The Driving Force

In those days everything seemed to run on canvas belting, the thrashing box, the oat grinder, even the saw bench. This was probably the most frightening piece of mischief ever invented by mankind. A huge blade whirred around and literally screamed as the wood was shoved into its angry teeth. Accidents were frequent, not only did wood jam up and shoot out backwards, forwards and sideways, but the odd human hand or complete limb was often to be found amongst the pile of sawdust. A simple lean to next to the barn contained the obligatory open crank stationary  simple and agricultural that it continued running all day even if you ran out of petrol and just pee'd in the tank. Tuck .. Tuck … Tuck …. Ping ...Nothing …. Nothing … Nothing …..Slurp … Pop.. Pop ..Bang … Fart … Tuck …. Tuck .. Tuck. Funny how these odd noises remain in your worst nightmares isn't it! There was another funny little engine on the wooden elevator. Used to propel straw or hay to the top of the Dutch Barn, it spent most of it's life folded up in the field, looking for all it was worth like a huge Pterodactyl kit. Painted red and cream, folded in two, it's bright red upright arms pointing to heaven, the two draped wire strands used to pull it back together looked strangely untidy. When set up and running  it was an impressive sight with it's little donkey engine tonk-tonk-tonking, the chains rattling and squeaking and the succession of sharp spikes on their endless journey to the top. It's hard to imagine that at less than ten years old we regularly used to hitch a lift to the top. Older and wiser now, I cringe at the thought of spending eternity going round and round like an impaled sausage on a barbeque had the inevitable actually happened.

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