Maybe it’s a bit of auld lang syne that sets me to wondering, as we end one decade and begin another. I’ve been recalling the circumstances that led to my preoccupation with bicycle travel, mentioned briefly in these pages in another story—how freedom and adventure became forever connected in my mind to the bicycle.
I grew up in the English Midlands, near Wolverhampton, home of the famed Wolverhampton Wanderers F.C., in the adjacent village of Wednesfield to be exact.
The West Midlands, or Staffordshire as it was then (properly) called, was ground zero of the industrial revolution, so it is no surprise that the area became known as “The Black Country.” When seasonal fogs rolled in, handkerchiefs became sticky depositories of sooty snot. Sheets left on the line turned grey.
It was likely a great relief to the National Health when “Smokeless Zones” were introduced and households turned from coal to coke for heating needs.
Thankfully, a few miles of pedaling delivered one into the hills and dales of rural England. The South Shropshire Hills were a wondrous tonic for mind and body.
As I grew up in the 50s, canals and the barges that plied them—often towed by plodding Shire horses—still transported coal and industrial goods. Today, they are tourist attractions.
The associated towpaths, slick with compacted coal dust, or “slack,” are now promoted as bicycle trails. We never thought of using them for commuting. Only crazed cyclocross racers braved their slippery surface … often ending up in “the cut.”
Of the industries that lined these canals, many were bicycle factories. At its peak, Wolverhampton was the third largest manufacturer of bikes in the country, with marques like Star, Sunbeam, Peerless, Wulfruna and Viking producing every category of human-powered vehicle.
Over 200 cycle factories operated from the mid-1800s, until the Wearwell Company closed it’s doors in 1972. As the first factory to open in the city, they were also the longest survivors.
Of the smaller builders that endured as the bicycle market collapsed, P.T. Stallard Cycles gave birth to fine custom frames, and—if we are to believe accounts more likely apocryphal than factual—to Percy Thornley Stallard himself. According to local lore, he was born above his father’s 30 Broad Street shop in 1909.
Percy joined the Wolverhampton Wheelers Cycling Club and made a name for himself both locally and in European races during the thirties. He is famous, or infamous, for organizing the first British road race from Llangollen to Wolverhampton, on June 7th, 1942.
This was, you see, an audacious not to mention illegal thing to do. It drew fervent opposition from the national governing body, the National Cyclists Union.
The ossified, Victorian NCU rules appeared ludicrous to young cyclists who had experienced the vibrant road racing culture of the Continent and rebel riders formed their own Midland League of Racing Cyclists, which eventually merged with other upstart regional clubs to form the British League of Racing Cyclists, with Percy Stallard heading the anarchist hordes!
Years of acrimony simmered between traditionalists and the stylish “Leaguers” until the NCU and BLRC found common ground and merged, in 1959.
This didn’t sit well with Percy, who withdrew from the sport in disgust. But he had left an indelible mark on British racing. I remember the Milk Race peloton whirring by the end of my street. What excitement! Such events and the development of English competitors remains the enduring legacy of Percy Stallard. Under his prodding, cycling had emerged from the dark days of furtive racing in black clothing under cover of night into the light of a new day.
I was a lucky beneficiary of the Stallard cycling endowment. Whether peering over the counter at the family shop, or following Percy’s son Mick as he (gently) paced us schoolboy acolytes down to the Friday night track races at Aldersley velodrome, I fastened on the same idée fixe with as much tenacity as I did Mick’s rear wheel, where I also experienced my first taste of suffering in the saddle.
In the chilly spring of 1963, nineteen year-old Mick had just become Wolverhampton’s golden boy of cycle racing, having won gold at the British National Cyclocross Championships (a title he would hold for 3 years running) and competing in the Worlds, across the English Channel in Calais.
At eleven years-old, the wonders of my newt collection in an old porcelain sink at the end of the garden, train spotting, and the latest Beatles’ recordings, vied with my new obsession. Both Cycling and the Beatles Fan Club Newsletter were equally anticipated deliveries of the Royal Mail.
The convergence of the last two interests however didn’t jibe for some fellow bikeniks who regarded my Beatle hairdo with the same kind of horror the NCU reserved for naked arms.
“Hrumph!” one young racer sitting behind me in the velodrome bleachers exclaimed. “You can’t call yourself a cyclist with hair like that!”
Things haven’t changed much have they? The racing world still has its strict codes of deportment. Meanwhile, genetics have tamed my once abundant moptop.
I’ve discussed with other cyclists who came of age in the UK of the 1950s how lucky we were to experience the post-war petrol shortage and corresponding dearth of automobile traffic. The long-and-winding country roads were a quiet paradise for cyclists. As a promotional film of the day illustrated, British Railways—now-privatized—was eager to cooperate (with CTC) by transporting cyclists and their bikes out into England’s green and pleasant land.
[vimeo width=”445″ height=”357″]http://vimeo.com/2716712[/vimeo] British Railways Cyclist’s Special, 1955
“And how does the cyclist read the portents of the modern traffic problem? The motor peril is no imagining of a prejudiced mind. I am ready to read the outpourings of wrath which will be brought down upon me by these remarks of reasonable protest. I know the writers who periodically rise superior to facts and figures and rage furiously when someone greatly daring protests that the roads are not for railway speeds nor for the exclusive use of a class, but for the convenience and pleasure of all road users.” Cycling, July 4 1912, p7
Epilogue
A couple of years ago, I mentioned the Stallards to a new friend in Canada, fellow randonneur and ex-pat Brit, Harold Bridge.
“Ah, I once had a Stallard bike, a Zakopane,” he told me.
“I was dragged into the Midlands scene by marrying Walsall’s Joan Green of Cycling, in November 1962. In March ‘63 we attended the Cyclocross Worlds in Calais and got an enthusiastic welcome from [winner, Renato] Longo and his manager. Young Mick gave his best; a great performance.”
That effort earned Stallard a 17th place finish, against the best European mud wrestlers of the day, with another local, Keith Mernickle, close behind in 21st.
“I think I might have a photo I took of Mick heading for the finish,” Harold said. “I’ll root through my shoe box of slides.”
And so, forty years later, I’d have a photo of my childhood hero racing in the year that made him a household name in Wolverhampton.
Related links:
Bicycle Manufacturing in Wolverhampton | List of Wolverhampton builders Industry & the Canal | Biography of Percy Thornley Stallard | Mick Stallard Results: British Cyclocross Championships 1959-2009 | Results: World Cyclocross Championships, 1963 | Wolverhampton Wheelers CC | Percy Stallard obituary | The Tour of Britain | Cycling Weekly | CTC: The UK’s National Cyclist’s Organization | Wolverhampton Wanderers F.C.
Related VeloWeb Stories:
Woden’s Wheelers | Cougar, Cougar, Burning Bright | Putting down Canadian roots | Wondrous Wolverhampton bicycle history recalls the Golden Age of Cycling
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I have enjoyed reading all of these stories, but this one stirs up many memories, as I was born in Wednesfield in 1929.
Cool! You deserve to be an honorary Woden’s Wheeler.
A great read Ray, However as a member of the original rebels; the North Road Cycling Club, who pre-date the BLRC by nearly fifty year, I should point out that you make no mention of the Road Time Trials Council (previously known as the Road Racing Council), which has a significant place in the history of British Cycling.
In April 1951, I rode, on my almost brand new Stallard Zakopane, the 35 or so miles from home in Enfield to Biggleswade in Bedfordshire in order to ride the Luton Wheelers 25 mile TT.
Eric Wilkinson, the time keeper, was jokingly shocked that a North Road member should be riding a Stallard. I told him I had the greatest respect for Percy Stallard as he continued what the North Road started in 1894 when the Club seceded from the NCU. The NCU had banned its members from racing on the road. I was at the NR’s AGM in 1947 when a motion to re-join the NCU was defeated. Thus I became a “tester”.
In fact in 1951 I had attempted to become a “massed start” rider & found I wasn’t strong enough to drop the wheel suckers, & quit that lark.
And another thing I forgot before: One reason I think Rolf Wolfhshol beat Longo at Calais:
Longo was using the standard down tube levers, whereas Wolfhshol was using the new handlebar end controls. On the sharp little sand dunes on the off road part of the route I think that made a significant difference.
Thanks for adding these details, Harold. Fascinating stuff, as usual.
Thoroughly enjoyed watching the British Railways Cyclist’s Special, 1955 and love your website.
Thanks, George! It’s a great bit of history and a map for the future.
Brilliant writing tying your love for cycling and early days to one of the greats. The BRC link is fantastic. Thanks Raymond.
Cheers, Don!
Raymond, very nicely done. Beautiful history here for us readers to experience through your eyes. JB
It amazes me still.
Hi Ray, its Jane. I love your website!
Thanks, Jane. Glad you like it.
I purchased 2 Raleigh cycles from Stallard’s in 1950, one for me and one for my future wife. Great store, great service.
Blame it on a senior moment.
While it’s true my bicycle was a Raleigh “Sports” three-speed, my wife reminded me that her bicycle was a Wearwell Shadow.
Ah, as above, Wearwell was the longest-surviving of the original factories. They did indeed endure.
When I stared racing in Ireland in 1984 there were 3 cycling associations, it didn’t matter which one you belonged all three raced together in each race. The races were organised by the local clubs and the elders of the club decided which association to affiliate the club with. I haven’t raced in Ireland since 1993, but I think that finally there is just one cycling association now governing the sport.
As for the hair, the bloody stuff won’t stop growing, you bald guys don’t know how good you have it. You have to cut it to keep cool in the summer and your helmet won’t fit properly if it gets too long. If I don’t put stuff in my hair every day I would be sporting an “Afro” because it hasn’t been cut since last year.
Just read this story which brought back memories. My father, Thomas Harrington, and Percy Stallard were best friends & rode together until we emmigrated to Australia in 1958. My father has long since passed away but I still have one of his Stallard racing bikes which I will eventually get restored.
I have a an original brochure for the Llangollen to Wolverhampton race which my father rode in. At the time he was in the R.A.F so he was shown as representing the R.A.F.
Percy visited us in Australia in the early seventies after he had walked through the Grand Canyon in America.
My fathers’ family still live in and around Wolverhampton although they are fewer these days. My Uncle, Sidney Harrington, passed away a few years ago and was an olympic weighlifter (1956).
David, that’s a great bit of history. Thank you for enriching my little page here with your first-hand story.
That’s a precious and undervalued (not by you, I’m sure) piece of memorabilia you have. Not many people appreciate what Stallard and racers like your father did for British cycling, beginning with that daring breech of NCU rules.
It must have been a thrill!
On a whim, I Googled Mick Stallard and came up with this nostalgic site. My three brothers and I , of whom I’m the lone survivor, were all competitive Wolverhampton Wheelers: Bill from the 1930’s and Jim, Roy and myself from the 1940’s. Bill also rode later for Viking before emigrating to Canada, where I joined him in 1953. On leaving school in 1947 (Mick would have been about 3 at the time) I worked for Percy for two years so became familiar with the complexities not only of the man, but also of his role in the bike-building business of the time, and particularly of his efforts to bring European-style road racing to Britain. His doggedness is perhaps best exemplified by his determination to continue riding even after a hip replacement, and he visited me in British Columbia in 1965 while on yet another post-racing odyssey. I still have a Montlhery that he built for me in 1947, but it has since gone through several paint jobs and changes of equipment. I have fond memories of those days when life turned almost exclusively around bike-riding. Thanks for adding to them.
Peter:
Nothing gives me more satisfaction than to see comments like yours here on this little page recording my experiences of cycling culture in the post-war Midlands. We were truly lucky to have been there.
I just caught the tail end of those days, when it was not an exaggeration to say that bicycles ruled the road, or at the very least were regarded with equal respect as the motor car.
In some ways the timing was not good in my move to British Columbia (See: “Putting down Canadian roots” link above) , because I was just starting to race in the UK and there was not much happening here. Still, I was thrilled to explore this great province by bike, as I have from north to south, and west to east.
It’s also surprising to see how many other English cyclists landed here as well: names like John Hathaway, Harold Bridge, and Barry Lycett, who I have been fortunate to meet and to ride with.
Now, I’ve “met” you here on VeloWeb. Thanks very much for your contribution.
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