Last time if you remember I'd just bought a genuine WW2 staff car. No, not really but the attention the camouflage painted Vitesse attracted would have been hard to beat even if I had. It never failed to elicit comments wherever I went in it, one or two that could be repeated in polite company but far more that couldn't. Being blessed with skin that matched my head these usually ran of me like water off a duck.
 
Apart from the comments I found the whole Vitesse experience really satisfying. With the 2lr.engine in fine form it had a very respectable turn of speed, was pretty comfortable ride wise and had the usual Triumph wood dash to admire when not making forward progress. All in all not a bad place to be at all. Bit like a Ford Scorpio really, you can't see the outside when you're inside. I did have a few hairy moments finding out just how far you could push the back end before it cried enough, but apart from that it handled pretty well.
 
One unfortunate and to my mind unwarranted effect of the paintjob was the attention it attracted from the boys in blue. For a car that was supposedly meant to blend into the background it did the exact opposite with them. If I wasn't pulled at least once a week it was a rare thing.A typical exchange would be along the lines of.
 " This your car Sir?. "Yes.", "Name and address please Sir.", "Brian Allison etc.", "On official business are we Sir?", "Pardon?", "Just wondered where the war was that you were in such a rush to get to." or another favourite, "Suppose you thought I wouldn't see you". Everyone a gem!

Must admit though that after many roadside MOT's they seemed to finally realise that everything about the car was totally legal and ceased to harass me on anything like a regular basis.

​During this period the firm opened two new readymix depots, one in Manchester close to Belle Vue, the other in Preston. Brighouse being the nearest group garage we took on the responsibility for these two as well. The workings of corporate minds has often led to much head scratching on my part, and this was just one such occasion. Even with the new motorways Manchester is about a 30 mile trip, and Preston about another 20 or so miles further. So a breakdown in Preston meant it was hardly going to be attended to very quickly. However, as they say, ours not to reason why.
 
The mixer trucks we had were all fitted with Ford 4D donkey engines that drove the actual mixer drum and these and their drive accounted for the majority of call outs we got. A common occurrence would be a call saying a driver had got on site with a load and the donkey engine would not start or had suddenly stopped. Now a lot of the time this would be a genuine problem caused by the starter motor or wiring faults, but on more than one occasion I arrived to find the donkey engine completely seized. First check  was to dip the oil. In every case the oil level was near enough correct, but unlike any diesel engine I've ever worked on the oil would be a lovely translucent coating on the dip stick. Of course the driver checked the oil according to his check list that morning.
 
In a case such as that the drum was totally immovable and the main priority was to get the concrete out of the drum before it set. This was achieved by removing the inspection hatches on the drum and calling the local fire brigade to find out where we could go for them to wash the concrete out with their power hoses. A messy, expensive business and all for the sake of five minutes. The usual punishment for the drivers was to have to get into the drum with a needle gun and clean away any concrete still stuck in there, it must have been hell for them with the dust and noise but I bet they never failed to check their oil levels again.
 
What the hell has that got to do with Cortina's?, you may well be asking. I'm coming to that.

About a couple of months after the theft of my Cortina I was called out to a breakdown at the Manchester plant. Exiting the plant and stopped at the T junction I spotted a really good looking Mk2 Cortina in the approaching traffic, same red as mine had been. Looking on enviously as it got nearer and passed by I was amazed to see it was identical, right down to the number plate. Unable to follow it due to the busy main road traffic I drove instead to the nearest phone box, called the police and reported that I'd seen a stolen car and where.

Not hearing anything after a couple of days I called the insurance co., told them the tale, asked if they'd been caught, and if they had could I buy the car back. It turned out that they had recovered, undamaged in Manchester a few days after they issued me with the cheque, and rather than offer me the chance to buy it back they'd put it in the auction. I'll refrain from saying what I called them bit it certainly wasn't complimentary. They say every cloud has a silver lining and that was certainly true about my cloud. Unfortunately the silver lining was to the benefit of the lucky sod who bought a  pristine Cortina at auction.
 
The only Cortina I got to drive for a while after that was the MK 3 company car of Jack, the manager. The first time I drove it on the motorway I was appalled at the handling. At speed it developed a motion on the front suspension rather like a corkscrew, almost as if it wanted to turn over on alternate sides. Jack reckoned it had always been like that from new and that the agents reckoned it was nothing to worry about and quite normal.

Whilst on a trip to Thomson's, the mixer manufacturer, in  Bilston Wolverhampton to pick up spares the gear lever came off in my hand and had to temporarily refitted with a piece of wire tying it into the gearbox turret, which did nothing to improve my rating of it. It also suffered from paint peeling from the front wing noses that had to be repainted under warranty. All in all I thought they'd have been better sticking with the MK 2.

Another strange fault that occurred on a Ford was the case of the Area Managers MK1 Granada. This was a V6, 2.5ltr model. He rang the garage and told us that he'd been driving along when he heard a bang and the car stopped dead. When we looked at it the engine was seized solid so we decided to strip  it and see what had happened, and here comes the weird bit which we never got a satisfactory explanation from Fords for although they did provide an exchange engine free of charge which to our minds spoke volumes.
 
The cause of the abrupt seizing was a cylinder liner that had fallen down and fouled the crankshaft. Which was rather strange because as far as  we could find out the Essex engine didn't have liners but was bored directly in the block. Strange but I assure you totally true. We could only assume that a liner had been fitted to salvage a block that had some fault when initially bored.
 
As I mentioned earlier in this series we also had two Ford D1000 tippers and I'm afraid that they also did nothing to enamour me to the post MK2 Cortina Fords. I'm sorry if that offends any fans of the blue oval but it is my honest assessment of that period, although I did have a Mk4 Cortina for a short while and found that perfectly adequate if a little uninspiring.
 

Firstly apologies to anyone who read part 5 of this tale of an impoverished, overworked apprentice in the 50's and found yourself wondering about the trailer at the end - Next time 1989 and the launch of THAT car - you may be racking your brains trying to deduce which car was launched in '89 that warranted the description.

Relax, it was a typo, should have been '59, which means quite a few of you can easily guess which car I meant. So, to the story.

1959 started with yet another new model for us to ooh! and aah! over. This was the second of the Farina Austin's, the A55 Cambridge Mark 2. What a departure from the previous A55 model, longer , wider, much more spacious and FINS!, something I'd only ever associated with big yank tanks. When the mechanics had finished poring over it I got a chance to have a good look and sit in it myself, which confirmed my first impression.

​Big comfy seats, big windscreen, big everything compared to the old one. Apart from one thing, the engine! This turned out to be the same 1.5 B series as the Mark 1 but now fitted with a SU carb to wring another 3 or 4 Horsepower out of it. The unanimous verdict was that this car was a winner, the salesmen were almost wetting themselves. So a good start to the year.
 
And it got better. In March we took delivery of the first of the replacement for the A95, another unmistakably Farina design, the new A99 Westminster. Although mechanically very similar to the old Westminster it was an impressive looking thing, especially as the first one we got was finished in black, quite ministerial looking. This was where I first heard courtesy of our Granadian friend Mick, the phrase, " Big, black and beautiful". In later years I often used the same phrase to describe my P5B. Again the new model was greeted with all round approval and all seemed set fair for a very happy year sales wise.

Atkinsons had two operations, one was the car workshop where I worked and the other was a body and commercial works at the other end of town, coincidentally much nearer to my home. I made what I considered a very well reasoned request that I be transferred to the commercial operation to allow me to gain experience on both diesels and commercials. Seemed reasonable enough to me but not unfortunately to our Mr.P. Request refused and back to square one. I still found the actual work enjoyable but had a growing sense of discontent.
 
By now it had rolled round to August and still no answer to my driving lesson dilemma, but the mood was lightened somewhat by the launch of yet another new model, which although we did not realise it at the time was to change the face of motors as we knew them. The new Austin 7 or as it quickly became known,  Mini, had arrived!

If you are paying attention you'll know that I'd just re-commissioned and re-sprayed my bargain buy Mk 2.

​The newly concreted drive was courtesy of the job. Any readymix company frequently finds itself with surplus concrete to dispose of, mainly due to over estimated orders. In such cases the customer of course still has to pay for the full amount whether they use it or not. As a consequence of this a list was kept of people who would take smaller amounts at short notice and discount prices.

​Usually these waste sales were put into a pot and shared among the workers for a bit of a Christmas booze up. When we bought the newly built house (£2,950) the drive was going to be an extra £150, in the event it cost me about £25 plus a pint or three for the mate who helped me lay it. Even allowing for inflation it would be great to have those prices now.
 
Anyway there I was pleased as punch showing off my gleaming new steed to all and sundry, and basking in the praise for a job well done. The Cortina ran like clockwork for about 2 months or so until......

We were in an amateur dramatic group at the time and rehearsing for the next production two nights a week. The hall were we performed was directly opposite the multi storey car park, so parking was never an issue. This particular night I arranged to meet Anne there after I finished work as the rehearsal was for 7.00 o'clock. I parked as usual in the multi storey, noticed Anne had parked on the road outside the hall,got through the rehearsal and leaving Anne at her car and telling her I'd see her at home went into the car park for the Cortina.

​When I'd arrived I'd been running a bit late, so when I saw a space where I thought I'd parked I just put it down to being rushed and thought I must be on the wrong level. Not so! After searching all four levels and the street I had to admit to myself that my , by now beloved, Cortina had been stolen. Fortunately the Police station was only about 5 mins. walk, so off I went.
 
Arriving at the station I was greeted by that quintessential English sight, a completely deserted front desk, which remained that way until I rang the bell for a second time. This prompted the arrival on the scene of a quintessentially English Desk Sergeant. He proceeded in a leisurely fashion until settling himself behind the counter he eventually asked me if he could help me.

​I started to tell him about my stolen car, only to be interrupted while he found the correct form to use. After taking down my own details, name, address etc., we finally got round to details regarding the car. "Make?", "Ford", "Colour", "Red", "Model", "Cortina" , a quiet chuckle, then, "Ah, the favourite". I can't tell you how good it felt to find some-one who found some humour in the situation. Barely able to stop myself joining in his chuckles, or was it barely being able to stop myself trying to strangle him, we eventually got it all down on paper. His parting words as I walked out were, "Don't hold your breath". so I set out to catch a bus home and break the news to Anne that she'd be catching the bus to work for a while. That went down well!

I notified the insurance co. the next morning and was told that if it didn't turn up within three weeks they'd pay me out average market value. Average! After all that time and effort it felt like an insult.

I didn't have the cash to buy another car so had to wait the three weeks until the cheque arrived. I looked for a Cortina in comparable condition but they were all too dear, so off to the auctions I went, and finished up buying a Vauxhall Victor. The Victor looked really good and I was feeling pleased with myself for having bought a bargain. For all of two days.

The Victor obviously had a bit of an artistic streak, because it decorated my nice clean concrete with a beautifully shaped oil stain. This turned out to be from the rocker cover, so I fitted a new gasket. The following day it was leaking again and after close examination I found the rocker cover was warped, so I fitted a new one.

Within two or three days it then decided that three cyls. were quite sufficient and checking the plugs I found one of them resembling a wet afro wig. It ran for a couple of days then fouled up again. By this time I hated the sight of it, sat there seemingly mocking me every time I looked out the window. It had to go! And go it did, straight back into the auction with a new set of plugs I fitted about 200 yds. from the gate. If I felt any guilt at all about selling such a lemon it was tempered by the thought that nobody had felt sorry for me when I bought it.
 
The whole Victor fiasco left me seriously out of pocket, so when I was told about some-one selling a 2ltr. Triumph Vitesse that I could afford I was round there double quick. No impulse buying this time. I went through the Vitesse with a fine tooth comb. And - found absolutely nothing wrong with it. No oil leaks, no knocks,no rattles , no rot, all instruments and switches working and driving perfectly.

​The lad who was selling it was at university which brings me to the one thing I wasn't keen on. The colour scheme. For some reason known only to himself and whoever supplied him with whatever he was on at the time he'd decided to customise the paintwork. Now you're probably thinking it was something outrageous like dayglow orange or some such. Oh no, he'd been much more inventive - it was in camouflage complete with the Allies white star on each door and the bonnet. Different to say the least. I didn't fancy the idea of another paint job, especially with the amount of time it would take to remove the paint now on it, BUT, I told myself, it's in perfect condition apart from that, and the test drive had been great. A really enjoyable car to drive, so I bought a Vitesse masquerading as a world war two staff car.
 
Next time :- more Cortina capers.

After I left Wimpenny's I didn't have much to do with the Cortina's, save the odd service on Anne's father's car. That is until we jump to 1975, which finds me a responsible?, married, mortgaged young man running a 2ltr.Triumph Vitesse, and working on fleet maintenance for a ready mix concrete company

Steetly had a large number of ready mix plants throughout England, plus quarries and chemical plants and later became part of what is now Redland.PLC. One could be forgiven for thinking that  such a large thriving concern would have thoroughly modern facilities : not so! The garage at Brighouse was what I'd describe as functional but in no way luxurious. A large shed with a long pit, small office in one corner, even smaller canteen area in the other corner and the stores , compressor and generator in built on lean to's.  There was mains electricity, the generator had been installed in 1973 due to the three day week imposed by the government.

​Our younger readers who don't know what I'm talking about should Google it, they may find it gives them some insight into what life was like in the 70's, it wasn't all glam rock! One thing we did lack was mains water. Tea being an absolute necessity for the smooth running of any garage this meant we had to bring in fresh water on a daily basis. This was done from the local café along with the best bacon and tomato teacakes I've ever eaten. Before anyone starts  casting aspersions about strange eating habits I should point out that contrary to  most of England, in West Yorkshire a tea cake is a plain bread cake and does not contain currants. The washing facilities could only be described as primitive consisting of a 45 gallon drum which was outside so as to catch rainwater off the roof. Any other water needed came courtesy of the canal.  
 
The site had originally provided access across a canal bridge to a gravel pit operation which was now flooded and used as a fishery stocked with trout. The ready mix plant was sited on the opposite bank of the canal and drew it's water directly from it. Above the ready mix plant was the garage, and directly across from that was a large barn with a pit that served as a overflow garage when needed. Also on the site was the regional lab facility where sample concrete cubes were tested. The area served by us covered West and North Yorkshire where we had about 6 ready mix plants and about the same number of quarries which supplied the aggregate for the concrete. The mixer fleet was mainly Leyland Reivers with a couple of Fodens and later on two Ford D1000's. The latter it must be said gave more trouble than any of the others. The tipper fleet again was mostly Foden. This was were I came to appreciate just how good Gardner engines were.
 
So you've got the background, now to the Cortina.
 
When I started at Steetly's I noticed a dust covered 1967 MK2 Cortina parked outside the Lab looking rather sorry for itself. When I'd been there a few months and settled in I found out that the Cortina belonged to one of the junior lab technicians called if I remember correctly his name was Mark. The body work had a fair few battle scars but nothing majorly wrong with it, and Mark said it had been stood for over a year after the front suspension struts had started knocking and ceased doing their job. He'd started using a motorbike as it was a lot cheaper and he preferred the bike anyway. I was definitely interested. Although he assured me that it had been running perfectly apart from the struts I wanted to be sure before buying it, so fitting a spare battery and checking the points, I tried the starter and was pleasantly surprised when after only a few cranks the engine spluttered into life.

​It quickly settled down to a steady tick-over and when revved sounded perfect. When I tried to select a gear however all I got was a terrible clatter and a stalled engine. The clutch was obviously not working and a quick check of the release lever movement confirmed my suspicion that the centre plate was stuck to the flywheel. Starting it in gear I proceeded to drive it around the yard , all the time changing up and down gears to try shock the centre plate free. It did eventually break free and operated perfectly afterwards. This little exercise also confirmed that the gearbox synchro's were in excellent order. So I bought myself a Dark red 1600 super. I can't remember what I paid but it can't have been much knowing me.

​Life at Atkinson's had settled into a nice routine by and large, although I couldn't work up any enthusiasm for Saturday mornings. I couldn't then and still can't imagine now, working in a tyre shop.

I found struggling with tyre levers, repairing inner tubes that at times resembled patchwork quilts and washing and polishing cars absolutely boring. The only occasional relief was the odd water fights , tolerated to a degree by Norman, but regarded as, "Absolutely outrageous behaviour" in the view of the afore mentioned pompous prig of a manager. In light of some of the things that went on a bit of a water fight was small beer indeed.

Anyone familiar with early Land Rovers will know how long the starting handle is for them. Now imagine a standard boiler suit of the kind we wore then, buttons up the front, though I imagine a zip fastened one would be just as effective. If you catch the loose fabric at the back of the suit with the starting handle and wind it up it becomes a very effective straight jacket. If you then clamp the other end in a bench vice the victim is completely helpless.

​That was what happened to one apprentice who got a bit too lippy. Either Geoff or Brian was the mechanic who did this but I can't be sure which now. Left there for a few minutes it did wonders for your loose lip. On another occasion I was  the victim of the other apprentices when they locked me in the toilet. They were amazed when I re-appeared Houdini like within a few minutes, they hadn't realised I had a screwdriver in my rule pocket, the hinges were off within 5 minutes.

All horseplay aside I was learning fast, especially on some of the earlier models we got to work on. One that sticks in my mind was an early Land Rover that we completely overhauled. Everything that could be checked was and any repairs needed were done. I made so many trips to the store on that job that for years afterward I could recite the chassis number at the drop of a hat.

​Another was renovating the auto lube system fitted to a P3 Rover owned by the father of James Mason, the Huddersfield-born film star. For anyone who finds the auto lube reference baffling here's a pic to explain it. 

​If you imagine the number of grease nipples on the average pre war car, and then imagine a network of rigid and flexible small bore brass pipes running to each and every one of them, you get some idea of what the job entailed. Every pipe and union had to be removed, cleaned and in many cases unblocked then refitted or replaced.

When I asked Colin in the stores for replacement unions he was unable to help at all and passed me onto Arthur, the stores manager. He then called old Fred over. Fred normally did not serve in the stores but kept the stock records, none of which showed the parts I needed. "No problem" said Fred, "Come with me". He led me upstairs to the large second floor which extended over the showroom and stores. The general offices were at one end, then a large open space which was used to store a number of cars, located there by means of a lift from the showroom below.

​I'd been  amazed when I was told that this lift which had a large central ram was actually water powered. The wonders of hydraulics. Anyway, back to the job in hand. At the other end of the floor was a partioned off area That I'd never given any thought to. Turned out that this was where any parts taken off the stock lists were stored, and it seemed only Fred knew what or where said parts were located. He had me fixed up in no time, and amazed me by his recall of part numbers for them all. Prior to this, I'd always dismissed him as just a stock clerk and it taught me a valuable lesson; experience can't be bought and should be given the respect it deserves.
 
Talking of lubrication we also did two or three jobs relating to stiff steering, again on Rovers. The king pins on the Rover do not, unlike most kingpins require greasing. They are designed to be oil lubricated, and some owners seeing the plugs on the kingpin housing assumed they were blanking plugs in greasing points. Consequently they removed the plugs, fitted grease nipples and got to work with the grease gun, hence the stiff steering.
 
In September of that first year  the Rover 3 Litre was launched! What a machine! The sight of this beauty had us all drooling. We'd thought the P4 was a magnificent car but this was even bigger and better, the interior was sumptuous, leather and wood, thick carpets, seats so big and comfy looking, and a thoroughly modern looking instrument binnacle. And it had an upgraded version of the engine that started it all. It was love at first sight for me. I've been fortunate enough to own and drive a multitude of different cars since then but the P5, in all it's versions is still my number one.
 
The first few P5's we got had drum brakes all round and after a short period this was changed to discs at the front. The early cars were brought in to be converted and apart from that I don't recall any problems with them from the word go.
 
Talking of drum brakes, why on more recent cars are the self adjusting mechanisms so complicated? Prior to discs the self adjustment on the Rovers was simplicity itself and never gave problems. This consisted of two friction washers, one either side of the brake shoe. The washers were on a boss that passed through a slotted hole in the shoe and engaged with a peg on the backplate. Press the brakes and the friction washers hold the shoe in that position; release the brake and the play allowed on the peg enables the shoe to retract enough to clear the drum. Simple.

The hand brake was rather novel too with a ramp, roller and tappet arrangement built into the rear wheel cyls. Another system that worked very well and provided the right grease was used was pretty trouble free.

Christmas 1958 proved to be another giant step in my education. I was now 16 and everyone at work knew it. This did not however stop them introducing me to a completely new pastime - the pub! Whether the landlord of the Sportsman's Arms directly across from the garage either knew or cared how old I was I don't know, but he never passed any comment when we all trooped in for a few drinks before the holiday.

The chap who worked the lube bay was called Mick, not as he'd been quick to tell me from the West Indies, he was from Grenada. I'd looked it up and found that it was officially a part of the West Indies but could understand his attitude. A bit like Yorkshiremen being called English. He was the one who bought me my first ever rum. I hated it, still do. Sticking to beer I managed to walk out unaided and made my way home to a knowing smile from my father, a few sharp words from my mother, and a very early night.
 
Next time :- 1989 and the launch of THAT car.       

It's now 1968, Anne and myself are now engaged, and apart from the occasional drive in her father's Cortina I've not had a lot to do with them.

The garage I worked at had given up the Rootes agency and taken on not one, not even two, but four JF's :- Datsun, Alfa, Peugeot and NSU. All four had their strong points and the NSU Ro 80 in particular was quite a departure after the Rootes products. After changing one Ro 80 engine too many I developed a case of itchy feet and started looking round for a change of scenery which duly arrived in the form of fleet maintenance for a prominent local civil engineering company.( Posh way of saying builders that did a lot of work for the council.)
 
The new job was a long established family company with a fleet of everything from small petrol engined vibratory pokers through various company cars up to a couple of the new Ford D series tippers. So plenty of variety along with the better pay. Life at Wimpenny's promised to be interesting and educational.
 
The management set up was different to anything I'd come across before too. Harry ( the old man)was the son of one of two brothers who founded the firm and must have been in his 80's and was officially retired, though this did not stop him occasionally coming down and checking things out around the yard. One of his sons Harry junior looked after the quarry side of the firm. 

​The actual building side of things was under the control of Harry's other son Reg and their cousin Noel, each having their own projects and work gangs. The company secretary was Reg's son David who would have been in his mid 30's. The maintenance staff consisted of David, the fleet manager ( who I was glad to see didn't mind getting his hands dirty),Bert (older mechanic who'd been there years),and an apprentice, about 18 yrs. old called Patrick.
 
One morning shortly after I started David said he had a job for me. I was to perform what would be a regular monthly task for the rest of my time there. Not an unpleasant job at all. All I had to do was take the Land Rover up to old Harry's house then drive him in his Rover 105 down to the local barbers, wait while he had his hair cut , then take him back home. I found this little job was great fun, because whilst I was driving he would constantly  be pumping me about what was going on in the  yard. Any little bit of gossip I felt safe to pass on obviously made his day.
 
So many memories of Wimpenny's spring to mind I'm afraid I've almost forgotten what this is supposed to be about.
 
Ah, yes, the Ford Cortina.

The company secretary David, a thoroughly nice chap had a Cortina GT, which would have been about 18 mths. old. A light grey little beast that I'd coveted on sight. He drove the Cortina into the garage one day and went into the little office to talk to David. At one point I noticed him looking out of the office window directly at me but assumed he was just curious about what I was working on. Both Davids left the office together and headed right in my direction, causing me to wrack my brain for what I'd done wrong.

I needn't have worried - they had no complaints about my work. On the contrary they had a proposition for me. It turned out that David fancied trying his hand with the Cortina at a bit of hill climbing. He'd done his research, decided what needed to be done to make the car competitive, and wondered if I along with David would be interested in doing the work. He explained that he could not let us do it on the firm's time, but if we were willing to do it in the evenings or weekends we could use the garage and he'd pay us for any time we spent working on it. Would I? Too true! Any extra money was always welcome and I felt sure Anne would find a good use for it. No Victoria's Secret's in those days but even so..
 
The first job was to strip out the engine so it could be bored oversize. While the machine shop was doing that we turned our attention to the suspension, fitting shorter, stiffer springs and up rated shock absorbers. When we got the  engine back we rebuilt it with a new uprated camshaft, exchange gas flowed head, and new inlet manifold and carb.( A Weber of some kind). Refitted it was completed with a beautifully constructed Abarth exhaust system which looked like it must have cost almost as much as my car ( a Morris Oxford by then).

The first time we started it up and revved it I thought for a moment that we'd forgotten to connect the exhaust manifold. Talk about loud. The road test we left to David. He left the yard in a shower of gravel and a roar from that exhaust fit to wake the dead. He's been gone so long we were starting to worry, when we heard him coming back down the main road. He arrived with the biggest grin on his face, you'd have thought he'd won the pools.
 
David and the Cortina were very Happy with each other and I was happy with the extra cash, so a good result all round.
 
Over the next two years or so I was fortunate enough to drive the GT on a fair number of occasions doing road tests and such, and can honestly say it was one of the most enjoyable cars I've been fortunate enough to drive. Though with that exhaust I think on any long run earplugs would have been required.
 
 
Next time :- The Mk 2's 

Reading a post on the Facebook page recently about the Cortina cutting out in the rain stirred my own memories of the Cortina in it's various forms.

The immediate thing that springs to mind when I think of the Mk1 Cortina is my first wife. I could perhaps have phrased that better. The first Person maybe, thing, certainly seems to fit one of her successors much more aptly.
 
Anyway, to get back to the car. It's 1966 and I'm working as a mechanic , been courting a lovely girl called Anne for about a year, and running a rather ratty Minor 1000. We desperately wanted to go to Devon on holiday together, so broached the subject to our parents. As I expected mine agreed readily enough, after all I was 24 yrs. old so they couldn't really say too much about it. In fact the only thing that was said was my father telling me to be careful. I thought I was a pretty good driver and objected strenuously to the comment. I could be a little slow at times in those days.

Anne's parents were a different matter. It had taken a long while to persuade them my intentions were honourable but I'd gradually worn them down, and now got on really well with both her parents and knew just how protective of her they both were, after all, she was only 18 to my 24. The first reaction was a definite no, which after sulks and arguments over a few weeks became a yes, but with the proviso that they saw proof that we had booked single rooms and I promised there would be no "Funny business".
 
While all this was going on her father took delivery of a brand new Cortina. Very smart looking with it's maroon paintwork, especially so when compared to my Minor parked next to it looking like a runaway from the scrapyard. He was so proud of his new car, so I was not surprised when a couple of weeks later he suggested that all four of us go out for a Sunday afternoon drive, thinking he just wanted to show off to me in his new car. What did surprise me was that he wanted me to drive. We spent a very pleasant afternoon driving around the local beauty spots and I had to admit that compared to my moggie the Cortina was a delight to drive, though to be fair to the minor, I did rein in the more exuberant aspects of my usual driving style.

​When we returned home her father had yet another surprise in store. Instead of driving to Devon in the Minor we'd be more comfortable if he loaned us the Cortina. I was amazed! Letting me loose with his pride and joy? Then I figured out his ulterior motive. Having been badgered into risking his daughter's virtue, he wasn't going to risk her life as well in my old banger. Ready to spring to the Minor's defence I said, "Really? That would be fantastic". So all was set fair.

Driving from Yorkshire to Devon before the motorways was a long old haul and tales of horrendous weekend traffic jams on the roads into Devon were legendary. Bearing this in mind we decide that the best idea was to drive overnight hoping to arrive before the jams got too bad.

So 10 o'clock Friday night saw us depart on our adventure. All was quiet on the roads and we were making good time, until we got into Derbyshire - it was like entering a different country. With a flash of lightning closely followed by a crack of thunder the heavens opened and it absolutely poured with rain, and I began to think I knew just how Noah must have felt.

We continued on our southerly course like a ship in a gale until after a few miles the car started losing power and sounding like a 2 cyl. rather than a 4. I had no option but to pull over and stop. The engine stopped too. So it's pouring with rain, dark as a dungeon, middle of nowhere and we're immobile, the only light being the occasional flash of lightning. I knew I'd get soaked if I got out of the car but had no option, so out I got, immediately soaked to the skin I popped the bonnet and once I had it up told Anne to try start the engine, which she did. I was very impressed with what I saw there.

Now I'd read about and seen pictures of the phenomenon known as St. Elmo's Fire where a ship is lit up with electrical discharges around the masts etc. in stormy weather, and here I was witnessing my own private version of it. The sparks flying around under that bonnet were amazing. It didn't take a genius mechanic to know that there was nothing I could do about it until it stopped raining.

​Every cloud has a silver lining they say and so it proved. At least we had dry clothes for me to change into. The downside was that without the engine we had no heater and it was becoming decidedly cold, so we had to try and keep warm somehow. That silver lining again.
 
When the rain did eventually stop I was able to dry out all the ignition system and we were underway again, albeit a few hours behind schedule. At least we got to experience the joy of sitting in the Devon sunshine eating ice cream in that traffic jam for an hour or two.
 
Next time :- Our intrepid mechanic's encounter with a MK1 Cortina GT.    

Over the first few weeks my education continued apace, which rather surprised me as I had never really been what you would call fond of school. I'd never seen the point of learning things like algebra and French, which I was pretty certain I would never find a use for. I had no ambition to go to France or to be the next Einstein. 

It had been mentioned during my interview that I would have to go to the Tech for one day a week and I reckoned I could cope with that, so it came as something of a bombshell when Norman told me I'd also have to attend two nights a week as well. " Two nights ?", I was appalled at the idea. I already had two nights taken up with rugby training, and the other three weekday ones were fully occupied as a trainee Don Juan at the local youth club. It was pointed out to me that I didn't have any option in the matter, so I had a choice to make, rugby or girls. Being a typical testosterone fuelled youth I quickly decided the rugby would have to go.
 
My real education was in the workshop. I'd never thought there was anything complicated about making a cup of tea. Wrong! One cup for yourself is one thing, making about ten cups, each with the correct strength, sugar and milk seemed to call for a good memory if I was to avoid the wrath of my fellow workers. In the event I needn't have worried, Rodney already had  a list drawn up which he let me copy.
 
Another thing I quickly became good at was repairing punctures. Every Saturday morning was occupied fixing them and washing and polishing cars. Unlike today there was no such thing as a tyre machine, it all had to be done with tyre levers and brute force and inner tubes were easily nipped if you were not careful. Also unlike today the patches were not simply stuck on the tube but were actually melted onto them using a Vulcanizor machine. This was not the only piece of equipment that you would be unlikely to find in a present day workshop.

We also had a lathe which was used to skim brake drums and dynamo and starter commutators. Slightly different from today's electronics laboratory you could say.
 
So life settled into a routine involving working alongside Dennis, making tea, going to the shops for the rest of the workshop's lunches, and of course generally keeping the place clean and tidy(ish). Doing the shop run was one of my favourite jobs. As a regular customer you could usually wangle a bit of discount from most of the shops, which considering the pittance paid to apprentices then was always welcome. I remember how exotic I thought the shop where I got sandwiches was. It was run by a Polish gent who'd stayed in England after the war, and was I suppose what we'd now call a deli. Long sausages of various colour and width hung above the counter and more exotic varieties of cheese than I'd ever seen before. I'd always loved cheese and made it my ambition to try them all.
 
An interesting job in those first few months was a chassis swap for a crash damaged P4. The firm did have a body shop but, along with their commercial workshop that was at the other end of the town. So we removed the body, using block and tackles and rolled the damaged chassis out from underneath. Setting the old and new chassis on stands we then transferred everything from one to the other. A fantastic way to get to know your way about a car. It gave me the chance to see every single part and how to check them for any damage and fit them. After we'd re-fitted the body away it went to the body shop.
 
It was October 1958 and I'd been been working for about 6 months when the replacement for the A35 arrived. I think it's fair to say that everyone in the shop immediately approved of the new A40 Farina styled model. Compared with the cuddly little A35 it replaced it looked bigger, more roomy and so much more of a grown up car. One thing that all the lads agreed on was how much easier it would be to work on with all that space under the bonnet. Mechanically it was more or less the same as the A35 so held no fears of new technology,(though that's a phrase I didn't hear on a regular basis for quite a few years).
​
One surprise was the rear brakes. I think everyone expected them to be hydraulic, whereas it turned out they were rod operated via a slave cylinder mounted under the car. Looking back I can only assume that this was due to bean counters at Longbridge, an affliction that would affect so many cars in the future. The colours available also made a big impression, especially with the contrasting roof. In many ways the A40 more resembled what we now know as a hatchback than a then conventional saloon car. I wonder if that might have been at the back of Pinin Farina's mind at the time?

​My second day as an apprentice started with a surprise.  The normal routine was that my mother would call me at least three times before I’d actually manage to crawl out of bed, but, to her surprise I was up and about before she had got to the bottom of the stairs.  

​

I looked out on a typical Yorkshire spring day, yes, it was pouring down.  Normally that would have been my cue to invent some reason why I shouldn’t go to school , and yet I found myself eager to get to work.  This turned out to be a purely temporary aberration, normal service and waking habits returned within a week or two.  However this morning was different, I could still hear Dennis’s words in my head, “ Tomorrow we’re working on a Rover “.
 
So out into the rain, get soaked, catch the bus to town, get soaked walking to Atkinson’s, clock in, and like an over excited puppy await further orders.
 
“Which one are we working on Dennis, is it that one? “, pointing to a shiny Rover 105R parked just inside the doors.
 
“No, that one is Mr Atkinson’s, ours is over here”

I felt totally cheated. I didn’t expect for a moment that the old motor with the running boards would have the object of my fascination under it’s bonnet.  I was right too.  When Dennis opened the bonnet it revealed what to my eyes was just an ordinary engine.  If I’d known how  at that time ,I’d have described it as a 6cyl. OHV , not the work of art I was itching to get my hands on.  Anyway I soon got over my disappointment, watching attentively everything that Dennis did as he fitted new plugs and points, cleaned the fuel and air filters, all the while giving me a running commentary.  Then he took off the rocker cover and handed it to me.  My appreciation knew no bounds.  Joy of joys, back to the paraffin bath. To be fair, Dennis did show me how he set the tappet clearances and why .
 
That morning was also my introduction to that most important part of any apprentices education at that time – where and how to make the tea !
 
That afternoon I took the list that Dennis gave me and went to buy my first toolkit, to be paid for weekly from my wages.  ( I almost wrote pittance there.)  I’m not sure, but if I remember correctly it was just over £2 p.w.  The shop was an engineers supplier by the name of Gregory and Sutcliffe and very conveniently was right next door to and sharing the block with us.  I duly returned bearing a shiny new toolbox containing :- 1 set  each open ended WW/BSF  and  AF spanners, 1 set of each ring spanners, 2 or 3 screwdrivers, set of feeler gauges, normal and split pin pliers, and a dinky little set of magneto spanners which were riveted together in the form of a fan.  I also got a socket set in it’s own metal case.
 
A short history lesson here for our younger readers.  Up until about the mid 50’s all British cars used nuts and bolts with either Whitworth ( WW ) or British standard fine ( BSF ) threads.  These correspond to the UNC and UNF threads used up to the adoption of the metric threads found on todays cars and which AF or across flats spanners fit. The magneto spanners were small ( think BA sizes) and meant for small connections such as those on distributor points.  An interesting point about the socket sets at that time was that instead of the 1/2 inch square drive we know now the ones we used were hexagon drive and unlike most sets nowadays included a speed brace.
 
I now felt like a real mechanic, all those shiny tools, I couldn’t wait to use them.  I didn’t have to, I was soon busy removing and refitting various parts of the braking system of the Rover 16, (for that was what we were working on ), all under the constant education/supervision/ assistance and often amused eyes of Dennis.
 
One of my jobs was to go to the stores for any parts we needed and I soon learned an invaluable lesson ; DO NOT upset the stores staff.  They can make your life a living nightmare. As I mentioned previously the manager’s name was Arthur.  He was an ex R.E.M.E. Sgt. Major and looked it.   His presence was such that he demanded the respect due his rank although once you got to know him he was as nice a man as you could wish to meet.  While I was waiting behind him at the hatch one of the older apprentices who’s name if I remember correctly was Rodney made the mistake of complaining about how long it was taking to get his parts.  He was still waiting when I left with my parts.
 
Over the course of the next few days I at last got to see, in the flesh as it were, the thing that started it all.  THAT engine.  To me it really was a thing of beauty .  The graceful curves of the polished aluminium rocker cover, the SU carburettor, the exhaust manifold, the way it filled the engine bay. How to describe it ? Only one word sprang to mind. Sexy !!  Even now after seeing more shapes and sizes of engine than I care to remember I still think of it as beautiful.
 
It was to be a while before I actually got to see inside one but that and many more are tales for another day.

So it’s April 1958 and I’ve decided I’m going to be a motor mechanic, much against my father’s wishes who wanted me - me who is so artistic that I cannot draw a straight line without a ruler - to be a textile designer.

As I told earlier, during my research prior to applying for an apprenticeship, I’d been seduced by a diagram and description of the unusual overhead inlet/ side exhaust engine made by Rover.

My plan to get an apprenticeship was well plotted in my mind. I would write a letter to all the major garages in the town, attend every interview offered, then choose from what I was sure would be multiple offers of a job.
 
Ah! the foolishness of youth.  This plan was scuppered before it even swung into action.  And all because of a bit of printed paper.  I couldn’t get that blasted engine out of my mind. I didn’t write to anyone except the Rover and Austin dealer, W.H.Atkinson & co.
 
I spent the next few days worrying what I would do if my developing fetish went unsatisfied, until I received a letter inviting me to go for an interview.  Then I started worrying about the interview.  What to wear, should I get a haircut,were my shoes shiny enough.  And most of all I worried about being rejected, and having to seek a place with somewhere  like the Ford or Vauxhall agents.

Came the day and I was as nervous as I had been when waiting outside the headmaster’s office wondering which misdemeanour, out of plenty to choose from, had been discovered, and what the punishment would be.  In the event I was worrying needlessly.  First I met the workshop manager, a rather pompous, ex officer type, who’s name I’ll not give to save his family possible embarrassment.
He obviously thought it was beneath him to waste his precious time talking to a scruffy little Herbert like me and swiftly passed me on to the workshop foreman, Norman Mellor.
 
Norman seemed a decent enough bloke and proceeded to show me around the shop while asking me various questions, chief of which appeared to be “ What makes you want to be a mechanic ?” I wasn’t falling for that trap !  Tell him I first wanted to be an electrician and I might as well walk out now.  So I did what any well brought up young chap would do, I lied through my teeth.

“ Well I’ve always been fascinated by cars, wanted to be a mechanic for as long as I can remember, etc.”  This was obviously just what he wanted to hear, and set my strategy for all future job interviews. Tell them what they want to hear, not what they want to know.

Anyway, I digress. Norman seemed more than happy with my flannel and pointed out where everything was, the lubrication bay with the only ramp in the shop, the long pit at the top with it’s wall of windows and benches under them, and an area I was to become very familiar with, the tyre and wash bay.  He then introduced me to one of the mechanics, Dennis Roberts, a really friendly type of chap.  I did not know it at the time but this was someone who was going to be a friend, teacher, father figure, and protector all in one.  He left me talking to Dennis while he went off, presumably to talk to the manager, because when he returned it was to ask, “ Do you want to work here then ?.”  Did I !!  And apart from when I was talking to Dennis I’d never even mentioned that engine.
 
The following Monday at 8.00 am. I presented myself, complete with a brand new boiler suit, for the first day of my working life.  I was greeted by Norman, shown how to clock in, and introduced to the store’s staff.  Arthur Ramsden , manager. Colin Firth, assistant and another assistant who’s last name I can’t for the life of me remember but was known to everyone as old Fred.  Then back into the workshop where I was delighted to be informed that I was to be Dennis’s apprentice and promptly handed over to him. 

We didn’t immediately go to work but stood at his bench while he laid down a few ground rules: 

• Rule 1 – I was his apprentice, and no matter who it was, if anyone asked me to do anything I was to refer them to him, no exceptions allowed. ( father figure ). 
• Rule 2 – Watch and listen carefully. If I didn’t understand anything I was to ask, and he would explain it again. ( Teacher ). 
• Rule 3 – When he asked me to do something I did it.  It was not an invitation to a debate. ( Father). 
• Rule 4 – never argue with anyone, simply tell him and he’d sort it out.
  ( protector). 
• Rule 5 – I was not too old for a clip round the ear if I didn’t do as I was told.
  ( Father again ).

I was liking him more by the minute. Looking back on all the mechanics I’ve known he was simply the best person to groom an apprentice I’ve ever met.

After our pep talk we went over to the car that he was presently working on, which I was informed was an A125 or more commonly known as a Sheerline.   This was a great beast of a thing to my eyes. Bear in mind the only car I’d really seen under the bonnet of was my brother’s Austin 7.  

Dennis told me  that he had already removed the cylinder head to de-coke it, and then went on to explain how the burning petrol produced carbon deposits that build up and caused loss of power and damage to the valves.  I listened carefully with what I’m sure must have been a look of amazement.  The pistons in this engine were bloody massive compared with the Austin 7. 

Dennis said he was going to finish grinding the valves in, explained what he meant by that then told me to pick up the rocker box , which was full of parts I couldn’t start to identify, and follow him.  This was my introduction to parts washing.  A large bath of Paraffin with a mesh tray at one end containing a stiff bristled brush.  I dutifully cleaned all the parts from the rocker box, put them on the mesh to drain, and feeling pleased with myself, went off to tell Dennis the good news, his parts were all cleaned. 

He came over to have a look and told me of another rule.  When he said he wanted something cleaned, he meant cleaned, not rinsed.  “Do them again, properly this time.”, which I did, by which time my hands were almost numb from the cold paraffin.  During my cleaning duties, about 10 o’clock another apprentice called Mick came round with a tray of mugs of tea and told me he would show me where to make it etc. so that I , as the youngest apprentice could do it in future.

Dennis explained that we were not supposed to stop for a tea break but were to drink it while working.  Then he sat on his bench, opened his lunchbox, offered me a sandwich and chatted whilst we drank our tea.  Some rules it appeared were better ignored.
 
The rest of the day was spent rebuilding the Sheerline engine and giving it a general check over which raised more questions from this eager pupil.  What were points? How did he know when he’d adjusted the carb. correctly?  What did this thing here do?  

​By 5 o’clock I think he was ready to give his ears a rest.  I for my part felt more than ready for getting home, eating and going to bed. My mother was right in one respect.  I wasn’t what you’d call a fan of being on the go all day.  But I was eager to learn, and still looking forward to tomorrow when Dennis had told me we were going to be working on a Rover.

TO BE CONTINUED ...