Page 860 - Reading Mercury

For fifty years now, old Fred Painter has been bending over his anvil in the
Blacksmith’s shop in Peach Street, Wokingham, attending with pride and skill to the
shoes of countless horses. And fifty years, as most will agree, is a long time to stay in
one place doing the same job—especially one that demands above average strength.
“You’ve got to be as fit as the animal you have to deal with,” Fred will tell his many
visitors. And he will show them a scar behind his right ear which is a permanent
reminder of a day many years ago that a horse kicked out in protest at what Fred was
engaged to do. But the horse did not win the argument. Fred had to give it new shoes
and it did not leave the shop until it had them well and truly nailed on.
Strangely enough, it was a midget-sized pony that caused Fred the most trouble he
has ever experienced.
“Do you know, that pony jumped on my back to avoid being shoed?”, said Fred.
“But I never gave up. He tired of his antics sooner than me.”
There was a time when Fred put on no fewer than 400 shoes a week. There were
always horses in the shop and five men to attend them. In fact, there were once seven
blacksmiths in various parts of Wokingham. Today, Fred and one other on the edge of
the town are the sole survivors of their trade.
Unchanged
Everything else changes but the blacksmith’s shop. That is an undeniable fact. At
69, Fred is using the same tools, the same forge and making shoes in exactly the same
way that he did when he gave up a job with a firm of engineers to become an
apprentice “blackie.”
The sad thing is that because everything else changes and horses are replaced by
mechanical vehicles and machines, Fred’s 150-years-old shop is often empty. He has
no reason to keep his forge burning as fiercely as it once did. If he is lucky he will,
perhaps have to put on forty shoes in a wee. His customers are mainly riding or
hunting establishments. Today, only one local tradesman—a baker—sends his horse
to Fred. The rest send their vans to the garage.
Fred is still fit and there is plenty of work in him yet. But there must, he admits,
come a time when he will have to close the shop. And when he does, it will be
unhappily permanent, for there is no son or assistant to carry on the business.
Till then, the sound of his anvil and the glow of his forge will continue to arouse the
curiosity of sightseers who could be forgiven (in such an age) for thinking of
horseshoes not as things which provide a man with his livelihood, but rather as lucky
charms.

1914-18 KINDNESS REMEMBERED
Canadian Gift To Bear Wood Church
Just over 39 years ago Mr. and Mrs. John Walter placed their mansion house at Bear
Wood at the disposal of the Canadian Government, and in September 1915, it became
a hospital and convalescent home for wounded Canadian troops.
Before it closed, in August 1918, over 20,000 had rested and recovered there. The
generosity of Mr. and Mrs. Walter was never forgotten by Canada, neither was the
hospitality afforded the patients by the villagers. It was a debt that could not be settled
with money, for kindness is not bought. But when, years afterwards, the General
Synod of the Church of England in Canada heard that the picturesque little church of
St. Catherine’s, Bear Wood, was in need of restoration and parish funds were low they
acted promptly. As the former Bishop of Reading, the Right Rev. A.G. Parham, told
the congregation on Sunday, the Synod’s gift of about £2,000 had gone far towards
removing the anxieties of those who were responsible for the fabric of the church.

858