Post: Before the service starts Charlie gets in a testimonial for Wayfarer, by way of praise for his contribution to cycling and all that Wayfarer represented. Ironic in that 30 odd years later, Charlie was the moving force behind the erection of a memorial to Wayfarer high up in the Berwyn mountains of mid Wales, and described in ‘Over the Top’. Search for the story under ‘Nant Rhyd Wilym’ on this website.
Later we get the fine detail of their ‘blind’ home, it couldn’t have been more exciting for them than a real race !
Sunday, May 24 A ‘Blind’ Home
We were up betimes this morning, and soon got out for a walk before breakfast. The morning was sunny and calm, giving every promise of a fine day. Outside, with our London friend, we met a large party of Boltonians, some of whom had travelled through the night. What a story they had to tell! Rain all the way after Newcastle. One chap, in a moment of supreme optimism, had left his cape and mudguards at home, and very soon was a sorry mess. At Lichfield, he (when they stopped for a snack), had removed his shoes and stockings and was running about in his bare feet! At last the cathedral caretaker came and cleared them all away. When they arrived at ‘The Laurels’, Meriden, they commandeered a mangle and squoze their stockings and even jackets out! I am not altogether sorry we changed our minds about the time to make the journey after all.
A merry breakfast, then we went out to watch the crowds roll in. Before 10am the roads were chock full of cyclists; from every direction they came, all kinds and conditions of riders and mounts, but in overwhelming numbers were the lightweights. ‘Wayfarer’ was there too, and he must have felt proud to think that nine-tenths of this great era of sensible cycling is due to him, that the ever-growing prosperity of cycling has been chiefly wrought by his own tireless efforts. For all his critics, ‘Wayfarer’ stands head and shoulders above others as a cycling scribe and an enthusiast of the wheel. The green was filled with fine, sturdy lads, elderly men who look only half their age, lasses, clad for the most part in sensible ‘rationals’. What a direct contrast to the sallow-faced youths and painted girls who parade the streets and fill the ‘pictures’ at weekends! At 10am the green was crowded, the main road impassable, all traffic being stopped when the service started. This was conducted in a simple fashion by the Bishop of Coventry, and at 10.30, after a benediction, it ended. We made a rush for our machines, and bade our Londoner friend (with whom we exchanged addresses) goodbye. We had a job to get through the crush onto the crowded Stonebridge road, so that it got to 10.50 before we started.
Beyond Stonebridge however, the road was clear, and we set a rare pace to Coleshill, passing many others, bent, like us, on getting to lunch. Unconsciously, all of us were set on the same place, so it developed into a kind of race. [The reader may be forgiven if he believes that Charlie is describing random cyclists all heading in the same direction – not a bit of it, this is the annual ‘blind’ back from Meriden by all the Bolton CTC section]. We had something of an advantage in that we were fresher by a night’s rest than many of the others, so we began to draw away from the main party. On the gradual climb up through Wishaw to Basset’s Pole, our lower gears gave us the lead over most of the others. The three spires of Lichfield Cathedral came into view in a very short time, then the streets, and the hill beyond bringing us out of the saddle for the first time (23 miles). Again, we passed two more, and believing ourselves first, we made supreme efforts along the flat road to beat ‘evens’.
Eight miles further on we reached the place, to find three more there before us, and a whole pack at our heels. A wash, and a fine meal of fruit and eggs and tea and the best bread and butter I have tasted for a while, (the whole costing us only 1/-), then packing our coats away, we made a start all together.
The wind was behind us, and we soon got beyond Rugeley, where, under a railway bridge was a deep water splash. I got in the gutter, and went over the hubs in it, (up to the knees), but in the hot sunshine I found it a fine refresher. Between here and Rugeley one chap caught cramp, and the whole party excepting four of us waited for him. We four continued our hectic career through Stone and along to Newcastle – 57 miles – where the setts and hills beyond slacked us. Talke o’ th’ Hill, now, Red Bull, then Miss Hallam, one of the four, punctured, and whilst we repaired it, three passed us. We soon had it right, and were off again, past Moreton Old Hall to Congleton, where the said three were having a drink, and were joined by Miss Hallam. After walking the hill, we again started to rush, and simply ‘blinded’ the ten miles to Alderley Cross, where the potterers (from Bolton) were at tea. We were first of the Meriden ‘crowd’. Three or four of us started on the last stage of the journey via Wilmslow and Handforth, leaving Tom at Kingsway End, and then catching the rest up, all finishing the run together. I reached home at 8.30 pm.
Thus went down another memorial service, and another fine run into the Heart of the English Wonderland. According to the newspapers, 10,000 cyclists had gathered at Meriden that day. Upon the cyclists Memorial are the words:
‘To all the Cyclists who died in the Great War, 1914 – 1918’
112 miles
