was told in no uncertain terms and in a voice like a Farne Islands fog horn to “Get rid of this b…… ice and snow, cut some new b……. steps, tidy your b…… self up, man and get your b….. hair cut!!”

Somewhat upset by this uncalled for outburst the Tele Op decided he would start by melting the snow and ice by the simple expedient of pouring petrol right down the steps. When, after five minutes, the ice seemed as hard and solid as ever, he decided, in his wisdom, to set fire to the petrol and help things along a bit.

A good Daft Laddie idea
This was not a wise move, although it provided us with a glorious and spectacular display. With a tremendous WHOOSH! The orange flames roared up the steps like a lava flow in reverse. The fire melted the ice alright, and turned the steps into a mud slide. Unfortunately it continued on its merry way and burned down the entire FTE, lock stock and rifle barrel.

I should think the whole of the Commonwealth Forces in North Korea would hear what the RSM thought of the Tele Op’s brilliant solution. It certainly gave the rest of us a topic of conversation for weeks after. As far as I know, poor old Tele Op is still paying for the damage out of his 28/- (£1.50) per week Army pay.

Daft Laddie tales of North Tyne & Rede: The Tyne's oot

Northumberland, farming, humour, dialect, Daft Laddies, floods, camping , history, 1950s

By Donald Clegg






Picture shows the gate into the forest along from Dally Castle, on the way to Chirdon farm






Draining the peat for tree planting
After National Service I returned to work on a farm in the North Tyne and where I had my Daft Laddie wrestle with the bracken crusher.

In those pre-Kielder dam days the North Tyne River was prone to regular seasonal flooding. Forestry had taken over many thousands of acres of hill country which had, for generations, been grazed by sheep.

One of the first operations undertaken by the new industry prior to planting trees was the ploughing of hundreds of miles of drains. Parallel lines of deep channels, two feet deep and only a couple of yards apart scored the hillsides as far as the eye could see. Their function was to drain the peat moorland and provide a more secure footing for the millions of Sitka Spruce, Norway Spruce, Scots Pine and Japanese Larch which were to follow.

The drains were too successful
The drains proved to be very successful – too successful it would seem, because now when it rained, the water made its way within a few hours into the sykes and burns and thence to the main North Tyne river.

Picture shows a newly-cut drain in the peat soil. It was cut by a special single furrow plough (called the Cuthbertson plough) pulled by a powerful bulldozer tractor with a big winch on the back incase they got bogged. The drivers
were called 'the Circus', as they traveled around each forest in turn preparing for planting season
The trees were planted in a slit in the upturned furrow, cut with a spade. This prevented the roots of the young trees becoming waterlogged until they got established

This drain was photographed in the late 1950s immediately after cutting, and you can see that already the water is flowing from the wet peat, even before heavy rain.

This sudden influx of water meant that the river couldn’t cope and flooding of the flat haughs became a regular event, inundating not only crops but also endangering livestock. It also added great stress to local folk who lived near the river, and especially farmers who had to keep thor lugs cocked during the night for rain, to get up and move stock from the river haughs.

Flash floods
Many a cattle beast and sheep was washed to its death in these flash floods, which also took hay pikes and corn stooks off to foreign parts, never to be retrieved. One early morning , after very heavy rain had fallen during the night, I reached the farm road on my way to work to find that 'the Tyne was oot' and had already covered much of the haughs below me.

Tyne Bridge at Falstone

A marooned tent
It was just before Easter and I knew there were Scouts camping by the riverside. Sure enough, there was a tent perched forlornly on a slight rise, surrounded by the rising waters. I rushed up to the farm and started up the old Case tractor, yoked the flat trailer and hurried to the rescue. The water was almost 18 inches deep by now and getting deeper by the minute. When I reached the tent I found the four Scouts were still fast asleep inside, totally oblivious to the danger swirling round their tiny island.

Howay lads, git oot o' bed
I soon woke them to the reality of their situation and bundled them, their belongings, and their tent on to the trailer and started back for dry land. By now the water was up to the underside of the tractor’s engine and the trailer had actually begun to float in one or two deeper slacks.

Unfortunately for me, the Case had a fixed power take-off pulley wheel attached to the side of the engine – just on water level. By the time we reached dry land the spray sent up from the constantly revolving pulley wheel meant that I was wetter than any of the rescued Scouts. Thereafter the Scouts were dried out and fed in the farmhouse and sent home on the bus to Hexham later.

One big lake
Over the next two hours the river continued to rise so that, eventually, the whole of the flat land from the Riding Bank to Charlton and from the old railway embankment to Hesleyside hall was just one great lake of surging, brown water. Of the valley road which ran parallel to the river, only the top six inches of the fence posts on either side were visible.

The water receded almost as fast as it had risen but in the aftermath, we found fences flattened, our giant muck midden had disappeared down stream and that we had inherited all the turnips from our neighbour’s farm on the other side of the river. “ It’s an ill wind (or flood)”, as they say! I’m surprised they didn’t find out and arrive to collect them.

Daft Laddie tales from North Tyne & Rede: The King wants a hand

Northumberland, farming, humour, dialect, military service, morse code, Korea, history, 1950s

By Donald Cleggg

The King wants a Daft Laddie
For two years I was a guest of His Majesty King George VI, followed by Her Gracious Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse and spent much of my National Service in Korea as a Wireless Operator in the Royal Corps of Signals – an “Operator Wireless and Line BII”, to be exact.

Dot Dot Dash
In this role I was required to read and send Morse Code at 18 words per minute where a ‘word’ in this context was a group of five characters. A BII operator must achieve 25 words per minute, or over two characters per second. Not that Morse code was used all that much – only for sending Secret or Restricted messages to HQ in Seoul or Tokyo. I was never expected to send messages back to friends and family to Rochester or Kielder!

We operators worked a 13 hour night shift, using old acid-battery operated radios called “19 sets”, chock-a-block with valves and covered in dials, knobs and switches – just like Captain Scarlet or Dan Dare would have had. We were housed, initially, in an army truck known affectionately, but obscurely, as a Gin Palace. Our Gin Palace was perched near the top of a hill above the main tented camp, on a broad ledge carved from the hillside.

Because we were on Active Service we had to be in constant readiness to move out in the event of a ‘push’ by the Chinese-backed forces. This readiness also applied to the vehicles, of course, and every morning the driver of the Gin Palace climbed the track to conduct his regular checks of oil, fuel, water and air pressures. The last wheel to be checked was always the spare which stood on its edge tucked into a narrow space between the truck’s cab and the body.

Kick her in the guts - Oops
Each morning the driver rolled the wheel out of its cubbyhole, bounced it on to the ground, then used his foot to kick it flat back to the floor. On this occasion the kick misfired and the wheel set off down the hill towards the camp, accelerating as it went according to the laws of physics.

We soon worked out that these things have both momentum and centrifugal force!

We all watched in fascination, then horror, as the heavy projectile hurtled onwards, heading for the Field Hospital, directly in its path. It seemed inevitable that the Hospital tent and its occupants would be flattened but, at the very last second, the wheel struck one of the metal stakes securing the tent’s guy ropes and sailed into the air, clearing the tent’s ridge by a mere twelve inches.

It then bounced mightily on the other side, jinked neatly to the right and disappeared into a deep gully by the roadside. Suddenly, everyone came back to life and rushed down to see where it had ended up. In fact, although it had miraculously avoided crashing into the Field Hospital, it had scored a direct hit on the campfire of a group of local Koreans who had been quietly cooking their breakfast and chatting amongst themselves.

Imagine their surprise when their “flied lice” was suddenly splattered across the countryside by a huge, black rotating missile! It took three men the rest of the morning to heave, haul and roll the recalcitrant wheel back to its cage on the Gin Palace and, in the end, it was found it didn’t need inflating after all.