Trumpet the Beach Donkey

For a period spanning the 1920's, 30's and 40's Southend on Sea was
one of, if not the, most popular sea-side resorts in the South of
Britain. During the summer months Holidaymakers and Day-trippers,
mainly from the East End slums of London, would flock in their
thousands to enjoy a paddle in the sea, a stick of rock and a Fish and
Chip supper as a temporary escape from their humdrum lives as Factory
workers, Chimney Sweeps or Hop-pickers.

Of course this yearly influx of cheeky Cockneys had to be kept
entertained otherwise they would invariably get drunk and create their
own forms of entertainment. Many's a time the local constabulary were
called to break-up a bare-knuckle fistfight, or a Bear-baiting
ring.

You have to remember that Southend wasn't the glittering entertainment
paradise it is today. Electricity had only just been invented and it
would be another 50 years before Edison came up with 'Space Invaders'.
No, in those days you had to make do with more basic fun. Perhaps a day
in a deck-chair, a boat-trip to see the wild-life of Sheppey or a
Donkey ride along the beach.

Donkey rides were perhaps the most popular attraction of the time. At
the height of their popularity there were over 600 Donkeys daily
carrying delighted passengers up and down the beach. But by the late
1940's this number was down to only 10. This was mainly due to the fact
that most of them had been eaten during the war, but also, society had
changed. The Great British public now demanded more adrenalin fuelled
past-times, they were used to dodging bombs and flying Spitfires and a
plodding Donkey ride along a short stretch of shingle sadly no longer
cut the mustard.

Eventually the last remaining Donkey ride vendor was Reg Cribbins. He
had always been a cruel man, but now, faced with rising overheads and
declining income, it was the donkeys that suffered most. His small
group of ten donkeys, all, strangely, named after musical instruments,
became more and more under-nourished until the ribs could clearly be
seen protruding from beneath their skin.

The crunch came on Sunday 21st August 1949. Reg had had a particularly
bad week and had only given two rides all day, when along the beach
waddled Timmy Turner. This kid was huge, in fact he held the record for
the largest baby ever born in Britain at 20lbs, and now at the age of
8, he tipped the scales at 12 stone. Reg knew that the local by-law
prohibited the donkeys carrying anyone over 8 stone but greed and
desperation made him turn a blind-eye.

He decided that 'Trumpet' would be up to the job, always one of the
larger donkeys, Reg thought he would easily be able to carry this fat
tub of lard. A decision that was to have dreadful consequences.

By now quite a large crowd had gathered. The sight of this massive kid
perched on a skinny donkey promised to be an event that couldn't be
missed. Reg tried to hoist Timmy into Trumpet's saddle but he was just
too heavy. The crowd groaned, they could see their free entertainment
disappearing before their eyes. Then two burly men stepped out from the
mass and with Reg's help they finally managed to get Timmy up and
mounted on poor Trumpet's back. A loud "Hurrah" went up from the crowd
and Reg proceeded to lead Trumpet down the beach.

Nothing happened. Trumpet would not or could not move. No matter how
hard Reg tugged the poor animal just didn't budge. The crowd were
getting restless and Reg could see trouble brewing but nothing was
going to move Trumpet today, or so he thought.

Then a small boy stepped forward and proceeded to give Trumpet a
tremendous whack on his rump with a small plastic spade. This spurred
Trumpet into life. Suddenly he was like a Rodeo Bucking Bronco,
rearing-up and kicking out with both hind legs, trying to rid himself
of fat-boy Timmy. The crowd panicked and ran in all directions,
screaming. This only managed to further panic the already manic donkey.
Reg desperately tried to calm Trumpet down but with one tug of the
reins Trumpet managed to break free and then he ran.

Due to the panicking crowd, the only escape route open to Trumpet was
out to sea. He turned and with Timmy still hanging on like an obese
limpet he set off across the beach. By now the tide was out and within
twenty strides Trumpet was off the shingle and onto the mud. Quickly he
began to sink, and the combination of panic and Timmy's tremendous
weight on his back, only hastened the sinking. Within seconds the mud
was level with Trumpet's belly and suddenly realising the danger he was
in, Timmy decided to abandon ship. He leapt from Trumpet's saddle and
landed in the mud. Unfortunately Timmy himself now began to sink.

Luckily someone on the shore had the good sense to call the emergency
services and within an hour the Police, Fire brigade and Coast Guards
were all on the scene. By now Trumpet and Timmy were both stuck fast in
the mud, with no hope of freeing themselves and worse of all, the tide
had turned and water was speedily returning across the mud-flats.

On the shore a decision had to be made. There would only be time to get
out across the mud, dig out either Trumpet or Timmy and then get them
safely back to shore before the incoming tide engulfed them both. But
who would be rescued, Trumpet or Timmy. The Chief of Police decided to
leave it up to the crowd. "Who wants Trumpet rescued?" he shouted. The
roar was deafening. "Who thinks it should be Timmy?" he responded. The
roar was equally deafening, although it was later reported that most
the noise had come from Timmy's family shouting exceptionally
loudly!

There was no way the Chief could make a decision based on such a close
call so he decided to do the sensible thing, toss a coin. "Heads, it's
Trumpet. Tails, it's Timmy". He flicked the coin and after what seemed
an eternity to the watching Trumpet and Timmy it landed on the sand.
"Tails it is lads, go and get Timmy!" The disappointed crowd
groaned.

Like a well-oiled machine the emergency services swung into action.
Within minutes two men had shimmied their way carefully across the mud
and were proceeding to dig Timmy out. Shortly after, they had managed
to dig an area of space around Timmy's body and they quickly passed a
length of rope around his chest, under his arms, before tying it in a
knot. They then gave the signal for the men back on the beach to pull.
Slowly Timmy began to move, only fractions of an inch at first, but he
was moving. Suddenly, with a sound like a Champagne cork popping, Timmy
was free. The crowd cheered as Timmy and the two men were dragged the
remaining distance to the beach.

As soon as they reached the shore Timmy was wrapped in a blanket and
led towards a waiting ambulance followed by the crowd. Suddenly a voice
shouted "What about Trumpet?" and like a flock of birds the crowd
turned as one to gaze upon the still trapped animal.

The water had risen at an alarming rate and had now almost completely
covered Trumpet's head. A deadly hush came over the crowd and they
stood in complete silence as the cruel sea slowly overwhelmed the
doomed creature. Then with a final snort of the nostrils, Trumpet was
gone.

Trumpet's body was never recovered. The next day, when the tide went
out, there were no sign of any remains and this day it remains a
mystery as to what became of the body. But Trumpet didn't die in vain,
after this tragedy Donkey rides were permanently banned in Southend and
Reg's remaining 9 donkeys lived their lives out in peaceful retirement
at a donkey sanctuary.

But to this day if you happen to be along the sea front late at night
take time to stop, because it's said that if you listen very carefully
it's possible to make out the faint rattling of a harness and the
clip-clopping of the hooves as Trumpet's ghost slowly walks up and down
the promenade for all eternity. And on rare occasions on the
Anniversary of his death it's even been reported that a ghostly
apparition of a donkey can be seen slowly and forlornly walking out
across the mud flats before slowly fading away.