Bench.
âA bloody Bolshie, your Worship,â said Briggs.
âVery provocative. I should have hit him myself,â said General Bouverie, who knew all about Briggsâ politics. âIn the circumstances I shall refrain from imposing a fine.â
Of course, Briggs could easily afford to refuse the custom of the Syndicate; he was an extremely prosperous tradesman. There is a mistaken notion that the blacksmithâs is a dying trade; and those who are always moaning and mourning the departure of Ye Olde things, the William-Morrissy-arty-crafty people, will tell you that the village smith is disappearing, another craftsman-victim of âthe thing we miscall Progressâ. In fact I believe that Jeremy Briggs made a good deal more money than James Briggs his father, who owned the smithy before him. It is true that there were not so many farm-horses in 1930 as there were in late Victorian times (although there were more hunters); but the âodd-jobingâ which he so proudly advertised more than redressed the balance. If there were fewer horses, there was more farm-machinery; and when the binder or the hay-sweep went wrong it was generally the blacksmithâs job to put it right. Again, fewer horses meant more motor-cars;and these motor-cars from time to time ran into each other head-on. When the drivers had been taken to hospital, and the vehicles had been towed to the garage, and the doctors, the motor-manufacturers and the garagemen had all levied their dues upon the insurance company, there often remained a kind of residue in the shape of two bent front-axles which found their way to Briggsâ forge. Besides, being a skilled worker in most metals, Briggs made a good many profitable odds-and-ends in his spare time; the local builder alone gave him enough work to pay for the beer which he drank in enormous quantities. He certainly didnât deserve the pity of the arty-crafty crowd who went in for folk-dancing and played upon pan-pipes and taught long-suffering villagers to make useless things out of raffia.
Like most blacksmiths, Briggs possessed notable biceps, forearms and hands. When he was a young man he could tear a pack of cards in two. His palms were criss-crossed with old calloused scars, which were the consequence of his youthful foolishness in bending six-inch nails for the entertainment of the company at the Adam and Eve. In later years, becoming less reckless, he wrapped handkerchiefs round his hand before starting his demonstration.
At one time he was the terror of travelling showmen at the local fairs; for whether it v/as a matter of bending pokers or lifting weights, Briggs could always do it better than they could. When the Strongest Man in the World with painful effort and streams of perspiration had managed to give a slight twist to an iron bar, Briggs, pleading with affected innocence âLet me try that, mister! Let me have a go!â would mount the rostrum and without apparent exertion bend the bar almost double. All the Strongest Men in the World hated and feared him.
At Elmbury Mop he elected one night to try his strength upon one of those machines which you smite with a mallet.He had had a great deal of beer, and what happened would have served as a good advertisement for the brewery. With his first shot, being as he freely admitted a bit unsteady on his pins, he missed altogether. The showman laughed; and this annoyed him. He took a lot of trouble over his next shot, his great hands which had clamped in their awful grip the kicking hoof of an angry stallion clasped the handle of the mallet, the muscles of his forearms stood out like the roots of an old tree, and Briggs smote. He hit the machine fair and square with such force that it fell apart; the head of the mallet flew off into the crowd. Satisfied, he shrugged his shoulders and walked away.
Yet at cricket he hardly ever hit sixes, but batted with a huge stolidity which would have done credit to a Lancashire
âA bloody Bolshie, your Worship,â said Briggs.
âVery provocative. I should have hit him myself,â said General Bouverie, who knew all about Briggsâ politics. âIn the circumstances I shall refrain from imposing a fine.â
Of course, Briggs could easily afford to refuse the custom of the Syndicate; he was an extremely prosperous tradesman. There is a mistaken notion that the blacksmithâs is a dying trade; and those who are always moaning and mourning the departure of Ye Olde things, the William-Morrissy-arty-crafty people, will tell you that the village smith is disappearing, another craftsman-victim of âthe thing we miscall Progressâ. In fact I believe that Jeremy Briggs made a good deal more money than James Briggs his father, who owned the smithy before him. It is true that there were not so many farm-horses in 1930 as there were in late Victorian times (although there were more hunters); but the âodd-jobingâ which he so proudly advertised more than redressed the balance. If there were fewer horses, there was more farm-machinery; and when the binder or the hay-sweep went wrong it was generally the blacksmithâs job to put it right. Again, fewer horses meant more motor-cars;and these motor-cars from time to time ran into each other head-on. When the drivers had been taken to hospital, and the vehicles had been towed to the garage, and the doctors, the motor-manufacturers and the garagemen had all levied their dues upon the insurance company, there often remained a kind of residue in the shape of two bent front-axles which found their way to Briggsâ forge. Besides, being a skilled worker in most metals, Briggs made a good many profitable odds-and-ends in his spare time; the local builder alone gave him enough work to pay for the beer which he drank in enormous quantities. He certainly didnât deserve the pity of the arty-crafty crowd who went in for folk-dancing and played upon pan-pipes and taught long-suffering villagers to make useless things out of raffia.
Like most blacksmiths, Briggs possessed notable biceps, forearms and hands. When he was a young man he could tear a pack of cards in two. His palms were criss-crossed with old calloused scars, which were the consequence of his youthful foolishness in bending six-inch nails for the entertainment of the company at the Adam and Eve. In later years, becoming less reckless, he wrapped handkerchiefs round his hand before starting his demonstration.
At one time he was the terror of travelling showmen at the local fairs; for whether it v/as a matter of bending pokers or lifting weights, Briggs could always do it better than they could. When the Strongest Man in the World with painful effort and streams of perspiration had managed to give a slight twist to an iron bar, Briggs, pleading with affected innocence âLet me try that, mister! Let me have a go!â would mount the rostrum and without apparent exertion bend the bar almost double. All the Strongest Men in the World hated and feared him.
At Elmbury Mop he elected one night to try his strength upon one of those machines which you smite with a mallet.He had had a great deal of beer, and what happened would have served as a good advertisement for the brewery. With his first shot, being as he freely admitted a bit unsteady on his pins, he missed altogether. The showman laughed; and this annoyed him. He took a lot of trouble over his next shot, his great hands which had clamped in their awful grip the kicking hoof of an angry stallion clasped the handle of the mallet, the muscles of his forearms stood out like the roots of an old tree, and Briggs smote. He hit the machine fair and square with such force that it fell apart; the head of the mallet flew off into the crowd. Satisfied, he shrugged his shoulders and walked away.
Yet at cricket he hardly ever hit sixes, but batted with a huge stolidity which would have done credit to a Lancashire
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