Starting Cars the old fashioned way!
Discussion
Starting a 1932 Ford Eight Model Y. 
A short post to apprise those younger than I, which is most people, of particular Joys of Motoring in the 1950’s. For the first time, the average working class man could have a car, just. Being poor, and everybody I knew was poor, the cars we had were worn out. I was aware of another minority world of different cars because there were many good new cars in the fifties. Austin A30 through 90. Rover 75. Vauxhall Cresta. Jag 2.4 Morris Oxford and Standard Vanguard. Etc. These phenomena were seen about but were as far from our intimate acquaintance as caviar and smoked bavarian cheese. We also knew them all from well worn editions of ‘Autocar’ and ‘Motoring’ passed on to us from somewhere better off.
The road tests in these books were super un-critical. ‘This two litre car achieved it’s maximum of forty miles an hour with incredible smoothness, the only sounds you could hear were the engine, gearbox, and back axle, this formed a reassuring background to your progress, signifying that everything was working in audible harmony.’ We knew a Herald from a Mayflower and their specifications, but we only saw them, our vehicles were very different. In my motoring youth, from age seventeen to twenties I don’t think I ever rode in a post-war car.
What were our cars then? They were twenty years old or so, from about 1930 to the War. Nothing Post-War was within our purchasing power as the war had only been over five years in 1950. We had Ford Eights, Morris Eights, some Standards, the odd Hillman Minx, I recall a Vauxhall and one brave soul had a huge straight eight Packard left behind by the Americans. I remember it going along our road only twice, with a hissing noise like a flock of geese as it sucked in petrol by the gallon, and it’s front wheels pattered up and own independently like pogo sticks. It remained on the verge, where all our cars lived, for years.
In the beginning these cars belonged to our parents, not us, and lucky ones like me got to drive them when we had passed the test, and until we got our own worn out car.
My Dad’s car was perhaps typical. A Ford Eight Y type, about 1932 I think. Black, four door, brown rexine seats, one dial, a tall wobbly gear lever and a memorable curved bakelite demister stuck on the windscreen. Six volt battery. We could not afford good batteries, so starting was by the handle. We could also only afford a big can of Spitfire oil to put in the engine. There were no multigrades. This oil, when cold, was like refrigerated treacle. The starting procedure was not as it is with a modern car. It was as follows:- You got up about an hour before normal to start the car. If it is frosty, say an hour and a half. You go out and remove the small paraffin stove kept alight under the sump all night. You remove the two old coats over the engine. You fill the radiator with kettles of boiling water and start turning the starting handle.
When you can jerk it reasonably over compression on an upstroke of the starting handle then you wedge out the choke five eighths of an inch, exactly, with a spring clothes peg, switch on the ignition and run out to the front to jerk up the handle some more.
The handle and crankshaft dogs were pretty worn and it was possible to pull it up with no resistance sometimes and fall back and generally hurt yourself. If the dogs are in and the jerking is sufficiently smart the engine will sometimes cough encouragingly. It has not started but it has 'fired'. This is an encouraging sign. Switch off a minute to let the battery liven up, check the clothes peg and back to the handle. A few more coughs and it carries on and the engine runs. Runs is an overstatement, it coughs sufficient times to keep going round, then you dive inside, snatch off the clothes peg, pull the choke right out then nearly right in, performing a ballet with your foot on the accelerator. This starting choreography is different for all cars and has to be learnt the hard way. If we are not expert enough then the engine goes dug-aluggle-dug-dug-aluggle-stop, disaster, it is ‘flooded’. 
In this case you have to go indoors and wait half an hour then try the same procedure all over again. In obdurate cases the plugs have to come out and the electrodes bent nearly shut so there is a spark. We also used to scrape pencil lead over the plug points as an aid to super sparking. Dug-aluggle-dug-aluggle-pobble-obble-obble...... Success. 
We can go to work and you can see that all that extra time was necessary. 
Now we drive it. Inside the car is bitter cold. We switch on the bakelite demister and in time, much time, a thin line of clear screen appears above it, through which we can peer. Steering in imprecise, it has to be concentrated on all the time and much depends on the camber of the road. If the road is cambered on the left then the wheel has to be turned to the right about a quarter of a turn to counteract it. If to the right, the opposite applies. If the road is flat, the wheel has to be continuously sawed from side to side to keep the wheels straight. We knew about the merits of ‘slick’ tyres long before Formula One. If minute examination revealed any trace of tread at all then the tyre was fine.
We are now in progress and by holding it in second gear, to prevent it jumping out with a 'spang', have reached top and are bowling along. Our eyes are staring a long way ahead to reserve a similar stopping distance, in the event of obstruction, as that of a fully laden freight train.
So what with being virtually unable to stop or start it, peering through the demisted slit like a tank driver, holding it in gear, and working the steering wheel like a kid on a fairground roundabout, it was a complete nightmare compared to today. Fortunately we didn't know that at the time.
What was/is you old car like to start?
A short post to apprise those younger than I, which is most people, of particular Joys of Motoring in the 1950’s. For the first time, the average working class man could have a car, just. Being poor, and everybody I knew was poor, the cars we had were worn out. I was aware of another minority world of different cars because there were many good new cars in the fifties. Austin A30 through 90. Rover 75. Vauxhall Cresta. Jag 2.4 Morris Oxford and Standard Vanguard. Etc. These phenomena were seen about but were as far from our intimate acquaintance as caviar and smoked bavarian cheese. We also knew them all from well worn editions of ‘Autocar’ and ‘Motoring’ passed on to us from somewhere better off.
The road tests in these books were super un-critical. ‘This two litre car achieved it’s maximum of forty miles an hour with incredible smoothness, the only sounds you could hear were the engine, gearbox, and back axle, this formed a reassuring background to your progress, signifying that everything was working in audible harmony.’ We knew a Herald from a Mayflower and their specifications, but we only saw them, our vehicles were very different. In my motoring youth, from age seventeen to twenties I don’t think I ever rode in a post-war car. What were our cars then? They were twenty years old or so, from about 1930 to the War. Nothing Post-War was within our purchasing power as the war had only been over five years in 1950. We had Ford Eights, Morris Eights, some Standards, the odd Hillman Minx, I recall a Vauxhall and one brave soul had a huge straight eight Packard left behind by the Americans. I remember it going along our road only twice, with a hissing noise like a flock of geese as it sucked in petrol by the gallon, and it’s front wheels pattered up and own independently like pogo sticks. It remained on the verge, where all our cars lived, for years.
In the beginning these cars belonged to our parents, not us, and lucky ones like me got to drive them when we had passed the test, and until we got our own worn out car.
My Dad’s car was perhaps typical. A Ford Eight Y type, about 1932 I think. Black, four door, brown rexine seats, one dial, a tall wobbly gear lever and a memorable curved bakelite demister stuck on the windscreen. Six volt battery. We could not afford good batteries, so starting was by the handle. We could also only afford a big can of Spitfire oil to put in the engine. There were no multigrades. This oil, when cold, was like refrigerated treacle. The starting procedure was not as it is with a modern car. It was as follows:- You got up about an hour before normal to start the car. If it is frosty, say an hour and a half. You go out and remove the small paraffin stove kept alight under the sump all night. You remove the two old coats over the engine. You fill the radiator with kettles of boiling water and start turning the starting handle.
When you can jerk it reasonably over compression on an upstroke of the starting handle then you wedge out the choke five eighths of an inch, exactly, with a spring clothes peg, switch on the ignition and run out to the front to jerk up the handle some more.The handle and crankshaft dogs were pretty worn and it was possible to pull it up with no resistance sometimes and fall back and generally hurt yourself. If the dogs are in and the jerking is sufficiently smart the engine will sometimes cough encouragingly. It has not started but it has 'fired'. This is an encouraging sign. Switch off a minute to let the battery liven up, check the clothes peg and back to the handle.
A few more coughs and it carries on and the engine runs. Runs is an overstatement, it coughs sufficient times to keep going round, then you dive inside, snatch off the clothes peg, pull the choke right out then nearly right in, performing a ballet with your foot on the accelerator. This starting choreography is different for all cars and has to be learnt the hard way. If we are not expert enough then the engine goes dug-aluggle-dug-dug-aluggle-stop, disaster, it is ‘flooded’. In this case you have to go indoors and wait half an hour then try the same procedure all over again. In obdurate cases the plugs have to come out and the electrodes bent nearly shut so there is a spark. We also used to scrape pencil lead over the plug points as an aid to super sparking. Dug-aluggle-dug-aluggle-pobble-obble-obble...... Success. We can go to work and you can see that all that extra time was necessary. Now we drive it. Inside the car is bitter cold. We switch on the bakelite demister and in time, much time, a thin line of clear screen appears above it, through which we can peer. Steering in imprecise, it has to be concentrated on all the time and much depends on the camber of the road. If the road is cambered on the left then the wheel has to be turned to the right about a quarter of a turn to counteract it. If to the right, the opposite applies. If the road is flat, the wheel has to be continuously sawed from side to side to keep the wheels straight. We knew about the merits of ‘slick’ tyres long before Formula One. If minute examination revealed any trace of tread at all then the tyre was fine.
We are now in progress and by holding it in second gear, to prevent it jumping out with a 'spang', have reached top and are bowling along. Our eyes are staring a long way ahead to reserve a similar stopping distance, in the event of obstruction, as that of a fully laden freight train.
So what with being virtually unable to stop or start it, peering through the demisted slit like a tank driver, holding it in gear, and working the steering wheel like a kid on a fairground roundabout, it was a complete nightmare compared to today. Fortunately we didn't know that at the time.
What was/is you old car like to start?
Hi Peter,
That was a really good read, I thoroughly enjoyed it!
The oldest car I've ever owned was built in 1983 so I've only ever had electronic ignition. I would love to have a drive in a pre-war car though, just to see what they are like, the straight eight Packard sounds just the ticket!
That was a really good read, I thoroughly enjoyed it!
The oldest car I've ever owned was built in 1983 so I've only ever had electronic ignition. I would love to have a drive in a pre-war car though, just to see what they are like, the straight eight Packard sounds just the ticket!
peterperkins said:
What was/is you old car like to start?
Summer - turn on petrol, magneto to on, retard ignition, pull strangler, push starter button; should fire second turn. Return ignition to normal advanced, engage reverse back out of garage (it has a side exit exhaust) and then push in strangler.Winter - depends on how happy the magneto is. If used in the last two weeks then as above. Sometimes if cold & damp, it is best to take mag off the night before and leave in the house to warm. Some also suggest that one should swing the engine over fuel on, mag off to get petrol into the cylinders. Then in best WWI aircraft mode - contact and swing the starter. I have seen that on a large 6 cylinder one can then just move the ignition level and get it to fire.
I have the advantage the car is in a garage and I can keep the battery (12V) topped up. The GF's Austin has clothes peg on the coke wire - aren't they standard fit. We find we use it to keep it "open", otherwise it will flood and stop.
God. That really rings some bells. I used to have a 1956 Humber Super Snipe, the one with the 4.2 litre "Blue Riband" Engine, 3 speed Auto. I couldn't afford a new battery and being auto it couldn't be push started, so in Winter the technique was as follows :
.Insert starting handle, turn engine over 4 times without ignition on just to get bearings and rings woken up. Take care to leave starting handle at bottom of stroke.
Remove air cleaner, Take one kettle boiling water and slowly pour over inlet manifold, take one can Ronson lighter fluid and squirt about 1 eggcup full into carburretor. Switch on ignition, run round to front smartishly, give one almighty heave on starting handle and.....Bob's your Uncle.
Dead easy.
.Insert starting handle, turn engine over 4 times without ignition on just to get bearings and rings woken up. Take care to leave starting handle at bottom of stroke.
Remove air cleaner, Take one kettle boiling water and slowly pour over inlet manifold, take one can Ronson lighter fluid and squirt about 1 eggcup full into carburretor. Switch on ignition, run round to front smartishly, give one almighty heave on starting handle and.....Bob's your Uncle.
Dead easy.
My first Dolomite needed a new battery at one point, which wasn't going to happen that month (or so). So it needed to be push started everywhere. Fortuneatley it was a complete doddle. Eventually even the then wife learned to just stick one foot out the door, give a quick kick back then let out the clutch. Hey - the wonders of modern motoring.
Great posting by the way.
Great posting by the way.
Edited by a8hex on Friday 6th July 08:12
Gawd, where do you want me to start? Let's take the old Morris van with a three speed gearbox which required much the same starting procedure, but which had rear cargo doors that had a mind of their own and flew open on a whim, and the gear lever that was held in place with a grub screw that always worked loose so there you were, trying to change down on an uphill slope and - whoops! - the gear lever was no longer attached to the gearbox and was now a magic wand in your hand.
Of course there was always my mate's Ford Popular with it's asthmatic 933cc sidevalve engine which had so little compression that when you turned it over there was virtually no resistance at all to speak of, but in the end it usually fired. The worm and peg steering had a mind of its own but the most memorable thing about the old Fords of the period was the vacuum driven wipers. Now these worked off the inlet manifold and going down hill the wipers went at 20 to the dozen, but find an uphill slope and they ran slower and s-l-o-w-e-r until they eventually stopped altogether. The car was capable of a top speed, wind behind and down hill, of about 45mph if you were prepared to take your life in your hands since the steering was all over the place. Heating? What's that? In our day it was a rug and a hot water bottle and the windscreen was kept from misting up by the liberal application of a potato cut in two. Somehow it worked too.
Then my Dad took a Hudson in settlement of a debt and the V8 was a wonder to behold and listen to. Chug-a-lug-lug, chug-a-lug-lug as it ticked over using a gallon of petrol standing still while you listened. The handbrake didn't work and at Matchams Park the damned thing rolled into the back of the car in front on leaving.
My uncle gave me my first E type when I was fourteen, which probably makes you somewhat jealous. Be not filled with envy, dear friends, for it was actually a Morris E type more properly called the series E which was one of the first cars to valiantly fall foul of that new fangled invention, the 10 year test which magically over the years has been divided by three and happens to all cars over three years old. No such things as emissions tests, and the only rolling road was the one the car arrived and left on. This car, 1948 vintage, sadly failed due to a chassis that more resembled lace than steel and so we kids stripped it to a chassis and were seen racing around the local side roads in Hampshire. Oh the wonderful moment when I overtook my first car, head down like Dave my mate and co-driver since the windscreen had been removed to "streamline" the car and we, over the course of about a mile I guess, inched past the old lady in her Ford Anglia. How we waved gaily through the now non existent doors.
Then there was the Peel three wheeler which somehow ended up in our drive and which had a very simple fashion of engaging reverse gear. Come to think of it, this was effectively the first 6 speed car on the market - three forward and three reverse. being a two stroke engine you twisted the key one way to start the engine one way to go forward, and vice versa. Interesting if you got it wrong though.
Of course time marched on and with it the need for speed, so one fine day we had the notion of creating a hot rod, thoughts of Cookie in 77 Sunset Strip firmly in our brains. So, with thoughts of yesteryear, we got hold of a Ford Popular 1953 for, I think, £10 and proceded to take out the asthmatic 933cc 24bhp side valve engine. The replacement engine was quite hard to fit being a Chrysler 7.2 litre V8 and it was only achieved with much body bashing, a cut down Jaguar IRS axle. The main problem though was the driving position - there couldn't be one really. But, necessity being the mother of invention we worked out the problem by taking out the front seats and driving it from the rear squab suitably advanced a bit with wood blocks. The end result made a suitably pleasing noise (no silencers, just stubs) but the handling was, shall we say, "interesting". As long as the road was straight it didn't suffer too much from either under or over steer. Well, not much anyway.
I'll leave you here and perhaps return to the subject another day with tales of my Mini Cooper S-cum- Mini van-cum Austin Se7en. An interesting car that too. There are so many to choose from in my chequered career.
Toodlepip.
Of course there was always my mate's Ford Popular with it's asthmatic 933cc sidevalve engine which had so little compression that when you turned it over there was virtually no resistance at all to speak of, but in the end it usually fired. The worm and peg steering had a mind of its own but the most memorable thing about the old Fords of the period was the vacuum driven wipers. Now these worked off the inlet manifold and going down hill the wipers went at 20 to the dozen, but find an uphill slope and they ran slower and s-l-o-w-e-r until they eventually stopped altogether. The car was capable of a top speed, wind behind and down hill, of about 45mph if you were prepared to take your life in your hands since the steering was all over the place. Heating? What's that? In our day it was a rug and a hot water bottle and the windscreen was kept from misting up by the liberal application of a potato cut in two. Somehow it worked too.
Then my Dad took a Hudson in settlement of a debt and the V8 was a wonder to behold and listen to. Chug-a-lug-lug, chug-a-lug-lug as it ticked over using a gallon of petrol standing still while you listened. The handbrake didn't work and at Matchams Park the damned thing rolled into the back of the car in front on leaving.
My uncle gave me my first E type when I was fourteen, which probably makes you somewhat jealous. Be not filled with envy, dear friends, for it was actually a Morris E type more properly called the series E which was one of the first cars to valiantly fall foul of that new fangled invention, the 10 year test which magically over the years has been divided by three and happens to all cars over three years old. No such things as emissions tests, and the only rolling road was the one the car arrived and left on. This car, 1948 vintage, sadly failed due to a chassis that more resembled lace than steel and so we kids stripped it to a chassis and were seen racing around the local side roads in Hampshire. Oh the wonderful moment when I overtook my first car, head down like Dave my mate and co-driver since the windscreen had been removed to "streamline" the car and we, over the course of about a mile I guess, inched past the old lady in her Ford Anglia. How we waved gaily through the now non existent doors.
Then there was the Peel three wheeler which somehow ended up in our drive and which had a very simple fashion of engaging reverse gear. Come to think of it, this was effectively the first 6 speed car on the market - three forward and three reverse. being a two stroke engine you twisted the key one way to start the engine one way to go forward, and vice versa. Interesting if you got it wrong though.
Of course time marched on and with it the need for speed, so one fine day we had the notion of creating a hot rod, thoughts of Cookie in 77 Sunset Strip firmly in our brains. So, with thoughts of yesteryear, we got hold of a Ford Popular 1953 for, I think, £10 and proceded to take out the asthmatic 933cc 24bhp side valve engine. The replacement engine was quite hard to fit being a Chrysler 7.2 litre V8 and it was only achieved with much body bashing, a cut down Jaguar IRS axle. The main problem though was the driving position - there couldn't be one really. But, necessity being the mother of invention we worked out the problem by taking out the front seats and driving it from the rear squab suitably advanced a bit with wood blocks. The end result made a suitably pleasing noise (no silencers, just stubs) but the handling was, shall we say, "interesting". As long as the road was straight it didn't suffer too much from either under or over steer. Well, not much anyway.
I'll leave you here and perhaps return to the subject another day with tales of my Mini Cooper S-cum- Mini van-cum Austin Se7en. An interesting car that too. There are so many to choose from in my chequered career.
Toodlepip.
In Oz, we had a lot more prewar Yank cars, but for quite a few years, after the war, there were no cars, new, or old available, be you rich, or poor. It was about 1960 before you could get a new car in a few weeks, rather than a few months.
I think these old yank things had stood the test of time, & did most things quite well, except for stopping. We would descend steep, or long hills in 2Nd, or even 1St gear, slower than we could go up them
It was 52 when we managed to get a car, a 28 model Chev tourer. It got very hot in the cabin, but I wasn't allowed to ride in the dickey seat, my mother didn't aprove. We never put the top down either, no matter how hot, my mother didn't aprove.
I was not allowed to touch anything, except the window winder thingy, that wound the bottom of the wind screen out, to let some air in. That my mother did aprove.
The Chev could be hard to crank start on wet winter mornings. This was always a "damp distributor". The cure [?] was to squirt some lighter fluid over the disy, & set it on fire, with a match. Maybe it was the fear of being burnt to death, but this always worked, & the thing would start.
We then got lucky, & got hold of a 30 Dodge. This was a big powerfull thing, which would often travel from one mile post to the next in even less than a minute WOW.
There was enough room in the back for a family of 4 to set up house. There was also enough room, with the seats out, to load a ton of fire wood, from a friends farm. I hated this, as it ment I had about 3 hours chopping, when we got home.
The Dodge started on the electric starter, about half the time. The rest of the time, I, now at 15 years of age, was expected to do the cranking. That would have been OK, if only my father had had some idea, of what he should do with the advance/retard leaver on the steering boss.
I did know what should be done with the spark, but at that time, it was not acceptable for a youth to tell his father, what to do with anything.
I must admit, there were times I came close to telling hin to do something, somewhat less than acceptable with the thing.
I think these old yank things had stood the test of time, & did most things quite well, except for stopping. We would descend steep, or long hills in 2Nd, or even 1St gear, slower than we could go up them
It was 52 when we managed to get a car, a 28 model Chev tourer. It got very hot in the cabin, but I wasn't allowed to ride in the dickey seat, my mother didn't aprove. We never put the top down either, no matter how hot, my mother didn't aprove.
I was not allowed to touch anything, except the window winder thingy, that wound the bottom of the wind screen out, to let some air in. That my mother did aprove.
The Chev could be hard to crank start on wet winter mornings. This was always a "damp distributor". The cure [?] was to squirt some lighter fluid over the disy, & set it on fire, with a match. Maybe it was the fear of being burnt to death, but this always worked, & the thing would start.
We then got lucky, & got hold of a 30 Dodge. This was a big powerfull thing, which would often travel from one mile post to the next in even less than a minute WOW.
There was enough room in the back for a family of 4 to set up house. There was also enough room, with the seats out, to load a ton of fire wood, from a friends farm. I hated this, as it ment I had about 3 hours chopping, when we got home.
The Dodge started on the electric starter, about half the time. The rest of the time, I, now at 15 years of age, was expected to do the cranking. That would have been OK, if only my father had had some idea, of what he should do with the advance/retard leaver on the steering boss.
I did know what should be done with the spark, but at that time, it was not acceptable for a youth to tell his father, what to do with anything.
I must admit, there were times I came close to telling hin to do something, somewhat less than acceptable with the thing.
More recollections of a mis-spent youf. Of course there were the eclectic mix of motorcycles which started with a two speed Sun 98cc two stroke, no faster than a moped but when all you have known is a push bike then anything is a luxury. Push bikes though hold fond memories since in the beech woods we constructed (well, blazed would be more accurate) a dirt track route and held impromptu races up the bank, along the ditch out of the ditch and down the bank and round again. The big holly bush on the bend at the bottom of the hill holds painful memories. We even built a couple of sidecars I seem to remember! Bikes of course (powered variety) included a Gold Star which was so highly geared you finally released the clutch lever at 30mph in 1st and was sold for the princely sum of £40, a Francis Barnett Cruiser 84 250cc Villiers (work transport with fairing), a Triumph Bonneville and a lovely Trophy that on being dismantled disappeared into HM Dockyard Portsmouth and came back completely chromed. It happened one day that while running this one in we (three bikes astern) were overtaken by this mod on his new Lambretta 200cc, gaily waving two fingers aloft as he did so. I still blame Dave for what followed for he set off on his Matchless, pulled alongside the Mod and swung a size 10 steel tipped boot at the side casing of the offending scooter. Well, it would have been rude not to join in the fun so we left a disgruntled Mod with a severely modified Lambretta. My Triumph Trophy, with ape hanger bars, tasselled seat, rear grab rail and the big chrome nudge bars front and rear was fun, but I remember one evening losing it on gravel coming out of a roundabout and sliding down the road with a plethora of sparks coming off the bars straight into the mouth of the Amal carb. I shut the throttle at this point.
But - motoring was the gateway. At 21 I was by now working in London and had a burgeoning black market enterprise thanks to Mildenhall USAF base - Winston cigarettes by the suitcase which financed the purchase of my first E type, a flat floor roadster. Having one of these at a tender age in Chelsea was a definite plus where the females were concerned! However I pre-empted Marc Bolan and the car was sadly, three months later, waved goodbye after it was proved that a tree was stronger and the car went to the great breakers yard in the sky.
Then there the rallying years with an Alexander stage 2 tuned 1275 Morris Cooper S (for some reason I felt Austin's were inferior so it had to be a Morris) that became of course 1293cc and highly modified. One fine evening on army land at Farnham my navigator made a slip and said "100, 90 deg right". He meant left and being wrongly positioned the 200yr old oak tree embraced us. Back home we surveyed the damage, cut off the front of the car from the A post forwards, went to the scrap yard and all we could find was a mini van with severe rear end damage so off the front came and was united with the rest of the Cooper S. Now the mini van grill was pressed metal but a Cooper S chromed slats, so people thought there was a little van arriving behind when in fact it was a highly tuned Cooper S. Oh the look on their faces when we rocketed by! Later on the rear end went the same way as the front and all that was left of the original bodyshell was between the A & B pillars, the rear now being from and Austin Se7en complete, of course with Austin Se7en badges.
My first company car was a Moggie 1000 which did sterling service until the layshaft went after 57,000 miles of serious abuse. The company I worked for refused to mend it since my new car was on order so I spent three months with no first or reverse. My replacement car was that car from hell, the first of the Morris Marinas. 1275cc engine, heavy body, but worst of all drum brakes and no servo. Day two saw me shaking hands with the back of a Transit van and I refused to drive the car further unless the company fitted a servo when it was straightened. The company argued that my safety was not worth £29 at first but saw reason in the end. Oh, and it had LHD wipers too.
Having no option, my next car was the same in that glorious colour diahorrea and was delivered by the garage and parked in the car park. I signed for it having ensured there were no dings and after the delivery driver left went to try it out. The gearbox (mileage 46) was already f****d and firmly stuck in 1st. Ah, the British Leyland days! Then, as promotion struck, a Triumph Toledo came but would not do more than 40mph. A completely dysfunctional carburettor was in the end diagnosed - firstly told "the engines still tight" - and while they had the car in they lent me a Dolomite Sprint. Now that was better!
Life moved on and my own business burgeoned, so I've had the pleasure of an M6, Merc SL500, M3, 348TS Ferrari (only the front number plate remains screwed to the front of the garage but that's another story in itself)
SLK Merc, GTI Golfs and 16 valves, and then in my later years my two Lynx D type Jaguars and I forgot to mention my later flat floor E type which I've had 27 years now. That's about it really, but those memories are fun but I wonder, (we old farts always think our days were the glory days) what with speed cameras and all modern checks, if youngsters today will have the same stories to tell. Let's be hearing from some of you people who never knew what LSD was except a drug!
But - motoring was the gateway. At 21 I was by now working in London and had a burgeoning black market enterprise thanks to Mildenhall USAF base - Winston cigarettes by the suitcase which financed the purchase of my first E type, a flat floor roadster. Having one of these at a tender age in Chelsea was a definite plus where the females were concerned! However I pre-empted Marc Bolan and the car was sadly, three months later, waved goodbye after it was proved that a tree was stronger and the car went to the great breakers yard in the sky.
Then there the rallying years with an Alexander stage 2 tuned 1275 Morris Cooper S (for some reason I felt Austin's were inferior so it had to be a Morris) that became of course 1293cc and highly modified. One fine evening on army land at Farnham my navigator made a slip and said "100, 90 deg right". He meant left and being wrongly positioned the 200yr old oak tree embraced us. Back home we surveyed the damage, cut off the front of the car from the A post forwards, went to the scrap yard and all we could find was a mini van with severe rear end damage so off the front came and was united with the rest of the Cooper S. Now the mini van grill was pressed metal but a Cooper S chromed slats, so people thought there was a little van arriving behind when in fact it was a highly tuned Cooper S. Oh the look on their faces when we rocketed by! Later on the rear end went the same way as the front and all that was left of the original bodyshell was between the A & B pillars, the rear now being from and Austin Se7en complete, of course with Austin Se7en badges.
My first company car was a Moggie 1000 which did sterling service until the layshaft went after 57,000 miles of serious abuse. The company I worked for refused to mend it since my new car was on order so I spent three months with no first or reverse. My replacement car was that car from hell, the first of the Morris Marinas. 1275cc engine, heavy body, but worst of all drum brakes and no servo. Day two saw me shaking hands with the back of a Transit van and I refused to drive the car further unless the company fitted a servo when it was straightened. The company argued that my safety was not worth £29 at first but saw reason in the end. Oh, and it had LHD wipers too.
Having no option, my next car was the same in that glorious colour diahorrea and was delivered by the garage and parked in the car park. I signed for it having ensured there were no dings and after the delivery driver left went to try it out. The gearbox (mileage 46) was already f****d and firmly stuck in 1st. Ah, the British Leyland days! Then, as promotion struck, a Triumph Toledo came but would not do more than 40mph. A completely dysfunctional carburettor was in the end diagnosed - firstly told "the engines still tight" - and while they had the car in they lent me a Dolomite Sprint. Now that was better!
Life moved on and my own business burgeoned, so I've had the pleasure of an M6, Merc SL500, M3, 348TS Ferrari (only the front number plate remains screwed to the front of the garage but that's another story in itself)
SLK Merc, GTI Golfs and 16 valves, and then in my later years my two Lynx D type Jaguars and I forgot to mention my later flat floor E type which I've had 27 years now. That's about it really, but those memories are fun but I wonder, (we old farts always think our days were the glory days) what with speed cameras and all modern checks, if youngsters today will have the same stories to tell. Let's be hearing from some of you people who never knew what LSD was except a drug!
Edited by lowdrag on Saturday 14th July 09:01
Edited by lowdrag on Saturday 14th July 09:07
Edited by lowdrag on Saturday 14th July 17:43
Sorry,but that takes me back to the days when we had a six cylinder merc. diesel up here in the frozen north SHUDDUP(bloody huskies)electric starters were just for woosies and frozen batteries are not the best,we had an emergency starter shaped like a WW1hand grenade,the starting sequence went like this,using a crow bar on the flywheel turn the engine over until no1 cyl. was at the top dead centre on the firing stroke and then the strange bit, take apart the "grenade" which left you holding a threaded handle on what looked like a cotton reel and an outer casing,then you found a 35mm camera and robbed the film.Taking what looked like a small(1/2"long cigarette with one end dipped in phosphorous you laid the cig. along the reel and wrapped the film round it,holding it in place whilst inserting the assembly back into the outer casing,once back together the outer assembly has a spring loaded pin sticking out at 90 deg.pull the pin out,break the head off a match and drop it in,carefully letting the pin back.then on no.1 cyl head there was a blanking plug which was removed and the "grenade"was screwed in place,checking that all controls were in the run position you picked up your trusty hammer and hit the pin a sharp tap,the pin hit the match head which lit the phosphorous soaked cig.this set fire to the film the gas from the resulting flash fire passed down the handle of the "grenade"into the cylinder spinning the engine over much faster than the starter and it would burst into life.I never saw it fail,but as an emergency measure it helped if you were a bit laid back and impending disaster did not faze you,unlike myself ,who would say im going out now,i may be some time.Tempus
long cigarette with one end dipped in phosphorous you laid the cig. along the reel and wrapped the film round it,holding it in place whilst inserting the assembly back into the outer casing,once back together the outer assembly has a spring loaded pin sticking out at 90 deg.pull the pin out,break the head off a match and drop it in,carefully letting the pin back.then on no.1 cyl head there was a blanking plug which was removed and the "grenade"was screwed in place,checking that all controls were in the run position you picked up your trusty hammer and hit the pin a sharp tap,the pin hit the match head which lit the phosphorous soaked cig.this set fire to the film the gas from the resulting flash fire passed down the handle of the "grenade"into the cylinder spinning the engine over much faster than the starter and it would burst into life.I never saw it fail,but as an emergency measure it helped if you were a bit laid back and impending disaster did not faze you,unlike myself ,who would say im going out now,i may be some time.TempusGassing Station | Classic Cars and Yesterday's Heroes | Top of Page | What's New | My Stuff