There is an ancient lorry trap where we live. It used to trap carts but it has never stopped. It is the reason why the old drovers took the high road — some say it is a portal to the underworld.
It’s dusk now and the ingenuity of the Welsh farmer is bought to play — he always has a few railway sleepers about his person. The tractor-pull has failed. The two-tractor-pull has failed — the chain has failed, fired like a mediaeval weapon into a field, but on this occasion no one is killed. Eventually with a little modern help from the biggest jack in the world the sleepers are inserted and the spell is broken.
What happens here repeatedly is that a right angle bend, on a 1:10 rising to 1:5 hill, arrests the vehicle. It backs down, thinking it will take the alternate route, the driver turns the wheel clockwise. “Left hand down!” I scream as I hurtle across the field (Alan has told me to do this) but it is all too late. There is a thud as the heavily loaded grain lorry slumps against the bank. Sadly, think our sheep (who have seen it all before) nothing is spilled, carts were much better!