Accessibility and Archives: The Invisible Invalid Carriage

This blog is by Professor Simon Mckeown who undertakes research and teaches at the School of Arts and Creative Industries at Teesside University, Middlesbrough, UK in the fields of fine art, digital creativity and disability. He is a disabled practicing artist as well as a disability heritage specialist.

The ‘Invalid Carriage’ is a vehicle legally defined in British law (1947, 1970, 1988) and they were once very common. They are vehicles, usually three wheeled and were provided by the UK Government for disabled people.  I grew up with them and my grandfather was a user.

I’ve always found the name of the vehicle fascinating — it’s a loaded term worth reflecting on. In English, invalid carries two meanings: an outdated term for a disabled person, and something lacking validity — as in an invalid argument. Even today, society often treats disabled people as ‘invalid’ in both senses: invisible, undervalued, and excluded. With this in mind, I became enthusiastically and deeply involved in the contradictory heritage of the Invalid Carriage — a vehicle my disabled grandfather once used extensively and one that changed his and our family’s life.

Ian Jones, Scarborough, UK, circa 1965 in his hand cranked/powered carriage

I share the same congenital condition as my grandfather who was called Ian Jones.  We lived in different eras—before and after the NHS. Pre-NHS Britain was harsh for working-class disabled people. Seeking support meant enduring “means testing”; a process that was mean . The value of everyday possessions was scrutinised including essential household items like my grandfather’s basic furniture including wardrobes, to assessing whether any support was to be provided or any expense to be claimed. Immobile people such as my grandfather couldn’t travel far for work and as such he was largely excluded from employment. Disability support was minimal and poverty meant many treatable health conditions worsened dangerously. In my grandfather’s case he had a condition called Brittle Bones. Following leg breaks, he was badly cared for which led to him losing the ability to walk, which affected his employability and put him at risk of further injuries. He became a wheelchair user and a hand powered trike user – a three wheeled very heavy hand pushed cycle. Ian died when I was young, but I have strong memories of him and his carriages. One days these memories came back to me strongly and as a result I purchased a very rare vehicle, sparking a journey of research and preservation that continues to this day.The ‘Invalid Carriage’ is a vehicle legally defined in British law (1947, 1970, 1988). I’ve always found the name fascinating — it’s a loaded term worth reflecting on. In English, invalid carries two meanings: an outdated term for a disabled person, and something lacking validity — as in an invalid argument. Even today, society often treats disabled people as ‘invalid’ in both senses: overlooked, undervalued, and excluded. With this in mind, I became enthusiastically and deeply involved in the contradictory heritage of the Invalid Carriage — a vehicle my disabled grandfather once used.

Ian Jones, South Bank, Middlesbrough circa 1930

The launch of the NHS in 1946 was a turning point for disabled people. The Government began recognising restricted mobility as a form of disablement. This recognition led to the creation of one of the world’s most innovative public mobility health systems. Post-war Europe was materially broken, and people were poor. Disabled individuals still faced huge challenges, but for people like my grandfather, this new NHS health system and its consideration of mobility support, led to many disabled people being able to work and access a world that had been out of reach. Such was the success of the scheme, by 1976 there were around 25,000 disability vehicles on British roads[1].

Working class disabled people must be ingenious to survive.  When I look back at what my grandfather achieved on his life, each day with his carriages, I am humbled. He faced extraordinary difficulties, at great personal cost. His life and that of so many other disabled people from his era are worthy of stories, books, films, and museum exhibits, and yet so much of this narrative remains untold and unrecognised, including the role of mobility which is often central to disabled persons life. That silence speaks volumes.

As an experienced disability researcher you realise fairly quickly that data connected to disability exists in a blackhole. Neglect, disinterest and so on lead to data not being kept or recorded.  Considering WW1, we know for instance how many horses were killed – the BBC’s very well-known Country File has an entire webpage on this.[2] We also know how many people died in WW1, euphemistically called casualties. It is far harder however to find out the numbers of people impaired however during conflict. In my research for my Government led14-18 NOW commemoration project Ghosts[3] I was able to research a figure of between 15-21 million people affected.  As a result, we know that disabled people were a visible part of every village, town, and city across the UK during and after both world wars. Further polio, class status, heavy industrial work and general medical care meant that impairment was commonly present in society and seen.  Disabled veterans made substantial use of Invalid Carriages along with the general disabled population. Between 1918 and 1976 it is possible that approximately 100,000 invalid carriages of all types, i.e. hand powered, electric and petrol were made[4]. Today around 24% of the UK has a disability.[5] These are big numbers. 

Britain has a veritable and long vehicle manufacturing history, centered around the Midlands and in other locations. As a result, we have many, many, vehicle heritage museums and more general museums which include vehicles within their exhibitions. Despite this, our cultural offering (museums, entertainment etc) has largely ignored the history of disability and mobility.

The BBC Call the Midwife series explored disability, notably the Thalidomide Scandal[6]. It painstakingly recreated 1960s London yet failed to demonstrate how disabled people actually moved around at the time—despite the thousands of invalid carriages operating across London at the time. Similarly, museums are no different. They often exist in a vacuum when it comes to disability history. I walk through those spaces and think - this is not a world my grandfather would recognise.

Ian Jones, North Yorkshire, on holiday with his Government issued Tippen Delta circa 1960

It is here that the Invalid Carriage Register, of which I am the voluntary director has become critical.  It tracks all known vehicles and represents collectors, both public and private. It has sought to bring to public attention the history of the carriages and to save and collect the historical materials associated with them. The Register is now supported by a charity I have set up, but it has no funds. I have used my own finance to save vehicles and ephemera from dispersal, damage and loss from the UK.  Should I be doing this, or should the museum sector which already receives a substantial portion of finance in support of EDI be more active? Should the BBC who are tasked with representing all the communities of Britain do a better job as well? The silence of these major institutions leads to an invisibility however I would argue that we should not lose this core representative heritage. It is part of UK history, but also part of our creative future. Invalid Carriages connect across so many sectors including health, policy and vehicle design and they represent a rich historical tapestry to be creatively explored and exploited. Toyota Mobility Foundation some years ago ran an international competition for designers to develop new forms of mobility for paraplegics. Imagine if their design teams had been able to access a rich historical Carriage resource. Imagine likewise if Call the Midwife had been able to feature polio affected carriage users? This could have added so much depth and complexity to the narrative and visual storytelling, beyond simply making their portrayal more historically accurate.Over next years I hope to publish the first written record of the Invalid Carriages, and to create a real location for their analysis and public viewing. In doing this and many other activities, supported by a fantastic team of volunteers (Stuart, Kathryn, Dez, Paul and others).

It is our aim to restore the Invalid Carriage to its rightful place in British heritage.

 Please see www.invalidcarriageregister.org for further information and updates.

 Photos, Ian Jones (Grandfather to Simon McKeown)

Guest blogs are welcome.  Please email diversityandinclusion@archives.org.uk.  We would also like to hear from you if you have found one of the Allies’ blogs helpful to your work.

[1] Beard, A (1998) “Motability: The Road to Freedom”

[2] https://www.countryfile.com/animals/horses/the-real-war-horse

[3] https://www.simon-mckeown.com/ghosts

[4] Estimate by the volunteers at the Invalid Carriage Register

[5] https://commonslibrary.parliament.uk/research-briefings/cbp-9602/

[6] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thalidomide_scandal