Chat 7
Trevor Shakespeare posted 03/04.2020 >>>>Hi there Eddy, Part 2 of the Matchless story:--
In August 2011 we went to the MotoGP at Indianapolis and as part of the holiday decide to go to see my cousin and her husband, Geoff, whose bike it was, at their place in Pennsylvania. With the aid of a one-way car rental, we had 'road trip' going. At this stage, all I knew was that it was 'an old bike'. A few days later the lid came off the crate to reveal the dismantled bike in the attached photo. I had already told my wife that if the petrol tank was no good then I wasn't interested, so that was the first item out. It was solid. Game On. Soon most of the machine except the engine and transmission was on the barn floor. Surprisingly the engine was still free. Towards the bottom of the crate, the numberplates (the rear still a small one) and last tax disc (expired June 1927) appeared. I was trying not to show too much interest, but it was very difficult. It was fairly obvious that very few parts were missing, Geoff thought rear drive chain, front stand and a few bolts. We then went back into their house and a folder appeared with the original owner's handbook. Discussions went on while we were there, finally, he decided that he wanted me to have the bike, price-sorted, shipping to be organised. We thought that the original crate could be repaired and we could ship the bike back in that, but when I got in touch with a well-known agency at the October Stafford Show I found that standards for intercontinental shipping of timber had changed since 1974. Each piece of timber has to be marked and certified insect-free. (Plywood is ok as each sheet is marked at the factory). No problem said Geoff I will make a new crate from 3/4" plywood. Time moved on and some months later Geoff and his son-in-law went to the US equivalent of B&Q to collect the 8 x 4 sheets in their F150 Ford pick up. It was a windy day; first sheet onto truck no problem, when they picked up the second sheet the wind got under ti and Geoff and the ply went off across the car park. Hospital followed. After his injuries had healed work got in the way for a year, then he had substantial health issues.
Fast forward to early 2014. A bike built into new plywood crate, paperwork sorted, logistics company booked to collect a crate approx 4ft x 4ft x 3ft 6ins, 250Kg. The Bill of lading is printed in capitals Do not send tractor/ trailer. Geoff lives on a narrow lane, no turn offs in either direction for a couple of miles. So, a you may guess an extremely ticked off driver appeared one Friday evening. Tractor with a 53-foot semi-trailer. Some discussions followed, as did the local Police. The crate was loaded with Geoff's Bobcat skid steer. That was the second pallet on the truck. The Police had to turn their car round and then make everybody move out of the way for 2 1/2 miles until they got to the highway. The driver then had about a 3hr drive to Newark, New Jersey, docks.
Geoff waved goodbye, had to square it with the Police later, and the bike was on its way to the UK.
The Matchless as found. - Part 3 to follow:.
John Goodall posted 03/04.2020 >>>> Part
Three of my story:
In the late 1950s the three of us decided to
visit the British Nationals again this year it was at RAF
Hullavington up in Lincolnshire not far from Scampton where the
famous Dambuster’s flew from. We again travelled up on the Friday
and made camp and probably had beans again and went to bed early
after a tiring day. It did not seem very long afterwards when still
dark at 5.00 am in the morning some bright soul decided to fly a
pulse jet control line speed model. If you have never heard one of
them it is horrendously noisy a very guttural continuous bark and
with it going round and round it did not go away either. We
hurriedly got dressed to see what was making the noise and saw this
thing going round and round glowing in a red hot blur at approaching
180mph in the dark, quite spectacular. They actually do run red hot
which keeps the combustion going once started with a spark plug and
trembler coil, they run on best two-star petrol. When they run
out of petrol they stop instantly and the silence must have been
terrifying for people living in the South of England during WW2. The
V1 reprisal weapon had exactly the same engine as these slightly
simplified model engines! The pulse jet had been previously banned
from free-flying models after one or two cornfields were set on
fire, which is not good PR??
The flying here was very good with nice weather throughout and on
the Sunday late morning with a lull in flying a modeller carrying a
diminutive model about ten inches wingspan with an aerial hanging
out of it and a metal box with another aerial sticking up out of it,
had walked around the campsite. He had gathered quite a throng who
were asking are you going to fly it assuming it was a cutting edge
miniature radio-controlled model and he said yes of course, so we
tagged along as well, there must have been ten or twelve of us by
now. Radio control was still in its infancy then for model planes
and something this small was well out of the ordinary and extremely
interesting. He walked right to the far upwind side of the field
just in case the radio didn’t work we thought? It was a big airfield
too, probably approaching a mile walk. Then he sat down on the
grass, opened the box and pulled out his sandwiches and started to
munch away. We were definitely duped and sloped off muttering the
b…… d!!
We were all growing up and getting distracted by things like
girlfriends by now. Trevor decided he must get a car to assist
in this end and discovered a derelict Morgan three-wheeler which had
seen better days, but he soon got it running. However, he only
used it when it was not raining as it had no hood. It did work for
Trevor as the next thing was he met Delia who he eventually married.
I called one day on Trevor who lived at Nelson Street in Swadlincote
and Trevor said do you want to go for a ride in the Morgan, I had
put it off before so agreed. We set off with Delia sat beside Trevor
driving and me sat sideways in the cramped rear seat suitable for
children only. It seemed to go quite well and we headed off through
Bretby Village and approached a left-hand bend, all of a sudden the
car lurched and veered left and up the grass bank and ended up on
its side. I stepped straight out onto the road while Trevor was
holding the Morgan from going further over with Delia on top of
him?? I seem to remember a track rod end had dropped off on the LHS
and that wheel turned hard over pulling the car up the bank, the
other wheel was still straight. We tied the track rod back on with
barbed wire out of a fence to get it back home. Trevor later made a
hood for the car when a relation who had a shop decided the sunblind
over the window needed replacing with a new one. Trevor being
resourceful decided to use the old material to make a hood for the
Mog, so it was soon resplendent in striped red and white, but very
faded awning material, he made a good job of it too. It certainly
stood out from the crowd and kept most of the rain out!
In more modern times after marriage and earning a living as a Design
Engineer at the National Coal Board Mining Research Establishment at
Bretby I went to buy a car at Ashfield Garage in Burton run by
Norman Shipley who started selling cars from his home in Wales Lane,
Barton under Needwood not too far from where I lived and I initially
met him there but did not buy the car he advertised. His wife Rita
was the wages Clerk at the NCB Bretby so I knew her and through her
kept in touch with Norman and his activities. We got on well and I
bought a new Datsun off him, exchanging my old car. We would often
chat about things in general and one day it got round to motorbikes
and I said I would not mind getting a two-wheeler to do up and have
a ride on. He said I have just the thing for you an insurance write
off, if you make a bid about £50 I think you will get it. It looked
fairly good with little damage and the engine turned with good
compression, so I placed the bid and low and behold became the proud
owner of a Honda CD175 needing some TLC. I got it running fairly
quickly and then decided the paintwork was a little too tatty, so
decided a re-spray was required. It was quickly stripped down, rust
removed, treated with Jenolite, primed and repainted in the correct
maroon Honda paint using spray cans!! It now looked good and went
fairly well too, but I felt it was rather bland and a bit buzzy. So
started thinking about what next, in particular something earlier
and preferably British?
I used to take the Derby Evening Telegraph and around 1977/8
noticed an advert one night for a 1953 MAC Velocette, which brought
back fond memories of my Viper, so I arranged to go and see it at
Belper. The young man selling it was secretary of the MZ Owners Club
and had an impressive dossier on the MAC and had looked after it
very well. It started and ran beautifully and was very smooth during
a brief ride, so I bought it for I think £325. I had met up with
Patrick Lowe prior to this who had a BSA Empire Star from circa
1935, a Francis Barnet Cruiser from 1936 and a 250cc Excelsior
Manxman we had one or two rides together which ended up with me
joining Pat with his wife Hazel and Vic Smith who took his car with
a large trailer to go to the Irish Rally, this was in 1978. Patrick
generously said I could ride his Empire Star and he would ride his
Excelsior Manxman 250cc while Hazel rode a recently restored 1926
AJS 250cc found hanging in the rafters at Dumelos in Burton, Vic
rode his 500cc BSA Sloper Sport ex Brian Slack’s bike. The rally
was an eye-opener for me as I was not used to girder fork bikes and
solid rear frames and was absolutely worn out and shattered each day
initially and went to bed about 8.00 pm for the first few nights. I
did enjoy the rally as it was like going back to pre-war days in the
UK traffic density wise, with nothing else on some of the roads
except other rally bikes, with beautiful scenery and very much
camaraderie, fantastic. We rode each other's bikes as well and
I remember Vic’s earlier Sloper I think circa 1930, as being faster
than the Empire Star with a better gear change. It started a trend
for me as I estimate I have now been over to the Irish Rally about
eleven, or twelve times now. It is however getting expensive to
enter if you can get an entry and the Colombres Rally in Northern
Spain is warmer, cheaper and with better road surfaces, the red
wine is certainly much cheaper.
My interest in older motorcycles prompted Norman Shipley to suggest
I get in touch with Glyn Hall again as he knew we had lost touch and
were very friendly previously. Norman mentioned he and Glyn went to
the Birmingham section of the VMCC for their monthly meetings
together. So I rang Glyn and we got together, after many years
raising families in our separate ways this must have been late the
1970’s. We started to meet regularly at the New Inn at Needwood on
the five-lane ends. This went on for a few years, or so until I
decided we should have a local Rally and sounded out the others and
all seemed enthusiastic, so we advertised it in OBM run by that
gentleman the late Ken Hallworth. This took place at the New Inn in
1981 and proved very successful with Ken Hallworth joining us after
his round the Coast of England re-enactment on his Raleigh 350cc
machine, although it did rain and Ken came off his bike on some mud
with his son on the pillion. Both survived OK fortunately. The
upshot of all this activity is that between us we decided to
resurrect the Burton Section of the VMCC to facilitate local
enthusiasts to join us and this was inaugurated in 1981. Patrick
Lowe was elected Chairman and I became Secretary with Glyn and Vic
on the committee. Norman Shipley having seen how well the rally had
gone suggested if we called it the “Ashfield Burton Parade” and
planned a route through most of his selling areas he would sponsor
the event next year and he gave very generously too. The first rally
named “Ashfield Burton Parade” started and finished at Ashfield
Garage in Stapenhill in 1982 with excellent trophies given by
Ashfield, it attracted about seventy entrants from memory and had
free refreshments. Ivan Rhodes had agreed to bring along a Mk8 KTT
Velocette to add interest and Ashfield would have a race-winning
Go-kart there which Norman had sponsored. It proved a great success
with lots of spectators at Ashfield and around the course, apart
from a little upset after the run when Ivan with some encouragement
bumped and started the Mk8 in race trim down Ashfield Road, it
sounded fantastic, but upset the neighbours and the Police arrived
to put a damper on further running. The rally format itself proved
very successful and still uses exactly the same framework and
features that I and my helpers introduced back then.
The next year with the section thriving we decided it best to move
the Rally away from Ashfield with its possibility of upsetting the
Garage neighbourhood. So Glyn and I approached the Bass Museum to
see if they would host it, still to be called The Ashfield Burton
Parade, again with generous sponsorship from Ashfield Garage. Bass
Museum agreed to give a Bottle of Museum Ale to all entrants. I
think this was the first year we had to consider limiting entrants
because of the Museum Restaurant Fire Regulations. The Museum
Restaurant put on a splendid buffet which became another feature of
the Parade.
I became Chairman after Patrick Lowe joined the Management
Committee, with the late Phil Sherratt coming in as Secretary. Other
events obviously took place in our events calendar with lecturers at
monthly meetings, breakfast runs and other local runs. Ivan Rhodes
was one of the early speakers and so was Ginger Woods possible
arranged through Ivan? The late Colin Missen came after I met him
over a Baby Triumph I had obtained over which he gave me a lot of
help and he gave an excellent talk on early Triumphs. I developed a
friendship with Colin through this and used to go with him and Frank
Bayman (Ex British sidecar Champion passenger) to the Pioneer Run
after buying a 1909 Triumph from Vic Smith. I had to get the magneto
rebuilt and repair the rear freewheel hub which was badly damaged,
it had 40 plates I think? This Free Wheel Hub was first introduced
that year as a special accessory and was not previously available.
A great machine that went very well, but stopping was another
matter, especially in the rain? The Burton parade continued
successfully at the Bass Musem until 1986 when the Curator dropped a
bombshell telling us they were booked for the date we gave for next
years Rally. Glyn actually checked the Museum site on the day and
there was nothing taking place, so we assumed they wanted us out,
but never discovered why? A move to Marston’s Sports and Social Club
took the Rally to its current location and meeting venue. A very
good move as it turned out.
was hoping to get Mike Hailwood to talk to the section and called at the
“Hailwood and Gold” premises at Spaghetti Junction with Patrick Lowe
after we had been to Coventry to see one Dave McMahon, over a Rudge
Ulster I had bought locally and DM was supposed to be restoring the
engine and gearbox on. That is another story best left for another
day! As we walked into the shop up popped Mike himself from
behind the counter and Pat being Pat went into his usual banter
about when he last saw Mike in the IOM he had watched him coming
into Ballaugh to go over the Bridge on the Works Honda 500cc four
and Pat was making all the Honda noises Vroom, Vroom, Vroom going
down through the gears and you could see Mike was enjoying it and
laughing at Pat, as he leaned in and out of the imaginary bends. He
came over a few minutes later while we were watching a video of the
TT and he was a really nice friendly pleasant man one of the best,
full of fun and very modest too, but greatly enjoyed the banter
between us Then I am biased and he was the best without doubt in my
mind, so versatile, he could win on any bike as I had witnessed a
number of times. I bought his book which he signed for me. That
night Pat rang me with a tone in his voice which I knew straight
away was very serious, “Have you heard the news” he asked me and I
said no what? Hailwood has had a car crash and is not expected to
live and his daughter is dead, son badly injured going to get fish
and chips for supper!! What a shock, what a loss and what a way to
end for this magnificent naturally talented human being’s life,
especially after what he had gone through saving others. It simply
did not matter he was the son of a millionaire, He Was The Best
motorcycle racer I ever saw and a good man too with no edge, even
after all his wins and Championships. I am sure he did not sign
another book after mine, as it was the last one in stock and I still
have it as it is very special to me!! I feel emotional now having
written this!! In fact very emotional.
John Goodall.
More to follow later.
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Part 4 of 4.
That evening Martley had to go for a ride on the old Ariel. It had been a really hot day working in a closed shed sorting out dusty dirty stuff belonging to other people so he didn’t even know whose dirt he’d been breathing in meant he had to get some fresh air. He had a couple of hours before the darts and dominoes evening started at the Dog, just long enough for a good blow.
He pulled the bike out of the lean-to and checked the oil and petrol - it was ok. He sat astride the bike with his helmet on and turned on the petrol, tickled it and swung down on the kick-start. The old bike burst into life.
“Dunno what that miserable bugger’s so down on the English for, no one else made bikes like this.”
He pushed it into gear and slid out of the yard on a blue haze of oily smoke, kicking the picket gate shut behind him. Down Bexham Street, then left into Kiln Road and on into Slater Street, he was travelling about 35mph, but he could not really tell as the bike had no Speedo. Never had from new. After about another fifteen minutes he was starting to leave the town behind, the roads got a bit wider and the houses bigger with a bit more space between. He was beginning to enjoy himself. Flat out the old bike would do about fifty; after all, it was eighty years old and had not had much loving care in the last sixty of those. By the time he had lost all the houses and was really out in the country, it was starting to get dusky. As the bike had no lights he reckoned it was time to head for home and he turned into a tiny lane he knew would lead him back to town. As he rounded a corner going steadily he saw a large four by four filling the whole road, when he was pretty sure that the driver wasn’t going to pull over he had no choice but to put the bike up onto the grass verge, ending on its side with him underneath, he just managed to cut the engine and switch off the fuel which was pouring out onto his leg. As he lifted the bike up to get out from underneath he felt it get lighter.
“Sorry mate, didn’t see you till it was too late you OK, bloody hell Martley, is that you?”
“Of course it’s me. What are you doing out here?” Martley had just recognised the driver - it was Johnny.
“Just been seeing my old lady. She lives out here since we split needed to talk to her about one of the kids. I’ll give you a lift home it’s too dark to ride. Where’s your bloody lights? I can’t believe the coincidence.”
Yeah, nor can I, thought Martley rather ruefully rubbing his sore leg. They lifted the bike into the back, it wasn’t damaged, it had seen worse than that in its long life. Johnnie dropped him back at the yard and they unloaded the bike. Martley looked at his watch.
“You got to be somewhere?”
“Yeah, it’s darts and doms night at the Dog - they’ll be wondering where I am.”
“I could do with a pint. There’s no one waiting for me at home now so I’ll buy you one for knocking you off.”
“Make it two and I’ll forgive you.”
Just as it was coming out of his big gob Martley wished he wasn’t saying it. The last person he wanted in the Dog tonight was Johnny, he was pretty sure that Jed would be there with the key and if he opened his mouth about the other safe Johnny was bound to be interested, and Martley did not want that - what was in the safe was his to find and his to keep, the bloody thing had been there twenty years after all.
“OK, let’s go, I’m parched.”
………………
As it was Jed wasn’t in the pub, he’d been in earlier and had been looking for Martley, but he’d had to go and pick up his daughter from her shift at the hospital. However, he had said to tell him that he’d come to the yard tomorrow.
So the key is ready!
Martley could hardly contain himself - he did not sleep at all and kept getting up to see if it was light and time to get going. Like all sleepless nights this one went on forever and only served to fuel his rising anticipation. After a hurried breakfast, he was at the yard at 7:15, he was so excited he could not really settle to anything constructive and kept stopping and starting the crane and moving some stuff here and some stuff there and then back again. It was hopeless so he switched off having uncovered the two safes and went and made a brew. He kept looking at his watch, it was 10:30 and seemed like midday, he paced about and drank so much tea that he had to keep going for a pee. At about midday, he was coming out of the bog after his fortieth pee and there was Jed. Half of Martley wanted to kiss him and the other half wondered where the hell he’d been.
“Bit late aren’t you, got it then?”
“Yes, I’ve got it. What’s up with you, where’s the rush?”
“I’ve been waiting here since half seven, I thought you’d get here early.”
“Why? It’s not my sodding safe. Mart, you really are like a big kid sometimes, anyway there you go.” Jed handed him the shiny new key, if he hadn’t just had one he’d have wet himself.
“Well, let’s go see if it works” now even Jed sounded excited. They went over to where the safes stood and went straight to the one from Johnny’s. The key worked in it spot on, which was not surprising as it was copied from the key for that safe. Then, hands shaking a little and palms all sweaty, Martley turned his attention to his safe, in went the key no problem, but it would not turn.
“It’s no good.”
“I told you it was a long shot. They didn’t make two the same. What would be the point? There was just a chance that they’d had a pair made, but they didn’t.”
“Thanks Jed, I’d better get on” Martley was in a sulk now and just wanted Jed to go.
“I can take a hint.”
Martley didn’t even acknowledge him going. He just stood and stared at those two bloody safes, one with its mouth open and the other closed.
“Here’s your money, I put an extra thirty quid in to cover any damage to you or the bike. Bugger me, what have we got here” Johnny was next to Martley staring at the two identical safes. Martley took his money.
“Both came from your dad’s place. Want some tea?”
He followed. “What do you mean”?
“I’ll tell you over a brew”.
As they sat over their tea Martley handed over the old ledger and all the cuttings about the robbery.
“So what do you reckon then? Do you think there’s anything in it?”
“I know there’s somat in it, I’ve heard it, but I can’t open it. That’s why I came to your house, the other stuff was just coincidence, the clearing and that thought I might find a key or something. Well I did, didn’t I, and another bloody safe but it doesn’t fit mine, so I still can’t open it.”
They went back into the yard and Martley played him the “THUNK”.
“It’ll turn out to be an old shoe - you know that, don’t you.”
“Probably, but I’ve still got to know.”
Johnny stood there staring at the safes and didn’t say a word. You could almost hear him thinking.
“This explains a lot, you know, and I can find you the right key.”
He got a bit of paper out of his trousers and scribbled down an address. “Meet me here this afternoon about 2.30.”
When he’d gone Martley looked at the paper - Sunnyside Nursing Home 24-32 Wednesbury St.
………………
Two o’clock found him on the bike tick-tocking along the road followed by a reassuring mist of blue smoke; Martley liked exhausts that smoked a bit, it meant that enough oil was around to keep everything lubricated, including his shoes and trousers. Johnny was already sitting outside the nursing home.
“Let's go and meet my mum,” he said “don’t expect a conversation but you may get a look.”
They rang the bell and were let in. Johnny led the way through the corridors off which were numerous lounge rooms with lots of old chairs filled with people silently watching the television at maximum volume. The whole place smelled of disinfectant and the things it was being used to disinfect, it was oppressively hot.
“I come a couple of times a week but she hasn’t known me for ages, we just sit for a bit, I can only stand it for about 30 minutes, it takes ages to get the smell out of my clothes. Having said all that, she does not like to let go of her bag so this may not be easy.”
They went into the end sitting room and Martley saw an old woman propped up and lolling in a big old armchair, her legs were bandaged and her feet were up on a low stool. Her eyes did not look over to them, it was quiet, no telly here.
“Hi Mum” Johnny leaned over and kissed her on the cheek she did not move or seem to register. They stayed for about 20 minutes. Johnny got up to leave and leant forward to kiss his mother goodbye, as he did Martley saw him slip his hand into her open bag, as he did he put his key in and took another almost identical one out.
………………
Back at the yard, they were staring at the closed safe. Johnny stepped forward to put the key in the lock and turned it. The well-oiled hinges, allowed the door to swing silently open on the slightly sloping ground. Martley strained forward and Johnny stepped back to let him closer.
“Go on then, get it out whatever it is - it’s your safe”
Martley leaned down and pulled out what looked like an oily rag and a small haversack about nine inches square. His hands were shaking with anticipation as he started to unfold the oily rag, there was something hard wrapped in it. Johnny stepped back as Martley turned, he could now see he was holding a revolver.
“What the fuck is that doing in there?”
Martley handed it to him as he turned his attention to the haversack. He tipped it out on the ground between them and out poured five thick bundles of old twenty-pound notes. All held together with those paper bands as if they had just come from the bank. They did not speak, but picking up the stuff they went back up the stairs to the office. Johnny had some whisky in the car so he got that and they sat and drank half of it. Martley thought it should be in celebration of the find but it did not seem as if Johnny felt like that. The pistol was an old service issue Enfield unloaded, the notes were old-style -useless - and five thousand pounds worth.
“Don’t touch this, don’t show it to anyone, don’t do anything with it. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
Martley didn’t much care for Johnny’s tone. After all, it wasn’t his stuff or did he think it was? After all, what did Martley want with some old notes he couldn’t use and a revolver with no bullets that he did not know how to use? His years in the scrap trade told him one thing though. This stuff was trouble, the gun was trouble, the notes were trouble, he didn’t know why but he did know they were. That meant he could not go to the bank with the notes and he was in possession of an unlicensed gun. Somehow he wished he’d been a bit less curious and left the bloody safe where it was. Still he had found out what was inside, and that mattered.
In a bit, Johnny was back. He handed Martley an envelope in which were ten new fifty pound notes. Normally Martley wouldn’t touch fifties but he thought he’d make an exception this time.
“What’s this for then?”
“You take it – it’s compensation. Now I want you to lose the whole bloody lot - safes, gun, the lot, I’ll burn the money down in the yard.”
“You’ll have to tell me what it’s all about first.”
“I never knew there were two safes. All I knew was we had two keys one each; God knows why she wanted us to keep them. I knew life changed after dad died, it was easy, she was happy, which seemed odd to me. She must have done it herself to get rid of him and collect the insurance. That twenty K insurance put me through school, did a whole lot of things, that and selling the yard our lives changed, she must have done it. Killed him, faked the robbery and used the second safe as a decoy, to look like a robbery had taken place. This is the money dad took out of the bank to go to Midland Motor Auctions with - only he never got there, she shot him. He loved that garage but she didn’t, always said that it held them back, so she shot him and got rid of it. Got everything she wanted in one move, amazing, my bloody mother a murderer.”
He finished ranting and turned to Martley with an icy stare. “You and me have got a secret, there’s no point in opening this all up again, what good would it do? Take your money and get rid of this gun and don’t mention it again.”
“Don’t worry, Johnny boy, this yard’s hidden worse stuff than that over the years. Just between the two of us then.”
THE END.
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Eddy.