Sledging

Memory by Clive Dalton

Everything had to be right - and there many things to consider. The first was how much fresh snow had fallen, especially over night, as if was too deep and too soft it was no good unless it had a night to freeze.

But then the Council road team led by Geordie Collings and driver of their Albion wagon Dick Graham would have been out early and ruined it for us.

We made fun of the wagon as it had solid tyres on wide flat wheels, and from memory may have been powered by steam which seemed to come out of the front in small drifts like a kettle coming up to the boil. The team on board had made a small canvas shelter to sit in on the back of the wagon behind the cab and facing backwards, and the grit after being found under the snow in heaps along the road was shovelled behind it to spread by the men with shovels as the wagon slowly progressed. It had a small snow plough blade on the front run on small wheels, which was only suitable to clear small snowfalls, but it left ideal even cover for sledgers.

We called the truck ‘The Graf Spee’ which was the name of a famous German gunboat which the Royal Navy and RAF had been searching for and finally destroyed. When all was ready and when we knew the Graf Spee and crew were in dock, as it’s lights were weaker than candles for night work, the word got round the village faster than todays internet that sledging was ON and out came the sledges.

And what a variety! They were small and light like mine, medium and heavy like my brothers, some high off the ground and some low, and finally their was Ted Dobbin’s classical toboggan. The drill was one person per sledge lying ‘belleyflappers’ and generally no tiny kids were allowed to risk injury on any sledge trip.

It was time for action, and to the start you went to the Blakelaw gate beside the Blue Heaps, which were currently white! After a short run and push, you dived on the sledge and went straight down hill gaining speed passed the Noble Street entrance, round a slight bend where there was a convenient street light down to the Youth Hostel where there was another light on the slight bend, then hell for leather down to Peggy’s corner.

Here your feet dictated your future as it was almost 90 degrees turn and digging in your hobnail boot toes and twisting your prone torso was the guarantee to make it. Otherwise you hit the wire fence into Johnston’s field which was not a good outcome for either you or Tommy Johnson the farmer.

After taking the corner speed increased again down past the station yard entrance, Cruddas Terrace and under the railway arch. Many of us with small sledges ended there. But others were still going past the Northern garage and Police Station, hoping that Sergeant Fell was safely tucked up in bed, and finally up over the Hareshaw Burn bridge towards Dobbin’s shop door.

They said that Ted Dobbin was the only one to achieve this on his toboggan but I never saw that. I was happy to get around Peggy’s corner down to the railway arch without injury.

There was also a story that a candle lit at Peggy’s corner was a warning that Sergeant Fell was on the prowl to stop the fun - as he lived along Percy Terrace along from Peggy’s shop, but I never saw that. So if no injuries, the only job left after the journey down was to grab the ropes on the front of your sledge and get back up to the Blakelaw gate again for a rerun.

‘Burnie’ the village blacksmith played a crucial role in our sport as he made the runners for our sledges. If it was the first run of the winter, the runners were rusty so needed a bit of sandpaper to bring back their shine and a rub with a candle to ensure a bit of speed.