by
Frank Hatton

It was a beautiful morning in late October, the sort of weather we know as an 'Indian Summer', the car looked so snug and comfortable in the garage, so, I decided to walk the two and a half miles to our town centre. Everything looked just about perfect, the trees starting to change colour, cloudless sky, and I felt a nice rosy glow of health. When I got to town, I did my bit of business at the bank, went into the travel agent to get some information, looked at my watch, it was coming up to noon, and then, because I was in one of those happy and contented moods, I decided to go into the pub for a beer. Now, before we get to the next part of the story, you should be aware that our town is quite ancient. Our church is over 900 years old, the pub is over 600 years, and many of the other buildings have also been around for several hundred years. So, I bought my pint of bitter, and again, because of the lovely weather, I took the beer outside, and sat at a table in what used to be the courtyard, where the old horse drawn coaches pulled into the pub in years past. In fact, there is a notice above the archway entrance to the yard, warning the coachman to duck his head. O.K., there am I sipping happily at the beer, and letting my eyes wander over the walls and windows in the courtyard, when I notice a plaque on the wall opposite from where I was sitting. The wording on the plaque stated that at ground level, directly below, were the remains of a small barred window, and in this cell like room below the ground, were where the "wretched prisoners were kept, while awaiting the coach to take them to the ancient port of Poole, from there, they were transported to the penal colony in Australia". It well and truly spoilt my day! In my minds eye, I saw those faces peering up through the bars at ground level, from where they would have had a good view of the feet of horses and people moving around the courtyard. In the period in which this would have taken place, that was from 1788 onwards, unless one had a good private income, the standard of life was not very pleasant , but, to be a lowly prisoner awaiting transportation to Australia, it would have been considerably worse. In all probability, the poor souls had only stolen a loaf of bread, or similar, to feed their families. No 'Social Services' in those days. Anyway, just to close the story, when I returned home, I got out the encyclopaedia, and looked up the details on the penal colony in Botany Bay, New South Wales, Australia, and I found that the original intention of the then British government was to utilise the area to accommodate the Royalist refugees from America. This idea was abandoned for some reason, and the place was used for the convicts. Point being, that, but for the governmental change of mind, the place could have been colonised by the Royalist refugees from America. I, in my ignorance, didn't even know there were any Royalist refugees from America.

Funny old world isn't it?

While on the subject of little known facts, can I tell you that for some years, I have been fascinated by the story of the Pony Express, which, as you may know, ran for eighteen months in 1860/1. Not many books were written about it, and most of the company records were lost in a fire, so little is recorded about it's history. However, during my studies of the period just before and after this mail route was in operation, I found that the U.S. government of the time, had contemplated various ways of getting the mail across from the east to the western side of America. One idea that was actually put into action, was to cross the desert area to the south by using camels. One hundred of these beasts were imported, and a test scheme was duly set up. However, for various reasons, mainly the difficulty in controlling these creatures, the whole thing was abandoned. Unfortunately, during the trial period, several of the camels escaped, and wandered off into the desert. For several years afterwards, there were stories coming in from the remote areas of desert, mainly from folk travelling around the region, who, when camped out at night, were scared out of their wits by the sudden appearance of these camels, who were attracted by the light of the campfire. Some of those old boys had never seen or heard of a camel, so you can imagine the fright they had.

Afraid we are getting a little off course. I am supposed to be writing about life on this side of the pond, and here I am burbling on about historic events in the U.S.

I would imagine that the Rolls-Royce must be the most famous motor car in the world. Ever since I was a small lad, stories have been circulating about the degree of quality that was, and is put into the manufacture of this vehicle. One I remember concerned the fantastic engineering tolerances that were used to fit the piston in the cylinder bore. It was said that the piston was placed at the top of the cylinder, and allowed to 'free fall' down the bore, and if it sunk down against the air compression at a faster rate than specified, the engine was scrapped. Other tales, while they varied in detail, the substance was always the same. The one I heard most, concerned a Rolls-Royce owner, who was driving across some particularly rough terrain in central Europe, , and, suddenly the half shaft snapped in two, (don't worry about what a half shaft is), and the car could not move. Anyway, it was towed to a garage, and a telephone call was made to Rolls-Royce, outlining the problem. Within twenty four hours, Rolls-Royce had flown out a mechanic, complete with tools, and a new half shaft, and the repair was completed. Several months passed, and the owner of the car had not received an invoice for the repair from Rolls-Royce, so, he wrote to them asking what the cost of fitting the new half shaft would be. He quickly received a reply from Rolls-Royce, who wrote to say that he must be mistaken, "the half shafts of the Rolls-Royce would never break". As I say, the detail changed, in that it was sometimes the Spirit of Ecstasy mascot on the bonnet that was broken, or other items of the car, but, the essence was always, that the car could never break down, according to the manufacturers. We in this country are now faced with the appalling prospect of the Rolls- Royce motor car division, (not the aircraft bit) being sold off to an overseas company. Why, Oh why, is it, that we can build very good cars, but, we can never make a commercial success, and manage them properly? Every one of our British cars has gone the same way, and other than a few small specialised sports cars, we have nothing that is not owned by a foreign manufacturer. Rolls- Royce is the last of the greats. What a sad reflection on the British motor industry management capabilities. It has been suggested that we are very bad at advertising our products, and I am reminded of the observation that was once made on this subject. "Doing business without advertising, is like winking at a girl in the dark,---- you know what you are doing, but nobody else does."

I found it very interesting to watch the trial of the British nanny, Louise Woodward, in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Considering our two legal systems have both sprung from the same stock, we now have such differing methods of administering the procedures. Over on our side, we still have the wearing of wigs and robes by both the Judge, and the legal team, and the air of formality is very much in evidence. The American courtroom has a much more informal atmosphere, with the only formal garment being the robe worn by the Judge. The presence of the T.V. camera's, with close up's of every part of the proceedings, is completely unknown over here. Please, please, believe, I am not offering any sort of approval or criticism for either one, As I said, it is rather interesting how both countries achieve the same objective with the differing methods. Why we still feel the need to continue with the traditional methods, and costume, while the U.S.of A. has moved to a more modern approach, I know not. The important bit is, that we both have faith in the judicial procedures we use.

Now, while on this subject of comparisons. Do you remember that in one of my earlier 'Over the pond's', I wrote about how the various countries of the world seem to be moving in the same direction, for example, the style of clothes, the food, our houses, schools, hospitals, lots and lots of things are all heading down the same road? Just recently, I was having a chat with a friend about the progress of the motor car, (I never know whether to use the word, automobile, or motor car in this column) and he was saying that he could not imagine the modern vehicle 'making old bones'. By this, he meant that the type of car that we have in the annual London to Brighton veteran's, and vintage car race, where the ages of the cars date back to the end of the last century. I was reminded of a T.V. programme I watched, oh, around 1950 or so, and the title of the thing was 'The Throwaway Society'. It dealt with the move of our world society towards a fast recycling of the products used, and gave examples of the way in which things were being manufactured, with a restricted life cycle. In other words, they were not supposed to last beyond a given number of years. I do remember being surprised at the expected life of the American automobile, this was stated to have a life of around five to six years, and would then be regarded as ready for the scrap heap. Our cars at that time were being made of much thicker gauge steel, and were expected to be around for some twenty years or more. In fact, my first car, bought in 1952 was made in 1938, and, the last I heard of it, was still running well into 1960's. Gradually however, we have changed the methods of production of many of the products we use, including the motor car, and we are now at the stage which was emphasised in that T.V. programme I saw so long ago. Our cars are old at four or five years, my wife will not let me keep my clothes for more than a couple of years, and I am constantly struggling to keep up with the rate at which things wear out, and need replacing. My one consolation, is that, as yet, nobody has thought of a method of cutting down on the number of years we older folk are living.

'Til the next time,

Frank Hatton

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