Tredyffrin Easttown Historical Society
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Source: January 1995 Volume 33 Number 1, Pages 32–40


Getting Around by Horse and Wagon

Dave Wilson

Page 32

One of the big advantages of living out in the country was that everybody had one or two horses to drive. Everything back then in that day was done by driving.

I still marvel at what the horse could take. We would go to church, and, fortunately, there were sheds there, that you could drive into and hitch your horse inside the shed. But when we would go to church and then talk afterwards -- it would be a good hour before we might start for home -- the fool horse just had to stand there.

I've known other times when we would go to Philadelphia, and we would get on the train and hitch the horse to a long bar at the Paoli station. As I remember, the posts supporting the bar were nicely cut stone posts that were quite attractive. They were on both sides of the tracks, where there are parking spaces for automobiles now. But there was enough room on the bar or rail for eight or ten wagons, and you'd see them lined up there. In the evening everybody -- well, not quite everybody -- would go over to his horse, who was waiting there to take him home. (There was also a hack driver, who would be there to take the people that wanted to go a shorter distance to their homes.)

But you would think nothing of tying the horse for maybe an hour or two or even longer, and then jumping in and go trotting home. In the wintertime you usually had a blanket that you'd throw over him, but you would tie him up -- and he would wait.

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I'll always remember one horse we had. We kept the wagon that we used to go to church in a separate shed, and we would hitch him up to that wagon there to go to church. On the way home, we would usually let everybody out at the front door, and would stop and talk with the people. After a certain amount of time, the horse would just walk on: if it was the regular wagon he would walk to the barn, but if it was this special wagon he knew enough to take it to the other shed. Of course, that is where we had hitched him up, but I always thought that it was pretty remarkable that he knew where it belonged!

My very, very early recollections of driving were to the Howellville station on the Chester Valley Railroad. My father had his office in Philadelphia, and at that time he took the Chester Valley Railroad. His older brother would bring the horse and wagon over to the front door, and if it looked like I had any chance I would get in just for the ride. (I was very small at that time.) Usually they would be a little late coming to the front door, and so we'd have to take a pretty fast trot to get down to Howellville to catch the train. We did not go all the way around to the station -- there was a perfectly good station there -- but Father would stop and climb under the fence, or go oyer it, and across a short part of a field to get on the train. But that was a regular thing -- and the horse knew it. He would start out at a right fast trot until he got down there.

But back to the earlier days of the horse and wagon. Naturally, you start at the stables. You had to clean them every day, and then bed them up with straw. When you wanted to go anywhere you would usually have to go out and curry the horse and clean him up a bit first -- it should have been done before, but you usually waited until you were ready to use him. Then you would put the bridle on, and the harness, and everything. Except for the farm horses, we did not use collars; we used what was known as a breast strap that just went across the front of the horse. All the farm horses had regular collars and hames and traces, but otherwise we just had a strap that went across the front.

Then you would walk him out to where the wagon was, and hold up the shafts. If the horse had been hitched up many times he knew enough to turn around and back into the shafts, and then you'd put them down and hitch up the traces and all that sort of thing, with the lines running back to where the driver sat. But it really wasn't too bad in clear weather.

Nevertheless, to go into Philadelphia, if you were doing the whole thing yourself, you'd have to allow pretty near an hour, by the time you hitched up your horse, drove up to Paoli to catch the train, and tied up the horse.

Hitching up the horse didn't take too long, particularly if it was an older horse and you didn't have to fuss with him at all. You'd put the harness on in the stable, and bring him out to the carriage shed, where the wagon was. With an older horse, you'd just hold up the shafts and the horse would turn around and back in. Then you'd put the shafts down and run the lines through the shaft � you'd have to do this on both sides. There were a lot of little things that had to be done -- straightening out the lines, leading them back to the seat of the carriage, up over the dash board.

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I would say that it normally took about 20 minutes to half an hour to hitch up an older horse. But if you had a younger horse, it took longer. As a rule, horses, and especially younger horses, don't like to back up, and so you had to lead him back into the shafts.

I also remember many nights driving in the rain coming home, after we had had a party or had to meet somebody and take him home and drop him off at the front door. You of course then had to put the horse away afterwards. With a wet harness and a wet horse, by the time you took the harness off and put the horse in his stall and wiped him down -- we always had a towel there to rub him down a bit -- and went into the house, everyone knew you had been working with a horse. You couldn't get away from it, particularly the smell of the wet leather of the harness.

When we would go up to Paoli there was a right steep hill, and so it took quite a little while to get to Paoli. You always let the horse walk up the hills. The first hill was sort of gradual, but when you went under the Trenton Cut-off it was a right steep hill from there on. And so you'd just let your horse walk. If you had a team and were hauling a big load, you would turn the horses to the side and put the brakes on and let the horses rest. The horses would relax because there wouldn't be any tension on their traces or anything. Then when they were ready to go again, off you started and went up the hill.

All the stores and other places had hitching rails in front of them. You didn't hitch a horse by the bridle, though; that was a big mistake. Almost everyone had a regular hitching rope that would be put around the horse's neck, with a ring at the proper distance so that all you had to do was to snap it on the horse and then the long end of the rope you would tie to the hitching rail. If you tied him by the bridle and the horse swung his head around, nine times out of ten he'd break something in the bridle -- and then you had real trouble. So everybody who knew would carry a hitch- ing rope along with him.

And the distances they traveled by horse and wagon -- For instance, when I was born the doctor - my family had lived in Norristown, so we had old Dr. Knight -- but anyway, the doctor had to drive from Norristown to where we lived on Swedesford road to deliver me. Then he had to drive back home again. And that was a regular thing.

Much later we had Dr. Kurtz, from up in Malvern, and it seems to me that he was called for every little thing that happened to us. But he had a pair of horses, and he would drive down into the Valley and fix us up and do what he was supposed to do, and then drive home.

Practically all the doctors had a good pair of horses. That was the regular thing.

Of course, the Devon Horse Show was big at that time. There were a lot of driving classes then, and in all the women's classes the women rode side-saddle; they didn't ride astride. It was much more of a local show at that time.

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R. Penn Smith was the manager of the Chesterbrook Farm at that time, and he was really a top man. He was fairly big, and was quite noted. At that time they had race horses at Chesterbrook, and also the world's best producing cow, May Rilma I think her name was. Of course, the Chesterbrook Farm was really the ultimate place. One thing I particularly remember is that there was a big flock of sheep there, and I loved to make the shepherd talk because his Scots' brogue was really broad! They would exercise the race horses -- and what stables they had for the brood mares and for the yearlings! Everything was all lined up there, and it was all in beautiful condition. They even had their own blacksmith shop.

That's another thing I remember fondly: taking horses to the blacksmith shop. The one we usually used was Joe Snyder's, near the Warren Inn in Malvern. We had two driving horses, but I also was often asked to take some of the farm horses up there. There was usually a waiting time after you got there as there would be two or three horses ahead of you.

First, he would take off the old shoes. (If they were not worn too much we could use them for another month or so, but usually we needed new ones.) After he pared down the overgrown hoof he would then heat the new shoe in his forge. Some blacksmiths had bellows, but Joe had a mechanical blower in the forge and it did not take long to have the shoe red hot. He would then put it in the tub of water for an instant and then try it on. It must not have hurt because the horse never flinched. Then he'd take it back to the anvil for more pounding and shaping before taking it back to the horse for one more fitting. Finally, when satisfied, he would cool it in the water barrel and start to tack it onto the hoof. That always bothered me, but somehow he was able to put the nails in the hoof and not in the flesh! If he was not busy he would then bend a horse shoe nail on the top of the anvil and make me a ring, and it was quite a prize to have a horseshoe nail ring.

This blacksmith also made wagons, farm wagons such as splay beds or hay flats. He finally got a planer and a saw to help him make wagon beds. One day, while planing a board that had a knot in it, the board flew off and his hand dropped on the planer, taking off his little finger. He was soon back in business again, but for many more trips I always heard about the accident.

After some years there was a blacksmith in Berwyn, Jim Hayes, who had a forge in his pickup truck and would come down to the farm and shoe our horses there. Much later I would ride our riding horses over to his place as it was cheaper that way. (As he also took care of David Sharp's horses, he would also give me all the latest gossip on the activities at the Radnor Hunt.)

Whenever you had a big snowstorm and there were drifts there would always be big drifts right as you go under the Trenton Cut-off going up North Valley Road to the Paoli station. Also, as you turn from Swedesford Road onto North Valley Road there was one place that the snow always drifted. But there were fields on either side of the intersection, and so you'd just automatically go into the field and go around the drift, and then come back onto the road again.

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No matter what the weather, the Supiots -- they had a farm on Yellow Springs Road -- would always take watercress and lilacs and things like that into Philadelphia. (Watercress is a very delicate thing and they had to make an early train in Paoli to ship it into the city.) So when you knew that the roads were going to be pretty well drifted up, my brother Jack, who did all the driving for us, would just follow the Supiots up the hill. They had a two-horse team with a big bobsled, and plenty of saws and axes. I remember that one time they got up as far as the railroad and Trenton Cut-off, and there was a huge drift right there. You couldn't get through the underpass under the railroad, but that didn't bother them. They just turned into a field on the left side of the road and drove down to a point where the field and the railroad were the same level. They then crossed the railroad tracks there, into another field, and then back to the road again. So, as I said, the drifts didn't bother them; they'd make their train all right and so forth. And my brother Jack knew that if he followed then he could always get through.

One thing we miss nowadays is sleighing. In those days they didn't scrape or plow the roads, and if you had a good snow it would always be pressed down and packed by the sleighs. Almost everybody had a regular two-horse bobsled, and when the roads got packed down it made great sleighing. A sleigh, of course, pulled a lot easier than a wagon, so the great thing was to go sleighing.

As I got older -- I think it was my brother Jack who really promoted it and went with me -- we would take our sleds out and wait for someone to come along - and if we knew him, that was great. But anyhow, we would run along side of the sleigh and grab ahold of one of the braces of the runners, put a rope around it, and then hold on and go sailing along. You would have a wonderful ride -- and only hope that you'd find someone com- ing back again! But that was a big thing. As I remember, you could make your sled go from one side to the other as you went along.

Much later on, when I was courting the young lady who later became my wife, we had some wonderful sledding times. I had a car by that time, and we would go to the top of Diamond Rock Hill. With the two of us on a "Flexible Flyer", we'd hit those little "thank you ma'ams" that ran across the road to let the water run off to the side of the road. But you would be surprised how fast you got going by the time you turned around and down into North Valley Road.

I didn't really do anything much with a pair of horses until I started to farm. Farming was "all horses" when I started.

The wagon we used most of the time was sort of like a present-day pickup truck. It had an open body in the back. If there were four people, you'd put a seat across the back of it, but normally you just left it open, and if you wanted to carry groceries or anything you'd just load them in the back.

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Of course, we also had fancier wagons too. The one we used to go to church in had two seats and you could take four or six people in it. It had a top, and was a little fancier. Another thing: you'd always have a rattan thing that you put over the wheels so that the women's skirts would not sweep against them.

The Cafley wagons were the Packards of the wagon people. Ours was not a new one; it was second-hand, but in beautiful condition. What was always of interest to me was that the spokes were so small. But they were beautifully done, beautifully made.

We also had a two-wheeled cart, and that was a regular thing to ride around in. It was an open affair and could hold only two people, but practically everybody had a yellow two-wheeled cart.

But most of the wagons had four wheels. John Dingee, I remember, always had a very fancy affair, and he would come down to the Presbyterian Church in this wagon, with a pair of horses. It seems to me that he had a special stall in the churchyard for his wagon and team.

We didn't have any real saddle horses, though we called some of them that. We would use them on the farm for light work, and on Saturdays and Sundays they were riding horses. We'd usually get them to jump little stuff. But we didn't have any thoroughbred stock. They were just good, serviceable horses.

My uncle, William C. Wilson, had a pack of hounds. (He had a big farm down at King of Prussia, which is now the big shopping center.) He was a lawyer in Philadelphia, but arranged his law practice so that he could be home a couple of days a week, usually on Wednesdays and Saturdays, during the fox-hunting season. Of course, Saturday was the big day. But anyhow, my brother Jack and I would ride down from our place to King of Prussia to where my uncle had his kennel and hounds, a little distance from his house, towards Valley Forge Park. He'd then let the hounds out, and we always hoped that they would head back towards our house, though you never knew quite where they would pick up the fox. I must admit that for all the times I went fox-hunting we never did kill a fox. But we did have some long runs and everything.

We would ride from home down to King of Prussia, then probably follow the hounds for two or three hours, and not think anything about it. Those animals stood for an awful lot of traveling!

You knew most of the farmers, and even though you sometimes went through a farmer's fences and fields there were no hard feelings. And when we were fox-hunting my uncle would always try to be sure to avoid any problems. On St. Patrick's Day we always had a big hunt breakfast and would invite all the farmers whose farms we had ridden over to come to it. We'd have turkey and ham and liquid refreshments and so forth. And so you got to know most of the people whose farms you had run over. Of course, if you got near to their houses during a hunt they'd hear you, and even though they had only a farm horse they'd throw a saddle over it and come and join us. It was very informal.

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Later on, one time I decided to have a drop hunt. (It started when one of my farmer friends said, "Oh, I've caught a fox" -- and I thought it would be a good idea.) So we invited everybody to come over for a drop hunt. It was a big mistake, and I never had another one. We dropped the poor little fox out of the box. He looked around and saw that he was in a strange place, so he headed for the woods and finally ended up down in somebody's chicken yard. It was a big mistake.

The horses that I bought were never too expensive -- maybe $100, something like that. Later on I'd usually try to find one that somebody else didn't want, and you could get that one for as little as $25 or $50 or whatever the case might be. Of course, back when they were using horses for everything, a well-trained horse -- one that didn't cause you any real trouble -- would cost you a lot more. There were horse dealers all over the country -- that was a regular thing -- and they'd try to get more money than the horse was worth. You'd always try to get a horse that anybody could drive.

As a rule, after about 20 years a horse would be retired and put out to pasture. Anything much over 20 years was very unusual.

Another thing I should mention: you had threshing engines that would go from farm to farm, a big steam affair, it was big, and smoke would be coming out, and steam, and it would make an awful lot of noise with its iron wheels, coming down the road. There would be a water wagon and the thresher and a baler, so it was quite a train of stuff. When you saw it coming down the road you'd say, "Uh-oh, we're going to have trouble." If there were two people, one would get out and lead the horse past this rig. Most horses were a little bit leery about that, but if the thresher was a decent man he'd stop and let you go by. But most of them just kept the thing steaming along, and that was a hazard of the road.

Most of the roads started out as just mud roads, but then you would get crushed stone and put it over the road. Father always had whomever the farmer was work on the road with a team in the winter to cut down on the taxes. One that I knew lived right across the road from the house that I was born in. He had a cart that had an arrangement whereby he could dump the thing after it was full. Whatever we were hauling, he could just dump it out. (Later they came out with a drop-bottom wagon. The floor was divided in the middle and connected with chains and so forth, and when you wanted to dump the load you'd step on a pedal and the thing would open and the whole contents of the wagon would drop down. That was the ultimate! It was quite handy for people working on the roads with crushed stone. You would dump the stone right in the middle of the road, and then smooth it out to the sides.) The old wagons that kind of pivoted on their hind wheels -- they were four-wheel wagons -- were sort of primitive, but that was the way it was done. Practically all the farmers would have their teams out in the winter, working on the roads to pay their road tax.

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As for our first automobile, in 1908 my father bought his first car. It seems to me that the people who sold it to him were very close friends -- we kids always called them "Aunt" or "Uncle". He originally was in the bicycle business, and then when automobiles came along he got an agency for Maxwell automobiles. Father was going to buy a two-cylinder Maxwell, but his friend discouraged him and said, "They're coming out with a four- cylinder car which I think you'll like much better," and so our first car was a four-cylinder Maxwell. You bought this automobile, and that was it. There were no headlights at all, no top, or anything, and, of course, no windshield. So after Father bought the car, his friend gave him some very good advice: "Don't let it leave this place until you get a top put on it, and headlights." (The headlights were run by gas, but you didn't have a gas tank -- you had a thing you would fit carbide into and you'd have a thing that would drop a few drops of water over the carbide, and that would form the gas to run the headlights. It was a fairly complicated thing. Of course, they didn't travel much at night, but if you wanted to go somewhere, with these lamps you could go out at night.)

Another little item about early motoring: there were no service stations anywhere. If you were taking quite a long trip you'd always try to make your trip close to the railroad, because railroad stations were the only places where you could go to a rest room. (Mother was always very particular about this, but it didn't bother Father particularly: he would simply have to check the rear lights!)

For gasoline we had a big tank -- I don't know how many gallons it held, but it was a big tank. And, of course, if you were going some place and you might need more gasoline you had to put a five-gallon tank on the running board. (It seems that whatever you carried, you would strap it on the running board of the car.)

That first Maxwell was beautifully engineered, it never seemed to have any engine trouble at all, but we always had a lot of tire trouble; we had tire trouble all the time. You had to take the tire off the wheel., patch the tube, put it back on again, and fill it with air with a hand pump, and then off you'd go again. But we never had any trouble with the engine.

When my father first bought the car, my oldest brother actually did most of the driving, but Father drove a little. The next day after we got it was Decoration Day, and so he naturally had to try out the new toy. You had to crank it, and a new car was the hardest thing to crank. When he was driving, Father would stall the motor when he would shift gears. It seems that before the car was warmed up he'd feed the fuel too fast and it would stall. But it didn't bother him. He'd just jump out and crank it again, even in the pouring down rain. I was sitting in the back seat, and they decided they would go out Swedesford Road to Downingtown to get it "loosened up" a little more.

We of course continued to use the horse and wagon even after we got the car. We only used the automobile under special conditions, but it seems to me that we soon got to using it more and more. In the wintertime practically everyone else would put the thing up on blocks so it wouldn't sit on its tires all winter, but we tried to use ours as much as we could, and even put chains on it.

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It seems to me that back when we used horses and wagons, people were a lot more -- I wouldn't call it just sociable, but everybody was helping everybody, like in a snowstorm, for example. As far as farming was concerned, we would also help each other, though not quite the same perhaps as out in Lancaster County. But it seems to me that you had a lot more of that.

And it seems to me that you knew more people around. I knew almost all the families up and down Swedesford Road. Originally my folks lived in Norristown -- all the other children in our family were born in Norristown; I was the only one born here on Swedesford Road -- and as a consequence Father knew practically everybody from our place down to Norristown. I don't know how to describe it, but they were all friends and we we'd visit back and forth.

 
 

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