More Transport Nostalgia

I was contemplating a post on a current news topic but decided that that would require brainpower and could be a bit controversial so I decided to return to the theme of my transportation starting with my first car and my subsequent three cars.

The first car is a Standard Ensign WNE 193 bought when I was 20 or 21 with a loan from my Grandmother.  Apart from the opportunities she afforded for taking my Grandmother out (we were great pals as well as Grandmother and Grandson) it also enabled me to do my London trips, formerly undertaken on the Hippogryph, in comfort. This photo was taken when the family went to visit a relative in North Wales. (For my records, thanks CJ, it was Flora Scott, née Jarvis, my Mother's first Cousin, daughter of Aunt Edie, my maternal grandmother's - Nana's - sister).

The second car was a Singer Vogue picture here on the banks of Loch Ness.

I think that I decided after a while that I should stop being an old man and get a car more suitable for my age. So I acquired an MG Midget Mk I. Oddly I have very few photos of it that I can find so this was provided by my brother CJ from his archives.

My fourth car came after I'd married and decided that we needed a car more suited to married life than to courtship and weekend excursions to the Lake District (where the Midget took us to our honeymoon staying at Riggside with the Roscamps at Grange-in-Borrowdale).  

The car was a Volvo 221 Estate. When we had done the deal we noticed that the letters on the bonnet said VOOVO and not VOLVO. The dealer was mortified but the deal had been done and we refused to have it changed. It was sold 80,000 miles later and was still known as The Voovo, The picture was taken at the top of Honister in the Lake District. The person shown is my Dad. I think we were all on holiday together. 

Childhood 'Transportation'.

Now that I've found out where the 'create new post' button has been repositioned to I shall create a new post.

I recently posted about my first 'proper' means of transport and some people mentioned their childhood tricycles and so on. I'd quite forgotten about my childhood trikes etc. Searching through my Dad's photos I've found two. The first photo is of a very young me on my little three wheel tricycle. I seem to recall that it was red and green. What has struck me more than anything is how similar my grandson at 2 is to me at, I suppose about 3. We have the same sort of laugh with the eyes partially closed and a similar shape of face.

A little later on I had a red pedal car. This is me sitting on the bonnet with Keith (who Keith was I cannot recall but he wasn't on of the neighbouring children with whom I grew up).

After that I had Triang Tricycle. It had a bin on the back. It was red and cream. I can't find a photo so I have borrowed one from Google. Oddly I can't find a red and cream one. Red ones and cream ones but no hybrids.

Thank you for awakening my memories.

An Alarm , A Lesson and Luck

On grounds of good behaviour (or possibly because I was actually considered well enough) I was released from hospital yesterday.

I have to return to hospital on 11 April for what I hope will be the last visit in this 7 month 'episode'. So I decided to undertake the 8+ hour journey home today to re-charge my batteries. As always I left a good margin for unexpected happenings. It was a very good thing that I did.

It's also very fortunate for me, the Volvo and possibly other people, that I had fitted tyre pressure warning devices. As I was about 12 miles from Perth the alarm went off - my offside front tyre had suddenly lost significant pressure. I could see no obvious nail or problem so re-inflated the tyre and drove, albeit fairly gingerly, to Perth and found a helpful private tyre supplier. On the inside wall of the offside front tyre (ie where it could not be seen) was a huge blister about to blow out. Which could have caused loss of control of the vehicle at 70 mph.

Replacing one tyre means the other on the same axle has to be replaced too. That was very fortunate because there was a cut of over 12" in the circumference of the tread of the nearside tyre (which looked like it had been deliberately cut with a Stanley knife).

An hour later I was on my way with two new front tyres having avoided what could have been a fairly catastrophic morning.

I caught the ferry and I'm home. I shall sleep tonight.

Lesson:

Had I not had the alarm which told me the tyre was deflating after it had lost 5 psi and bearing in mind I had been driving for over an hour on 70mph roads a blow-out could have proved fatal to me and anyone else caught up if the car had become out of control. I reckon the cost of that tyre warning system was possibly the best value for money I've had for a long time.

A Car's a Car For A' That

(With apologies to Robert Burns).

I’m sure it’s not that I just can’t forgive myself for parting from my beloved Nighthawk. I’m sure that I’m sure - surely.

I just haven't become close to the Volvo yet. Why on earth would that matter? It’s a car for heaven’s sake not a friend. However I spend more time with it than I do with almost any other thing with which I have a relationship except my home.

My first Volvo was, in fact, called VOOVO. The car had been incorrectly badged on the bonnet (hood) because the letters were, as on my current car's boot (trunk) separately attached. That car was made in 1965 and I’m sure no such thing could happen now. We were together for 80,000 glorious miles. I’ve had two more Volvos since that time. Each served me well.

Voovo on Honister, English Lake District,  c 1970 with my Dad

I want to get close to Volvo. I really do. It’s a very comfy means of transportation and we’ve already done 4,000 miles together in two months.

One problem is that the salesman (in the London dealer from whence the car was sourced) and I really didn’t get on. I never met him but I know that if I had I’d not have bought a car from him.

The other is that the car was beset by vibration squeaks and rattles from the dashboard area. The technician (mechanic to people of my age but now he probably has a degree in applied electronics) at the superbly helpful Volvo dealer Taggarts in Glasgow  sorted the first one I identified in the sensor housing on the windscreen which had obviously been removed at some time but that still left some more in the floating centre console. I never had a squeak from the Nighthawk in 13 years (except one of my own making). I seem now to have managed to cure them all but I am still living with the fear that they may return.

Hopefully in a while I'll feel comfortable and Volvo and she will develop a personality and acquire a name.

Volvo below The Clisham on Harris

Volvo by the Forth and Clyde Canal

We've Been Together Now

for 12 years and 100,000 miles. Okay it's not quite as poetic as saying for 'for 40 years' but when one is talking about a car then it is quite a long time. Many of those years weren't even full years because I was in New Zealand for six months of most of them. To reward the Nighthawk for her service to me during that time I decided that she could have a makeover; well a tarting up really. So she spent a few days in Nomie's Body Shop in Stornoway (where else would one go?) who did the honours. She looks good as new.

Yesterday after six weeks of not driving after my knee surgery I was back behind the wheel. Whether we'll be together for another 12 years remains to be seen but for the time being we make a good team and we'll be staying together.

When new

12 years later

It's All My Fault and I've Fallen in Love

It's Friday. Good Friday. Not good weatherwise. It's been blowing a gale. It's Heather's birthday today. Sorry Heather. In all my travels I forgot to send a card. Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa. (I may be atheist but I did the spot of Latin and went to a few Roman Catholic services in my time). In my defence life has been very full on and very full of people since I arrived back in Scotland and even more so since I arrived home to visiting friends ensconced in Tigh na Mara. Not that I haven't enjoyed it all. I have. But it's been a challenge trying to find time to do 'things' in between eating bacon rolls at Café Torino and The Woodlands and eating Anna's and Sue's meals. I haven't cooked a meal since I left Napier.

I still haven't even begun to think about my remaining New Zealand  blog posts. New Zealand seems so long ago and so far away. Well, of course, it is far away. And before I know it it will be long ago. I miss The Family and my friends there dreadfully. I miss the heat and the sun.

It's cold and wet and very windy here and I can feel everyone looking at me and saying "It's your fault. We were having a lovely spell of weather until you set foot on the tarmac."

I now have two weeks to get myself straight and fit before I go into hospital for a knee replacement. I never cease to be amazed at what can be done to keep us alive and kicking.

Oh and when I was in NZ I fell in love - again. This time, however, it was a much safer sort of love from some of my past encounters. A friend was working in Australia whilst I was in New Zealand and lent me her car. I had never driven one before. I hope that I drive one again.

And as if one kindness wasn't enough when I reluctantly gave it back a couple of days before I returned, another friend lent me his. People can be very kind.

Quality

will always make itself felt. Recently I was at the Waitrose store in Milnegarvie and was trying to buy some unusual and different wines for a gift. I was beginning to exhaust my knowledge when an assistant asked if she could help. I've never really thought about supermarkets employing wine experts in the store but this lady (who wasn't the store's main wine person - he was away learning about new wines) certainly knew her stuff. I can't imagine Tesco stores providing that service.

Yesterday Anna wanted to take me for lunch at one of her 'finds': The Côte Brasserie in Glasgow's West Nile Street. Good choice! I have to say that it was one of the most contented lunches I have had: quality company, quality service, quality food and wine. For what more can a person ask? I shall be on the other side of the globe for six weeks but when I return and pass through Glasgow for a few days I expect to have more meals here. I was, I have to admit, astonished to find that it's a chain restaurant.

I think even Cro would have enjoyed it.

Talking of Cro here's a picture I took yesterday in Glasgow's Buchanan Gallery which you/he might appreciate

Ah well. In a little over an hour the car comes to collect me and I shall be Emirates' problem. Storm Henry may rage but, hopefully, I shall be on my way to the other side of the world.

Thankful Thursday

Rabbie (Robert/Robbie) Burns knew what he was talking about when he penned To a Mouse:

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men

Gang aft agley,

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,

For promis'd joy!

Still thou are blest, compared wi' me!

The present only toucheth thee:

But och! I backward cast my e'e,

On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' I canna see,

I guess an' fear!

Today has been a Very Strange Day.

It started off well enough as I left Anna's for Ayr Hospital and my cancer review. All seems to be well. For that I am exceptionally thankful.

A friend had major cancer surgery today and I've just heard that she's some through it. For that I am exceptionally thankful.

Another is recovering from a heart attack and angioplasty and for that, too, I am exceptionally thankful.

And as I drove down the M6 past Penrith and the Morecambe turnoff a white transit van suddenly and inexplicably with no warning pulled out in front of me at 70 mph. I braked severely and instantly and a collision was avoided. However I suddenly realised when I put my foot on the throttle that I had no power, the engine had cut and unfortunately would not restart.  I was in the centre lane with a car on my inside and no hard shoulder to escape to (a new access is being constructed) and I was on a bend. That was scary. The car drifted to a halt in the nearside lane with about 15 metres to a little break where I could get about half the car off the carriageway. So I drove the car on the battery and starter motor into the gap.

And from safety behind the barrier phoned the police and the breakdown service.

The Highways Agency came and removed the car to the hard shoulder about 100 yards further on having stopped the traffic on the motorway in order to do so.

Eventually the breakdown service came and, to cut a long story short, the car suffered from a moment of severe fuel starvation (which showed up on the inboard diagnostics) presumably as a result of my attempts to accelerate again after the severe breaking when the engine may have stalled.  However I'd done some damage driving the car on the starter motor to get it out of trouble.

So instead of having the car taken to my brother's on the back of a wagon

and sorting out a repairer tomorrow morning I decided to have the car recovered to a garage here in Morecambe who have ordered the parts and will have it repaired by 1030 tomorrow at the latest (they say).

So my beloved and faithful Nighthawk lies ignominiously in a garage in Morecambe and I'm typing this in a Witherspoon  near the Travel Lodge where I shall spend the night. So far as I can recall it's the first time in its 11 years that it has caused me grief. Or perhaps it was I who caused it grief. 

So whilst I was standing at the side of the motorway I played the Glad Game: it wasn't raining (it had been torrential with flooding when I left Ayr) and I wasn't hurt and neither was anyone else.

I have a great deal to be thankful for this particular Thursday.

Another Post For Spesh

Spesh loves pink.  If you are going to have a pink car though this is the car to have:

Definitely not this one - it was hideous!

Both cars were at Parkgate on the Wirral.  What is it with that area?

Old Age Doesn’t Come Alone

The ferry bringing David was coming in.  The Nighthawk was making her way towards the ferry terminal to meet him.  Fuel was fairly low and there was plenty of time so she decided to have a drink and called in at the car café.  Then her driver did something he’d never done in the 49 years he’s been driving.  He put the wrong fuel in the car.  Well he put some wrong fuel in it.  So now the Nighthawk is sitting on the garage forecourt waiting for the doctor’s doors to open tomorrow so that she can have her stomach pumped.   Poor girl.

Fortunately I have wonderful neighbours and within 10 minutes I’d been rescued and David had been picked up from the ferry (thank heaven for mobile phones) and we were home within half an hour.  Albeit carless.  Well not actually because my neighbours are going off on the ferry in the morning with their campervan leaving one of their cars for me.  And (oops sorry Adrian) Carol’s offered me her car.  It’s moment like this that I realise how lucky I am to have the friends and neighbours I have.

All I have to do now is gird my loins for the laughter when Spesh realises what I’ve done.  I’ll never hear the end of it.  Ever.

Too Small a Space to Share

Today I had to travel with the hood up on The Handbag (my Mazda MX5 roadster).  The car is small at the best of times but when the hood is up and I am in the driver's seat there is not much room left for even a handbag (hence its name).  I set off from Gisborne at 0900.  Some 40 ks into the journey travelling down a long straight at 100 kph I suddenly became aware of something large on my left leg by my ankle.  Being a sports car one cannot see one's feet when driving at speed without endangering one's self or others.  I involuntarily moved my leg and a cicada  suddenly flew up and over my leg onto the right hand side door.  (The car is right hand drive).  Now cicada's don't bite nor do they sting.  But with a wing span of about 5cm they are not the best things to have sitting in the car making cicada noises and flying around.  The problem was that as this incident occurred I had to slow down into a sharp bend preceeded by a sign saying that there were sharp bends and steep hills for the next 7 ks.  And I am supposed to share this fairly demanding driving experience with a cicada which by this time has gone up the leg of my shorts.  By definition there is not a lot of leg up which to disappear and I became less than a happy bunny.  

As providence would have it although there were no official passing places I came upon a pull-off which had been used for road maintenance  and managed to leave the carriageway without doing any harm to my suspension or underneath:  sports cars are not generally noted for off-road capability.  After a while I located the cicada which had crawled down the side of the driver's seat and managed to evict it from the car.

All in all not an experience to be recommended.  However in line with my tendency to play The Glad Game I gave thanks that it hadn't been a wasp. 

The Nighthawk

I have never been particularly emotionally attached to any of my cars. That's not to say that I haven't liked them or enjoyed them or relied on them. I've had some wonderful times in my cars whether it be on the bench front seat of the Standard Ensign (which was my first car) in Bowring Park with Pat Stapleton or the adventures all over Britain and Europe with the many and varied cars and vans that I've had since then.

I very much enjoyed driving my little Peugeot 206 van and the Renault Kangoo van took Mo and me through France and over the mountains into Andorra and back down onto the Med.

I'd like to do a blog on my various cars if for no other reason than just to remind me about them and awaken memories. But somehow my present car is different. Called 'the hearse' by a neighbour of singularly morbid mind I decided to give my Honda Accord Tourer the name 'The Nighthawk'. It seemed appropriate because its colour is Nighthawk Black. I suppose that's to distinguish it from all the other blacks. Frankly I can never tell the name of one black from the name of another. I notice, though that the upmarket car interiors colour is now 'piano black'. I shall be leaving the Nighthawk behind in eight days when I go to New Zealand.

But when I get to New Zealand I'll have something completely different:

The Nighthawk meets The Garage

Having driven about 3000 km since I left home I was a litle alarmed when going round a corner a few days ago to hear a graunching noise apparently coming from the offside front wheel of the Nighthawk. In the normal course of things because I'm in France I would have gone to a French garage. With a bit of brushing up on technical terms I could have got through my side of the explanations. Understanding all their explanations if there was something fundamentally wrong might have been a problem. I was quite excited by the challenge. However Charroux has The Garage Cole & Fils run by an English family. So I took the car there for a checkup. Fortunately after having removed all the wheels and parking brake drums and front stoneguards and about half a hundredweight of stones from there and the suspension the car was given a clean bill of health.

Every garage has its Deux Chevaux

The Voovo

OK so this has absolutely nothing to do with Eagleton. In fact the things upon which I blog are getting less and less likely to be about Eagleton.

I have made a start on scanning in old pictures and slides. Oddly I started with very old black and white photos and then jumped to slides of the family holiday in Scotland in 1962. Now I have leapfrogged to 1970 and am concentrating on the albums from that era before I start on the thousands of 'loose' photos and slides. It is enjoyable and a wonderful trip down memory lane. Sometimes I feel very happy. Sometimes, because so many photos in the period I'm doing at the moment are of Andrew, there is a huge tinge of sadness as well.

This morning whilst looking for a photo for "From my Collection" in the sidebar to this Blog I came across the first car that Carol and I chose together. It was called "The Voovo". It was, in fact, a Volvo 221 but, for some reason the badge on the bonnet said "Voovo". No-one at the garage had noticed but we declined to have the badge changed and for us it was always The Voovo. I think that I probably have fonder memories of that car than any other. We travelled 70,000 miles in it and sold it with 116,000 miles on the clock and Pirelli Cinturato tyres on the wheels. How can I remember that?

Volvo produced 73196 221 Estates between 1962 and 1969.

In 1956 Volvo launched one of its most successful model ranges, the "Amazon" series. Starting with the 121 and 122 models the Amazon range soon established itself as a comfortable, reliable and well built car which also introduced new levels of safety equipment, still very much a novelty in the mid-50's! The range continued to expand from 1956 with numerous models including 121, 122, 122S, 122 (updated and designated B18), 131, 132S, 133, 221/222 and finally a 123GT "sports" version.

The Voovo with Dad on Newlands Pass in the Lake District in 1972.