by Gar Cole.
Part 3 of this blog picks up almost a full year from the last instalment (you can refresh your memory of the last part here - Ed).
As with all projects they have taken far longer than predicted, however perseverance has paid off and we're now on the home straight.
I know some of you have a soft spot for classic caravans and my 'Doris' an 8ft by 5ft Holivan Jnr certainly draws attention. Following on from the last blog the interior repairs have all been carried out, a new L shape seating area built and installed which allows for a single 6ft 4in bed to be made up at night. Period correct materials were used to refurbish the inside but it has been kept as basic as the day it left the Fisher workshop down in Surrey almost 60 years ago.
Now repainted in Goose wing grey with Trafalgar blue accents to match her tow car, for your £197.00 you got a bed, 3 cupboards, a sink and 1 gas lamp, but hey it beats tenting, and at just 260kg you could pull it with a small car, for example, a Morris Minor............😀
Nelson, my trusty but slightly tatty 4 door Moggy had been left in the care of the Brooks brothers in November of 2017. By New Year the original A series engine and gearbox had been removed and the replacement Triumph 1500TC engine installed. We even got to hear it running despite having no exhaust fitted and it fired up right away.
Speaking as someone with basic mechanical ability who can just manage an oil change or brake pads I watched in awe as Gus continued to somehow shoehorn vastly larger components into original spaces. The Borg Warner automatic gearbox is twice the size and 3 times the weight of the original, yet with careful fabrication of the original cradle it slotted up into the transmission tunnel without having to alter it at all.
From then on, the car started fighting back a bit. The steering column had to be moved slightly to clear the bell housing, with the carbs and exhaust being on the opposite side to the A series it required a custom made down pipe and exhaust system, all built in-house by Gus.
It's always the final details that are hardest and this was true of this conversion. A custom-built prop-shaft was made for it, and finding a suitable radiator that sat further forward of the new engine proved troublesome until a Peugeot 205 diesel radiator was suggested by a fellow Moggy owner. This worked and with some custom water pipes and a few other tricky jobs overcome he was ready to be collected early April.
Now my intention was never to create a "Hot Rod" - I simply wanted an automatic conversion with a tad more power to pull Doris the Caravan. However going from 48 bhp to 84 bhp was always going to be interesting in a 780 kg rear wheel drive car, so you ask, what's it like to drive?
The short answer is "Huge Fun"! It shoots off the line instantly, it has so much torque it barely uses 1st gear and goes for 2nd at 5 mph, what follows is a rorty and very rapid blast to 60 mph with very smooth changes. Between the twin carb induction noise and the large bore exhaust it's fairly loud, but in a good way; it keeps saying 'Go on ya wimp, push me some more".
Unfortunately I did just that and managed to get a speeding ticket in a 52 yo car, something I'm childishly proud of, and no doubt will be a source of amusement when I attend my speed awareness course - 53 mph in a 40 Your Honour.
During the Peak District tour of 11th to 14th May, the car covered 280 miles and it didn't miss a beat. On motorways, traffic jams and mountain roads it is more than capable of keeping up with far larger classic cars and I had a few fun white-knuckled blasts chasing the V8's on the tour with us. Gus's workmanship is top notch and everything he fitted and made worked flawlessly.
I now need to up rate the rest of the car to cope, number 1 being disc brakes on the front, closely followed by wider wheels and tyres. In my enthusiasm chasing aforementioned V8 Rovers, I hit the engine sump on a bouncy road and cracked it so that it started dripping, it's currently off being welded and I will be having the suspension raised by adjusting the torsion bars and fitting a sump guard.
It's a great fun car but possibly a little bit too powerful. I'm toying with swapping back to a single carb and adding a second exhaust box, this should detune it by around 10bhp and make him a less menacing-sounding brute. I'm now setting about improving his paintwork as he tours in rather exotic company 😀
by Gar Cole
I'd like to tell you about a man who - like you - I've never met, my Grandfather Charles (or Charlie as he was known) Young.
We have all heard stories about people who led quiet but often remarkable lives, touching the lives of many in their community with their actions. Yet with the passing of the decades their stories are somehow lost to all but a few surviving members of their family or friends. In case you were worried I'd started writing a blog for Readers Digest I can promise a pre 85 Brit vehicle features in this tale ... still with me?
Born the 4th of 11 children on Christmas day 1915 in the mining village of Penpedairheol, known locally as 'Cascade', like most mining communities they were extremely poor but close knit.
Everyone was willing to help out anyone else if they could, and as with most kids of the time Charlie left school at 14 going straight to work at the local mine at Penallta. He was rail thin and an extremely tall 6ft 5in by the time he was 16, definitely not an ideal height when you're digging out coal seams lying on your side at the coalface for hours on end.
Cars were an extremely rare sight in 1930s South Wales. What few taxis there were simply didn't go to these villages outside of Cardiff. Coal and milk were still delivered by horse and cart, and the only car one might see in a mining village belonged either to the Doctor or the Vicar. The steam train was the prefered mode of transport for those who could afford it, the once-yearly trip to the coast during the 'Miners Fortnight' holiday period.
Charlie had a very strong work ethic. He worked the standard 12 hour shift 6 days a week, often agreeing to work overtime to complete a 16 hour day, all powered by 8 jam sandwiches and a flask of tea. Being such a hard worker enabled him to financially care for his parents who could no longer work due to the effects of dust inhalation from years of working underground.
He also bought - after 7 years of saving - a Morris Minor fabric bodied saloon in 1936. Talking to my family all I know is it was built in the 20s and was a deep wine colour. As you can imagine this caused quite a stir in the village and tongues started wagging. "Who does that Charlie Young think he is? Driving himself to work every day like some of his betters. He's getting above his station if you ask me" and so on.
He was by all accounts quite the eccentric, often wearing a full length Swedish army trench coat and carrying a full size alarm clock in his pocket. The local kids naturally found this hilarious and would stop him often to ask the time just so he would take it out and set the alarm bell off. Charlie wasn't handsome, or a smooth talker, but he was kind, considerate and at 6ft 5 and with his own car he was someone you couldnt fail to notice.
Now the little Morris became a fixture of village life. Charlie would take people to hospital for operations, families to visit sick relatives and so on. In 20 years a total of 7 babies were born either in the car on the journey to the hospital or at the side of the road if there wasn't time to reach it. A knock at the door could come day or night.
The car also acted as the bridal car for nearly every marriage in the village, including his own when he married my grandmother Edith in 1939. Edith was the local 'Glamourpuss'. 5ft tall with a huge personality, head of the local choir and quite a successful singer in the local areas singing in town halls, dance halls and a few nightclubs in the city. They certainly made an odd couple but they were devoted and proved the old adage that sometimes opposites do attract.
With coal production being classed as an essential service, he wasn't called up for military service during WW2. Life continued as normal in the village with the arrival of my mother Julie in 1942. Like many others in the rural communities they also took in 3 evacuees from London and 2 from Bristol, from 1 to 6 children in as many months.
Mechanically gifted Charlie could fix most things and was in demand, especially with the growing popularity of cheap British motorcycles and sidecars that were starting to appear in the valleys. This included fixing a non-starting Royal Enfield 350 Bullitt owned by a 17 yo lad from the village called Gerry Cole.
I remember asking my Dad Gerry once what he thought of Charlie. Dad told me, "He came across as shy and simple, but was in fact probably the most gifted all round engineer / electrician in the village, yet he could barely write a sentence". With my mother being only 8 years old at the time I doubt she even registered with my Dad, however 11 years later when he left the RAF he certainly noticed her and they were engaged just 3 months later.
Unusually for the times my Mom was an only child by choice, in order to give her a better life; she had piano lessons and went to a private school. This raised more than a few eyebrows in the small community and her nickname of 'Princess Julie' was probably justified, so in 1958 devoted dad Charlie promised to buy Mom a new car the following year if she passed all the exams she was taking at the time.
Dutifully she did, and as 1959 rolled around she fell head over heels for the all new Austin/Morris/Seven/Mini that was being advertised in the press and all the fashion magazines that young girls devoured in the 50s. Mom passed her test in July 1959 aged 17 and fully expected to see a new Mini at Christmas, however.....
My grandparents announced the Mini would have to be delayed because a full 17 years after my mom was born, Nan was pregnant at 44 (this kept the village gossips going for months!). "WHAT?" shrieked my horrified mother, "you mean you and Dad still do that and your both in your 40s? errggghhhhhh"
Following my uncle Clive's arrival on New Years Day 1960, Charlie kept his word and in the summer of 1960 Mom got a nearly new Mini. She was also given strict orders not to drive it over 40mph, because as a grey haired Charlie said (and is now family legend) "Stay below 40 as those little 10" tyres will wear out too fast going around so quick, and I'm not made of money my girl, I have a baby to raise"..
Mining for 30 years between 1929 and 1959 it had taken its toll on his back and Charlie was now Head of Maintenance in the mine workshop. This job was physically less demanding but still kept him at the mine often for 14 hours a day, it also gave him the freedom to visit the pit ponies living at the mine.
It seems for most of his working life he had been sharing his 8 jam sandwiches with the horses/ponies, plus he used to buy them mints and other treats. In the days before animal welfare existed these ponies led a hard life underground, never seeing daylight. The men who cared for them looked after them fondly but all too often if one became sick or elderly it was often put down and a replacement brought in - something Charlie disapproved of.
He managed to rehome several of these ponies with local farmers' children and eventually adopting 3 himself, which grazed on the patch of ground behind my grandparents house. They could also wander off up the mountain with the wild mountain horses, which must have been heaven for them after years of living underground.
As the winter of 1966 approached, Charlie still owned the 1920s Minor Saloon. It had done him proud for 30 years, although in a similar way to 'Triggers Broom' it was on its 3rd gearbox, 2nd axle with many other parts 'knocked up by Charlie in the workshop. My parents were due to marry that November and encouraged him to get another car, but he wouldn't hear of it stating 'plenty of life in the old boy yet ' which proved to be an 'ironic' prediction.
Sometime in the late morning of 21st October, messages started flying around the mine that a landslide had buried a school in the village of Aberfan some 4 miles away. Immediately mining stopped and the workforce ascended to the surface to help with the rescue. A local transport firm brought in buses to help get the men to the disaster site, and Charlie managed to get 6 in the Minor plus a boot full of equipment.
He and hundreds of other miners and villagers spent the next 48 hours digging through the slurry and debris, with family bringing them food and drink to keep them going. Unfortunately no survivors were found after midday the first morning, and what followed was the slow recovery of the bodies of 116 children and 28 adults.
He returned home on the 3rd morning ashen faced, told his family he never wanted to talk about it again and it wasn't to be mentioned in the house. He retired to the spare room saying he needed some peace and quiet and to leave him be. My Grandmother took him some tea the following morning and found him barely conscious.
Charlie had suffered a heart attack in the night aged just 51. He was taken to East Glamorgan hospital where he spent 6 weeks recuperating, the longest time he'd done no work in 36 years and he drove the nurses mad. In the end they transferred him to the Miners Rest Convalescent Home (so they could have some peace no doubt).
Following my parents delayed wedding in December waiting for Charlie to be well enough to attend, he returned to work every day in his old war horse Morris Minor, but on restricted 6 hour days on light duties. He pottered away happily for several more years and looked after his now 5 adopted retired pit ponies.
He retired in 1970 aged 55; my parents were making plans to move to Birmingham over Christmas 1971 with my older brother and sister, and in one last selfless act, Charlie gave up driving and sold his Minor then gave the proceeds plus some extra he'd saved to my parents to put a deposit on their first non rented house in Birmingham.
The family moved to the Sparkhill area of Birmingham in January 72, Charlie passed away just a month later in February and a full 5 years before I was born. My grandmother kept 2 of the ponies after Charlie died and had the last one called ' Ginger right up to 1984. I used to have a sit on him when I was a little kid when we visited, different world back then.
I wish I could have met him. I find him interesting, and if you have read this far I hope you did too. Through hard work and being a generous person he improved the lives of his family and had a positive influence on nearly his whole community and circle of friends.
I find myself writing this some 46 years after he died, proud of him and also the proud owner of a Morris Minor 😀
by Gar Cole
After months of planning for and looking forward to this show, the morning of set up finally arrived. I was slightly on edge before setting off on the short drive to the NEC; we had made some last-minute changes to the design of the group banner and it still wasn't in my possession.
Also the day before, the 1931 Sunbeam motorcycle planned for our stand unfortunately had to withdraw from the show. From this point on events conspired to send my BP through the roof.
We have always met up in North Car Parks 9 or 12 an hour before the show so I can hand out all the relevant paperwork and passes (of which there are many).
Unbeknown to us, the organisers had changed the pre build up meeting point to South Car Park 5, which is fine if you know your way around the complex. Of course most of the guys didnt, so pretty soon my mobile was red hot with confused classic owners asking for directions. I flew over to S5 hoping to beat everyone there and direct them in, but failed as I was held up at the gate arguing with Security despite having all the relevant windscreen passes plus a disabled badge.
They insisted that rules had been changed and I'd have to pay a £50 deposit upon entry to the carpark which gives you an hour to unload your stand equipment and return the car or you lose your £50. We had so much equipment to unload and set up, I knew an hour wouldn't be enough. The security guy didn't endear himself to me by suggesting that if I had a disability maybe I shouldn't be there helping out...... not a good start.
Like Sir Gallahad on horseback, Phil Allin arrived in the Nick of time with our freshly printed 8ft banner. The wristbands and passes were handed out as we made our way to Hall 5. I don't know if you have ever seen several hundred over-protective classic owners descend on a building with only 4 doors, but it's a sure-fire recipe for chaos.
We told the door guard our pitch number. He gave me the sort of blank look a monkey has looking at its own reflection, then proceeded to load us into the wrong side of the building, telling us to drive between all the other folks - who were by now busy setting up their stands - in order to reach the other side. Their murderous looks quickly made me realise that a quick 'about turn' and retreat was the sensible option.
Upon reaching the correct side door of the building the second vacant-faced guard proceeded to halt us in our tracks as they had lost the keys and couldn't open it. The next 20 mins are something of a blur but I'm told it involved much moaning, whinging, shouting, swearing and arm waving (all done by me I must add ) until, appearing dramatically in a cloud of exhaust fumes the calming voice of our founder John Simpson told me to calm down and all would sort itself out - definitely the voice of experience.
From this point on, the gang started working like a well oiled machine. My modern was quickly emptied of carpet tiles, tables, banners etc and I shot back to the car park to get my £50 deposit back. I took my Chopper bicycle with me and had quite a laugh riding it back. Seeing a fat guy riding a kids chopper isn't something the NEC is used to and I got quite a few horn beeps and cheers.
By the time I got back to Hall 5, the stand was transformed. The carpet tiles were going down, the central carpet was in place, the poles and our new banner were already up and looking great! We decided to transfer the cool wall photos from a freestanding wall to the 'actual' wall of the building.
Finally the 6 vehicles were in place and it looked amazing, I knew it was good when people from other clubs left their own stands to come and look at ours. 'Proud as punch' is how I felt and for the guys too. The finishing touch was our displays of bikes at the front, 2 choppers and an Apollo with their baskets full of old style sweets, I had a feeling they would prove popular 😀.
We all set off for a well-deserved carvery lunch. Once I had made sure everyone was safely back at their hotels, my campsite/driveway or their own homes, I had to set off on the long drive to Southampton - I was working early on Friday morning, but I left Birmingham feeling happy & safe in the knowledge that we were in for a great weekend 😀
Mike Peake will pick up the story from here, as I was away in Southampton when the show opened the following morning.
by Gar Cole
The weekend of the Gloucester show was now upon me and I had failed miserably in my attempts to get both my booked display vehicles to the show. The Minor was off the road with a snapped leaf spring and burst tyre, despite my best efforts the classic 59 caravan I'm restoring also wasn't completed, needing a full repaint. I resigned myself to taking the modern car and caravan and our new Gazebo, but more of that later.
I arrived at RAF South Cerney around 7.30pm in howling wind and rain, the miserable and unhappy security officer with water droplets dripping off her nose refused to let me and others in as they were overwhelmed by new arrivals, but after half an hour of traffic chaos we were finally allowed into the car club camping area.
I set up pitch not far from Fat Bloke and organiser Mike Peake, Kev Thompson and a work mate of Mikes who had managed to pitch together. After pleasantries were exchanged we headed off for a circuit of the show arena to see what was there. It took the best part of an hour in the darkness but it soon dawned on us this was going to be a whopper of a show.
FREAKY FRIDAY 😱
Friday started off normal enough, I was awoken by a knock on the caravan door to say breakfast was cooking in Mikes abode. Very nice it was too, and the 4 of us made our way over to the group pitch to set up the gazebo and cars before the Muggles " sorry Public" started to arrive.
This was easier said than done as within 10 mins we were distracted by tractors, lorrys, military giants, vintage race cars and steam engines all heading for their respective areas. Finally we got our old 10ft smokey gazebo erected, but what of the posh new red 20ft gazebo I'd told you about before, I hear you ask? Well despite it being ordered from Germany 2 weeks beforehand, it's delivery date was between the Wednesday and Friday just before this show. It hadn't come by Thursday afternoon so I had to take our old one which isn't much good - in fact it was swaying ominously in the breeze from the start.
We had been joined by Mike's 2 daughters Sophie and Emily and we walked a tour of the show with them, via the bar tent of course, well it was 12pm at this point! Friday is the quietest day of the 3 and it became obvious with our extra members arriving that evening our wee gazebo wasn't upto the job. I'd received a text from my sister to say the new gazebo had been delivered that morning so with it only being just over an hour back to Birmingham I decided to go and fetch it while Mike and the others "manned the stand".
Did I say an hour? 3 hours later I arrived home after getting stuck in horrendous Friday afternoon M5 traffic. Pleased to be out of the car I bounded into the house to grab the gazebo before trying to get back to the show before others arrived around 6pm. My sister Sue then proceeds to hand me the box that had been delivered; it was no more than 20 inches square and weighed about the same as pair of shoes! I took a deep breath and exclaimed. "Are you seriously telling me you think this small box contains over 20ft of canvas and 16 metal poles, feet and pegs? " 'Hmmm' she replied, 'Have you ordered something else as well then?' " Does it matter if I've ordered 50 other items, it's pretty bloody obvious this isn't a full size gazebo" I wailed. Upon opening the box it turned out to be the small portable toilet I'd ordered for the 59 caravan.
Feeling my hands starting to form the "Strangle" position I contemplated 20 years in prison for murder on the grounds of temporary insanity, but instead I settled for calling her a 'Dozy mare ' and drove back to Gloucester in another 3 hours of traffic minus a gazebo and grinding my teeth the whole way. A 160 mile round trip for nowt! I arrived back on site and relayed my tale of woe several times to much laughter.
At this point Ian Woodward and Bernard Owen had arrived and my spirits were immediately lifted as Ian gave me a klaxton horn for my Moggy, then a drink was placed in my hand and I started to calm down as everything would be quiet now I was on site ... wouldnt it?
Now parked next to Mikes caravan were a couple in their tent, with a modern Mondeo with a trailer that was carrying their lovely blue MGB. They had unloaded it and parked it between the Mondeo and Mikes caravan. I had chatted briefly with them and they seemed nice enough, they jumped into the MGB and went for a ride to the local supermarket to get supplies.
No more than 5 mins later Phil Allin and Paul Cheetham arrived, Paul in his Mini and Phil pulling his modern caravan with his P5B, before I could say anything Phil pulled into the smallish gap left by the MGB, I pointed out to him and Mike that a car was there previously and the returning campers might not be happy. This was met with a coordinated shrug of shoulders so I piped down but I could hear that old song in my head " There may be trouble ahead, but while there's moonlight and music, and love and romance, lets face the music, and dance ".
just as the Merlot was starying to flow freely the MGB couple returned and the wife transformed into Cruella DeVille, saw Phils caravan and loudly shouted out the window " What T*** has parked in OUR space? " Now Phil is an easy going gent and calmly said it was his van but there was no need for unpleasantness as there was loads of room at the front or back of their tent to park the MG.
She was having none of it and continued to berate Phil for his selfishness at parking so close to their Mondeo that she couldnt even open the door to get in it (exaggeration ). Now at this point a remarkable transformation took place, even more impressive than Clark Kent into Superman. Mike lept to his feet and transformed into Jack Reagan. I've never seen Mike angry before but the Sarfff London accent came to the surface as he said " Oiiiiii, shut up, I'm a fat bloke and I can fit between the caravan and your Mondeo, give me the keys and I'll move it for you".
Now the husband who had remained quiet in the MG until now shouted out the window "You couldnt get a fag paper down that gap " to which Reagan ( sorry I mean Mike ) responded with a stern "Shut it!". The husband did as he was told and kept quiet, but not before Cruella rounded on Mike and got in his face saying " Dont underestimate me cause I'm a woman and small. I'll put you on your ar*e sunshine" somewhat bemused Mike walked off saying " anytime, I look forward to it " .
The rest of us watched all this drama unfold almost with our hands over our eyes, she stormed off to her tent loudly threatening to bash her car door into Phils caravan, after a few minutes an uneasy calm and silence decended as the adrenaline started to wear off. It seemed a good a time as any so I loudly exclaimed in a sarcastic voice to the rest of the guys, " I TOLD YOU SO ".
Cruella wasnt quite finished with us yet and continued to rant in a loud voice from her side of Phils caravan that we must be a car club and thats why they dont join them because its full of idiots, but her quote of the day was "They must be used to being crammed together in close proximity, bloody council estate scum". This reduced us to fits of laughter which rather took the wind out of her sails and she remained quiet for the rest of the evening, however her insult has now stuck with the group and we took great delight in calling each other Council estate scumbags at every opportunity. Her snobbery was so blatant you couldnt take the old battle axe seriously.
Part 2 " Slightly soggy Saturday and Superb Sunday " to follow soon.
by Gar Cole
You join me just after my 40th birthday in February, Nelson was an early present to myself, but with the weakness of his brakes I feared I'd not see 41, but more of that soon.........
Restoration continues at a pace in the little Holivan junior caravan, or ' Doris ' as she has been christened, the floor and roof structure have survived remarkably well, but the wooden frame below the window line was completely rotten due to the seals failing in the past, no choice but to chop it all out right back to the aluminium panels, a slow and boring task, but I'm winning the battle, frame is now done and new facia boards are going back on the walls
It is important to try and salvage as many parts as possible to preserve its originality, its tempting to rip everything out and replace it with modern items, with this in mind I spent hours gently cleaning the brittle 58yo plastic sink with a toothbrush and mild cleaning agents, also the road wheels which I had thought far too rusty to save had actually been given a new lease of life by Birmingham City Powder Coaters, very impressed with the results.
Mechanically the caravan now has new shocks, shoes and brake cylinders, cables freed and adjusted, 3 new tyres and the lights all rewired, wooden seat/bed frames are being made this week as are the custom made foam seats and coverings, curtains, carpet etc, its on schedule for its show debut on 4th August at our Gloucester steam show and I'll reveal the finished article close to that time on the website.
I had driven a few cars in the past with all drum brakes but they all had 'Servo's' , my brakes felt like somebody was holding their shoe against the tyre to slow you down, after 1 too many close calls and soiled underwear a full rebuild was done, the rear drums were full of oil, so it was only braking on the front only, new rear half shaft seals cured that problem with new shoes and cylinders all round plus the all important Servo kit installed, was it worth it?
Well on my first venture out to get some petrol a complete twerp in a high powered Audi ran a red light at the island and cut across my bonnet, both feet hit the brakes and the front end pitched down hard with a squeal from the tyres, I missed him by only a foot or 2, if this had been pre servo overhaul I've no doubt we would have collided in a nasty accident, the upgrade saved me but another pair of underwear was lost in the fear of the moment.
Everyone who has driven Nelson says how well it drives compared to other Minors they have tried, it does feel very solid and with it having a recon steering box, the trunions done and all bushes replaced with polyurethane items it does steer and corner well for a Mog, but I had been struggling to drive him far due to my arthritis, I feared selling was the only option and looking for a larger auto car, but I really like the Moggy and didnt want to part with him, I started putting the idea out about an automatic conversion, I wanted to keep the 1098cc engine for originality but those far cleverer than me said it wouldn't even be able to ' pull a toupee from Captain Picards baldy head '.
The 1275 A series engine and Borg Warner auto was suggested several times, although general opinion is that these are still sluggish and underpowered, besides when did you last see an auto Marina being broken for spares?
Then like a knight in shining armour ( or oily overalls ) group member Steve Boitoult came to my rescue, he offered me a fully running 1500cc twin carb engine and 3 speed auto from a Dolomite he's breaking, Steve did me the whole package including carbs, cables, sensors, oil coolers and mounting brackets for a very reasonable price, heard everything running prior to Steve removing it, arrangements were made to collect it a few weeks later, which happens to be today as I'm writing this.
Arriving at the Toy Shop owned by the Chuckle Brooks brothers I found myself in a rather charming country village, the sat nav said I had arrived at my destination, but I was sat outside a church, even more surreal were 2 cute donkeys eating the grass in the church grounds, now the Brooks toy shop does qualify as 'holy ground' for those of us less fortunate to have such a premises, but a church? A quick phone call to Tosh revealed I was in the right place and he would come and fetch me, I amused myself with the mental image of Tosh appearing on a Roman chariot, as it happens he arrived in the modern day equivalent, an Alfa GT in Bright red.
I followed Tosh down a wee side lane until we came across a foreboding looking iron gate, similar to the ones in Jurassic Park, with a deft wave of his hand the 20 ft wide beast creaked and rumbled sideways to allow us through, between there and the toy shop is the most fabulous private gravel track about 3/4 of a mile long, oh the fun that could be had if i was in Nelson.
The guys are storing the items for me until the winter time upon when the moggy will go to live at the toy shop while they make a start on him between other projects, for a start my 1098cc engine and box are going into their convertible Austin A30.
Big thanks to the Brooks for taking this on, no rush guys long as i have it back for march 2018.
Part 3 will pick this story up when the project gets underway.
by Gar Cole
I had been looking forward to this years Crich meet for some time. It had been such a success last year and I hoped for more of the same. I finished work at 3am Thursday night/Friday morning but struggled to sleep while buzzing about Crich.
Being a middle aged softy I had decided to abandon any form of canvas and take the family's 19ft caravan, leave it at the campfield, shoot home in the modern and return in the moggy, sounds a simple plan right..?
After returning to Brum I discovered my bank card was missing from my wallet, went into a complete panic looking for it, eventually retraced my steps to the petrol station who thankfully still had it in the kiosk. This however meant I wouldn't make the meeting point for our little convoy.
I phoned Paul Cheetham and Phil Allin and told them to carry on without me. It was at this point Phil pointed out his Rover P5b keys were in his works van and he wouldn't be able to leave until 5.30pm. I was starting to hear the Laurel & Hardy theme tune at this point ...
Nelson buzzed, popped and parped his way along the 58 miles to Crich without a hitch and i arrived at the camp field to see everyone set up and an impressive selection of classics ( including Phil and the P5b ).
'How did you beat me?' I enquired, he smirked and said "Well I may have touched 85 or 90 on occasion, and I have 4 more cylinders than you and more capacity". Nods of agreement came from the other 3 owners of V8 powered classics. Feeling like the guy with the smallest willy in the changing room i quietly parked Nelson consoling myself with his impressive 50 mpg and reliability.
After making some introductions to new members joining us including Ash with his cool Moke and Roger and Joan Tennyson in their beautifully restored Morris Oxford, it wasnt long before the BBQ and wood fire were alight under our communal gazebo.
I made my way to Tony Brooks latest toy, a Nash Metropolitan ripe for restoration. He mentioned repainting it, before he could say anymore I said "Hope its not that lurid turquoise and white you see them in?" He pursed his lips like he was sucking a lemon, realising I'd hit the nail on the head I back tracked by saying maybe a slightly darker green would suit it better. The lemon increased its bite on Tosh's lips before he said in his best yorkshire twang "It's turquoise or nowt".
Large amounts of cooked food, nibbles and alcohol followed in what was a very pleasant evening belatedly celebrating Phil Allin's birthday, ending around midnight.
My alarm woke me at 7am with the sound of heavy rain bouncing off the roof of the caravan. The air turned blue as I cursed our bad luck having heavy rain in June. As i looked outside I saw young Paul taking shelter under the gazebo, his tent having sprung a few leaks in the night.
Nevertheless as campers emerged from their tents, caravans and camper vans the show spirit kicked in. Engines were started, tables and chairs loaded, keys swapped to enjoy each others cars and we took off for the short drive over to the museum, deftly organised into order by Paul Cheetham we set up in our favourite spot around the band stand.
The weather started to improve and a better than expected 23 vehicles arrived. More of the general public arrived and soon started to appreciate the eclectic mix of vehicles our shows provide (including a Leyland coach ).
We all took full advantage of what Crich has to offer - trams, shops, restaurants and stunning scenery. At 1pm we were given permission to do a convoy up and down the village street; it was quite a sight seeing such a mix of vehicles together on a cobbled street. The gentle parp of exhausts and cheeky horns was shattered by Tosh Brooks revving up Lincoln Hunts monster Range Rover, can't take that bloke anywhere 😉.
The show drew to a close with Ian Woodward taking the prize for the 'members favourite car' with his stunning Zephyr.
All swapping keys again i found myself in Phils P5B, as our convoy made its way to the memorial located on the hillside next to the museum grounds. Once parked up it offered a truly amazing 360 panorama for photo opportunities .
Sunday presented itself in a much drier fashion but with considerably more wind than the previous day. Keen to get a good spot in the village Phil had one of the tram drivers open the main gates early for us.
We arranged ourselves around the main building near the entrance; the early birds who had been queuing in the side entrance were somewhat surprised to see our cars already set up as they arrived, but as the old saying goes ' its who you know that counts '.
A larger and more diverse selection of cars made up Sundays event, with some exceptional looking cars making an appearance, everything from an Alvis and a Traction Avant to a small coach that once belonged to the Queen Mother for transporting her staff between Royal residences.
Once again Crich showed itself to be an excellent venue for a car show as more and more visitors arrived and came to chat to us. Apollo the camper once again drawing attention from all quarters. My moggy, the Nash Metropolitan and the Moke made up a line of unrestored cars with heavy patina but still seemed to draw attention.
My final drive of the day was in the red XR3i owned by the Brooks and driven by Kurt Lawrence. He seemed to have fun in my Minor , slip sliding his way out of the field in a rear wheel drive car with only 145 tyres.
The XR3i was a treat to drive. It's been 20 years since I owned one and the memories came flooding back; low firm suspension, quick gearbox and whizzy and willing engine. There is something about those performance Fords that makes you feel good once you're behind the wheel.
My right hand man at these events, Mike Peake AKA Fat Bloke was sorely missed, but understandably was at home celebrating his 25th wedding anniversary. The rest of the campers made it an easy weekend all helping out in different ways and of course special thanks to Paul Cheetham for all his hard work on both days.
Thank you Crich - we shall be back!
by Gar Cole
My last blog ended with my Princess about to have yet more money spent on it. After a disastrous xmas period where the repaired suspension collapsed a further 3 times I decided to cut my losses after sinking over £2500 into the car and sold it to a fellow Princess enthusiast with more patience and deeper pockets than I have.
In the previous summer I had been given a 1959 classic caravan by my brothers 'father in law'. It is a charming and ridiculous 8ft long by 5ft wide, made by L & R Fisher this Holivan Junior was designed to be pulled by sub 1.3 cars of the era such as a Minor or A35 , weighing in at a featherweight 260kgs, it had been stored in a barn since 1985, it was in need of restoration even then but being stored for the last 30 years in the dry saved what was left of it, being a typical car hoarder now downsizing his collection the caravan and several cars went to new homes after never being 'gotten around to '.
I am in the process of fully renovating the caravan and plan to debut it at the Gloucester steam rally in August, question was what car would I get to pull it to shows?
Around October last year a friend mentioned he knew of a Moggy 4 door for sale by someone in the owners club, it wasn't perfect but a good car, arrangements were made and I went to see it, first glance he looked great, but on closer inspection every panel told the story of the last 50 years, a collection of rust bubbles, peeled lacquer, stone chips, moisture spots in parts that had been touched up over the years, perfectly described by Mike Peake as 'Gloriously Shabby' at a later group show.
However things vastly improved on the inside which is in very nice condition , it had been updated over the years with a heater from a classic mini installed, mini 2 speed wipers and heated rear window conversion plus seat belts front and back, a big wad of receipts for mechanical work carried out including the infamous 'trunnions' , he also had a full mot and drove spot on during the test drive, instantly charmed by this little car as have many others been before by its brethren I asked what he wanted for it, he showed me a valuation by his insurance for £2500 and indicated he was looking for close to that figure.
I felt this was a little high given the paint finish and asked him why he was selling it after spending so much on the oily bits, it seems he was in the army and was about to be deployed for another 6 months and has nowhere to store it and he didn't want to leave it out in the elements on what was a fairly rough housing estate, I put on my best sad face and said I couldn't afford 2.5K but if it was mine I'd properly care for it and take it to shows all year round while slowly restoring it one part at a time, I had £1100 in my savings account which is meant to be used for repairs on my 2 taxis as and when faults occur, so I offered that amount, he took my hand and shook it, with myself fully expecting him to wish me a good day and safe trip home, instead he said ' ok it's yours for £1100 if you promise to care for it'.
( Cue jaw on the floor moment )
Driving home the 60 miles from Aylesbury to Sutton Coldfield I couldn't believe my luck, yes it wasn't perfect but it was a decent car for little cash and after the money pit that was the Princess I looked forward to some low cost classic motoring, however..............
I didn't drive it myself on the test drive and was happy to be a passenger, however a few days after getting it home and sorting out insurance I looked forward to my first drive, opened the door and managed to get 1 leg and buttock in the car before I became stuck between the door frame and the original 18" steering wheel, imagine a Sardine trying to get back inside it's tin and you have the right mental image. Mortified I quietly ordered a nice 15" aftermarket steering wheel as an xmas present to myself and abandoned the test drive.
A few days after new year I fitted my shiny new (and smaller) 15in wheel and it's adaptor boss kit, it looked fab, I climbed in and arghhhhhh, despite it being 3 inches smaller it was a thicker rim and the boss adaptor brought it higher and closer that I'd imagined, the wheel now jabbed into my chest just under the rib cage, neatly making breathing difficult and controlling the car almost impossible, being a larger chap who had always fitted in modern small cars I never even gave a thought to not fitting in a classic small car, I swallowed my pride and carefully trawled the Internet until I found the smallest wheel I could find, an 11" Mountney wheel made for a ............. Go Kart.
Stop that sniggering at the back, at least I could fit in now and enjoy my first test drive which also happened to be my 40th birthday weekend shared with friends from our group, despite 'Nelsons' rough appearance every one had positive comments to give and made him star of the day at the Vulcan trust we visited, the car drove great but I could tell it needed some work doing which I'll cover next time if you're all interested 😀
by Gar Cole
Part 2 left off with myself on a high having steered the wedge through its MOT with no advisories, our group meet at Cosford loomed just a week later, having just had the suspension fluid changed and pumped back up I looked forward to the 30 mile drive.
I was awoken the morning of the show by rain splattering against my windows, cursing our bad luck at yet another wet event I none the less set off armed with umbrella and my RAC breakdown card.
To give the old girl credit she ran perfectly in driving hard rain, blower kept the windows clear and me warm, fearing I'd be the only member to show up I was pleased to see David Aikman and his Cortina GT follow me around the island as we left the M56, we were soon joined by 9 other hardy souls and their vehicles.
Good natured banter was then exchanged with folks surprised it had made it, everyone liked it's plush HLS interior but externally she was still an eyesore, as Mark Wilson so dryly put it 'now I've seen it in the flesh Gar I have to say...... It looks even worse than on the pictures ' ?
Determined to try and finish painting the car within a month I stripped out the interior the day following the Cosford show, Bressingham was looming and I had promised BL Dan Bysouth that I would bring it even if it was in pieces on a trailer, now the 4 doors, boot and bonnet are in decent condition as they are from a different car that was Zeibarted, however the original front wings and rear panels were not so fortunate and had more rusty pock marks than a teenagers face.
Armed with a cutting wire wheel I started removing the paint from the wings, filled at first with confidence as the layers of red disappeared followed by primer, excited as I waited for shiny BL steel to appear for the first time since 1981 I was quickly brought down to earth as the only thing that appeared was pitted rust.
Undeterred my amateur enthusiasm carried me on as I continued to sand the rust expecting to reach good steel when I was horrified to see the wire wheel break through the metal, this brought about an abrupt halt as I asked for advice from my friends at the local body shop, realising I was out of my depth with panels this badly corroded the job quickly turned to a 'preservation' job to keep the rust at bay for another 18 - 24 months until funds allow for a professional respray. All 4 panels were liberally coated in Vactan rust remedy before receiving 6 ' yes six' coats of hi build primer.
Working around the weather and when I had access to the paint booth, I painted the boot and 4 doors first along with the interior bare metal, I was happy with the results as the last week before Bressingham approached, however............
The 4 original panels were last to be painted, I had flattened down the primer with wet and dry and they looked fine, I couldn't see any defects in the dull yellow primer at all, loaded the spray gun up and as the first sweep of black came across the wing it revealed a 'moon scape' of pits, grinding grooves and dents I had missed, it was like witchcraft as every pass of the paint gun revealed more and more defects in the panels, frustrated and out of time I abandoned painting on the Thursday in order to refit the interior and pack the car Friday morning for the 140 mile drive to Bressingham in deepest , darkest Norfolk.
The nice drive to the countryside turned into a 5 hour ordeal with 10 mile tailbacks on the A14, however Princess Okk1 didn't miss a beat until the last 20 miles when I lost hydraulic pressure in the clutch, feeling more like a banana than a clutch pedal I nursed the gearbox with double de-clutching through pitch black, windy and wet Norfolk roads until the campsite loomed into view, yesssss we made it, thank you old girl.
The following morning I was assisted by Mike Peake, Phil Allin and Keith Lloyd who had my clutch bled and working within 5 min before we set off for Bressingham steam museum, I loved being part of a classic convoy ' it was my first ' and we certainly turned a few heads.
After a very enjoyable weekend camping the wedge was loaded up for the trip home to Sutton Coldfield, a trouble free 50 miles at a steady and smooth 60mph came to a spluttering halt at Kettering services, now it was at this point that the difference between breaking down in a classic compared to a modern car became clear, within 30 seconds group member John Hone pulled up behind me in his modern car, bewildered at his sudden appearance he sheepishly admitted he was lost and had spotted me on the A14 and had decided to follow me home, his crafty plan foiled by my breakdown, he very generously offered to wait until the RAC arrived but I let him go armed with directions back to the M1.
While awaiting rescue I updated my situation on the group to pass the time, within 10 minutes another modern car arrived carrying group member Mark Finney, they had been to a beer festival but diverted to check on me when they realised they were close by, our group is awesome and so is its members, the RAC man had the car running again after 5 minutes, a blocked fuel filter and pipes the culprit, it seems filling the tank to the brim for the first time in years dislodged a lot of rusty crud, she then drove home the remaining 70 miles without incident and redeeming herself with many friendly waves and smiles from fellow motorists.
Now I've owned the car for 12 months and had a few trips in her I'm certain of a few things, I'm smitten with the car and she's a keeper, the 300 mile Norfolk trip has shown up where more work and parts will be needed over the winter if I want a trouble free season next year, buying a near parts car isn't for everyone and it's tested me to my limits, however that is sometimes the only way to get a foothold into classic ownership and it is very satisfying saving a car from the scrap yard.
Next week we will return to the paint booth to rectify some of the original mistakes i made and dents i missed, and it will soon go to the specialists in Telford to have all 4 hydro units re gassed with Nitrogen to restore it's original ride quality, ongoing project that I'm really enjoying, updates to come in 2017 ?
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by Gar Cole
'To the MOT, and beyond'
Having arrived back home with my purchase I endured the usual first 24hrs of the neighbours offering their unsolicited opinions, much as expected it consisted of stories of build quality, strikes and how Auntie Mabel's gear knob has fallen off hers. Lesson one of owning a BL car - let your skin thicken.
Slightly overwhelmed at where to start on this car I attacked the simple bits first, a good jet washing removed several years of crud to reveal the true extent of the rust and mismatched panels. A weekend was spent carefully cleaning up the interior and re-pinning the headlining. It was nice to get out of the car clean instead of dirtier than before you got in, and under all the dirt the HLS interior was surprisingly nice.
Fortunately for me (and the car) I have a retired engineer living across the road who is a big help when I get stuck with a car problem, but even he had a look of trepidation when he clamped eyes on it, armed with a large pad and pen we attached a new battery and some new fuel hose and clamps to the Princess with the aim of making a list of jobs that required doing, gingerly we fired her up as the booming exhaust rattled the windows in the street.
What followed I can only describe as being similar to a 'blood splatter analysis' at a forensic crime scene, my spotless tarmac drive was dripped on by black spots, brown spots, caramel coloured spots, red spots and even a few rusty bright orange ones, it soon became obvious that most of the seals were about as fluid tight as a chocolate tea pot, while the two of us were distracted looking at the various oil leaks we failed to noticed the temp rising on the engine, due to two factors, the gauge didn't work (more of that later) and neither did the cooling fan which failed to cut in at all, investigations came to an abrupt halt as the majority of the foul smelling orange radiator water ejected itself from the overflow in a spectacular steamy cloud.
'Princess?' Exclaimed Chris, 'More like a Diva if you ask me'
It soon became obvious that this car required a lot of work (surprise surprise) , if I wanted it to be reliable and enjoyable to drive then there could be no half measures, over the following winter months the head was removed and sent for reconditioning, I has a custom made exhaust fitted, carb rebuilt, alternator and starter motor reconditioned, all new belts, leads, plugs, distributor, coil, water and oil pumps, new joints on the power steering pipes, brake and fuel lines replaced, new gaskets on the sump and differential housings, all this took longer than expected due to the prolonged wet winter we have just experienced, however by March all these parts had been fitted along with a Leyland ST fast road cam I had found at an auto jumble, still confident I would have it done in time for the Crich show in May I felt it must be now close to being ready for its mot??? FOOL!
Having now fitted twin cooling fans and a new thermo switch in the rad I felt confident that we would avoid a repeat of the overheating problem, once again the engine was run upto temperature and I enjoyed a brief drive reversing it back and forth up the drive without fear of explosion this time, Chris said to me 'what gauges and lights are working?' Apart from the speedo not a single gauge worked, or any of the warning lights, heater fan, interior lights or heated rear window, totally dead inside, externally the brake lights didn't work and the sidelights flashed with the hazards.
As I sat there with my head in my hands dreaming of a Rover P5 or MK1 Granada fully restored I tried to reason with myself this was to be expected with a scrap yard car and to not give up, suddenly I noticed all the gauges had filled up with smoke behind the glass and acrid plastic smoke was coming out of the vents, I switched off the engine immediately and pulled off the negative lead from the battery as the car slowly filled with smoke. Sue came out of the house and being a woman not the mince her words pointedly said ' let's hope it keeps burning, it's an eyesore ' this its fair to say was a low point and I almost gave up, if someone had offered me a few quid for it with the promise of finishing it not breaking it then I would have accepted.
Now I didn't know that OKK 160W is quite 'infamous' in Princess circles, it has been the subject of several lengthy blogs by previous owners, one of whom returned it to the road in 2012 by rebuilding it with parts from 3 other Princess models, original it is not, however the blogs did provide a reference of what had been done 'badly' to the car during this time, including a complete dashboard and interior change, having seen how poorly fitted the replacement body panels were I concluded that anything these people had touched would be a 'bodge up' , including the non functioning dashboard which had just burnt out, Crich was out of the question ?.
April and May came and went as did the Superb Crich event, I wasn't in the best of health at that time and lost a little interest in the old Wedge, however after a holiday away my interest reignited and a professional electrician rewired the dashboard for me, the fire had been cause by parts of the original loom being cut and reattached with insulating tape during the dashboard swap, i managed to trace the cross wire that was causing the flashing side lights and a new brake pedal switch fixed those lights, at this time I also relacqured the dashboard and fitted an Astrali 4 spoke wheel I had aquired, at this point all seemed ready to go, just 1 week to the Gaydon show on Saturday July 9th it was booked in for mot on Thursday, just 2 days before so it was tight but I was feeling confident.................................?
On the day before mot I noticed oil leaking from the gasket on my fuel pump, Princess cars should have an electric pump and sender in the tank, however 'Father Ted' the previous owner hadn't been able to locate one when the original failed, so took it upon himself to remove the whole unit from the tank, take of the blanking plate from the engine and installed a mechanical fuel pump as used on older O series engined cars, this is the reason my fuel gauge is the sole non working dash item now, fearing my mot was in doubt I quickly went to the shop Thursday morning to buy a tube of instant gasket, thinking I had 6 hours before the test I started undoing the bolts holding the pump on ready to reseal it, as I teased the pump away from the engine the bakalite spacer shattered into 8 pieces with 2 dropping down the opening and into the top of the engine.
ARGGGHHHHHHHHH, the car is the spawn of Satan I wailed, needless to say I missed my MOT and the chance to drive it to Gaydon. Despite my crushing disappointment at missing taking it to another of our shows this fault was sorted fairly easily in the following week and after another much needed holiday away from the 'cursed one' she passed her MOT on Friday 12th August with no advisories.
Would I do it all again? Well ask me after part 3 when the cars been resprayed which is happening over the next few weeks, will it be trouble free job? Will I get the front brakes to stop sticking and have the suspension pumped up in time for RAF Cosford in just 4 days time? Well time will tell.......
If you enjoyed Gar's blog ....
... please support the group by donating or buying from our shop - all profits help us to keep the show on the road.
by Gar Cole
Having only restored 1 car in the past, a Rover SD1 Vanden Plas V8 EFi that I bought from group member Charlie Badams, I had fallen into the trap of believing I could take on anything, trouble is that Charlie sold me a very solid car to start with, mechanically and structurally sound, it was mostly basic parts to replace, refit interior and blow it over in the original colour, it looked a million dollars with much ' back patting ' from all that saw it, wahayy Gar the super restorer, fast forward 4 years, the car was sold, I was an admin of this fine group, I had no classic car and I was sat in our apartment in Spain slightly drunk when the phone rang.......
'Alright bro' came the greeting from my brother in his bizarre Brummie/Dorset hybrid accent, I was on a farm near Seaton today and saw this Princess, the old boy indicated he was interested in selling it as it's too much for him to take on. 'Does it run?' I asked, 'Barely' came the reply. 'Colour?' 'Well it's sort of red but most of the panels are different shades of it, that's what I can see of it under the dust, mud and seagull poo'.
I took another good gulp of my Vodka before saying the immortal words ' offer him £300 for it and not a penny more' said my good night's and hung up before sleeping all night on the sofa.
The following morning I awoke with a bad back and even badder head and no memory of the previous nights phone call, until the second call came that afternoon to say it was all mine, oh good lord I thought to myself, what have I let myself in for?????
Being an honest sort who would never back out of a deal I arranged to collect the car the following weekend after flying home, the trailer was hired and off I set for darkest rural Dorset, the place was so remote the sat navigation gave up directing me some 1/2 mile from the farm and advised me to do a 'U turn' , that may have been sound advice from what followed.
The owner emerged from one of the barns looking every inch the character from 'Father Ted'. Wild curly white hair, wonky eyes, wellies ripped jumper and a pipe, speaking in the broadest Dorset accent which I'll only attempt this once he boomed ' Arrrrr ye lost or can oii elp eee with sumthin? ' quickly I explained who I was and that I was here for the car, he gave me a gappy toothed grin and led me to the barn and flicked a switch so that 8 dusty fluorescent lights blinked into life revealing the car in question.
It was every bit as rough as Neale described, I climbed inside, the roof lining was sagging so far it nestled around my head and shoulders making me look like an extra from a Bonnie Tyler video. After Father Ted connected a booster pack she fired up on the third attempt with a deafening roar, the exhaust had more holes than a good cheese, I slowly rolled out into daylight with instructions not to run it for long before loading it, so I took off down the lane in second gear, exhaust blaring while trying to see through the roof lining that was doubling as a wedding veil and the growing cloud of smoke coming from under the bonnet.
A hasty retreat to the barn found his holiness clutching holy water in the former of a 'fire extinguisher' , inspection under the bonnet revealed decent quantities of petrol flooding out of the carb joints all over the exhaust manifold causing the aforementioned smoky cloud, after making sure nothing was on fire I swept the cobwebs, dust and fluff from my hair that the headlining had deposited earlier, loaded the Princess onto the trailer and bid Ted goodbye, he waved the wad of £300 I had just given him at me and said ' best of luck young un, best of luck'.
I made the short 15 mile drive to my brothers house near Lyme Regis to stay for the night before heading to Brummie land the following morning, as I arrived in their rather nice neighbour hood I was met with laughter from my brother due to actually going through with it, horror from his wife who was worried the neighbours would see it and suggested maybe it could be covered overnight, my plummy accented 9yo nephew then guffawed ' oh uncle Gar you are a hoot buying tat, I shall have to call you Uncle Steptoe from now on'.
After stopping myself from kicking him up the backside with my 'size 12 boot' I retired to their house for a large drink, thinking the day was ending in a similar way to the one that got me into this situation in the first place.
Part 2 to follow
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