Read Online 21st Century Dodos: A Collection of Endangered Objects (and Other Stuff) by Steve Stack - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steve Stack
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old junk that the binmen refused to take.
As the century drew to a close, households had become more focused on recycling, and most people had transport to take their scrap to local dumps and refuse centres. As a result, the trade has almost died out. But not quite. There are a few rag and bone men about, mostly still using a horse and cart (the slow progress they make gives people time to gather up items and take them outside).However, I suspect we will have seen the last of them in a few years’ time.
Dodo Rating:
Cars
Not all cars, obviously. Our roads are full of them, I know that. No, this entry is to mark the passing of the many makes of car that used to be everywhere on our roads, were often hugely popular, but which have ceased production and are gradually vanishing from the streets.
Take, for example, the Ford Sierra. It was one of the top ten most popular cars ever sold in Britain, with over 1.2 million machines on the roads, and ceased production in 1993. Almost anyone over the age of 35 could identify one immediately, but someone under 30 might struggle.
So here we commemorate some of the hugely popular motor vehicles, many of which we will have been driven in when we were younger, that have been parked in the scrapyard of history. See how many of them you can remember, and ask yourself when you last saw one on the open road.
Ford Anglia (1939–1967)
Citroen 2CV (1948–1990)
Morris Minor (1948–1971)
Ford Zephyr (1950–1972)
Triumph Herald (1959–1971)
Ford Cortina (1962–1982)
Hillman Imp (1963–1976)
Vauxhall Viva (1963–1979)
Datsun Sunny (1966–2004)
Ford Escort (1968–2003)
Ford Capri (1969–1986)
Morris Marina (1971–1980)
Ford Granada (1972–1994)
Austin Allegro (1973–1983)
Reliant Robin (1973–2002)
Toyota Starlet (1973–1999)
Vauxhall Cavalier (1975–1995)
Mini Metro (1980–1997)
Ford Sierra (1982–1993)
Austin Maestro (1983–1994)
Austin Montego (1984–1994)
Dodo Rating:
Slam Door Trains
Allow me to set the scene.
My secondary school let pupils out at 3.30pm.
The train station was a three-minute walk away. Two minutes if you ran.
The train left the station at 3.32pm.
The moments after the home bell rang were, as you can probably imagine, utter chaos.
Dozens of scruffy boys, ties flailing in the wind, pegging it down the street in an attempt to catch the early train home. If you missed it, then you had to wait half an hour for the next one. Half an hour to a 12-year-old-boy is a lifetime, especially when he could be at home playing on his Vic 20.
With modern trains, we would have stood no chance. Pushbutton, centrally controlled electronic doors closing 30 seconds before departure would have kept us at bay.
But we didn’t have modern trains back then (this was the early ’80s). Instead, we had the slam door trains, carriages with individual doors, each with a handle you turned to open. The point being that they could be opened at any point during the journey, not just at the station.
So what happened was this – the faster runners would sprint ahead and make it to the station just as the train was pulling in. They would get on the train in normal fashion but leave the doors open.
The reasonably fit but not particularly sporty boys (which included me) would follow in their wake, making it into the station just as the train was supposed to leave. We’d usually be able to jump on at the open doors just as the guard was shouting at us to close them.
Then came the fun bit.
The weak, infirm, lovers of chocolate bars, lazy, and poorly shod would stagger to the station, out of breath and sweating, just as the train was leaving. The carriages were in motion, the train was on its way, the guard had shut his door and was busy lighting his fag for a quick puff before the next stop.
At this point we opened all the doors at the back of the train, ready for our less-athletic friends, or those with teachers who had not let them leave on time, to make ambitious,
As the century drew to a close, households had become more focused on recycling, and most people had transport to take their scrap to local dumps and refuse centres. As a result, the trade has almost died out. But not quite. There are a few rag and bone men about, mostly still using a horse and cart (the slow progress they make gives people time to gather up items and take them outside).However, I suspect we will have seen the last of them in a few years’ time.
Dodo Rating:
Cars
Not all cars, obviously. Our roads are full of them, I know that. No, this entry is to mark the passing of the many makes of car that used to be everywhere on our roads, were often hugely popular, but which have ceased production and are gradually vanishing from the streets.
Take, for example, the Ford Sierra. It was one of the top ten most popular cars ever sold in Britain, with over 1.2 million machines on the roads, and ceased production in 1993. Almost anyone over the age of 35 could identify one immediately, but someone under 30 might struggle.
So here we commemorate some of the hugely popular motor vehicles, many of which we will have been driven in when we were younger, that have been parked in the scrapyard of history. See how many of them you can remember, and ask yourself when you last saw one on the open road.
Ford Anglia (1939–1967)
Citroen 2CV (1948–1990)
Morris Minor (1948–1971)
Ford Zephyr (1950–1972)
Triumph Herald (1959–1971)
Ford Cortina (1962–1982)
Hillman Imp (1963–1976)
Vauxhall Viva (1963–1979)
Datsun Sunny (1966–2004)
Ford Escort (1968–2003)
Ford Capri (1969–1986)
Morris Marina (1971–1980)
Ford Granada (1972–1994)
Austin Allegro (1973–1983)
Reliant Robin (1973–2002)
Toyota Starlet (1973–1999)
Vauxhall Cavalier (1975–1995)
Mini Metro (1980–1997)
Ford Sierra (1982–1993)
Austin Maestro (1983–1994)
Austin Montego (1984–1994)
Dodo Rating:
Slam Door Trains
Allow me to set the scene.
My secondary school let pupils out at 3.30pm.
The train station was a three-minute walk away. Two minutes if you ran.
The train left the station at 3.32pm.
The moments after the home bell rang were, as you can probably imagine, utter chaos.
Dozens of scruffy boys, ties flailing in the wind, pegging it down the street in an attempt to catch the early train home. If you missed it, then you had to wait half an hour for the next one. Half an hour to a 12-year-old-boy is a lifetime, especially when he could be at home playing on his Vic 20.
With modern trains, we would have stood no chance. Pushbutton, centrally controlled electronic doors closing 30 seconds before departure would have kept us at bay.
But we didn’t have modern trains back then (this was the early ’80s). Instead, we had the slam door trains, carriages with individual doors, each with a handle you turned to open. The point being that they could be opened at any point during the journey, not just at the station.
So what happened was this – the faster runners would sprint ahead and make it to the station just as the train was pulling in. They would get on the train in normal fashion but leave the doors open.
The reasonably fit but not particularly sporty boys (which included me) would follow in their wake, making it into the station just as the train was supposed to leave. We’d usually be able to jump on at the open doors just as the guard was shouting at us to close them.
Then came the fun bit.
The weak, infirm, lovers of chocolate bars, lazy, and poorly shod would stagger to the station, out of breath and sweating, just as the train was leaving. The carriages were in motion, the train was on its way, the guard had shut his door and was busy lighting his fag for a quick puff before the next stop.
At this point we opened all the doors at the back of the train, ready for our less-athletic friends, or those with teachers who had not let them leave on time, to make ambitious,
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