She then handed over the directions. Graham went and got the map out of the car and she marked the spot we had to head for. We thanked her for her hospitality, apologised for turning up out of the blue, and left.
We piled back into the car and headed off again. Nobody spoke; it was complete silence. Graham was in the back, and I knew he was just waiting for me to explode. He sat directly behind me with John in the driving seat. I think he was praying that as I couldn’t see him I would somehow forget he was there.
I had just got myself geared up to turn around and give him a mouthful, when, fortunately for him, I saw a horse carrier ahead. As we got closer I saw it was carrying two black horses. We couldn’t overtake but followed it for around four miles through country lanes. Finally the vehicle slowed down, indicating to turn into a side lane. As we passed it I looked down the lane and in the distance I could see some activity – there were lots of cars and horse boxes.
‘John, turn the car around. Let’s go and have a look at what’s going on down there,’ I said.
With that, we headed off down the path. At the end were several huge fields and those fields were full of Friesian horses. We had, by complete fluke, stumbled across a horse sale.
I glanced at Graham and had never seen a face look so relieved.
We parked the car and started to walk around. Graham had vanished, so it was just me and John looking at this beautiful display. They had grandparents, parents and foals, and it was wonderful to see them like that, generation after generation.
Over the loudspeaker the voice announced: ‘Vill ze family of Cribb please go to ze main tent immediately.’ Heaven only knows what type of accent that was. For a second I thought we’d travelled so far we had crossed over into Germany.
I turned to John. ‘Christ, what the hell’s the bugger gone and done now?’
We got to the tent and he’s standing there with a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a John Wayne film, complete with ten-gallon hat, cowboy boots and one of those shirts with a metal buckle at the neck.
‘Dad, you won’t believe this,’ he said, turning to the cowboy. ‘This is Bert Rankin. He’s the man I was originally supposed to meet, and he’s got some horses for sale,’ Graham said gleefully.
‘Good afternoon, gentlemen, welcome to Holland,’ Bert said, shaking hands. ‘Graham has explained everything to me, so if you would like to follow me back to my stables I can show you what I have.’
With that we jumped back in the car and followed him for about half an hour down the road. None of us spoke; I think we were all secretly hoping that at last we’d found someone who could help.
When we arrived he took us to a field that had five young horses walking around. They couldn’t run, as it was like a bog. In fact they could just about lift up their hooves.
‘We should get them out of there for you to have a proper look,’ Bert suggested.
With that, Graham piped up. ‘I’ll get in. I’ll round them up and head them to the gate.’
He started to climb over the wooden fence when his foot slipped on the top rung and down he went. It was a truly wonderful moment; he’d fallen face down into the field and was imbedded in the mud. I looked up to the heavens, smiling, thinking to myself that God certainly does pay debts in mysterious ways.
‘That’ll teach the little sod,’ I said under my breath.
After he had dislodged himself, and it took a while, as none of us offered to help him, he then managed to get the horses up to the gate where they were led into the stables.
‘Now, I like that one there,’ I said, pointing to the one at the rear. ‘He’s got a great presence.’
‘You won’t believe this, Stan, but he’s the only one for sale. The rest are going to South Africa,’ Bert said, smiling.
‘The problem is we obviously need two, and if you only have one then I’ve got to find another from somewhere else,’ I explained. I was thinking what a nightmare it would be to start looking again.
‘I’ll have him cleaned up for you and you can then have a proper look. If you would like to take a quick shower, Graham, I’m sure I can find you some clean clothes.’
I wanted to say, ‘Leave the bugger as he is; won’t do him any harm to make him suffer a bit more,’ but I didn’t. John and I left them to it and went to have a well-deserved cup of tea.
As Graham came back to meet us, we both simultaneously burst out laughing. Bert Rankin obviously didn’t possess any normal clothes in his wardrobe and had decked Graham out in an outfit that Wild Bill Hickok would’ve been proud of.
Bert came in and told us the horse was ready. He opened the stable doors and two beauties came trotting out, their heads held proud. They were picking up their hooves as any funeral horse should. They were perfect . . . absolutely perfect.
‘But you said you only had one?’ I said, looking at Bert.
‘It’s his half-brother; a friend of mine had him up the road in his stables. I sent one of the boys up to collect him whilst we cleaned up the other one. What do you think, magnificent, aren’t they?’ he said proudly.
‘They certainly are,’ I said. ‘How much?’
‘£3,500 each but you can have the pair for £6,500,’ he said.
Without hesitation I replied, ‘We’ll take them.’
Graham leaped up, punching the air. ‘Yes!’ he shouted.
The happiness on his face made me smile. We were at the start of a new era. I must admit I was starting to feel excited too.
Having had a journey over that we wanted to forget, coming back was far more enjoyable. The weather had brightened up and so had our spirits, knowing we had secured two lovely horses.
Graham’s mood, having been extremely joyful, bizarrely changed when we left our hire car and made our way onto the ferry. It must have been down to the fact that not many people had seen ‘Wild Bill Hickok’ in the flesh, and he proved to be a great source of entertainment to the passengers as well as to me and John.
It took two weeks for us to receive the horses. Graham arranged for a horse carrier to go over and collect them (at least he got that right) and they were then taken to John’s to be trained. These were young horses that had not been broken in, so it would take at least nine months to train them well enough to pull the carriage.
In the meantime the carriage was taken to George and Bert Scammell in West India Dock Road. They were ‘master craftsman’ – restorers of fine carriages. I’d shown them photos of grandfather’s 1912 carriage. All funeral directors in the old days had their own colours. All the carriages were black but they were lined in a specific colour to show which business they belonged to. Ours were lined in blue with gold leaf filigree, so our new carriage would be restored in exactly the same way. Graham also had all the harnesses made. These were embossed with the initials ‘TCS’ – Thomas Cribb & Sons.
When everything was complete, the horses would be harnessed up and driven around the streets to get them familiar with traffic and any other distractions. This certainly caused a stir in the area. People would come out of their houses to watch them go by. It turned into quite a spectacle, as funeral horses hadn’t been seen on the roads for many years.
After forty-one years, on 1 March 1985, our first horse-drawn funeral was held. I can’t begin to explain to you how it felt after all those years.
The night before, I went into the office and pulled the ancient trunk out from the back of the cupboard. As I opened it, the smell of the old days came rushing back to me. I gently lifted out the ‘velvets’ and placed them on the table. As I unwrapped them, I’m not ashamed to say I had tears in my eyes. They looked as good as they had all those years before when I’d packed them up.
I sat down and thought about all the times that had long gone, and how Grandma and Uncle would have felt if they’d been there to see the horses back once again. They would have been so proud and I hoped they would’ve been proud of me too. Uncle had been my guide and teacher every step of the way throughout my life, a
nd I was privileged to have been chosen as his ‘apprentice’. How I missed him and those wonderful days.
The following morning I put the velvets in my car and took them along to where they were preparing the horses for that first day. As I started to fit them onto the harnesses I realised that the only difference was I didn’t have to fetch a stool to stand on.
The activity surrounding them being prepared, feeling their warm bodies under my hands, and the smell and weight of the velvets, as I draped them down their sides, took me back.
I climbed up on top of the carriage, closing my eyes for a few seconds, trying to compose myself. It started to pull away and all I could hear was the sound of the horses’ hooves on the roadway and the roll of the carriage beneath me.
My mind flashed back to my childhood. I was fourteen years old and it was the beginning of my apprenticeship. My beloved uncle was next to me and our beautiful horses were pulling us proudly along, their magnificent heads held high . . . all of them long gone, but they will remain forever in my heart.
Th’ hast spoken right, tis true,
The wheel is come full circle, I am here.
William Shakespeare King Lear
18
New Generation
2008 (age 80)
‘Tell me about the horses again, please, Granddad,’ Jack would say to me for the hundredth time. He loved listening to the stories that I’ve been telling you in my book.
He would sit for hours, his eyes growing larger and larger, as I told him about living through the war years when I was a young boy, showing him the old photo album of my grandfather’s shop, and the original horses and carriages they had used.
‘I want to be an undertaker when I grow up,’ he would say eagerly.
‘We’ll see, son, you’ve got a long way to go before you have to start thinking about work. Just concentrate on your school work first,’ I told him.
‘But I really do, Granddad,’ he insisted.
Graham would take him down to the stables at the weekends when he was a small boy, and he’d walk around with his bag of carrots and packet of mints, feeding the horses and screaming with laughter as their lips brushed over his little hand. He was as happy as a sandboy amongst them. I loved watching him; it reminded me of myself all those years back at our old stables when we used to go and visit Grandma and Uncle Tom, and what magical times they were.
As the years flew by, every now and again he would remind me of the fact that he still wanted to work in the business, which did make me happy.
The day came when Graham came into my office. ‘Dad, you know Jack’s leaving school in a couple of weeks. He still wants to come and work in the business – what d’you think?’ he asked.
I had secretly hoped this day would come and now it had. ‘Well, he’s been on about it for long enough; it’s obviously something he wants to try. Tell him to come and see me on Saturday at eleven,’ I said coolly.
‘OK, he’ll be here. Thanks, Dad.’
As the clock struck eleven, Jack was knocking on my door. He was very punctual, which was certainly a good start.
‘Come in, Jack,’ I said.
‘Good morning, Granddad.’
‘Good morning, son. So, your dad’s been telling me you’re leaving school in a couple of weeks.’
‘That’s right. I can’t wait!’
Oh, I know how you feel, boy.
‘So you still want to work in the business? You haven’t changed your mind, then?’ I asked.
‘No, I’ve never thought about doing anything else, you know that. I’ve told you enough times!’ he said, laughing.
I smiled. ‘I know. I’m just checking. So what date do you finish?’
‘Friday the 25th.’
‘Right, I want you down the stables at 8 a.m. on the 26th,’ I said.
‘That’s fantastic! Thank you so much. I won’t let you down,’ he said excitedly.
‘You’d better not, boy. Now, off you go and I’ll see you then,’ I said dismissively. I didn’t want to let on how pleased I was.
He virtually skipped out of the office.
On the 26th I arrived at the stables. I got there around 7 a.m., as you already know I love mornings. It was the start of a beautiful summer’s day – the sun still low in the sky. I breathed the air deeply; the smell of the stables reached me. I would never tire of that smell.
I sat on the bench outside and rested my head against the wall. I closed my eyes, feeling the gentle warmth of the early sun. I could hear the horses inside.
Here I was waiting for my grandson to arrive and start out on hopefully his new career, as I had done sixty-six years previously . . . sixty-six years! Where on earth had the time gone? How could that be . . . it just didn’t seem feasible.
When you’re young and your parents, grandparents, aunties and uncles all say to you that Time flies, you’ll turn around and you’ll be middle-aged, you don’t believe it for a second, do you? You think it’s just old people talking ridiculously, that time can’t possibly move that fast. How can your life fly by without you noticing? But believe me it does.
My thoughts went to my own dad, talking about the importance of a job with a pension. ‘Son, you’re young today but trust me when I tell you, and it’ll happen quicker than you think, you’ll turn around, and you’ll be in your fifties, but it’ll seem like only yesterday we were sitting having this conversation . . .’ How right he was. But it was far, far worse than he said it would be. I didn’t turn around to find myself in my fifties. When I turned around I was in my seventies and within a blink of an eye I was eighty.
My daydreams were broken as I heard wheels on gravel. I opened my eyes and Jack was parking his car – how times had changed! He got out and walked towards me.
‘Good morning,’ he said smiling.
‘Good morning, Jack. Sit down here a minute, will you. I just want a quick word with you before you get started,’ I said.
As he sat down, I turned to him. ‘Firstly I want you to know that I’m very happy you’ve decided to join the business.’
‘Thanks, Granddad, so am I.’ He smiled again.
‘But you need to understand that this is a hard business. It’s not physically demanding as it was in my day, but it’s still emotionally very challenging,’ I explained.
‘Yes, I know,’ he said, nodding.
I sighed.
‘No, you don’t know, Jack. It’s impossible for you to know until you’ve done it.’ He needed to understand the demands he would be facing.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’ he started to say.
‘It’s OK, but listen to me. I’ll give you the same advice Uncle Tom gave to me when I started. And that is, you must treat every funeral as if it’s your first. Do you understand?’ I said.
‘I think so,’ he answered.
‘Look, we’re called undertakers for a reason. People have handed over their loved ones to us and we ‘undertake’ to bury them with the utmost dignity and respect. Each funeral must be conducted in exactly the same way, whether you have one a day or six. Now do you understand?’
‘Yes, now I do,’ he said, nodding.
‘Good! And this point is also very important. If you ever feel yourself becoming bored or complacent then it’s time for you to move on and do something else, as neither the business nor I will tolerate it. Do you know why?’ I asked.
He sat and thought for a while. ‘Does it mean that if you feel like that then you won’t be giving a hundred per cent, so your standards will drop?’ he said apprehensively.
‘Exactly right. If you don’t give a hundred per cent every day and for every funeral, then the service and professionalism we have, and that we’ve aspired to for those years would be lost and that’s completely unacceptable. This is like no other job. You’re dealing on a day-to-day basis with people who are at their lowest. To bury a loved one is one of the hardest things they will ever have to do, so you must treat each and every one of them with kindness a
nd compassion. This isn’t a job where you can bring your troubles to work; they must be left indoors, no matter how fed up, angry or down in the dumps you feel. As soon as you walk through those office doors, you leave your problems behind until you walk out again. I can’t emphasise enough how important this is.’
‘I totally understand, Granddad, and I promise I won’t let you down,’ he said earnestly.
‘OK, son,’ I said, as I squeezed his knee. ‘Now, let’s get you started.’ We both stood up and walked towards the stables.
Pete, our head coachman, was already at work.
‘Pete?’ I shouted from the door.
‘Yes, Stan, here I am,’ he called from behind one of the stalls. He then walked out to join us.
‘Jack’s here to start work. He’s driven you mad enough in the past, although not as much as his father,’ I said, as they both laughed. ‘Show him the ropes, will you.’
‘Course I will. D’you know where you want me start him?’ he asked.
Oh, I know exactly where to start him, Pete.
‘There’s only one place and that’s at the bottom. Let’s start him on the horses’ hooves,’ I said.
‘Right you are. Come with me, Jack,’ he said, as they walked away.
I waited for them to go and then I turned away. The time felt right to hand the reins over to the next generation.
Postscript
Stan Cribb, as he is today.
I am enjoying my life in the Essex countryside. I retired from the company in 2008, but still play a very active role attending funerals. My wife Joan sadly died in 2001 and I remained alone for quite a number of years until meeting my lovely new wife, Lin.
Graham and John run the business together. Graham is normally found conducting funerals with his two sons: Jack, who you already know about, and Joe. John works on the administration/accounts side in the offices with his daughters, Sarah, Nicola and Katherine. Susan, my daughter, had a brief spell a year ago but left to start her family after she married an undertaker. They have two children, Claire and James.
An East End Farewell Page 22
