The mention that today’s youth must be unfamiliar with the sound of a typewriter got me thinking about what other noises they might not recognise.
One that immediately came to mind was the clip-clop of horse hooves on a pavement.
When I was a child in London, we often saw horses pulling carts, though by the time we returned from Asia on the 60’s, the only such horses I saw were Bob and Baron who were the Wadworth’s horses in Devizes.
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The internet informs me that Wadworth’s retired their Shire horses last year due to economic restraints.
Bob and Baron’s successors, Sam and George, went to a new home in Wales.
No more clip-clop. The end of an era.
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There are still places where you may hear the sound, New York City for one, though not much longer it seems. The new mayor has pledged to bring about a ban.
Animal advocates have been trying for years to have the carriage horse industry banned. I have heard both sides of the issue and don’t really feel qualified to have an opinion. While I believe the horses are probably well cared for, their working conditions in an increasingly busy city are difficult and even dangerous. Often the weather is extreme and there have been too many heart-breaking accidents and incidents.
An argument from the other side asks what will become of these horses if they are banned. A good question that I don’t know the answer to, but surely it is no reason to perpetuate an industry if it makes the animals suffer?
As a little girl, I loved the sound of their hooves because I adored horses. Later, when I saw ponies straining to pull over-loaded carts from the docks beneath our flat in Phnom Penh, I realised sadly howbharshly those poor animals were treated.
Animals should not be made to suffer by human hands.
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What other sounds do we no longer hear?
Several, I recall, associated with the above contraption!
You can make your own list. Thinking of steam trains reminded me of an essay I wrote some time ago which I’ll offer for a change of pace:
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A crowd waited expectantly on a cold platform, hoping that their train would come in soon so they could at least get in out of the wind.
Halfway down the platform was a small family. The father, raincoat collar pulled up, hat firmly on his head, stood slightly apart, grumbling: “Bloody English summers!”
Mother regarded him, perplexed. How many times had she heard this complaint, as if it was her fault they lived on this soggy island. In any case, it wasn’t always so cold.
“Stop grumbling!” she pleaded, turning her head to the two children.
The rails began to vibrate and a train could be heard approaching, though it was still out of sight. Soon it hove into view out of clouds of steam, puffing and shunting like some large angry beast.
The little girl, only four, had never seen this sort of train before and she darted behind her mother’s skirt where she cringed, eyes wide in terror.
The train ground to a halt with a screeching of brakes, more gushing clouds of steam, and all along the carriages, doors shot open discharging passengers onto the platform. As they made their way out into the station, thence the city of London, those who had been awaiting their transport climbed gratefully aboard, stowing their baggage and loosening their overcoats.
The little girl and her brother installed themselves by a window. The father and mother sat back and each pulled out a cigarette.
For a few minutes, things quietened, the only sounds drifting from other platforms as trains pulled in or out, doors crashing open and then clunking shut, whistles advising the train driver that he was clear to roll. The voices of station masters announcing times, platforms and destinations. Periodically, the family heard one of their carriage doors open to admit another passenger dragging in their baggage along with a cold draft of air causing the father to scowl once more.
Everyone settled expectantly, hoping for an on-time departure. A last-minute runner climbed frantically on, gasping anxiously “Is this the Bristol train?” then melting relievedly into a seat and easing out of her mac.
Father blew smoke at the ceiling and pulled a crumpled newspaper from his pocket, folding it back so he could concentrate, now that the train was moving, on the crossword puzzle.
The two children watched in awe as the train lumbered slowly out of London through some of the seamier slums and then, picking up speed, into the leafier suburbs and finally out into the green fields of England, bathed in watery afternoon sunlight.
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I miss the steam trains and all the sounds of the past you have mentioned, Carolyn, and your essay is wonderful! As always, your photography is brilliant!
Joanna
I enjoyed your essay a lot, especially the use of the word ‘Hence’, which should be revived in that context. My old HTC Desire mobile phone had the old-fashioned ringtone of a dial-phone as an option, and I selected that. The phones I have had since do not seem to have that any longer. You can still hear the clip-clop of horses’ hooves around Beetley sometimes, as there are some horse-owners in the village who take them out for rides at weekends. The sound used to scare Ollie, and he would bark at them.
Best wishes, Pete.
The thunk of track changing or reversing of a tape deck. There are parts of the world where the only thing between you and a lonesome train whistle is distance. Another thunk, the release of an old brake pedal when it hit the firewall or floor. I lived with sound summers with my grampa in his old bait delivery truck. A big bad full size newspaper printing press or a whip clunk whip clunk of a mimeograph machine.
Good ones – yes! At the airport we had to use a Gestetner machine to make copies of documents. It too had that sort of sound.
A wonderfully evocative essay!
I really enjoyed your essay – I can almost imagine the scene you describe. I remember the clip-clop of horses’ hooves in Valetta on the small Mediterranean island, Malta, which we visited twice – every time in the middle of summer and very hot. I felt so sorry for the horses that had to cart tourists around … so we mostly walked wherever we wanted to be, even if it meant that we sometimes had to walk for kilometers 😊.
Really evocative essay. I remember a train journey we used to make fairly regularly as a child which featured first leg by deisel, second leg by electric and third leg by steam. You can probably guess which part young me found most exciting.