In addition to the coal carts from the wharfs, there were also private coal merchants. There were two brothers who delivered coal on a very large hand truck, one pulled while the other pushed, and what a sight it was. They both wore clothes and shoes much too big for them. One wore a hard hat and dark rimmed spectacles. They kept a fish and chip shop in Vicar Street, Oakengates. I've gone there some nights and I've never seen anything funnier on the television. Their names were Will and Joe (Trundle) Hoof. There were also two lads who brought "pop" mineral water on a similar truck which was delivered to the local shops, Jones at the crossroads leading to Priorslee Furnaces, Corfields, Blades and Dyas in Station Road. This mineral water was made and bottled in Oakengates by C. Owen and the trade name was "Dreadnought, - a large bottle being sold for one penny. This person also provided "Lucky bags" which contained a small toy and a few sweets for half-penny. These were always a delight for us children.

A loaded cart in front of Corfield's Warehouse, with the driver, Mr. G. Ward

Some people fetched their coal in wheelbarrows or in little home-made trucks, the wheels usually being off some old perambulator. Wagonettes and brakes were the order of the day. The brakes were bigger than the wagonettes which held about 8 people. Some were pulled by three horses.

I went in a brake once to Wolverhampton, sitting in the seat behind the driver which was a privileged place from where one could watch the straining of the horses, and to notice how sometimes he used his whip to make certain that neither of the horses started to slack their efforts. At Knowles Bank nearing Shifnal, many had to get out and walk, while at the Summer House Hill, Albrighton all had to get out and walk to the top.

Fire clay was drawn by horse and cart from a place opposite Holy Trinity Church. This was for the Snedshill Brickworks in addition to the clay obtained from the Hydraulic Pit.

Quite a busy man was the road man, especially near the Greyhound crossroads if it wasn't manure he was clearing up it was other debris. He would sweep the rubbish up, put it in his wheelbarrow and tip it into a high heap by the advertisement hoarding at the entrance to Briar Shepherd's pit mounds. (it forms parts of the big island today). It proved a lucrative scavenging ground for us kids, and an ideal spot from where we could approach any man who passed by with the polite request "Have you any cigarette cards, Mister"? If you were lucky to get one, and had that in your series, then it could be swopped for one or more older ones. Collecting 'fag' cards was a good hobby as they were most interesting. They were in series of fifty, such as 'Cries of London', 'Inventions', 'Famous Cities', and 'Famous People', and other interesting events.

A feature of these men and horses was the affection they seemed to have for each other. Each horse had its own particular name. How gladly the horses welcomed a bucket of water, brought from a nearby trough, while the men enjoyed a pint of beer from one of the pubs. While I cannot recall any serious accident to any of the men who worked at the wharf, there was a sad incident relating to one of my young friends. Shunting was taking place, at the bottom of the garden, looking out for his little master, was my friend's pet dog. Waving a bone to him the dog came running to meet his pal, and so get the bone, but, oh dear, a shunter had released some wagons which came down the incline from the brickworks. The poor animal ran straight under the wheels. What a sight! The dog was cut in two parts, my little friend, despite his tears, picked up the dismembered body and carried it home, the head and shoulders under one armpit and the hind quarters under the other.

The horse slaughterer's yard (Bonemill), now Hodsons Maggot Factory, was an awful place. The road leading to this place was where the new tunnel under the A5 is now. Next to that road was the Lilleshall Co railway line, and next to that was the fodder plant, where the food was stored and prepared for the ponies who worked down the pit. There was always a plentiful supply of dead horses. Some had been killed in accidents, others worn out by hard work. Some still alive were allowed to graze in a nearby field until the time came for them to be shot, the usual method of disposal, a special type of gun being used. The boiling of the horse flesh took place two or three times per week. The stench was terrific but no complaints were ever made. In those days it was consistent with the order of things. The boiled meat was put into sacks and sent to kennels, or so we believed. The bones of the animals were taken in cart loads and put in railway wagons situated in the GWR Station Yard. A most hideous place was a shed in which the intestines, together with their contents were allowed to rot away into manure. I have seen inside, just a writing mass of rats, and it needed a revolver shot to frighten them away. Being friendly with the slaughterer's son allowed me to see sights which the casual visitor would never be shown. The hides of the animals were stretched out in another shed. These were collected by various dealers for leather making. The hooves also were made use of, as well as the horns of any cows which had been brought there for disposal. These proved a real breeding place for maggots.

The coal wharf adjoining the gardens of Wrights Buildings was for 5 1/2 days a week a hive of industry. Many horses and carts were engaged here. Part of the railway line on which the wagons were stationed also led to the brickworks. What an annoyance this was, for when the truck loads of bricks had to be taken away the coal wagons were temporarily removed. How the carters would swear, when having partly emptied a wagon, they got held up. We children in our holidays often spent much time helping the men. The day began for them by examining the labels on the wagons to see which had been allocated to them. Then the knocking away of the chocks which held the door meant the coal would fall out of the wagons onto the floor. This then would soon be shovelled into the cart. Then the wagon door, supported by two pieces of wood, made a kind of platform on which to stand, and the emptying would really begin. Sometimes we kids were usefully employed by throwing the coal from the end of the wagon near to the platform. Before this loading began the horses' comfort had been considered and wooden staves attached to the shafts of the cart would be lowered. This meant the weight was taken off the animal's back.

It was a noisy place - the shovelling of the coal, the constant shouting of the men, the snorting of the horses, to say nothing of the strident voices of some people complaining about not having had their coal.

Midday brought relief. This is where we boys came in. There was a little task we loved doing. This was filling the horses' nose bags with chaff and oats out of a big sack bag, then placing the nosebag, which fitted over the animals' head, so that he could get his muzzle into its contents, blinking his big eyes as if to say thank you, the champ of his jaws seeming also to express his delight.

Copyright:  Estate of  Moses Evans