VILLAGE BLACKSMITH

Dominion, Volume 28, Issue 106, 29 January 1935, Page 3

VILLAGE BLACKSMITH

Amusing Incidents in “Smithy’s”

Fast speeds and big mileages of the modern motor-car, while they excite the majority, menu nothing to Mr. Tom Twomey, who, in his small red shed close to the Lower Hutt bridge, would prefer to talk on horses. For Mr. Twomey, sometimes described as the village blacksmith, has dealt with horses all his life. He has driven them from the sulky iu the days when trotting meetings were run on the Petone Recreation Ground, and has seen his colours carried in different parts of the North Island. Now his principal interest lies in shoeing the animals. In that line there is far more to do than there was even a year ago, the smith, told a reporter yesterday. Several people, especially In the Hutt Valley, had gone back to horse-riding, which was becoming more and more popular. In fact, he had been told by a well-known'saddler that there were not enough horses about to satisfy the demand, and that breeders would do a good turn for the leather business if they saw’ to it that more were produced.

Horse-shoeing, it appears, is not the monotonous job some people imagine. Several incidents off the beaten track have occurred in this small red shed, and the smith who is nothing if not reminiscent, has an interesting fund of tales to relate. One that clings to his memory concerned a thoroughbred that was brought to him to look after by a man from Porirua. It was a frisky animal and pulled back as the blacksmith’s boy was leading it on a rope into the shed. The boy, with one hand on the lead, clung with the other to the door to pull the horse in. The animal wrenched back its head, and fell to >the ground. Its neck was broken. It was not the fault of the smith, but the “misadventure” of the boy that caused the untimely end. Not the least interesting part of the story was that the owner never returned to claim his equine, whose remains were interred by the smith himself. The worst horse he had ever shod was a circus pony a few hands high. Its head was tied to a vice and seven men—each about six feet —held on to i it. But even that did not quieten the animal, which bucked sideways and all ways in true circus style. It seemed that a local anaesthetic was the only thing to subdue its spirits, until a Maori entered the premises. “Py korry, I hold him,” the Maori said. The others had a bet that he could not. The visitor put a headlock on to the horse, which stood perfectly at attention until the shoes were nailed on.

Mischievous children have also played their part in the blacksmith’s shed. One day a very quiet horse was brought in to be shod. When the smith endeavoured to lift one of' its rear legs he thought the animal had developed an attack of paralysis, for the limb would not move. Closer inspection showed that a. small boy, who was always playing about the premises, had nailed its hoof to the ground. The boy did not play there again. Mr. Twomey said that although a man might have worked with horses nearly all Ijis life there was always something that he could be taught. He emphasised this by quoting a person who bought a horse which he afterward discovered to be blind. “Now that man thought he knew all about them, and that he would not be caught again, but he was wrong, for a few months later he had the same horse sold to him.”