Day 16: Friends reunited

Today we set of to Norfolk to stay with our friends Peter and Helen Scott. My other best friends Peter MacFarlane and Julian Dye (and his wife Margaret, to whom he has been married twice) will also be there. Pete’s wife Hilary will, unfortunately, be a no show. This is will be a major reunion as we have all known each other for 40 years or more. The last time we were together was at Peter Mac’s wedding in 1981 and there is a photograph of the four of us that I have seen within the last 2 or 3 years but I am buggered if I can find it now.

This is the bus we had. An interesting machine. There was nothing wrong with that getting a soul would not fix.

About a year ago Peter Mac had sent me an e-mail wondering if I was in Sydney as Peter and Helen would be there. I sent a note to Peter and Helen saying that if, on the off chance, they were mad enough to be driving between Melbourne and Sydney then they would pass our front door and that they should stay. This they did and that was the first time we had seen each other for about 35 years.

We’re not really that good, all of is, at catching up but we manage to stay in touch. We had stayed with Julian and Margaret on our 2012 trip. I have not seem Peter Mac since 2003. Before that I saw him in about 1992. But friendship is a strange thing and doesn’t depend upon regular reinforcement.

I have never properly been to Norfolk, or at least not to my recollection. I am pretty sure that I may have been to Norwich (where the mustard used to come from, but no more; Mr Coleman may have got rich by what you left on your plate but he’s not getting rich anymore in Norwich.)

I decided that our route should take us through Chatteris, then to Ely and then from there to Peter and Helen’s. They live near a village called Hingham described by our friend Wikipedia as “a market town and civil parish in the Forehoe district in the heart of rural Norfolk”.

“Why Chatteris?” you may ask. I will tell you. There is a song (see Youtube) called “For what is Chatteris” by a wonderful band called Half Man Half Biscuit. Here is a verse:

  One way system – smooth and commendable

  Go by bus – they’re highly dependable

  The swings in the park for the kids have won awards

  The clean streets acknowledged in the Lords

  But what’s a park if you can’t see a linnet?

  A timetable if your journey’s infinite?

  My bag’s packed and I’m leaving in a minute

  For what is Chatteris without you in it?

I cannot say what was the inspiration for the song; HMHB (as they are affectionately known) come from Birkenhead on Merseyside. It has a lovely tune and I had forgotten about it until I looked at the map to plan our route. It was about an hour of relatively dull driving along the A45 (or the a 45 as the satnav chick would have it) until we hit Huntingdon. Huntingdon is another place I have never been to. In fact, all I really know about Huntingdon is that it is on the A14 and, by golly, we left the A45 to join the A14 and that’s how we got to Huntingdon. Huntingdon has a long and interesting history: it was chartered by King John (he was the Magna Carta dude) in 1205 and it’s the birthplace in 1599 of Oliver Cromwell who was its MP. We didn’t stop but we seem to take the most circuitous diversion which completely confused Satnav, but we did eventually emerge triumphant onto the A141 which is the high road to Chatteris.

Chatteris proved to be a town that, assuming it had a light, was hiding it under a bushel. It’s an old town that was mentioned in the Domesday Book. There was a church (St Peter & St Paul is situated in the centre of the town. A church has been on the site since at least 1162, although the current tower dates from 1352) and a handsome war memorial to the fallen sons of Chatteris.

The war memorial at Chatteris.

Chatteris House. Must have been a rich dude's crib once upon a time. Now it's flats.

A street in Chatteris.As the song says "a market town that lacks quintessence".

We drove on from Chatteris the few miles to Ely. I had been to Ely about 25 years ago or so but I could recall little of it. It sports an interesting cathedral, though not to my mind up there with Salisbury or Winchester. Its walls are, to The G’s eye, satisfactorily devoid of the memorial clutter we saw in Westminster Abbey. Indeed the walls are almost devoid of memorials and those that there are seem to be memorials to the clerical great and good.

Ely Cathedral.

A quick shot up the tower.

A handsome organ.

The altar.

The cathedral is pretty old; there has been something on the site since the 7^th century but the present edifice dates from 1083, just a few years after the Norman Conquest. A few memorials did attract my attention. A verger is usually a layperson who assists in the ordering of religious services, particularly in Anglican churches. I saw four tablets in line abreast recoding, as I read left to right, increasingly impressive tours of duty.

I though 29 years as a verger was not a bad stint but then I read from left to right and ended up being more impressed by John Wallace Henry Southey who notched up 60 years.

There is also an brass memorial to George Basevi who was the cousin of Benjamin Disraeli. I mention this only because it is an obscure piece of information about Disraeli. Keen readers will recall that we found in Aylesbury a few days ago a statue of Disraeli.

George Basevi's brass in Ely Cathedral. He architected a bunch of buildings and he was an FRS. Of less importance is the fact that he was a cousin of Disraeli.

Ely itself is a pleasant town. The relevant authorities have decided to make it as interesting for tourists as they can by ensuring that no signpost is accurate. We followed signposts to the river (Ely is on the River Great Ouse) but we only found the river by asking. The main street sports a fine bottlo (or off-licence to our English friends). This is Anglia Wines (I could not find a website but there details are here). Inside you will find an excellent selection of wines and a very knowledgeable and pleasant fellow to tell you about them. We knew it was good as soon as we found a bottle of Battle of Bosworth’s (MacLaren Vale) Puritan Shiraz.

Back Lane in Ely. Scene, I am quite sure, of many an assignation.

The River Great Ouse. A great name for a great river.

A swan glides serenely passed a narrow boat on the Great Ouse.

The drive was a relatively easy one. From Ely we headed South to the A14 which then divides to become the A11 which heads North East to Thetford. I was now in uncharted territory for me. We passed a number of important places on the way.

Pidley, for all that it has an amusing name seems to be devoid of interest. Any Wikipedia entry for a village (for such it must be with a population for less than 400) that is more than half about the parish government arrangements cannot be anything other than dull. I am sure there are Pidlers out there who would disagree with this.

I have a simple and peculiar sense of humour so I made sure I remembered Prick Willow. Prick Willow is home to the Prick Willow Museum is housed in the old pumping station and contains a major collection of working pumping engines. I also read that it was “originally a small hamlet on the banks of the River Great Ouse, but [is] now on the banks of the River Lark since [the] re-organisation of the river system. I am not sure that I know how one would go about “reorganising” a river system. Does this mean that rivers were moved around?

As one approaches Thetford one is surprised by an impressive obelisk rising (I later discovered) to 127 feet. It satnds erect and alone at the side of the highway. There is nothing nearby, just the A11 buzzing with traffic.

Prickwillow telephone box 'blinged up' as Christmas bauble. Clearly we did well to avoid this place. Strange. Very strange.

It is exactly the sort of folly that an 18th century landlord with more money than sense would have built. But it is not 18th century. Elvesden Memorial is a memorial to those who served and died during World War One, the Great War - from three villages, Elveden, Eriswell, and Icklingham - located here, where the boundaries of the three parishes meet.

The Eleveden Memorial. Not a folly at all but a necessary and useful monument.

Peter had told us to set the satnav to take us to Hingham and then to put in the postcode. This we did but on our arrival at the postcode we were buggered if we could see their house. I called. Peter’s head appeared at a window not 20 metres away! We were right outside.

Greeting friends of old after having not seen them for a long time is always a wonderful experience. I had seen Peter Mac in 2009, Julian in 2012 (when we stayed with him) and Peter Scott when he stayed with is last year. We fellows are strange beings. Peter had got married in the 6 years since I had seen him but clearly did not think that this rated highly on the list of matters that needed to be reported to me (and he’s quite right). I cannot recall whether I told him that I got married, he may well have found that out fro Julian. We are not writers or talkers really.

Peter Mac. Unbeknown to me, husband and author.

But there was much hugging and greeting and within no time at all we were all enjoying a cleansing ale and doing what, for us, passes as catching up which is generally short bursts of conversation punctuated by longer periods of contemplation. Peter Scott and Helen had returned fro Cambodia only 48 hours previously so they must have been buggered but Helen still produced a fine spread. Thirty years ago we would have stayed up drinking for half the night. Thirty years on we were all in bed by 10 o’clock.

Day 15: The family luncheon

The big news here at present seems to be whether the UK should leave the European Union. There is to be a referendum in June. Boris Johnson has just come out saying he thinks the UK should leave. Prime Minister Cameron has apparently negotiated some special deal under which we would stay in. I am told the polls suggest a 2:1 vote in favour though since Boris came out against there is speculation about whether than will change.

I remember the referendum that took us into the EU in the 19070s. I think I voted “yesy” but I cannot in all honesty recall. Perhaps it is the fact of having been in the UK at that time that makes me care about this matter. I have to keep telling myself that it doesn’t really matter a lot to me.

The Scottish referendum was on when we were last in the UK. We should have had no opinion in that matter but my heart said “yes” for independence. Now, oddly, my heart tells me say “no” to leaving the EU. I think I dropped a logic strand somewhere. But, as I say, it doesn’t matter and I worry more now about the general level of idiotic incompetency displayed by both sides of Australian politics (I might even say all sides).

Anyway all that washed over me as today we were due to do The Family Lunch. This involved my parents, sister, my brother and his wife, and The G and me. We went to The Rose and Crown at Yardley Hastings which is near where we are staying. You can see details of this establishment in our blog of our 2014 trip as we ate there in my 64^th birthday.

I will not bore you with the family entertainments but we made it through the meal without blows being exchanged.

My Father had a splendid meal.

My brother and my sister.

Mother and daughter locked in conversation.

Who are these people?

On an historical note I see some interesting facts about Yardley Hastings in that unassailable and indubitable source of all knowledge, Wikipedia. I see that:

• Thomas Dudley was born in Yardley Hastings in 1576. He sailed to New England on the Arbella in 1630 and became Governor of the Massachusetts Bay colony. He signed the charter of Harvard College in 1650: I suppose this is moderately interesting
• Bouttoll Downing was born in Yardley Hastings in 1510. Ten generations later in 1820 "his descendant Sarah Downing" married John Abbey in Yardley Hastings where further generations continued to live: even Wikipedia doesn’t have an entry for Bouttoll Downing. And with a name like Bouttoll who can blame them (but Google found him) 
• Yardley Hastings is the village in which Marianne Faithfull's character Maggie lives in the 2007 film Irina Palm: oh, really? Let me whoop and shriek for joy.

All other things being said Yardley Hastings is quite an attractive village

It has a fine rectory whose asymmetrical architecture would have greatly offended the fine sensibilities of the Mughal kings.

Day 14: A motor car is NOT simply a way of getting from A to B

Readers will know my views of the motor car and its place in society. These views are not well-thought through and nor are they consistent and logical. You will be surprised at this as I am as a rule the epitome of logic and consistency.

I knew that Nicolas-Joseph Cugnot built the first steam-powered automobile capable of human transportation. I had forgotten that this was 1796 but would have recalled it being an 18th Century event. What I did not know was that as early as 1807 a fellow called François Isaac de Rivaz  designed the first car powered by an internal combustion engine which was fuelled by hydrogen.

I think what de Rivaz did was put together a lot of bits and pieces that others had invented and incorporated something where the combustion of the fuel (in his case hydrogen) occurred with an oxidiser. His machine used a spark for ignition. Isaac Newton remarked in a letter to his rival Robert Hooke in 1676 that “[w]hat Des-Cartes [sic] did was a good step. You have added much several ways, & especially in taking the colours of thin plates into philosophical consideration. If I have seen further it is by standing on the sholders [sic] of Giants”.

De Rivaz stood on such shoulders. The Romans had invented the crank and connecting rod as early as the 3rd Century. Ismail al-Jazari was a Muslim polymath: a scholar, inventor, mechanical engineer, craftsman, artist, and mathematician. He is best known for writing the The Book of Knowledge of Ingenious Mechanical Devices in 1206. He invented an early crankshaft, which he incorporated with a crank-connecting rod mechanism in his twin-cylinder pump. Like the modern crankshaft, Al-Jazari's mechanism consisted of a wheel setting several crank pins into motion, with the wheel's motion being circular and the pins moving back-and-forth in a straight line. The crankshaft described by al-Jazari[2][3] transforms continuous rotary motion into a linear reciprocating motion.

Alessandro Volta (he gave his name to the volt) built a toy electric pistol in which an electric spark exploded a mixture of air and hydrogen, firing a cork from the end of the gun.

But it was 1886 when the first petrol or gasoline powered car the Benz Patent-Motorwagen was invented by Karl Benz. This car is the first production vehicle as Benz made several identical copies.

Now, none of this was in my mind as we made our way to the British Motor Museum.

We collected The Parents who had been completely exhausted by the previous day’s adventures and determined that we would submit them to another day of rollicking activity. The G has cracked the satnav which is now putty in her hands and we set it to select scenic routes. The postcode for the British Motor Museum is CV35 0BJ. In spite of her mastery of the satnav device, and her mastery is unquestioned and unquestionable, no such postcode could be found. We pumped in Gaydon (which is the place where it is) and off we went.

Now, the term “scenic” should conjure up in your eye, Gentle Reader, and particularly in a English country setting, scenes of idyllic bliss. Be not deceived. We are in England in the middle of February. There is not a leaf to be seen on any tree that is deciduous (and there are few enough that are not). “Scenic” is a relative term. There are, it has to be said, daffodils. It is early for daffodils which means that phrases like “I have never seen the daffs out so early” pepper the conversations of all around us.

The Museum is housed in buildings so new that they had only just been commissioned and the staff knew little about how everything operated. I am sure that there are consultants who will advise the operators of this kind of public entertainment how to lay out their facilities to the best advantage. The public needs easy and low-effort interaction with whatever attractions are at hand.

The Museum had not (had not obviously) engaged such consultants or if they had they could not have taken their advice. Most of the cars on display had information about make, model, performance and so on but some did not. The exhibits date from an 1896 Wolseley and I would have wanted to wander around in chronological order. I could not conveniently do this as there was no useful guidebook on offer.

What passed as a guide brochure for the Museum.

Nonetheless this was a place worth seeing and, in my view, worth going to see. I will simply provide some pictures below with commentary as appropriate (or possibly sometimes not appropriate.

In terms of my own machinery there was no P5 Rover (there were 2 P5Bs) but there was a racing TVR (which is pictured below).

There is no doubt that the Brits built some bloody good cars. There is also no doubt that they stuffed it all up completely in the 1960s and 1970s, in my view, because the car industry was managed by men (and I think they were men) who did not have the vision and capability of William Morris and who were incapable of seeing the way the world change around them. In short they were the products of a myopic English (and here I mean English) education system that stifled rather than encourage individualism and entrepreneurialism.

This is a Standard 8 - the first car I owned. Mine was a 1995 model and it was green though I resprayed it very badly in red. It had an 850cc engine and could not be described as quick off the mark. It had no heater and no ignition key, just a switch.

A TVR - a bitter quicker I expect than my Chimaera.

A bull-nose Morris (I think)

I think this must be a Series 1 Landie.

You cannot have a car museum without an E-type. The G, who knows about these things, says they are uncomfortable. Because I do not know this from experience I would still have one in a heartbeat! 

This is an 850 Mini like my Mother had. Hers had the rego ROD228. The starter button was on the floor in these cars. I remember driving it once and the fan belt broke. My mother was in the car and was convinced that I had done something to make this happen. My then girlfriend was also in the car and lent (I should say donated) her tights which (my readers will know) are an excellent substitute for a fan belt. 

An Austin 7.

Another Austin 7 but this one is exactly the same as the one my Parents had when I was born. I used to ride in the back in my carry cot.

This car surprised me. It's a convertible A35 and as I was saying to The G that I had never seen one I saw that only one was ever made. There was also something described as an A30. I didn't picture it as I was almost apoplectic because I am sure it was an A35. It had the bigger rear windscreen. I had an A35 which my Father bought me in 1971. Mine had been first registered on 1 January 1959.

A TR6. Beautiful: I had three of these but all mine were Series 1s. This is a Series 2 with the lower compression head and hence only 125bhp compared to 155bhp for the Series 1. It's amazing the clutter than fills up your memory. 

A Lotus Europa. My friend Pete had one of these and it was lovely to drive but a bugger to keep in the raid. Eventually it got the better of him and when his potential buyer was test driving it something snapped (but he still bought it).

DB2.

Can't remember this one - is it an Allard?

Land Rover with very big wheels.

An Austin Princess, just a lovely limousine.

A 1909 Albion, 5,600cc and a top speed of 30mph.

My Mother with a Monaco Grand Prix Mini Cooper S. Every boy's dream in 1968 when I was a boy (and a boy old enough to drive).

Austin A90, 1955, was driven from North Cape (furthest north in Norway to South Cape (furthest south in South Africa). The driver was one Richard Pape and he managed to get through two cars (this was the second, the first fell down a ravine) and four co-drivers. So far as I can tell, Pape Richard Pape thought the “export or die” attitude of the British motor-industry was all very well, but, what they should be doing in the post-war 1950s is to prove themselves to the rest of the world that British engineering really was the best. From his obituary I find that he died in 1995 in Canberra.

We saw this picture before but I was hoping the addition of The G and my Father would show the sheer size of the wheels. They are twenty-fo's if they are inch.

1933 Riley Nine Kestrel.

Triumph Mayflower. These date from the early fifties and were often referred to as "razor edges". When I was at University people used to have these cars so they must have been cheap by the late 60s.

Austin A40. I think these were announced in 1959 at etc same time as the Mini. I heard somewhere that, along with the Mini, the British Motor Corporation (BMC) did not know how much they cost to make. No wonder they stuffed up.

Vauxhall Viva: they made these from 1963 to 1979. They went through three generations: the HA (1963-6), the HB (1966-70) and the HC (1970-79) and around 1.5m Vivas were sold during its lifetime. Elvis Costello referred to the car in his 1978 song "The Beat".

Now this is a magnificent machine. I owned for about 3 years (1972 to 1975) a white convertible version of this which would be pretty rare now. It boasts a straight six 1600cc engine. Eventually they replaced the 1600cc with the 2000cc from the Triumph 2000.

Alvis TE21. One of the cars on my list.

A Reliant Robin. One of the cars definitely NOT my list. We used to call them plastic pigs.

Triumph Roadster. They have a dicky seat and have such lovely lines.

Jensen CV8. I remember someone at University had one of these and I have always loved their shape. There was one  for sale in Cobargo a while back. How the hell a car like this ended up in Cobargo is really anyone's guess.

Mini Clubman. Look at the timber. They'll never make anything like this again.

Swallow Doretti. These cars were built on a TR2 (or was it a TR3) chassis and running gear. I remember them from my days in the TR Register.

Allard Shooting Brake. Huge and beautiful.

Bentley S1 Continental Fastback. Bodywork by H J Mulliner and also a lovely car.