My mother was quite an unusual person.  From an early age, she bucked the trend – a trait she probably inherited from her father, who chose to follow a professional career and so alienated his family of traditional Jewish business-people.  Mum’s own mother was absent for most of Mum’s life (she was sent to a distant psychiatric hospital when Mum was seven years old). As a result, Mum’s upbringing was left to her dad and the housekeeper. Perhaps it’s not surprising that she followed her own thoughts and ideas as she grew up, developing an enquiring mind and a passionate curiosity about the world.  Even in the early 1950s – still a period when convention and tradition ruled, she chose to go into nursing and to hitchhike across France and Germany with her nursing friends!

For most of my life, Mum was a single parent but nonetheless was determined that I should be exposed to interesting and adventurous experiences.  There was not a year, even in the late 1950s, when we did not have holidays – despite the fact that resources were limited and my disability made travel somewhat more complicated than for others.

My earliest travel memory isn’t really a memory I hold, but one which has been told to me – of a holiday in a nearby seaside town where Mum and friends rented a cottage. But from the age of three onwards, I have clear sunny memories of being taken for several summer holidays to the island of Cumbrae on the River Clyde.

Trains, taxis and boats!

With no car of our own and with public transport so much less accessible than nowadays, these expeditions were some achievement. Somehow Mum used to bundle me, all our luggage, plus a pushchair (later a wheelchair) and my little tricycle into a taxi to the train station which no longer exists in the West End of Edinburgh, then on to the train to Glasgow where we had to change trains. Then we headed to the little ferry port of Wemyss Bay, took a short boat ride to the island town of Millport and then hailed a final taxi to our guesthouse.  It all sounds a massive undertaking for one adult, but she managed to make it an adventure. My childhood memories are not of how difficult it must have been for her but only how much we enjoyed the sights, sounds and smells of steam trains and ferry boats – and the general excitement of going on holiday!

My recall of Millport centres around two very child-focused activities: the little merry-go-round in a park at the back of the town, and of course the beach mission — lots of singing and handing out of badges.  Visually, the painted crocodile rock on the beach also stays in my memory.  On one occasion, we and another family hired bikes to cycle around the island, with me ensconced in the little pannier basket behind Mum.

The years passed and when I was seven we acquired a little green minivan and thus revelled in a much greater freedom.  For the previous year or so, I had been firmly stating that I was going to London when I was seven – and so it came to pass, although apparently there had been no grand plan to indulge my wishes!  As I and my access needs grew, finding accommodation posed greater challenges, but on this occasion we stayed with a family with two wheelchair-using boys in their adapted home.

Mum’s spirit of adventure

In most school holidays, Mum and I took off for a weekend or a couple of weeks, journeying the length and breadth of Scotland, England and Wales.  It is a tribute to her spirit of adventure that my memories of these holidays barely touch on access issues – yes, finding cheap B&Bs was never straightforward but we always seemed to manage, even when Mum had to haul me and my chair up steps or to negotiate awkward guesthouse bathrooms.

No, what I remember most are the sights and sounds: of being lifted by a soldier into my seat at the Royal Tournament at Earls Court in London, of a sunset on the Isle of Skye, of driving through moorland with Mum entertaining me by imitating the noise of a motor bike in hot pursuit, of visiting Lands End on a stormy day and Lizard Point in warm sunshine on consecutive days, of driving on Pendine Sands and on the beach at Weston-super-Mare. The list goes on. I have surely inherited from these days my love of map reading and indeed my insatiable love of travel – all thanks to my indefatigable mother!

This article first appeared in the June 2010 issue of Mobilise magazine, which goes out to all our members and includes reviews of adapted cars and mobility equipment, features on accessible travel and leisure, campaign updates, news, competitions and real-life stories.
Membership of our charity costs just £16 per year and includes your monthly subscription to Mobilise.

Related posts:

1. Remembering Denny : O A Denly 1924-2010
2. Classic Cars – Minis and Minors
3. Checklist for holidaymakers with disabilities

It is with great sadness that Mobilise has to announce the death of our founder and president, Oswald Arthur Denly, known to many of us as “Denny”. He died at the age of 86.

O A Denly was born in 1924 in London, and entered the Royal Navy in 1942. He contracted polio whilst in Ceylon and returned to the UK in 1945. Paralysed from the waist down, he was invalided out of the navy and became a hospital administrator. The expectation of many might have been that Denny’s adventuring days were firmly behind him, but the handsome 22-year old thought differently. He had planned to spend his first Foreign Service leave in Switzerland and saw no reason to change his plans despite his disability. In June 1947 he set off to conquer the Alps in his 147cc petrol-driven Argson tricycle, or “Invalid Carriage”. His was to take him 1,500 miles over the Alps, including a climb of almost 8,000 feet through steep mountain passes.

He described the preparations for his journey in the pamphlet that was produced of his story by Villiers, the manufacturer of the Argson:

“The vehicle weighs 250lbs., with sprung front forks and frame, though there is no springing on the back axle. I cut the load as much as possible, but as I cannot walk at all I had to carry a small collapsible self-propelling wheelchair on the side, for use in buildings, my own bed in case there was no ne to carry me upstairs, and with food, baggage and myself the load was approximately 260lbs. To pack was an art in itself, but I found a place for everything. Could I make it? Many people doubted it, but nothing venture, nothing gained.”

Denny covered the first 460 miles from London in just four days, pausing in Paris to have a picnic beneath the Eiffel Tower. But on his arrival in Switzerland he considered himself to be officially “on holiday”:

“I never hurried, did just as I pleased and stayed the night where the mood took me…One evening my tricycle made its first climb up to the mountain resort of Grindelwald, 3,400 ft. high. There was little power to spare, but already I was beginning to wonder if I could achieve the impossible and cross the Susten and Furka passes in order to drive down the Rhone Valley to Geneva. Nobody thought I could make it and I was quite prepared to resort to thumbing a lift with the tow rope I was carrying.”

On top of the world

As the terrain became steeper, Denny had to resort to frequent stops in order to allow the engine to cool, although finding a level spot at which to do so proved difficult! However, he pressed on: “As I saw the road above me high on the face of the mountain I thought I would never make it, but my tricycle continued to take me higher and higher and I never ceased to wonder. Finally I reached the tunnel at the top and although […] I could see little, I felt on top of the world in more sense than one.”

Denny completed his journey, taking in some spectacular scenery and enjoying much hospitality along the way. One French family in Provins hosted him on both the outward and return leg of his journey: “I stayed up until the early hours of the morning, listening to tales of the German occupation, the resistance movement, and present day conditions in France.” This comment illustrates that not only was it uncommon for disabled travellers to be exploring Europe at this time, there were very few leisure travellers at all. The war had ended just a few short years ago and its aftermath would still have been visible all around him. No wonder, perhaps, that so many people had thought his trip was impossible. On his return, Denny describes the reaction of one such man: “The A.A. man who had wished me luck on the way out could not express his amazement at my safe return still under my own power.”

Inspiring others

The journey was clearly a truly liberating experience for Denny: “My chair had more than justified her name of “Iron Lung.” When I get into her she keeps me going […] I hope it will not be long before I am on my travels again, and I also hope that all users of Invalid tricycles and small engines will realise that they too can travel on the continent and high places.” This final hope was more than realised. When a radio programme was broadcast about Denny’s journey, he was inundated with letters from other ‘trike’ users, wanting information about how they, too, could travel independently. With fellow founders Robert and Nora Lee, Denny founded the Invalid Tricycle Association (the ITA). This later became the Disabled Drivers’ Association, which merged with the Disabled Drivers’ Motor Club to become Mobilise in 2005.

Although the Argson tricycle had given Denny his first taste of freedom as a disabled driver, it was just the first in a series of vehicles that enabled him to fulfil his dreams. Realising early on that a single-seater trike would not be much fun when it came to courting, he wrote directly to the chairman of Morris Motors asking for a car. By December 1947 he was in possession of an adapted Morris Eight and a full driving licence. He married the hospital radiographer Mary Gaynor Cookson (“Cooky”) in 1951 and they went on to have two children, Heather and Simon. Campaigning for proper ‘family’ cars for disabled people (rather than isolating one-seaters) was just one his objectives, although his experiences with the Argson seem to have continued with a habit of finding a place for everything even in the smallest of vehicles. For our recent article on ‘Minis and Minors’ Denny recalled a family trip up the motorway in which they tested the ‘Tardis” quality of their Mini to the max, tying the boot down to accommodate the family’s luggage and wheelchair! This once resulted in a bag of nappies falling out and being distributed along the recently opened M1 – whereupon a following motorist stopped, collected them up, overtook and handed the nappies back.

For the fun and the challenge!

Over the years Denny also became a keen rider and sailor. He had learnt to sail as a naval cadet and even ramming a 45ft Motor Pinnance into a jetty whilst at Dartmouth was not enough to put him off life on the ocean wave. After his marriage, he and Cooky became co-owners of a 16’ sailing dinghy, Leda. He wrote about his sailing exploits several times and approached sailing with the same optimistic outlook as he did his other modes of transport, and always saw the funny side of tips and spills: “I became quite adept at pulling by keeping my balance against the pressure of oars in the water. One day I gave a lift ashore to a fellow yachtsman who on stepping ashore gave Cygnet an unexpected shove and was surprised to see me lying at the bottom of the dinghy! I had completely lost my balance [but he had seen] no sign of my wheelchair or my complete paralysis below the waist.” Denny described sailing as “a great joy for me” and although there were a few years ashore whilst his children were little, the resumption of family sailing trips when they were a little older was a source of great pleasure to him. He was delighted when his son, Simon, began crewing for him: “He is an excellent crew, and his enthusiasm is infectious” and with their friends the Stephens family he and Cooky sailed their 14’ Leader, Aeolus, at Chipstead Sailing Club. With a few small adaptations: “[we secured] the toe straps further for’ard so that my paralysed legs and feet did not get all tangled up, or that was the theory, and I removed the tiller to hold both the tiller and the main sheet with one hand” he raced “not to win, but simply for the sheer fun and challenge of it all.” In 1981 he participated in the Leader Cruise from Lee-on-Solent, his first sea sailing event since his Navy days. Simon crewed and despite some rough weather (and an accidental trip through a firing range!) the trip was a resounding success. He wrote “My fellow sailors accepted me for what I was – an experienced helmsman – and made no fuss or bother about my disability […] This was true integration and what a magnificent return to the sea for me after all those years. Now there is no holding me!”

Greatly missed

As President of Mobilise Denny has been the “experienced helmsman” of our charity since its inception in 2005 and of our parent organisation the DDA for almost sixty years before that. He will be greatly missed by all of us who knew and worked with him, but achievements have won wider recognition too; in 1959 he was awarded the MBE for services to disabled people. Mobilise is currently arranging a memorial service at which members of the charity and others will have the opportunity to pay their respects to Denny. Please see here for more details.

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Contrary to popular belief the London to Brighton Veteran Car Run (LBVCR) is not a race. The annual event takes place on the first Sunday of every November and commemorates the Emancipation Run of 14 November 1896, which celebrated the passing into law of the Locomotives on the Highway Act. This raised the speed limit for ‘light locomotives’ from 4 mph to 14 mph and abolished the requirement for these vehicles to be preceded by a man on foot. Over 30 vehicles commenced the first run in 1896 run but only 14 completed the journey. One, it is alleged, was taken by rail and covered with mud before crossing the finishing line. The next run was staged in 1927 and has been held, war and petrol rationing permitting, every year since.

A car called “Genevieve”

The run was made famous in 1953 by the film “Genevieve” which starred John Gregson, Dinah Sheridan, Kenneth More and Kay Kendall as two couples in a car race. The story revolves around two veteran cars and their crews competing on the annual LBVCR.  Alan McKim (John Gregson), a young barrister and his wife Wendy (Dinah Sheridan), drive “Genevieve”, a 1904 Darracq. Their friend Ambrose Claverhouse (Kenneth More), a brash advertising salesman, and his latest girlfriend, fashion model Rosalind Peters (Kay Kendall), drive a 1904 Spyker. The script originally called for the rivals to be driving British cars but no car collectors were willing to lend such cars for filming. Eventually Norman Reeves loaned his Darracq and Frank Reese loaned his Spyker. The Darracq was originally named “Annie” and was permanently renamed “Genevieve” after the success of the film. Genevieve returned from a 34 year visit to Australia in 1992, and takes part in the London-Brighton Run every year.

London to Brighton 2009

This year 484 vehicles, all manufactured before 31^st December 1904, set off from Hyde Park on the 60 mile run, attempting to keep to the average speed of 20mph. The special feature of this years run was it was wet….very, very wet. With no weather protection the drivers and passengers felt the full impact of heavy rain and gale force winds. Not of great benefit to polished brass and beautiful leather upholstery!

Taking part this year was stunt rider Eddie Kidd. Many people will remember his dare-devil riding skills as well as his appearances as a stunt double for many of Hollywood’s finest. However, in 1996 a terrible accident left Eddie with a broken pelvis, collar-bone and six vertebrae in his neck, plus a brain injury. He was in a coma for months, and ultimately became a wheelchair user with restricted co-ordination and speech. Today Eddie has recovered sufficiently to get around on his quad bike and to develop the Eddie Kidd Foundation to help support the treatment and rehabilitation of stunt performers and professional extreme sportsmen and women. To raise funds and awareness for his foundation Eddie took part in this year’s run as a passenger in a 1904 Pope Tribune, which has a 6hp, one cylinder engine, propelling the 105-year-old vehicle to a top speed of 25mph.

Owned and driven by his friend Lloyd Bailey who said: “Having been involved in the LBVCR for the past few years, I thought this would be a fantastic opportunity to raise some money for the Eddie Kidd Foundation by way of sponsorship. It’s a very well deserved charity and I’m delighted to be able to help in this small way and hope everyone will show their support if possible. The LBVCR is always a fabulous day out and although different to the ride he has been used to, I know that Eddie will love it.”

Despite breaking down at Croydon, Eddie reached the finish line in Brighton. When asked if he would do it again he replied “I want to do this every year to raise money for the foundation until I can drive a car myself.”

Details of the Eddie Kidd Foundation can be found at www.eddiekiddfoundation.com

Genevieve, now 104 years old, completed the course in a good time and drew many admiring glances.

This article first appeared in the January 2010 issue of Mobilise magazine, which goes out to all our members and includes reviews of adapted cars and mobility equipment, features on accessible travel and leisure, campaign updates, news, competitions and real-life stories.
Membership of our charity costs just £16 per year and includes your monthly subscription to Mobilise.

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For some time museum staff in Norwich had been aware that the displays in museums often only represent a particular version or experience of the past, and therefore exclude some of the community. Our own Disability Access Advisory Group had told us that they did not see themselves in the displays, and felt that the stories of disabled people in the past were missing from our museums.

To address this we decided to find out what relevant objects existed in our collections. Why had they become hidden? We wanted to ensure that in future, anyone could discover these objects and the stories they told. With approximately 1.5 million objects and specimens in our store, we were excited about what we might find…

Missing treasure

Working with the Access Advisory Group, we developed a list of key search terms and questions that we wanted answered. We trawled through our computerised museum catalogue and interviewed curators in order to build a list of relevant objects. The results were both fascinating and surprising.

We discovered that there are many reasons why a museum object might become hidden – sometimes it was simply that mistakes had been made in how an object was recorded in the catalogue. But on other occasions curators in the past had been so sensitive about how to describe objects associated with disability, that the true meaning had become lost.

The actual objects that we discovered were varied and ranged from clothing to water colour paintings. We looked at collectors and artists as well as aids and equipment as we discovered the personal stories of disabled people in the past.

Some of most interesting finds were in the Decorative Art and Textile collections. A remarkable embroidered letter by a lady called Lorina Bulwer (pictured here) gives a unique insight into the experience of living with a mental health problem in the last century. Hand stitched in upper case letters, Lorina Bulwer has angrily stitched her thoughts, memories and testimony into the 15 foot by 1 foot length of fabric. What makes it especially remarkable is that Lorina stitched it in 1901 whilst resident in the female lunatic ward of Great Yarmouth workhouse.

The Toby teapot (pictured above), which is in the form of a man whose wooden leg forms the spout, provoked a mixed response. Considered pretty unsightly by some, this teapot was a favourite amongst others working on the project.

Through other objects we were able to make new connections between events, buildings and people. From a Braille pocket watch that we linked for the first time to other artifacts, we were able to piece together a glimpse of the life of a John Abbs, who was blinded in the First World War. John was given the watch by St Dunstan’s and traded as a boot repairer and mat maker. Interestingly he stated on his business card that he was blind.

Moving forward

It was very important to us that the research was used to improve the way that museums deal with objects associated with disability, and there have been many positive outcomes of the project, including an oral history project and school workshops. Museum staff continue to work on improving the catalogue descriptions for objects and updating the online exhibition of objects.

Perhaps the most significant achievement however, was to remove some of these objects from stores and to put them on display through a special Hidden Histories trail in Norwich Castle Museum and Art Gallery. Since then, more of these fascinating objects have been displayed at Norwich Castle – some as permanent fixtures and others in temporary exhibitions, bringing into view the experience of people with disabilities.

To download a copy of the full project report, or to view the on-line exhibition, go to www.museums.norfolk.gov.uk. To request a copy of the report in large print, Braille or Audio CD please contact Ruth Burwood on 01603 493640 or email ruth.burwood@norfolk.gov.uk.

This article first appeared in the July 2009 issue of Mobilise magazine, which goes out to all our members and includes reviews of adapted cars and mobility equipment, features on accessible travel and leisure, campaign updates, news, competitions and real-life stories.
Membership of our charity costs just £16 per year and includes your monthly subscription to Mobilise.

Related posts:

1. My Invisible Disability
2. Disability Cricket – The Umpire Strikes Back

However the boss of Morris Motors, Lord Nuffield, was far from keen to produce the Minor. Sir Alex recalled his reaction on being shown the prototypes: “He was furious. He called it a poached egg, and everything under the sun! ‘We can’t make that!’ he said, and walked out. I wasn’t even there at the meeting; in fact I only met him twice in my life. The second time was eleven years later, when we’d made a million Morris Minors. Then he had the grace to thank me.”

Despite these inauspicious beginnings, production of the Minor was to continue until 1971, making it the first British car to exceed a million units –in total over 1.6 million were produced. There were several changes along the way – the original “lowlight” Morris Minor had its headlights mounted in the front grill (which were eventually moved to the front wings because of American lighting regulations) and a distinctive split windscreen. Development continued with many improvements in engine size and design, expanding to include many body types including convertible and commercial vehicles and the famous timbered Traveller.

A special standard two-door model was produced for “Disabled Persons” which used the engine from one model and the transmission from another. Fully adjustable front seats were mounted on sliding runners, and there was provision for a fire extinguisher to be fitted. Other options included swivel and fully-reclining front seats.

We asked our members to write in and share their memories of driving these early accessible vehicles. They may be a long way away from the hi-tech adapted cars and ‘WAV’s available today, but many of you had some wonderful memories to share.

The  Morris Minor was widely remembered as being reliable and easy to maintain. Brian Palmer remembered his cream Morris Traveller as being “a good little work horse that earned its keep going to and from the wholesalers”. Mrs P M Putland described several adventures in her trusty Minor, including a 7,700 mile, six-month, 10 country tour of Europe, including snow-covered mountain passes. Her 1958 Minor certainly earned her description of it as “a fabulous little car”!

A Mini Revolution

In response to the increase in “bubble cars” on British roads (itself in response to the Suez fuel crisis of 1956) the British Motor Corporation instructed Sir Alex Issigonis to produce a car to drive the Bubble car off the road. “Revolutionary” is perhaps an overworked expression, but it certainly applies to the Morris Mini-Minor (the Mini) which clearly demonstrated his automotive philosophy – to provide a vehicle that carried the greatest possible payload in the smallest practical space.

The Mini was launched in 1959 and stayed in production until 2000, selling 5.25 million units. The great innovation in design was to devote 80% of the car’s ten-foot length to passengers and luggage, with the remaining 18 inches allowed for the engine and gearbox. This was achieved by turning the engine sideways and mounting the gearbox under the engine driving the 10-inch front wheels mounted at the corners of the body. Along with the use of a new form of rubber suspension, this wheel positioning gave the Mini legendary agility; after being tuned by John Cooper the Mini won the Monte Carlo Rally three times.

Although not an immediate success, the popularity of the Mini took off when celebrities ranging from the Queen to Norman Wisdom began to purchase the vehicles, and the Mini quickly became a symbol of the “swinging 60s”. A rare, if not unique event, in that something so practical should become a fashion icon.

I drove one of those!

Throughout the 1960s Mobilise Vice-President Denny Denly reported in depth on the running costs of the Mini as well as his experiences of promoting it in the USA and demonstrating it to Stirling Moss, around the streets of Mayfair, using the latest hand controls.

Denny and family with their trusty Mini

The Mini was described by several of you as having a “Tardis” quality – and this was true of Denny’s, even if the boot lid had to be tied down to accommodate the family’s luggage and wheelchair! Denny admitted this did result once in a bag of nappies falling out and being distributed along the recently opened M1 – whereupon a following motorist stopped, collected them up, overtook and handed the nappies back. Not a good deed to be attempted on the motorway today!

John Sidebottom and his new wife spent their first week as newly-weds in a tiny caravan on Hadrian’s Wall, not quite sure why their teal-blue Mini Clubman smelt of fried onions. The mystery was solved on the last day when they discovered that some wag had tied an onion to the exhaust manifold!

Mrs V Upham wrote that her blue Austin Mini was her “pride and joy – it took me to many places and gave me a wonderful sense of freedom”. Minis were also praised for keeping members mobile in all weathers. Richard Schofield’s wrote “I often left stranded cars and motorists behind when we had good old-fashioned winters! – the Mini just kept going!” Mr D Field’s Mini also stood up well to the Yorkshire snow: “I usually managed to get to work in our Mini, despite a low ground clearance due to those ten-inch wheels! The Minis were much more rugged than they looked.”

However, Mr W F de Haan did point out that his Mini had one major fault: “If you were driving the car in heavy rain it was most likely that suddenly the car would stop! This was caused by water in the carburettor and you had to wait for an hour or so before the engine would start again!”

One of the family

The greatest pleasure that many disabled motorists experienced for the first time in their Minors and Minis was not having to endure the “solitary confinement” of the trike. Mr W Davies wrote that the red Mini Mayfair – his first ever car through the Motability scheme – changed his life “as before if I wanted to go anywhere I had to go alone.” Jenny Sunley told us “My mini was bright yellow and such fun to drive, and it was so much better being able to take passengers!” Indeed, some of you seem to have tested the Mini’s capacity to the limit. Tony Sargent, who received his first Mini from War Pensions HQ after a parachuting accident, wrote “I soon became a taxi service for my mates – many a time we had four in the back, two in the front and my wheelchair in the back with the lid open to fit it in!”

It was obvious from your letters that both Minis and Minors were held in great affection, and were eventually replaced with sadness and regret. Joan Clayton’s story seemed to sum up the emotions that these cars inspired. She told us “Once I had married and had my first baby I applied for my first ‘ministry Mini’ – it changed my life! I went on to have a daughter too and the Mini carried on being my best friend… my love affair with the old girl lasted until the early eighties when we finally had to get a bigger car. Happy Birthday Mini, and thank you for some memorable years!”

Thank you to all those members who contributed their experiences.

This article first appeared in the June 2009 issue of Mobilise magazine, which goes out to all our members and includes reviews of adapted cars and mobility equipment, features on accessible travel and leisure, campaign updates, news, competitions and real-life stories.
Membership of our charity costs just £16 per year and includes your monthly subscription to Mobilise.

No related posts.