Chat 6
Answer to Chat 4 picture quiz: Is the top of a
top off a refillable soda acid fire extinguisher. Some example
below in pic2 and acid/soda glass refills in pic3.
David Giles posted 01/04/2020 >>>
First Impressions’, maybe others have interesting memories.
Background: I was 10 when my Dad took me to my first post war trial, the ‘John Douglas’ ran by the Bristol MCC in1947.
The last hill of the day which was on Lansdown, N.W. of Bath, was called ‘Pipley Bottom’ which from a stream crossing
rose steeply through an extremely muddy and rock outcrop gully to a 1:3 exit where the section end card was planted.
I recall the Marshall shouting to the spectators perched precariously on the sides:
‘Stand back lads, the works BSA team are next, and they haven’t lost a mark yet’
It was one of those do-or-die hills. Flat out in second, sliding madly from bank to bank came the big hairy 500’s of Fred Rist,
Bill Nicholson and then on a 350 a young fresh faced lad, a new member to the ‘works’. As he ear’old into the mud with his
front wheel just out of the section, I remember looking through the programme to find the ‘new’ lads name:
G.E. Duke - never heard of him!
Footnote: Geoff rode for one season in the BSA team before he transferred to the Norton’s: initially with the works trials team.
However he continued to ride off-road for his own pleasure and as good fitness training for many years
The photo shows him in later years on his own BSA. David.
John Goodall posted 01/04/2020 >>> Part two of my story.
In the first part of this story I described my early life and how I got into model airplanes and motorcycles which were to form an abiding interest in all the years that have followed since. Motorcycles allowed me to get to work, socialize and do my own thing with my spare time, which was mostly model planes, or simply going for a ride!
After meeting Glyn Hall we formed a lasting friendship and shared many hours riding our bikes and meeting either at my home where I had a shed my father built for me in which to build models, but it was also became a club house for local model enthusiasts The other venue was in Glyn’s fathers garage where many other friends congregated when the doors were open and bikes were present for maintenance, or repair, discussed, or lusted over. We each tried the other bikes up the High Street in Newhall as the icing on the cake? I remember riding a Vincent Comet owned by Pete who was the relation of a local scrap merchant at Stanton near Burton which should have warned me, but no off I went with a fist of throttle and ended up on the wrong side of the road at the first bend, lucky there was nothing coming the other way!! I took it back rather more sedately. Glyn had exactly the same experience and it put me off Vincent’s for life, but this one should have been left in the scrap yard whence it came it was a k….r! I think it cost him five pounds and we both think he was robbed.
We started to fly models competitively and went to RAF Waterbeach in 1957, or 58 for the National Championships. We packed a tent, bedding, toiletries, food and provisions, models and fuel on the back of the bikes in pannier bags and back of the dual seat and four of us Glyn, Trevor Mear on his BSA C11, Chris Sowter (who became an eminent surgeon) rode pillion on Glyns bike a Francis Barnet 225cc Cruiser which he still has, along with myself on the Tiger Cub and we set off. We got to the airfield down in Cambridgeshire and set up camp Glyn nominated himself chief cook which we others thought was a blessing in disguise?? However after beans on toast for dinner, breakfast and tea it was not such a good idea. The event took place over a bank Holiday weekend and we travelled down on the Friday, but Saturday dawned wet and windy, RAF Waterbeach was living up to its name!! The best thing of the day was when the squadron of Meteor NF11’s based there took off in the evening for a weekend sortee at another base and keep them away from us.
It was pretty depressing I seem to remember, because we could not fly due to the weather and to be stuck in a cramped tent for three nights with three others, conversation soon dried up unlike the rain. We were wet cold and eating beans on toast was now not looking very appealing at all. I am only just beginning to enjoy beans again after 62 years?? There were bright spots and one such was about six or seven young campers went to fetch water from the only tap available which was by then a quagmire, they improvised a thin nine inch diameter polythene tube folded the ends and managed to fill it with water and were shouting and yawping as they proudly struggled back to their tent with this wriggling squishy, leaking tube, but how they filled the kettle or pan must have been hit or miss? They were soaked like all of us, but not just from the rain!
It rained and blew a gale all weekend and no meaningful flying took place, but it was interspersed with some enterprising control line flyers who removed the propeller from their planes to reduce drag and managed to get them airborne down wind and flew by kiting the model as long as they wanted, or until they got cold and wet doing figure of eights, loops, bunts and inverted eights aided by the high wind. It’s an ill wind that blows no one any good. Trevor Mear won the Combat prize after the entry fees were used and a draw took place to decide the winner. The only time the Nationals were won without a flight taking place and the only time Trever ever won anything. I left early on the Monday afternoon in the rain and thrashed the Cub home and was thoroughly wet through when I finally got home shivering, it was straight into a hot bath and a decent bed.
In the late 1950’s I built a model called the Harlequin a control line stunt model and the design called for an aluminium cowl hand beaten to shape and the article in Aeromodeller magazine described how this should be made and in those days I would have a go at anything and I managed a fairly neat outcome. This was to the extent that other club members then asked me to make them one and so my skills improved and it is something I still enjoy today. It is very satisfying to take a piece of flat aluminium and make it into something with shape form and usefulness by beating with a hammer. There is work to do after this, but I will mention this later. One of the first motor cycle parts I made was the instrument mounting panel for an LE Velocette for a local VMCC member and I made a “buck” in mild steel over which to form the metal, such that the thickness gave the edge depth of the panel and when turned over the opposite hand panel could be made. I still have the tool, so if you want some let me know. Pictures are attached.
Ivan Rhodes lent me the Model “O” Velocette prototype for a year some time back and one of the things that stood out like a sore thumb was the missing covers over the rear suspension, so I thought I would rectify that for the loan of this iconic and valuable machine. After some study and a little reverse engineering I realised I could make wooden plywood bucks to make the covers in two parts from aluminium sheet, using the same buck for the opposite side and opposite hand by the way I trimmed the resulting two parts. The top part with the arcuate slot was filed by hand and they could then be welded together to form what you now see on was a privilege to borrow. (Photographs below. Ed.) I believe this bike would have been a winner for Velocette had it made it into production as it is now in its 600cc form having started as a 500cc. This geared opposite rotation twin crank engine with shaft drive, starts easily, is exceedingly smooth, accelerates quickly, cruises comfortably at 70 mph, has good brakes and steering is very good if a little heavy at the front end, but is possibly lighter than the HRD twin of the same period? I speak from experience having ridden the late Ray Gopsill’s HRD Twin some years back, another privilege. Bear in mind it was designed circa 1936 as a high speed tourer and what would have compared to it in those days if WW2 had not intervened, only the HRD maybe and that was chain drive? I understand the Great Australian Phil Irving had a hand in the design of each of these machines.
More to follow later.
John Goodall.
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Mick Dughan posted 01/04/2020 (This is why nothing gets done! Ed)
There was an important job to be done and Everybody was asked to do it.
Everybody was sure Somebody would do it.
Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it.
Somebody got angry about that, because it was Everybody’s job.
Everybody thought Anybody could do it but Nobody realised that Everybody wouldn’t do it.
It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody when Nobody did what Anybody could have done.
(Have you sent anything that people might find interesting to the "Chat" ? Ed.)
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Part
2 of The Chubb by Part 2 by Pat Ronotham
Next day Martley was standing looking at the old Ariel. He’d had a pretty heavy night at the Dog and was feeling a bit rough. It was midday and Ick wasn’t coming in today so after a few brews to set him up he was ready for the off, putting the old pudding basin helmet on his head and zipping up his old leather jacket, he turned on the petrol, tickled the carburettor, retarded the ignition and kicked her into life. A cacophony of rattle and a pall of smoke surrounded the old bike. Martley left her ticking over and opened the little gate, pushing her through and shutting up after him. As he rode down the streets towards Macklin Avenue he could tell that the noise of the old bike attracted people’s attention. Older men looked on and grinned putting their thumbs up, young kids fell about laughing if they were boys and looked disdainful if girls of almost any age. Thirty-something mums looked disapprovingly, presumably assessing the level of lung damage the constant haze of oily smoke produced by the engine would have on their precious offspring. The only people that did not seem to see him were four-by-four drivers who had recently replaced the dreaded Volvo drivers as the ones that can’t see.
After about twenty minutes he turned into Macklin Avenue, and in true surveillance style, knowing the kind of attention that the bike drew, he cut the engine and coasted to a stop about twenty yards up from the house and behind a large black Landrover Discovery Reg number JD46.
“That’ll be the lads,” Martley muttered. He sat and waited.
There was a Van parked outside the house and a man in his late thirties was giving instructions to a couple of removal workers who were moving to and fro loading furniture into the back. The man sent some things back in and other stuff was loaded. Martley noticed he was not taking any crap.
Then it struck him he was clearing the house. He parked the bike up took off the helmet and walked towards the van as he approached the man giving orders he had already written the yard’s phone number and his name on a scruffy bit of paper.
“We can clear what you don’t want to take, just give me a ring.”
The man looked startled. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
“Martley from Ted Wilkins scrap yard. I noticed you were emptying the house and thought you may want what’s left cleared”
“Wilkins yard you say. Bexham Street?”
“Yeh, that’s right”
“Well it looks like you’ve come at the right time, we will want it cleared its got to be emptied for the next owner by the end of the week, my mum moved into a nursing home a few years back and now its sold, Just rescuing a few of the best bits and family stuff. Do you want to take a look?”
Martley followed him into the house and through to the back. There were odds and ends everywhere but nothing too tricky. It was a large 1920’s suburban detached house with a little gate at the side leading down to a pretty long garden. All the gates were liberally decorated with rising suns, a common motif at the time; it fell out of favour a bit after the Second World War.
“These sheds will interest you, they’ve all got to be cleared, load of old garage stuff, my dad used to own one.”
Martley kept schtum. “When will you be out of the way so we can start?”
They agreed terms and a start tomorrow afternoon. Martley could hardly wait; he was certain that in the sheds somewhere was the key to his safe.
………………
The following afternoon saw Martley and Ick turn up at the house in an old flat bed truck they’d borrowed off their mate Divvey. Well he wasn’t really a mate just someone you’d put up with so you could borrow their truck. Johnny was there to meet them and took them into the house. Martley wanted to get straight out into the sheds but he had to at least look interested and get on with house clearing before they could even make a start on the sheds. As it turned out they didn’t get the house cleared until about 8 o’clock and Ick was gasping.
“That’s it for the night; I’m off down the Dog for a few, you coming?”
“What about unloading?”
“Sod unloading. I’m knackered; it can wait till tomorrow. Divvey don’t want his truck back until tomorrow evening, we can just park it up in the yard, and you’ll have to unload yourself in the morning. I’m off to Uttoxeter for the racing.”
Normally Martley would be pretty pissed off with this from Ick but today it suited him fine. It meant that he could come back tomorrow and get on with the shed; he could move all the small stuff on his own and in the process go through it with a fine tooth comb.
Martley got up at six the next morning to get an early start, he was down at the yard by seven and had the truck unloaded in half an hour. There was not much of value on it so he took what there was off first and then unloaded the rest in great tangled grabfulls with the crane. He’d burn most of the furniture as he’d tried to sell this sort of stuff before and no one wanted it. He got to the house by 10 and let himself in with the keys Johnny had given him, he went straight through to the first shed, found the padlock key and opened up.
“Right where would I keep a key?”
After an hour all he had managed to do was completely mess the place up, even more than it was already. He’d opened all the drawers he could see in all the cupboards and filing cabinets. He’d opened all the tins, tipped out all the tools and the old garage stationery, and now he just stood in the middle of all this wreckage and looked lost. OK he had found a few things that may be worth putting on eBay for the classic car enthusiasts but that was not what he was after.
“I’ll be more organised. I’ll start in this front corner and I’ll work my way across, and then move further back. Any good stuff Ill put in these boxes and the rest I’ll just treat as junk and pile it up.”
And that is exactly what he did. Once the impatience of looking for the key had subsided he settled back into the well-known routine of sorting scrap. Two hours later he was about half way through the first shed, and he’d taken two loads of mostly rubbish back to the yard. He didn’t hear Johnny come in as he was going through an old tool box.
“What the bloody hell are you doing? I thought you were just going to stick it on the truck and shift it out of here. I didn’t think you were going to go through the lot like you were looking for treasure. Where’s your mate?”
Martley blinked and looked bothered. The reasons for this were twofold. Firstly he had to try to come up with a story so that Johnny did not suspect he was looking for the key, and he was not very good at thinking things up in a hurry. Second he’d just spotted something out of the corner of his eye that he was desperate to get a better look at, but he couldn’t do it with Johnny watching.
“Ick’s at the races today so I’m here on my own. It’s taking a bit longer, there’s more here than we bargained for and I’m doing a bit of sorting now, I’ll finish by the end of the week like we agreed.”
“You’d better or you can kiss your money goodbye. The new owners are moving in, in a few days and it’s got to be clear, so get a wobble on. Do you want some tea? I’ve bought a brew with me.”
As they sat drinking tea from Johnny’s flask they looked around at all the stuff.
“Funny isn’t it I have never really looked in here, my mum always kept it locked when I was a kid, said it was too dangerous to let me in so I lost interest in it.”
Martley thought that was a bit odd; he reckoned that the minute you tell a kid not to do something that’s when they get really interested. Still maybe he was a bit of a mummy’s boy.
“When she went into the home and I got all the keys all I could think about was getting the place empty and sold and that’s taken long enough. Let’s have a look at what you’ve found then.”
Martley did not like this turn of events. If Johnny started to get interested anything could happen. He could start feeling he owned it and that was not the deal. If Martley sorted and took it, it was his. That was the deal, and he was going to get bloody well paid for hauling away as well. Still he said nowt and let Johnny poke about.
As Johnny leaned forward that was when Martley saw it hanging out of his shirt around his neck on a gold chain. A key. A bloody key. Almost certainly THE bloody key.
Johnny must have felt his gaze; he looked across. “What?”
“Nuthin, just looking.”
Martley could not keep his eyes off it
“Christ, man do you fancy me or something. What are you looking at?”
Martley blushed. Then he had it.
“Just looking at your key and wondering if it fits that old safe there.”
He was pointing at the second thing that had caught his eye. Sitting in the corner of the room under a great pile of stuff was another safe. It looked identical to his at the yard.
“Well bugger me, it just might be,” and
Johnny launched himself across the intervening junk to get at it
..............................
Part 3 next time.
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