Croford Coachbuilders: The woodworkers looking after London's coaches

EACH year, the investiture of the City of London’s new Lord Mayor is celebrated with the Lord Mayor’s Show, a civic parade dating back 800 years that today includes up to 7,000 participants.

The finale is a pageant in itself that sees the city’s 695th Lord Mayor Michael Mainelli travelling the parade route in a red and gilded coach pulled by six shire horses.

Owned by the Corporation of London, the Lord Mayor’s State Coach is one of the UK’s three ‘great coaches of state’ and the world’s oldest ceremonial vehicle in regular use. Built from British timbers in 1757, this Berlin-style coach is gilded, beautifully painted and ornately carved, similar in shape to a squashed pumpkin strapped to a long undercarriage mounted on wheels painted red and gold.

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Two bowler-hatted figures walk behind the coach, a master wheelwright and apprentice who work for Croford Coachbuilders in Ashford, Kent. Part of the support team, they are there to ensure the wooden wheels Croford made in 2018 and the undercarriage axles, greased days ago following an overnight rehearsal, run smoothly.

Croford has maintained five Corporation-owned coaches since the 1970s. “Each year, we write a report on their overall condition and carry out works where necessary,” explains proprietor Edward C. Crouch, two months later.

Owned by the Corporation of London, the Lord Mayor’s state coach (one of the UK’s three ‘great coaches of state’) is the world’s oldest ceremonial vehicle in regular use. (Image: FJ)

In Croford’s wheelwright workshop, three miles from Ashford train station, they use home-grown hardwood timbers to make, repair and restore the wooden wheels on coster barrows, gypsy caravans, carriages and veteran cars.
Edward, now 81, began his career in vehicle engineering and research, latterly running a family business manufacturing lorry bodies. Busy in summer, but quiet in winter, “in 1965, we bought a local business making trolleys for the Post Office.

Following an order from the London County Council for 350 handcarts, we bought the British Wheelworks (wooden wheel makers, established in 1896 by the Headley family) as it came up for sale.”

Outside the workshop doors, 4-inch and 3-inch sawn ash planks bought from Ben Sutton Timber (Suffolk) lie stacked under tarpaulin, alongside their next commission, a gypsy caravan. “Someone put on artillery wheels and they are wrong,” notes Edward. 

Croford proprietor Edward C. Crouch in the drying room with an oak spoke. Timbers dry on shelves, their ends painted to prevent splitting. (Image: FJ)

For centuries, wheels contained three elements: a ‘nave’ (hub) made from curly-grained elm (latterly laminated oak); spokes made of oak and ash; ‘felloes’ (rim) made of ash. With the invention of bicycles and cars, wheels evolved to include metal and rubber.

In a wooden wheel, the structural integrity of the timber used is paramount, as is the moisture content. “Without quality timber, nothing will last. We don’t use kiln-dried timber because it loses strength. We slowly dry down freshly sawn timber to the required moisture content, checking everything with a moisture meter before use.”

The drying room’s relative humidity is normally 40–45 per cent, with a temperature of 22 degrees C. Visually, there is much to take in, so Edward offers some explainers.

Master wheelwright Nick Gill starting the repair of a large carriage wheel leaning against a 120-year-old wheelwright’s lathe. (Image: FJ)

Oak spoke lengths and blanks dry on shelves, their ends painted red and green to prevent splitting. Some will replace damaged spokes in four WWI-era artillery gun-carriage wheels arriving from the King’s Troop (ceremonial unit with the Royal Horse Artillery).

There are ash spokes and poles (for a horse-drawn carriage). Ash rims, steamed in a chamber until pliable, are held in position on a former (frame) for drying down over weeks. “These are nicely done,” says Edward. “You can see where the compression is starting to show.”

Beside the exit, made-to-measure steel channels are ready for shrinking onto wooden wheel rims. Croford, members of ‘The Worshipful Company of Wheelwrights’ (one of 111 livery companies comprising London’s ancient and modern trade associations and guilds), also sells these channels to smaller wheelwright companies and single members, unsurprising when Edward reveals that, “the last batch of moulded steel cost us £10,000.”

In the machine room’s annex, master wheelwright Nick Gill is starting the repair of a large carriage wheel leaning against a 120-year-old wheelwright’s lathe. The largest set of wheels he has made measured seven feet in diameter for use by a mobile Hare Krishna chariot.

The machine room itself is decorated with posters advertising previous Lord Mayor’s Shows, hand tools, spanners, bolts, drills, saws, sanders, a sawdust extractor, workbenches, stacks of wood, wheels and parts of wheels.
Edward highlights a vintage circular saw brought over from the British Wheelworks, latterly fitted with an electronic brake to meet modern standards.

Some of the Croford team members (l–r): Bob Bingham, Edward C. Crouch, Harry Mansfield, with Debbie Shepherd in front, with four 230 kg artillery gun carriage wheels from the Kings Troop. (Image: FJ)

Two laminated oak naves were drilled out by Bob Bingham (employed by British Wheelworks) on a modified mortiser. There is a ‘steel cold press’ for pressing channels onto veteran car wheels.

Wheels of varying sizes include those made in batches of 12 for small coster barrows. Two large horse-drawn carriage wheels from Sark (a Channel Isle that has banned cars) with new felloes, new channels and newly fitted rubber, were primed this morning.

A set of slightly thicker wheels has been made for a George III cannon. Wheels from a vintage Darracq in need of repair are waiting for new steam-bent rims to dry. “Back then, (1900s), most cars were carriages with engines put on, and slowly they evolved.” Edward points to a large Renault wheel saying, “essentially a carriage wheel with a solid rubber tyre.”

Below the back window, a pre-tooled spoke lies on a workbench ready for newly-qualified wheelwright Ted Shepherd, 20, to sand it smooth with ‘80’ discs. A ‘wheelwright apprenticeship’ is not available at college, so Ted joined a two-year architectural joinery course at Folkestone College as part of his three-year wheelwright’s apprenticeship. Harry Mansfield, 23, prefers the title ‘trainee’. He gave up working as an electrician to join Croford 18 months ago.

The carriage room houses two carriages. One has had its rotten footboard rebuilt in ash (incorporating drain holes that allow rainwater to soak away) and three new spokes and a new rim fitted on one wheel. A bent turntable ring on the four-wheeled dogcart has been repaired.

The carriage room. (Image: FJ)

Building a Roman carriage out of ash and chestnut for a countryside hotel client (the Newt, Somerset) took the team a year. Croford’s undercarriage expert, Tim Brisley, designed the carriage body from a photograph of a Roman carriage in stone relief. The framework was riveted and doweled and the chestnut boards nailed and protected with an application of linseed oil. Bob, Nick and Ted worked on the axles and wheels. Edward says, “The Romans used wooden axles, which we didn’t trust. We used metal stubs and hid it with the wood frame. To take the carriage weight, we used steel suspension straps covered in leather.” Manager Debbie Shepherd made the hemp curtains and sourced skins to cover the seats.
Croford has worked on all three ‘great coaches of state’ – the Lord Mayor’s state coach, the Speaker’s state coach, the Queen’s gold state coach – and has held the Royal Warrant for many years.

“The palace has many coaches; those that are ceremonial, those at Windsor, those for Royal Ascot and more.” Working on a ‘per carriage’ basis, Croford conserves what it can, replacing the rest. In the lead up to 2022’s Platinum Jubilee, Edward and Debbie attended the Royal Mews most weeks.

Panorama of the machine room annex, with master wheelwright Nick Gill. (Image: FJ)

Last autumn, the workshop housed two palace brakes (four-wheeled carriage-frame, with driver’s high-seat and groom’s platform, used for exercising horses) and the ‘Iron Maiden’ (Prince Philip’s competition carriage). Ted says: “The Iron Maiden is unusual. It is historic, but not a great looker; an iron frame with plywood backs.” He restored the body by stripping it and installing new body panels.

Occasionally Croford does use other timbers; straight ash for poles; beech (boards); and hickory, a strong, light and relatively knotless timber for making slim spokes for gigs. Debbie says: “Generally, we use traditional English timber. People want like-for-like replacements, as you would with anything you are conserving.” 

Attending the Lord Mayor’s Show, the team plays a privileged part in maintaining historic artefacts for the nation. For Edward, holding the Royal Warrant means “we work on the most fabulous carriages.  We haven’t advertised it. We are just doing the work, seeing it coming in and out, and doing it right.”

In turn, Croford’s clients, among them a well-known collector of horse-drawn commercial vehicles, a collector of gypsy caravans, and King Charles III (a conservationist), are keeping a heritage craft alive. Edward concludes, ”We have done work for them over the years and that for me is what it is all about; working on pieces of history that will last for years if they are maintained.”