This is a little tale about a man I’ll call Norm. I call him that, because that’s his name. I first met Norm some years ago – about 1985 or so – and we kept in contact for a while because of a shared appreciation for Clydesdales, among other things.
When we met, Norm had recently acquired what he called a Drover’s Wagonette. It could be pulled by one or two draught horses on long droving trips, and had enough room for a comfortable bed plus all the necessary amenities of camp life. The tucker box could be locked to keep out the dogs, and there were roll-down canvas awnings up front to keep out the wind and rain. One of those awnings is visible on the off-side in this photo.
The wagonette also had rear doors to keep out the dust and the weather; and those doors were, naturally, hinged. Now, Norm had once had a bad experience with wagonette hinges. When he was a young boy, Norm’s uncle had owned a drover’s wagonette; and his father had given Norm money to buy a set of door hinges from the local hardware store. Norm had bought the hinges, but being a young lad he had bought the wrong sort. So all he got for his trouble was “a good hiding”. In other words, following the custom of those more robust days, he was beaten – probably with his old man’s leather belt.
Apparently Norm wasn’t put off horse-drawn vehicles by this harsh treatment, and as time went on he decided that the drover’s wagonette was such a practical vehicle that he’d have to buy one for himself. Eventually, the chance arose, and Norm bought his new toy. But as he looked it over, he realised a strange thing – the hinges attaching the rear doors were the same ones he’d bought as a young boy. And forty years down the track he’d actually purchased his uncle’s old wagonette.
Jim's Carriage Driving 