THE FLATLEY DRYER

[Stanley]

One thing you learned very quickly was how to get the maximum out of the engine all the time. You had to, the Bedford TK had 90hp on a good day for over 14 tons and theoretically the ERF with the trailer was even worse with 150hp for 32 tons plus. You soon learned how to get the maximum power and more importantly, torque, out of the engine. That's where the Gardner diesel scored. It was an old fashioned long stroke low revving engine, limited on the governor to 1750rpm but with a very flat torque curve. best engine I ever came across and incredibly long lived. They recommended the first full engine service should be done at 100,000 miles..... By that time the GM/Bedford engine was struggling. Keeping the motor into the collar was the biggest factor in driving.....

[Stanley]

Modern drivers would laugh if they had to use the low power engines we had then. 180hp is common on 7 ton wagons these days. The Gardner 3LW engine was 60hp and Guy Otter wagons legal to 14 tons had these 3 pot engines in them. Modern artics regularly have 450hp plus, we would have thought we had gone to heaven!

[Tizer]

As a teenager I enjoyed cycling but then learnt to drive and did my travelling in cars, albeit old ones. Later I became interested in classic cars which again diverted me away from cycling and now I have a breathing problem which means cycling is off the menu. At times I wish I'd explored the countryside more by cycling. But now I wouldn't do it even if I were healthy enough; it's far too dangerous here whether you're on main roads or country lanes.

There needs to be a new approach to how we deal with the clash between cycling and motoring. In many places now they are incompatible. An example is shown in one of the local towns near where I live. A road has been improved for a mile or two and a railway crossing replaced by a bridge to provide a quicker way for traffic to get in and out of the town, especially in the rush hour. Many new housing estates have been built on the edge of the town and the traffic has increased dramatically. The road is one lane each way and it's fast, there are no houses alongside it and there is nowhere to make a cycle lane because it's elevated and goes over railway, river and marshlands. Although in principle it provides better access, in practise it has a major problem. It only needs one cyclist and a lorry caught behind and all the traffic comes down to the speed of the cyclist. There isn't space for a lorry to safely overtake a cyclist. So you have a very long queue of traffic creeping slowly along what is meant to be a high-speed, free flowing road into the town. No-one seems to be addressing this problem. What's the point of building such a road at great cost if it fails in its objective? I should have mentioned too that you have to travel down the road in order to reach the park-and-ride site!

[PanBiker]

We are fortunate in one way that Barlick is not on any direct arterial route. We have access to some reasonably quiet back lanes and B roads particularly out around Gisburn and Bowland Forrests and the old routes up towards the dales (Wigglesworth, Rathmell, Tosside etc). The most dangerous bit is the first mile or so in any direction out of town to get into the backwaters, once there the back roads can be a joy on a bike, quiet but still most of them wide enough to pass safely. I have on occasion felt I am being chased more often than not by the Chelsea Tractor brigade if heading up to Malham where the roads are quite narrow snaking up the valley. Not helped by the fact they think they own the road and get quite impatient, agricultural traffic and locals get used to having to slow down it's the visitors that cause the problems, lots seem to have no perception of how wide their vehicles actually are. What attracts bad drivers to big vehicles I wonder, do they think that they are safer driving the equivalent of a tank?

[Stanley]

Sometimes you were forced to use unsuitable roads, one such was just before you got on the A1 beyond Pool. There was just room for the traffic and I was going up there slowly in the 60 foot wagon and trailer and watching two cyclists behind me who were going as fast as we were. I saw one wobble a bit, catch his handlebars on the back of the trailer 60 feet away and go down. That led to a long delay and a statement at Wetherby police station, no blame on me and I delivered the lad's bike back to his home in Leeds on the way back that night. His parents were not very friendly, you'd have thought I had done it deliberately. The lad was OK, just bruised.

[Tizer]

The country lanes here aren't safe for cycling and it's not just visitors. They're often used as rat runs and some of the racing drivers are local people and mums doing the school run. I can't see where it's all leading to now, cycling and motoring have become incompatible here and the push to get people exercising by riding a bike flies in the face of the increasing danger from motor vehicles and the need to free up the increasing traffic jams.

[Stanley]

You're right Tiz, we aren't fit to run a planet. Almost 40 years ago I was accosted by the police in Los Angeles as I walked (!!!!) up to the Huntingdon Museum on a road with no sidewalks. The car had taken over to the extent that walking was equated with jay-walking and was technically an offence. It's much worse now..... I tell you again, I saw the Glory Days! I'll bet I was doing faster journey times fifty years ago than would be possible now. Is what we have to report progress?

[PanBiker]

I know from experience with the run to and from Stratford that at peak times you can do it a lot quicker on the A roads. I refuse to drive at less than 30mph on a motorway, sometimes a lot less with more crawling than stopping. At that point the motorway experience lasts as long as the next junction. Even with the variable speed limits through towns and villages you can generally make a lot better progress. More places to stop, cheaper when you do and something to look at as well, it's a no brainer really.

[Stanley]

In the days when I was driving the Mercury tanker I often used the old roads rather than the Mway as I was governed to 42mph anyway! The old Albion tanker was governed to 32mph and Alan Parker was almost as fast as us. The reason is that he kept going. When I was doing long non-stop runs with the wagon and trailer it was noticeable that many cars passed me, going like hell, several times between here and the North of Scotland. I was doing a steady 50mph, they were stopping frequently at services..... Speed doesn't eat miles, it is steady non stop progress. I regularly did over 500 miles a day at 50mph.

[Stanley]

The more I think about my days on the road particularly, the more sorry I feel for the young people trapped in dead end jobs like call centre operatives or shelf stacking in supermarkets. I know these jobs are essential today when any wage is a good one (Remember Thatcher? 'Be glad you have a job'.) but apart from timekeeping, what job satisfaction is there? It was a lovely feeling to bring 32 heavily in-calf cows down from Scotland and see them come out of the wagon with their ears up and bright-eyed. I used to love being fully loaded while I was on the tramp. It felt far better to hear the engine barking on a hill with ten tons on the flat than sailing up with what we called a 'cap load', one where because the goods were light, you got paid on capacity not weight. These things leave a mark on you and I'm afraid they are thin on the ground these days.

[Stanley]

One of the skills I have lost as I get older is the ability to whistle well. I used to whistle all the time and was often told how good I was at it. Very handy when working with cattle as they always knew where you were when they were tethered. My mouth must have changed over the years, I can't whistle for toffee now!

[Stanley]

One of the finest things that ever happened to me was when Mr Pinder, the dentist on Park Avenue, decided to take all my teeth out and fit me with pot gobblers. Hands are thrown up in horror at this today and I found out when I was getting a new bottom denture that today this isn't allowed, two dental surgeons have to agree that it is necessary. In my youth a common wedding present for a young bride was to have complete removal and false teeth fitted for a wedding present. Dentists were so cruel in those days it was a relief never to have to go again. Over the years (I had them all out at 23) my teeth have given me no problemds and cost me about £25. I have never regretted it once.....

[Stanley]

One of the things that fascinated me as a lad was my dad shaving with a cut-throat razor. He used to set it occasionally and showed me how to do it. Setting was an occasional grinding on a very smooth stone to restore the edge. Every morning, before use, it was 'stropped' on a horse leather strop lubricated with a mixture of tallow and jeweller's rouge to give the best possible edge. I once caused alarm and consternation by trying to have a shave when I was very young, blood all over the place but no permanent damage. When I eventually started shaving I started with a safety razor but soon moved on to using a cut throat myself. That ended when one of my daughters sharpened her pencils with it and nicked the edge.....



It was a Gotta German razor and I bought it new off Mr Sneath when he had his barber's shop on Park Road. Lovely piece of Solingen Steel.

[Stanley]

I spend much of my time on this topic chronicling the things that have changed over my lifetime but one of the nice things about Barlick is that there is much that hasn't changed in the built environment. Thank God we escaped much of the 1950s 'improvements' which in so many cases led to some horrible buildings that blight many towns to this day. There is much to be said for adapting the old buildings we have instead of tearing them down and putting up inferior constructions which in 50 years will be looking very tired.
When the council refurbished East Hill Street it was a wonderful example of what could be done however they had one slip up. Most of the houses have blue slate roofs and they put new ridge tiles on which were a strange mixture of laminated glass fibre and I think it was slate dust. They didn't stay the course, they have all perished. I replaced mine with concrete ridge tiles about 3 years ago and they are a big improvement. I think they will last me out!

[Stanley]

The standard material for sewer pipes, chimney pots, ridge tiles and wall toppings was Earthenware, highly fired and glazed. This industry has, apart from ceramic sanitary ware for bathrooms, completely vanished and has been replaced by plastic. I think the same applies to cast iron pipes as well.

[Stanley]

You've heard me whingeing on about my shoulder. I was thinking about it this morning. It all started when I had a wagon with a knackered engine bur rather than fit a short engine everyone kept repairing it.... Read on.... this is what happened when it dropped a valve in the cylinder at full revs on the M6 just south of Carlisle.

"With hindsight I know exactly what the problem was, Gilbraith’s had fitted a reconditioned cylinder head which, in common with all reconditioned heads, had been skimmed on a grinder to make sure it was absolutely flat. When you have skimmed a head you should re-cut the valve seats so the valves don’t stand proud of the face of the head. Somebody hadn’t done this or hadn’t cut them back enough so every time one of the pistons came up the cylinder it was hitting the valves but only a minute blow. This is never a dead flat blow because the piston has a slight hollow in the top and each time the valve was struck it slightly distorted the valve stem. Eventually one of the valves, usually the exhaust because it is hotter, fails due to fatigue and the head drops in the cylinder. There is no room for it in the cylinder when the piston is at top dead centre so the piston is instantaneously stopped.
A lot of things happen very quickly now. The piston has stopped but the crankshaft keeps going and something has to give. In my case, the connecting rod on the piston that had jammed broke and smashed through the side of the cast iron cylinder block into the camshaft which bent, seized and broke. This brought all the valves to a stop wherever they were and the impact of the pistons on the valves destroyed the valve gear and broke the crankshaft. All I knew at the time was that there was a big bang and I lost all drive. I threw the motor into neutral and coasted across on to the hard shoulder and into a slip road which was an emergency entrance to the gritting depot on the other side of the road. There I was, neatly parked and well out of the way of traffic but with certain pressing problems.
The first and most important problem was the cattle. They were OK because they had been riding well, they were standing quietly cudding away so no immediate worries. I could have gone up the hard shoulder to the emergency phone but I decided not to. I sat down of the road and waited for something interesting to show up. The first bit of luck was a cattle wagon from Penrith, I waved him down and asked him where he was going. He said he had a load of sheep on for Penrith market and I asked him to come back for me when he had tipped and pick up my cattle and take them and me down to Marton, he agreed and away he went. Shortly afterwards I saw Richard’s new BMW 2500 and waved him down as well. He had just taken delivery of the car after a series of Rovers and was pleased as punch with it. I told him where we were at, asked him to inform the police we were all sorted out, the wagon was off the carriageway and we’d get it lifted the following morning. I said I’d come to Marton first and could he wait up for me. All this was agreed, he went off down the country and a couple of hours later the cattle wagon came back for me and my ladies.
In the meantime the police had been to see me. They’d arranged for the staff at the gritting depot to open the locked gate on the slip road so that the other wagon could turn to back on to me. By the time he arrived we were all set up, we transferred the cattle and the calves and I chucked all my belongings into his cab and had a drink out of the flask he had brought back for me and off we went bemoaning the fact that gaffers never listen to drivers when they really ought to. What’s the point in having a dog and ignoring it when it barks!
We arrived at Marton at about half past midnight and tipped the cows. Richard told me to take his car and go home. At this point I must have lost my presence of mind! The two calves on the Luton were accredited and Demesne was our accredited premises. If we dropped the calves at Marton we would be breaking the law. I remember saying to Richard that we’d done everything right up to that point, why spoil it, the wagon had to go back to Penrith past Demesne, I could follow him down there in the car, bed the calves up in a loose box and then go home. It only made half an hour difference and everything would be done properly. Richard agreed, I set off after the wagon, we dropped the calves, he set off back to his bed in Penrith and I set off to mine in Barlick.
Afterwards I was asked what speed I was doing as I went home from Demesne. I reckoned it was about 45mph and I’m sure I was right, the radio was playing and I was enjoying driving Richard’s new car which was impressive, dead quiet and smooth as a piece of silk. I was climbing up the hill into Gisburn over the railway bridge when a car hurtled round the right hand bend at the top of the hill completely on the wrong side of the road! I didn’t even think but reacted instinctively, remember I wasn’t used to driving cars, I hadn’t even got one at the time. I reacted just as I would have done in the wagon which was to avoid hitting the other bloke because if I did I would kill him. I went for the near side verge but must have hit a soft spot which pulled me in and I hit the breast wall. As I said earlier, the police wanted to know how fast I was travelling and when I said 45mph they said it was impossible because I couldn’t have stopped as quickly as I did. I reckon they were wrong, what happened was that the car went over completely in a somersault, slid on its off side down the road and then hit the bank again and finished upright but across the road. I never saw the car afterwards but they tell me every panel was damaged including the boot! All I can remember is the car sliding on its side up the road and a trail of sparks passing my right shoulder, at the time I was impressed by how soft the roof lining was because I’d hit it a couple of times.
Be that as it may, I finished up sat in the seat of an upright car, headlights shining on the wall and the radio still playing. I opened the door and climbed out and the first thing I saw was the other car stopped down the road beyond the bridge. I could see the driver in silhouette against his headlights, he had got out and was looking back up the road but when he saw me get out he jumped in his vehicle and drove away. I have a message for him, you didn’t know whether there was anyone else in with me and you didn’t care, you were as pissed as a newt and all you were thinking about was your licence. I hope you have dreamed about it ever since.
I remember thinking that the next thing was to get to the telephone at the top of the hill in Gisburn and at this point I noticed one of the suspension coil springs stood on top of a cats eye in the road. “Hello Zebedee, what are you doing here?” If you don’t understand that you’ve never watched Magic Roundabout! At this point the road came up and hit me, I worked it out that I’d fallen over so I got up to see whether it would happen again, it did. I was becoming aware that my right arm and shoulder weren’t as they ought to be so I decided to stay as close to the floor as I could and started to crawl up the road. I don’t remember a lot about the next period of time, I don’t even know how long it was. I came to at the telephone box and managed to dial 999. I had an interesting conversation with a lady and I was told later that I kept passing out so it was a while before they got me located, I don’t think they had automatic call identification then. Once I was certain the cavalry was on its way I attended to the next pressing matter which was the fact that I wanted to move my bowels, shock had hit me. I apologise to the residents but I managed very nicely in the patch of Michelmas Daisies behind the telephone box. What intrigues me about that is how I managed to get my trousers undone and back up again afterwards, I didn’t manage that operation again by myself for six weeks.
Once I was sure I was properly dressed and that rescue was on its way I got down in the gutter and made myself comfortable, lit my pipe and surveyed Gisburn from low level for about twenty minutes. Then there was movement on the station as George Horton and his mate rolled up in the ambulance followed by two bobbies in a car. George’s mate examined me and said “It’s his legs!” I told him there was nowt wrong with my legs, I just had them doubled up because it was comfortable, it was my right shoulder and collar bone that was broken. George’s mate would have none of it and he lifted me by my shoulders while George straightened my legs out. I think I passed out then and came to in time to hear George saying “He’s right, it’s his right shoulder!” Once that was agreed on they got me in the ambulance and the bobbies had a word with me. I told them what had happened, where the car was and asked them to contact Richard and we set off for Burnley Victoria Hospital. I swear that George’s mate ran over every manhole and kerb between Gisburn and Burnley! All ambulances should have air suspension not cart springs.
When we got to Burnley a sister had a look at me and strapped my shoulder up. She said that was all they could do and asked me one or two questions, I think they were slightly puzzled by the fact I had only one clear injury after a crash of that severity. By this time I was coming to and was hurting but all I wanted to do was get home. A doctor came in and had a look at me and decided I was all right, funny thing was they never X-Rayed me. Then the bobbies came in and wanted to breathalyse me, I had no objection, as I told them I hadn’t had a drink for a month but the sister was incensed, “What if he’s got broken ribs or a punctured lung?” The bobbies weren’t interested and I told the sister I had no pain in my chest so why didn’t we just do it then we could all go home. I blew down the tube, result zero, honour was satisfied all round and George and his mate took me home. I remember when they got me into the house and I saw Vera I just burst into tears and that’s the last I can recall about that evening, I think the shock had finally hit me.
So, there I was, best driver in the world, bullet proof and the averages had got me. You never think it can happen but if it doesn’t, all you can say is you’ve been lucky. A good driver cuts the odds down as far as he or she can but if someone drives straight at you there is no chance. There were a couple of immediate sequels, the police told me they were considering charging me with ‘Driving Without Due Care’, I don’t think they believed there was another car, this was later dropped but I was so angry! The other thing is that the bobby told me I must have a good gaffer because when they told him the car was a write off he said never mind the car, I can get another, how’s Stanley? Thanks Richard.
I got plenty of time at home for once. It was to be two months before I got back behind the wheel and my main task now was to get healed up and mobile again. I went to hospital and they decided I had a broken collar bone, a chipped shoulder socket and a cracked shoulder blade, they said I’d be lucky if I ever got my arm above the shoulder again. I told Fred Smith our milkman this and he said that what I ought to do was put a rope through one of the ham hooks on the beam in the kitchen and use it to pull my arm up over my head! This sounded sensible so I did it, and I have to report it was painful, the first time I tried it I wet myself! The consultant at the fracture clinic was delighted with my progress, he asked me how I had done it and when I told him he said if he made patients do that he’d be struck off."

[Stanley]

Just goes to show how a mistaken decision can have repercussions down the years. This all happened almost fifty years ago and I am paying the price today. All part of life's rich pattern!

[Stanley]

Some of the Crumblies who read this will remember the days in the 1950s when people were getting a bit more affluent and the Flatley Dryer became popular, a way of drying clothes without using the maiden round the fire. In the same era many of us moved into the heady days of 'Having a fitted carpet'! I can well remember the day we finally got round to hiding the red painted concrete floors at Hey Farm and then luxury of luxuries, a fitted carpet up the stairs, into the bathroom and even round the lavatory! I was reminded of that yesterday.... Nowadays newly-wedded couples regard the fitted carpet as a right, not a luxury... How things have changed.

[Stanley]

I heard someone say this morning that chess is a totally harmless addiction. I suppose the same could be said about my addiction to engineering and in particular, steam engines. I look at something like this Kirkham HP cylinder lubricator, made almost 100 years ago and now I have refurbished it as good today as the day it was built in Bolton. This standard of manufacture is almost defunct. All right it was very labour intensive but things like this supported many thousands of jobs that supported families. Today we are more interested in making things more 'efficiently' and the families have been forgotten. We have lost a lot of skilled and secure employment and it is the workers who suffer. Forgive me for thinking that we have lost sight of what is best for society..... As Newton once said to me, "Not enough people are making things....".

[Stanley]

I have argued many times that in some ways we were better at recycling when we were building stuff to this standard. The casual observer only saw 'wasteful use of materials' but in the days when mills were being demolished wholesale, 'textile cast' scrap always carried a premium because it was the purest source of iron there was apart from new Swedish Pig Iron and of course much cheaper. Foundries like Ouzledale in Barlick always had a ready supply of raw materials in the scrap from the mills and it was right on their doorstep.

[Stanley]

Clifford Taylor tapping the Cupola Furnace at Ouzledale. For many years Firemaster fires were made exclusively from textile cast. There was no shortage with all the mill closures....

[Stanley]

One of the main contractors for scrapping mills was Rushworth's at Colne. They had a pile of old looms on a piece of waste ground near the railway arches at the bottom of Primet Hill in Colne and I was told once that the government paid them to keep a stockpile of textile cast in store as part of the nation's store of essential materials in case of war. When the queen visited Cole they flew a union jack from the top of it and got a lot of flak from the old textile workers.
George Rushworth owned a lot of land on Whitemoor and I was told that he died by drowning, he was found face down in a shallow stream and the theory was that he had a heart attack while having a pee.....
Isn't it funny the stories you hear.....

[Stanley]

Thinking about scrap. I can remember the big drives during the war for scrap metals. We school kids were urged to collect scrap metals and waste paper. I can remember the railings being cut down wherever they weren't needed for safety. (Funny how they left them round Buckingham Palace.....) You can still see the evidence of this in Barlick if you look at garden wall tops. However, if you look at the road up to Salterforth school you'll see that they missed the railings on the garden walls there.
There was a similar drive for old aluminium pans but I think I heard later that a lot of that scrap was unsuitable for recycling and was dumped out at sea.

[Stanley]

If you look closely you'll see that the terrace at the end of the road kept their railings.....

[Tizer]

I've just read Stanley's story about being hit head on by another car. In the 1970s I took a job in a laboratory based in an old country house located down a single track sunken lane. They put us up in the old lodge until we found proper accommodation. On a dark Saturday evening we set out in our Mini to visit someone in the local town. We got about 100 yards up the hill on the winding lane and were slowly approaching a right-hand bend when suddenly something came hurtling round with headlights blazing. My instant thought was `Land Rover' because the lights were set close together but the next second we were hit and the front offside whell was sheared off the Mini and we ploughed across and into the opposite bank. The other vehicle had carried on but then reversed back up - and it was a JCB digger! It was the balance weight on the back that had sheared our front wheel off. As in Stanley's case, when he saw we were standing he drove off.

We weren't hurt, just shocked, but the Mini was blocking the lane on a bend and therefore dangerous and needed moving quickly. No-one was at the main house where we stayed, it was closed on the weekend. There was only one other house nearby, a big old posh place, so we walked down their drive and rang the bell. It took a while to convince them to open the door because they thought we must be robbers or murderers. Finally they phoned the local garage and a truck was sent to tow away the car. We informed the police and they went to the owner of the digger several days later but couldn't find any signs of damage or our paint on it (not surprisingly), so they didn't believe us and thought our car must have been faulty. It's times like that when you lose confidence in the police. And also realise how daft people can be, driving a big digger down a narrow winding lane with such poor lights set a couple of feet apart.