THEY are seldom heard now, but the countless funny - though usually fictional - tales about tacklers that were peculiar to Lancashire humour in the heyday of King Cotton everlastingly branded the poor chaps who maintained the mill looms as gormless galoots.

So it was that, years ago, when I first heard the story of a long-ago mishap - the collapse of the swing bridge over the River Hodder at Whitewell - it was easy to believe the accompanying explanation that it was brought down by a picnic party of clodhopping tacklers.

Indeed, even 53 years afterwards the yarn was still being spun, as we find this newspaper's erstwhile columnist Lancastrian relating in 1959 that the bridge suddenly plunged into the river after a band of East Lancashire tacklers, "full of exuberance" on their annual outing in June, 1904 - two years before the actual event, incidentally - had decided to line up on it.

Apart from getting a soaking, they were all said to be none the worse for the adventure. But in truth, it was the reputation of the already much-maligned power loom overlooker that was being muddied once more.

Yet those who were really to blame for the bridge coming down - and vanishing for good - were white-collar sorts who evidently had far less gumption. For they overloaded it by five times its limit.

And into the waters were pitched a borough surveyor, a sanitary inspector, schools attendance officer, a veterinary surgeon and many others. They were all officials of Todmorden Corporation - on their annual outing which had what the Northern Daily Telegraph said was "an exciting experience that might have ended seriously."

The party numbered 34 and, having just had their photograph taken and with three of them going off for a dip in the river, the rest collected on the the footbridge which was "about 35 yards long, made of wood supported by iron girders and protected by railings."

"Without any warning, the bridge suddenly broke in at least two places and fell into the water," the report said. "About a score of picnickerswere precipitated into the river but, happily, it was not so deep where the majority fell and they managed to scramble out."

Less lucky was James Heap, Todmorden's borough surveyor, who fell into a part that was seven feet deep and "had to swim to save his life."

But worst off was vet Sam Cliffe, who was pitched 12 feet on to the river bed where huge coping stones fell on him and where he was trapped by an iron girder. He was swiftly pulled free, having suffered "some nasty bruises and severely sprained himself." But, said the NDT: "The wonder was he escaped alive." The following day, it reported, Mr Cliffe was confined to his room. Yet he and his fellow officials could hardly complain too much, for though the NDT's report on the Monday following their weekend wetting that June day in 1906 did not say how many the bridge was meant to hold, 28 years later it did.

"The bridge was erected for the convenience of tenants of the Towneley estates and fishermen and was meant to carry no more than six persons at a time," it said.

In 1954, the NDT ran a competition for the best "Tacklers' Tales" and one of the winners - requiring knowledge of a seafront Blackpool pub where the trams stopped - was about a tackler who was told by his wife to meet her at her mother's new home in the resort, the address of which he promptly forgot.

Boarding a tram headed for Bispham, he was puzzling about where to get off when he heard a passenger ask for a ticket to "Uncle Tom's" - so when the conductor came to collect his fare and asked "Where to?", the tackler said: "T' wife's mother's."

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