THE HAUNTED BIN WAGON and MILK FLOAT
The haunted bin wagon is as terrifying as it sounds, made all the more descriptive by the fact that the refuse wagon in question was a latter day 'Duel' wagon, straight from the film/ movie, of the same name driven by an Englishman with the most vivid Benidorm 'tan' I have ever seen.
One morning, I awoke to the sound of distant 'thunder', getting closer until it was right outside the 'circular' room. Upon moving into Bidston Observatory in 2005, I had eventually decided to sleep in the North dome ground floor (for reasons explained elsewhere in the Bidston chapters). This unknown noise was terrifying, stirring you from your slumber in the midsummer 4am sunrise. Lo and behold it was the haunted bin wagon, to see it was to be in the path of it's fire, and ultimately it's driver. I did see it one morning, coming up the hill, frog-eyed headlamps and the chains of hell clanking around its midriff, it was sort of brown in colour, though not intentionally, as it was festooned in 'centuries' of misfired rubbish and accumulated rust. At first seemingly ambling its way up the hill but upon getting closer and onto flatter ground, you could tell this was a bin wagon with haste; a 'brown sauce' beast of burden, just like the driver.
Having had some years to dwell on this vision, I reckon the bin wagon driver was, and had been for some considerable time, on a contract with the owners NERC (ok, deep breath..... National Environmental Research Council). Although NERC had since moved their operations over to Liverpool (in 2004) NERC were still contractually obliged to maintain the upkeep of the Observatory and its grounds. So, like a Neville Southall being kept on by Everton into his 50's, their veteran bin man was likely on an extended contract. So, it turned out that Thursday mornings were the time that the grim reaper came to collect the trash, lurching this old truck round the bend in front of the Observatory on an in and out quest (don't you just hate how bin men have to get it done so quickly?).
The bin and wagon used a latching mechanism to help clip the bin to the back of the truck and hurl it over, backwards, to deposit the weekly rubbish (I remember seeing bin lorries like this back in the early/ mid 1960's). Always with a great sense of reluctance, 'Mr Benidorm' had to get out of the cab to perform this task, 'I ONLY DO THIS PART TIME NOW (..... rest of time in Benidorm), I HAVE TO COME OVER FROM LIVERPOOL TO DO THIS RUN SO THAT'S WHY I COME EARLY (and It was usually around 5am!). (upper caps as he was so LOUD!).
Don't forget the milk float!
We also had a milkman who used to venture up the hill even earlier, around 3am. That sound was just as strange, he would hit a pot hole, with a resultant crescendo of glass bottles, sometimes a smash would sound, then another pot hole, same breakage sound again. One night I managed to glimpse said milk 'float' through the window, It was like a wide flat bed MK 2 transit painted brick red with scary headlights. Whoever was driving it that night was blind drunk as they weaved up past the now gone Proudman Building at speed, with just enough control to get through the narrow pass between Mary Connel's cottage and the Observatory.
All characters of the night and twilight, gone now but not forgotten.