21 - The 1986 Lombard RAC Rally

* Still no photos, so I've improvised...

A fairly new innovation I think - the book of stage maps and diagrams

I’d be willing to place a bet that everyone who rallied in the 70s and 80s, whether driver or navigator (or like me, both) aspired to take part in the country’s premier event, the RAC Rally of Great Britain, sponsored for many years by Lombard Finance and therefore known as the Lombard RAC Rally.

In more recent times the ‘RAC’ – or Rally of Great Britain – has fallen in line with the standard format for World Rally Championship (WRC)  events – that is to say three days of stages all done in ‘office hours’, with a night’s sleep in between each day.  The events are still tough – but for many years, which certainly included the 80s – there were long, gruelling sections where crews had no decent rest for 48 hours or more, and ‘Rally of Great Britain’ meant England, Scotland and Wales, with some pretty impressive mileages clocked up, from SW Wales to NE Scotland, and just about everywhere in between.  One recent WRC ‘Rally of Great Britain’ was dubbed the ‘RAC Rally of a small corner of South Wales…’

The 1986 Event – over 525 km of stages – started from Bath on a November Sunday morning, following the by-now usual tour of England’s stately homes, with stages generally described as ‘Mickey Mouse’ to accentuate the contrast with ‘proper’ forest roads; less than a full night in bed (Harrogate) was soon over as we drove north early Monday morning, tackling over 85 km of stages in the huge Kielder Forest, then into Scotland with relentless overnight stages (no rest!), before the Lake District on Tuesday afternoon and finally a welcome overnight bed in Liverpool.

Not quite overnight – we were up and away again at 4 am for a full day of forest stages from one end of Wales to the other, finally finishing in the evening back where we started, in the city of Bath.  You certainly knew you’d done an endurance event!

But before I go any further, I need to tell you another true story from the 1986 Circuit of Ireland that Pete Croft reminded me of, after reading the last episode.  Chocolate (my driver, John Morley) had one of those ‘Agency Cards’ – for those of you who aren’t familiar, someone in business could set up an account with Shell, BP etc, and get an Agency Card, charging their fuel to the card at each fill-up and then paying by monthly account.  Each time he filled up with petrol, John would get BP and charge it to the card, but he thought it only operated in the UK and assumed he couldn’t use it in the Republic of Ireland.  Somewhere near Waterford, everything was almost empty – the service van, the rally car, and several jerry cans – so we stopped at a BP filling station.  John gave Pete the card, saying he didn’t think they would accept it and he’d probably have to pay cash. Once everything was filled up, Pete went to pay and presented the agency card saying “Will you accept this?”  The attendant looked at it and said “Oh yessir, Oy’ve seen these before, yessir, dat’ll be perfectly alroyt!” and put it through the system.  That fill-up never appeared on John’s bill.  As I remember it was about £85, and with petrol in 1986 costing about £0.37p per litre, you can imagine how much that would have been today! (I still feel a little guilty but in my defence I was an innocent bystander…)

Timo Salonen / Seppo Harjanne

…back to the 1986 RAC Rally… as usual the entry list was a ‘Who’s Who’ of the 1980s rally scene, with the top three cars being Timo Salonen, Stig Blomqvist and Markku Alén and quality entries filling the list. Russell Brookes was at 16 and Pentti Airikkala only just made the top 30.  But looking through the entry list today, I’m amazed at how many people took part in that event who I still know – Morton, P Sandham, I Holt, K Skidmore, C Woodward, J Meadows, D Forrester, J Cressey, K Savage…

Pete and Mick weren’t available to service so we fell back on John’s earlier crew (Steve Hargreaves and John Griggs I think - thanks to Jim for the reminder)  After the usual scrutineering and other formalities we were able to enjoy (to a limited extent only) a night on the town in Bath, where we bumped into Ian Grindrod and Dave Metcalfe and everything went downhill from there!

The excitement built as we finally got to set off on ‘the world’s best rally’ and headed for the Mickey Mouse Sunday stages.  We reached Harrogate without incident and were ready for a fresh start on Monday morning, where we tackled Harewood Hill (in the grounds of the Hall) and Hamsterley before arriving at the huge Kielder Forest complex in England’s top right-hand corner.  Kielder is a seriously frightening place, especially when well over a hundred cars have preceded you and pulled out rocks – nay, boulders, on to the road.  It was a serious disadvantage to the later runners, and even with the quickest driver in the world, you wouldn’t be able to run that far down the field and be competitive.  But it was a challenge…

Stig Blomqvist / Bruno Berglund

Then into Scotland after dark, with a stage at Ingliston racing circuit before heading south through even more forests to Kershope, just south of the border, and then the Lake District, using forest roads I’ve come to know quite well since… but with walking boots on.  Wythop has a spectacular ‘fresh air drop’ on one side of the car – luckily the driver’s this time – I remember looking out and seeing only Bassenthwaite Lake, with apparently nothing in between; and finally two long stages in Grizedale.

It was raining now, and we had a long run to another Mickey Mouse stage at Haigh Hall, near Wigan, before a 20 minute service at the Albert Dock in Liverpool, then the cars were placed in parc fermé until the morning.  It was vital that we didn’t waste a second in service if we were to check everything.  We only had CB radio still, and all the way from Grizedale to Haigh Hall I tried to contact the service crew, without success.  We came out of the stage and I kept trying, and trying.  It wasn’t until we reached the back of a six-car (= 6 minutes) queue to enter service that I finally made contact.

Thank God for that!  “Where are you?” I shouted, meaning “tell me exactly where you are parked in the service area so we don’t waste time looking for you.”  Short pause.  “Er, we’ve got a bit lost…” “Are you in the Albert Dock service?” – I must have sounded a bit desperate – “Er, no, we’re about to go through the Mersey Tunnel.” Jesus! “NO!! Whatever you do, DO NOT go through the Mersey Tunnel!” “You don’t understand…” came the reply. “Yes I do, and if you go through the tunnel you won’t get back here in time. DO NOT GO THROUGH THE TUNNEL!  Make a ‘U’-turn if you have to!”  “No, you don’t understand – we’re in Birkenhead, we’re on the way back!!”

They never got to the Albert Dock in time.  I will be forever in the debt of Steve Lewis from Clitheroe & District Motor Club, who with his crew had just finished servicing the car they were with, and set about doing a full check on ours.

Markku Alen / Ilkka Kivimaki

Wednesday’s early start took us to North Wales and famous stage names like Clocaenog (four stages), Penmachno (two) and Coed-y-Brenin.  By afternoon we had a longish road section to another service halt at Rhayader;  John needed sleep and asked me to drive.  All was fine, with John fast asleep, until we were approaching the town.  The volume of spectators’ cars was so great, the queue started a mile out of town and seemed to be going nowhere fast.  Nothing for it.  I pulled out and started driving past all the queuing cars, straddling the double white line.  It wasn’t a wide road, but the oncoming traffic could see what was happening (all the competitors had to do the same thing) and slowed down accordingly.  Then John woke up.  I suppose it would come as a bit of a shock if you wake up and the first thing that enters your mind is that the person driving your car, with you in it, has suddenly had a death-wish.  “B-b-bloody hell, what’s going on?!?!”  What could I say? – “Nothing John, just go back to sleep!”

We finished the rally – still in one piece – late on Wednesday evening, and after a good night’s sleep attended the closing formalities and presentation of awards (including to the overall winners, Timo Salonen and Seppo Harjanne) by HRH Prince Michael of Kent. Sean Lockyear and Graham Horgan won our class, but we were second, and accordingly were presented with our award by His Royal Highness.  For those of you who haven’t read Episode 4, here’s what I said…

Prince Michael presented me and John ‘Chocolate’ Morley with our 2nd in class award on the 1986 Lombard RAC.  Now I’m not one to name-drop… but I met him again at a Buckingham Palace Garden Party nearly six years ago, and told him of my interest in motorsport and rallying.  His eyes lit up and we would have been nattering for ages if his equerries hadn’t given him the ‘hurry-up’ after ten minutes!

Probably still got 'his' fingerprints on it!

That was the last event I did with Chocolate.  I’d bought another car and was keen to start driving on road events again.  I’ll tell you more about that next time…

20 - The 1986 Circuit of Ireland

The 1986 Circuit of Ireland

I still haven't found any photos of John with me (any photos of John, to be honest!) so rather than have page after page of boring text, I've found a few of the 86 Circuit, as well as a previously unseen picture (and as far as I know the only one of its kind!) of dad driving the first Mexico through Lettermore Forest on Mull.

In its day the biggest and best tarmac stage event in the British Isles.  Over 600 miles of stages on closed roads, over five days, with an entry list to drool over – the top five were Hannu Mikkola/Arne Hertz, Jimmy McRae/Ian Grindrod, Russell Brooks/Mike Broad, David Llewellyn/Phil Short and, from Cork, Billy Coleman/Ronan Morgan.  At 26 were Harry Hockley and John Meadows, whilst we were seeded at 61 in Harry’s old Group N Vauxhall Astra GTE. 

The format was to start in Belfast on Good Friday, tackle several stages and return to Belfast;  head south on Saturday, into the Republic, and on to Waterford, where the famous ‘Sunday Run’ was based, so two nights in Waterford before setting off again to head anti-clockwise on Monday and Tuesday, with no halt, to the finish back in Belfast around late morning on Tuesday.   Once again we stayed at the Europa Hotel, where the top crews booked their rooms from Friday to Tuesday;  John being a bit careful with his money, made sure we checked out on Saturday morning and were booked back in on Tuesday night.  Remember this…

With us were Pete Croft and Mick Fishlock, our ‘Irish Service Crew’, and Thursday was taken up with scrutineering, documentation and so on.  Rothmans (cigarettes) had a huge presence, sponsoring Jimmy McRae (Metro 6R4), Billy Coleman and Saeed al-Hajri, the latter two in Porsche 911s.  John was not only careful with his money, but – how can I put this discreetly – seemed to miss the company of his wife if they were parted for more than an hour or two.  And I don’t mean in a platonic sense.  On learning that Saeed al-Hajri had six wives, I remember him whistling and saying, not without a tinge of jealousy, “Bloody hell.  A different wife every night.  And all six on Sunday!”  I’m not sure if I’m even allowed to print that now…

Billy Coleman / Ronan Morgan

Rothmans had a huge hospitality vehicle, the biggest converted RV you’ve ever seen.  As competitors we received a personal invitation to visit their mobile hospitality suite at all the service areas, and we were not a little amused by the fact that at several service areas the ‘Rothmans caravan’ was leaving at exactly the same time as we were arriving.

The Good Friday section north of the border was pretty straightforward and uneventful.  Clearly, things were lulling us into a false sense of security…

Saturday morning was an early start, certainly before 5 am.  One or two stages led us to the north/south border at Newry, where we had already filled in reams of forms detailing what spares we were intending to take over the border, how many we were intending to bring back (all of them?), then a couple more stages before service just to the north of Dublin.  There was plenty of time here – enough for Mr Grindrod to come and say hello. “How’s it going in the 6R4?” “Well, the service boys have a bit of a problem because we’ve a warning light showing that we’ve never seen before.  They looked it up and it’s a fault on the auxiliary fuel pump. Didn’t even know we had one, and the main fuel pump’s working fine.  They asked me what I wanted them to do about it.  I’ve told ‘em to take the bloody bulb out of the warning light.”  That fixed it…

Jimmy McRae / Ian Grindrod

Then from the service OUT control through the centre of Dublin at 0730 to the start of the next stage on the other side of town.  Our instructions were that we were to be ‘picked up’ by a police motor cyclist and escorted through the city. .. .. WOW! We were ‘picked up’ by the next motorcyclist and instructed not to question anything but just to follow - this crazy motorcyclist - through town, 70 mph, through traffic lights on red (he stood up off his saddle on approach to check the way was clear), the works!  What an experience!

In Waterford we stayed overnight (two nights) at a hotel called Dooley’s Bar.  I cycled through the town a couple of years back and it’s still there.  Service was along the dockside:  David Llewellyn overslept and roared up the road in his Audi Quattro, probably doing 100+ and deafening everyone at the same time.

On the famous Sunday Run we were amused as at every service halt we would pass the Rothmans motorhome on its way out as we arrived.  The local accent is totally unlike Dublin and at times unfathomable.  One young man had to ask me the same question about five times, and when I finally cottoned on to what he was saying (“Who are you driving for?”) I still didn’t understand that he simply wanted to know if we were sponsored, and if so, by whom!

David Llewellyn

The pacenotes we’d bought were working reasonably well, but in the afternoon we had a not-very-high-speed moment when the car got away from John on an acute left junction and for a moment I thought we were going to have a big accident with a very solid-looking estate wall.  At the stage finish John asked me if I’d been worried. “No,” I replied. “Why not? I was terrified!” said John, and I said “I’m in a well-prepared car, with a full safety roll cage, extinguisher, external electrics cut-off and full harness belts – basically John, it’s as safe as sitting at home watching the TV.”  He decided I was definitely mad.

On Monday morning the long trek clockwise around Ireland started.

Entering Limerick in the mid-afternoon, the huge numbers of spectators had caused a half-mile queue for some traffic lights, so we straddled the centre white line and – in common with all the other competitors – overtook everyone until we got to the lights, where there was an Irish bobby, on point duty.  Confident after our Dublin experience that there’d be no problem, I wound the window down and was about to thank the officer when he shouted at us and gave us a proper telling-off – “What gave us the idea that we had some kind of God-given priority, huh?” I could have said that the last three days could be a clue, but bit my lip, took the verbal beating and we carried on, suitably chastised!

Early evening found us in Galway, where crews were provided with a hotel meal;  we got to the dining room and Ian Grindrod beckoned us to join himself and Jimmy McRae, Billy Coleman and Ronan Morgan.  We were in exclusive company, dining with two of the top five drivers, both in the Rothmans Team (Billy in the gorgeous Porsche 911).  We mentioned the elusive motorhome.  Then Billy said to Jim, in his broad Cork accent, “Have you got that bridge in the Partry Mountains stage double-cautioned on the notes?” Jim looked at Ian, who replied “Yep, got that, it’s deceptively sharp.” Billy replied “It’s no good double-cautioned. Jeez, when you get there it’s at the bottom of a really steep hill, it’s tight, it’s narrow – you need to triple- triple-caution it, mark my words!”  I quietly took all this in…

My last visit to Ireland in 2017 - a little more sedate. Pictured at the famous Sally Gap junction.

When we got to the Partry Mountains stage, after dark by now, we arrived at the bridge (which I double double-cautioned John about); on the bridge were bits of a car, and for the next 100 metres along the road were strewn bits of Rothmans Porsche 911 – Billy Coleman had destroyed his car (and his chances) on the very bridge he was warning us about!

On the next stage our alternator packed in.  John was all for giving in on the spot, saying we would never manage the next stage and the road section to the service area.  I wasn’t so sure. I told him to switch off everything except the engine;  let the next car pass, then set off behind, switch off all lights and keep up to the next stage start.  Then start the stage and pull over after 100 metres, switch off lights and wait for the next car, follow it for as long as possible, then wait for the next one, and so on.  We would lose time but we could keep going until the lads were able to fit a new alternator.

So that’s what we did.  John wasn’t happy about driving without lights, and the battery was very nearly flat, but it got us to the end of the next stage, then the road section to service in, where we booked in and were told we had a five minute wait.  “I need a fag,” said John, and before I could stop him he’d pressed the cigarette lighter.  The engine stopped immediately.  The only thing you could hear was me shouting and swearing at John!  I got out and ran to the service crew, 400 metres along the road, and told them they’d have to come back to me to push the car into service.  But it was no good.  New alternator, new battery, but nothing would persuade the car even to turn the engine.  The car’s ‘brain’ had decided it wasn’t not to risk an engine start and that was that.

We were disconsolate.  John apologised for not thinking when he pushed the cigarette lighter, but I wasn’t in the mood for talking.  We put the car on a rope and started to tow it back to Belfast from near Sligo, a journey of over 140 miles, with John in it on his own.

It started to rain.  Peter, driving, complained that John must not be used to being towed, and sure enough the rope snapped twice: each time it became shorter as it was re-knotted.  The second time, tempers were getting frayed – Pete complaining about John, while John was reminding everyone that with no power he was driving not only without lights but without power steering, wipers or heater.  I stepped in, Mr Know-it-all – “John, it’s easy. If the van’s rear lights are this far apart (I gestured with my hands) all is fine. If they’re this far apart (wider) you’re too close and the rope’s slack.  If they’re this far apart (narrower) you’ve snapped the bloody rope again!” “Well if it’s that bloody easy, YOU can drive then!” And John went and sat in my seat in the van.  There was nothing for it, my big mouth had just bought me a 120-mile drive of nail-biting concentration.

But we did get back to Belfast without the rope snapping again.  By now it was daylight, in fact just before 9 am.  As we arrived at some traffic lights in the city centre they changed to red and Pete braked hard to stop.  Without a servo I only just managed to bring the car to a halt about three feet from the back of the van, with the rope on the floor.  There must have been something going on as a band was playing on the opposite pavement.

A man in his fifties failed to notice the rope and decided to cross the road between the van and the car… just as the lights turned green.  Peter set off, the rope tightened and I dutifully set off.  I’ll never forget the sight of the whites of that man’s eyes as he stared at me as if I was a complete eejit, whilst I gesticulated to impress upon him that I was not in any way in control of the situation!

Two things happened after we got back home.  Some time the week after I bumped into Ian Grindrod – we were crossing Edisford Bridge in opposite directions I think – we stopped for a quick natter about the rally, then Ian asked “How did you enjoy your breakfast before you sailed home?” An odd question I thought, and then I remembered and thought Ian might have heard too… “Well,” I replied, “John certainly enjoyed it, because it hadn’t made its way on to the bill before he checked out.” Ian looked puzzled.  Clearly that wasn’t what he was angling at. “But what about the breakfast itself – did you enjoy it?” “Well, it was fairly normal,” I replied, “What are you getting at?” And then Ian went on to explain that he knew the room we were staying in on the fourth floor because he’d called around with something on Thursday evening.  And he was walking past on his way back from the bar late on Tuesday night and saw, hanging from the door handle, our breakfast order.  “So I ticked every bloody box and put it back!” said Ian, now obviously very pleased with himself. “Ah,” I said, “You know how careful John is with money? Well we checked out on Friday morning and checked back in on Tuesday.  We were on the sixth floor the second time!”  Ian’s face was a picture.  And we never did find out who got the jumbo breakfast!

Fast forward another six weeks:  I’m at the office and a call is put through to me, a man with a rich Irish accent who says “Mr Honeywell, it’s the Irish Customs Office here, and we’re wondering if you’re still in the Irish Republic.”  Struggling to keep a straight face, I said “You’ve just rung me… in England.” “Ah, I thought as much. Well, we’ve a record of you entering at Newry on Good Friday but no record of you leaving.” I told him that we’d been forced to retire from the rally very late on Easter Monday and had entered Northern Ireland at Enniskillen.  I didn’t go on to say that the border guard was too busy reading a comic to bother with us. “Ah, right ho – that clears that up then. Have a nice day!”

19 - I join the International circuit

(I have no photos of me with John Morley.  If you or anyone you know has some, please let me know!) Here's John in his TR7 - but not with me! Thanks to Chris Rae.)

Now that we’re up to date with Mull, let’s get back to the 1984 Motoring News Championship… or not…

Mike Kidd and I felt like we’d got used to each other and were becoming a team, while I was still working as an estate agent and surveyor in Clitheroe.  The firm I worked for, Duckworths, had merged with the larger Entwistle Green Ltd in 1983, and I’d become a director.  I had to put in a lot more time at work and didn’t feel it was fair to just do the occasional event with Mike.  Even worse (!) later in 1984 the board decided to allow me to buy shares from the more senior ones.  When I say I was allowed, there wasn’t really a choice!  I had to find £5,000, a lot of money in 1984.   It meant putting the future and the family first, and rallying second.  Heaven knows what it would fetch now, but back then I sold that beautiful car just after Mull for £4,500, and temporarily retired from driving (apart from Mull of course, where we managed to make alternative arrangements!)

I hadn’t given up rallying of course, and already things had begun to take a different turn.  In 1983 I’d helped with servicing for John (‘Chocolate’) Morley on the Ulster International Rally, when John Meadows was his co-driver in an Escort RS2000.  That was the first time I’d visited Northern Ireland and the early 80’s were still in the midst of the troubles, so I wasn’t thrilled to find that we were staying at the Europa Hotel in Belfast (it had been bombed more than once).  Chocolate was always very careful with money, so he only booked one room for driver and co-driver (who had beds) and service crew (floor).

I was woken around 6.30 by a huge bang.  Fearing the worst I jumped up off the floor, rushed to the window and looked out, to see a dark sky and another flash of lightning which preceded the next clap of thunder...  Phew!  From the rally start, we (the service crew) set off in front of Chocolate and headed for the roundabout where the Belfast road joined the motorway, to ensure that the car made it safely thus far.  Whilst we were waiting, a lorry carrying a full load of Coca-cola came past;  we gave the driver the thumbs up and he screeched to a halt. “Are yuze boys part of the raally?” he shouted:  we told him we were servicing. “Hold on,” and he went to the back, pulled out a crate of 24 cans of Coke and after handing them to us with a grin and a “Good luck boys!” he was gone.  I decided that – despite the troubles, I rather liked Ireland, especially the vast majority of its inhabitants.

Sadly, the first day ended in retirement.  I remember how beautiful the Antrim coast was, and the villages of Cushendun and Cushendall, with their names reminding me of Tweedledum and Tweedledee, but on one of the moorland sections south of Ballycastle the two Johns had flown over a crest thinking it was straight, only to be caught out when the road went square right.  Although not badly damaged, the car couldn’t continue – to be fair they didn’t just go off – they almost ended up in another country!  I think the car was as far off the road as any I’ve ever seen.  As service crew we had to wait until the road was open to the public again, and finally we reached the stricken hapless crew to get them back home again.

Co-driver John told us that the Course Closing car had been through about ten minutes before we got there.  It stopped, and the navigator, a ‘big fella’, got out, whistled dolefully, then shouted “Are yous two okay?” and when they confirmed that all was well he shouted again, just to co-driver John this time, saying “Will ye be need’n a clean pair of underpants?”

Nothing happened in 84 until around November, when Chocolate rang and asked me if I’d like to do the National Breakdown Rally  (formerly the Mintex International) with him in February 85: after a year doing the Astra Challenge with John Morton, John had agreed to co-drive for Cyril Bolton  – we’d be rubbing shoulders with the likes of Michele Mouton, Per Eklund, Pentti Airikkala and Jimmy McRae (with Ian Grindrod).  I thought it would be great fun  (even though I had to shell out for an expensive International Licence!) and agreed.  Chocolate was preparing a new car – a VW Golf GTI – and would be in touch nearer the time.

Which he was.  About two weeks before the rally he rang to say the car wouldn’t be ready so he was going to withdraw his entry.  During the conversation I managed to talk him round and he agreed – with the service crew boys – to burn some midnight oil and get the car finished. I agreed to lend a hand too.  So at the end of February off we set for… Bradford (there’s no International Rally nearer!).  Once the scrutineering and other formalities were done, there wasn’t much else to do before the start, so I went to the nearby IMAX cinema and watched a film on the space shuttle.  I knew several of the crews (many of them quite local) including Dave Metcalfe/Phil Sandham, Ian Holt/Peter Bland and John Morton/Norman Jackson.

The rally itself used all the classic Yorkshire forests – Cropton, Pickering, Ryedale, and the devilish 27-miler in Dalby.  All went well through the night and the first half of the next day until – in Ryedale I think – we had a heavy landing and a rear shock-absorber punched its way through the bodywork into the rear of the car.  Which, with no way of carrying out a reasonable repair, meant curtains and a drive home, frustrated and disappointed.

A long rallying drought followed, until July – five months!  I may have done the odd night event but if I did, I don’t think I’ve a record of it anywhere.  It’s when I start writing something like this that I regret all the things I must have thrown away or simply lost.  Of course, without a huge house or a small warehouse you simply can’t keep everything – perhaps it would have been better to write all this down years ago.  Still, better late than never.

Now it was my chance to do the Ulster Rally with Chocolate.  A tarmac, pace note rally.  We didn’t have time to make notes so we bought a set (£30 I think, from Fred Gallagher).  Sad to say (in one sense) I think it must have been quite an uneventful rally, as there’s not much that I remember distinctly.  Although I do remember that on this, and the other events we did, people would come up to John – people who knew him, people who didn’t – and ask how things were going.  John would almost always say something like “It’s going OK, but I must be the only driver on this event whose co-driver can drive a bloody sight faster than I can!”  It was embarrassing at times, but then, there are worse ways to be embarrassed!

And that tells the story of how we finished, really – 4^th in class, 47^th o/a.  Not too bad for a VW Golf but not breaking any records either.  And I was enjoying myself.

Prizegiving took place in the Europa Hotel (which was handy as we were staying there) hosted by the TV sports commentator Steve Rider.  John bought a round of drinks (which back then cost under £10), gave the barman a £20 note, and got change for a tenner.  He quickly queried the barman and said “I gave you a £20 note.”  The barman said it was only £10.  John pressed the point.  The barman replied “It can’t have been a £20, there are no £20s in the till,” to which John replied “I can believe that, because I saw you put it in your pocket.”  The barman made a pretence of going to the till and came back with the £10… John was not amused and to be honest I’m surprised he didn’t report the barman to the management or the police.

Which reminds me of another true story – Mull, 1971.  It was the Sunday afternoon after the rally and seven or eight ‘blokes’ had decided to have a ‘session’ in the Western Isles Hotel, at that time owned and run by Mr & Mrs Forrester.  You could tell that Mrs Forrester wasn’t completely at ease with so many ‘ruffians’ descending on her landmark hotel for the rally, and was much happier with the mostly genteel folk who stayed there on the other 51 weeks of the year, but business was business.  By the way, this story is only funny if (a) you’re over 60 or (b) you get into the mindset of the time.  To start with, petrol was about 30p per gallon – or about £0.06p per litre.  Many, and I mean many, people would put £1’s worth of petrol in the car almost every time they filled up – it was over three gallons. And secondly, beer was about £0.11p or £0.12p a pint.  I’m not kidding. Four or five pints for ten shillings (50p!)  The UK went decimal on 15 February 1971 and there followed (no connection) a long period of serious inflation.  So if you’ve got the general price structure in your head, and you understand that a lot of people used to buy petrol in ‘poundsworths’…  OK, back to the story.  A not insignificant amount of beer had been drunk, and everyone’s glass was getting empty.  Heads turned to Norman and the consensus was that it was now Norman’s round.  Reluctantly, he made his way to the bar – rather too carefully, for he’d already imbibed one or two – where our hostess was standing, arms folded in a slightly disapproving manner.  “Er, hmm... ... a poundsworth of beer please Mrs Forrester!”  The whole room collapsed in tears.  If you’ve just laughed, you’re getting old…

Next up was the Manx International - almost a home event for Chocolate as his parents lived at Kirk Michael on the west coast of the island.  And of course this meant that our accommodation was free, so John, being careful money-wise, was very happy.  As I recall we had time to make our own pace notes on this event, which took place in September, and the weather was pretty good. 

Michele Mouton and Fabrizia Pons headed the entry list, while Russell Brookes/Mike Broad and Jimmy McRae with our very own Ian Grindrod were to have an epic battle to decide the British Championship (eventually decided in Brookes’s favour after Jimmy suffered one mechanical problem after another but still finished second).  Meanwhile we had an enjoyable and workmanlike, if not that memorable, rally, starting at no 108 and finishing 30^th overall and 2^nd in class – not too bad, despite the fact that Chocolate was still telling everybody that he couldn’t drive as quickly as his co-driver!

Most, if not all, service points were at the TT Grandstand area in Douglas.  At one halt we had a problem with the suspension which needed urgent attention, and time was of the essence.  As luck (or Sod’s Law) would have it, the local radio reporter decided to interview us as we left the time control in, sticking his head and his microphone through my window just as we were setting off into the service area.  John, on a mission, ignored him and off we went!  The reporter quickly withdrew his head but apparently we drove over his microphone wire and caused a ‘rope burn’ on his hand, and he complained to the organisers.  At the end of that day we were summoned to the Clerk of the Course to explain ourselves, which we did at the same time as eating humble pie, a little too obsequiously, I thought, but we got away with it.

When we got back home I was summoned to a meeting with Entwistle Green’s managing director.  Fifteen months earlier I’d parted with the rejuvenated KKC 733P to raise £5,000 to buy shares in the company.  Now I had no choice but to sell them again as the business had been sold to Lloyds Bank (remember Black Horse Agencies?).  I got £13,500 for my shares, an excellent return, admittedly –  and I’d be able to buy another car – but it would never be quite the same.  Or so I thought.  As it turned out, the following year I managed to acquire another thoroughly excellent Escort MkII.

The following year Chocolate and I would take part in another three internationals in a new car – the ex-Brian Wiggins Group N (standard car) Astra GTE – the National Breakdown, which we finished this time (although without a spectacular result);  followed by two events I’d always wanted to do - the Rothmans Circuit of Ireland and the Lombard RAC Rally of Great Britain.  Between them they’ll take up another chapter – the Circuit of Ireland was a quite amazing experience.

18 - Another Mull Catch-up

Another Mull Catch-up

Thanks again to Kevin MacIver for this photo - Tobermory Main Street

I’ve realised that in my last Mull catch-up several days ago, I got to 1981, and over the last few episodes I’ve covered ’82 and ’83.  So before I go any further, I need to tell you about ’84 and ’85 – so here goes.

The 1984 Tour of Mull was almost certainly the last rally I did in KKC 733P.  Seeded at 10 out of a starting field of 78 (small by today’s standards) we had high hopes of a good result.  These were well founded early on, and we were lying 6^th… after the first stage, Mishnish Lochs.  In fact we were inside the top ten on the first four stages, but then had an alternator problem which slowed us down in the second half of the night, but we still finished Friday night in 11^th, with MacKinnon, Pattison and Gwyndaf Evans taking the first three.

In those days there were no closed roads, so the Saturday afternoon stages were on private land – the forests of Lettermore, Fishnish, and Dervaig.  Amazingly (for us) we didn’t drop a place, but at the start of Saturday night we had John Cressey and Dave Calvert breathing down our necks in 12^th and 13^th!   So if nothing else, as the three of us had entered a team (Clitheroe A), with 11^th, 12^th and 13^th we were looking strong for the Team Award!

Just got that about right I reckon - Lettermore Forest

Saturday night was split into two halves, and we started strongly, arriving at the Craignure petrol / service with a cumulative 4^th fastest time over the five stages – Mishnish Lochs, Calgary Bay, Glen Aros, Gribun and Scridain – (less than a minute down on second placed Pattison.)  I really had the bit between my teeth now as we set off on the last four stages, starting with Loch Tuath and the Hill Road (4^th fastest, with MacKinnon retiring here) and then storming down Glen Aros in 2^nd place.

But worryingly, the damper on the offside front strut had taken such a beating it had lost most of its damping capability.  We started Gribun well, but just before the bridge near Dhiseig took a yump, and the car bounced badly after landing just as I tried to turn in for a medium left.  The result was we went straight on, passing within an inch of a telegraph pole and on to the beach.  Luckily the tide was out.  Unluckily the nearest spectators were at least 400 metres away (we couldn’t get the car out on our own) and in no hurry whatsoever.  Our cries of “Hurry! Faster! Hurry!” were received in the same way as the Spanish ‘mañana’ –  but without the same sense of urgency.

Eventually – over 30 minutes later – we got going again, finished Gribun and then Scridain.  With maximum lateness on Mull being 20 minutes, we were headed for exclusion, and the Time Control was just after the selective finish.  Dad’s mind was working overtime. “I don’t know how we’re going to bamboozle the marshal,” he admitted, “we’re going to end up as non-finishers.” “We’re not going to try and bamboozle the marshal,” I said firmly. Dad was confused, so I told him to say nothing and leave it to me. When we stopped at the control, I leaned over; the marshal said “Blimey, you’re very late, what happened to you?” So I told him how well we’d been doing, the damper, the ‘excursion’ on to the beach, the lack of spectators, and ended up by saying, with a sigh, “After all that, if you put down the time that’s on the watch, we’ll not even be classed as finishers. But if you could put a time 30 minutes earlier, it won’t affect our selective times at all, but we’ll be in the results, even though nearly last.” So that’s what he did.

Only three of the other 16 teams finished intact, and they had even more penalties than we did, so despite me finishing 47^th, we had the consolation of winning the team prize.  Outside the Aros Hall that night, results supremo Fred Blundell asked me “I’ve been racking my brains all day - how on Earth did you con the marshal at the last time control?” to which I replied with total honesty “I didn’t con the marshal Fred, and I didn’t tell any lies.”  A few other people asked me the same question and got the same answer.  You heard it first here folks.

In 1985 I had no car at all.  For the second year running, the rally wasn’t included in the MN Championship, partly because of the cost, partly I think because road rallies were getting so fast that Mull – effectively a closed road stage event but run like a road rally without closed roads – was a potential embarrassment if things went wrong.  We had to take part  – we did every Mull Rally – but how?  Luckily for me, Ken Skidmore, who was competing with Kevin Savage in a Sunbeam, had a MkII Escort RS2000 available and offered to hire it to me (or lend, I can’t remember which!)

Seeded one better at no 9 this year, we had a slow ‘wake-up’ call on the first test (Scridain) but then went on to set consistent top five times, to finish Friday night 3^rd overall behind Ron Beecroft / John Millington and my old pal John Cressey / Alan Wilson.  Even more remarkably, we were still lying 3^rd as we ended the Saturday afternoon forest stages.

I DO have a photo of the 1985 car, but can't just find it - so here's some running repairs from around 1981 instead

It may not have been Mull’s biggest or best entry list, but starting the Saturday night section from Tobermory Main Street as a re-seeded no 3 felt pretty good.  But on the night’s first test – Mishnish Lochs – just before the end of the lochs, a halfshaft let go and the rear wheel and brakes disappeared with it.  I managed to pull in to a safe track after a very scary hundred metres, trying to slow the car down whilst at the same time having the distraction of a very fine fireworks display in the mirror, caused by sparks from the wheel-less rear suspension racing along the tarmac!  So 3^rd overall was not to be.  I’ve had to be satisfied with two 6^ths and several other reasonable finishes.

Would we be back? Of course, and in another Escort.  But you’ll have to wait for a couple of episodes while I tell you how I carried on rallying with no car (again)…

17 - New house, (nearly) new car, new navigator...

New house, (nearly) new car, new navigator...

We moved house just after the Cilwendeg, up-market to a two-car garage… with a 3-bed semi-detached joined on.  Only just in time too, as very soon afterwards I acquired one of the very last genuine Ford Mk II Mexico / RS2000 bodyshells, finished in primer, at the huge cost (in 1983) of £1,150.  (I can’t remember whether the VAT was included or extra.)

The rally car was left outside while Peter Croft and I got to work on the shell.  It didn’t really matter that I wasn’t any good at welding, because Peter was (and probably still is) a welding artist.  Every run is the same size as the last one and a beauty to behold.  We had the official Ford Escort rally preparation book and we did the full works.  Additional seam welding, gussets, rear damper turrets, fully fitted roll cage… we even removed the standard tunnel and replaced it with the one for the automatic Escort (with a few modifications to the gearbox, this enables the box to be removed without taking the engine out).

We spent at least three weeks, every night, working on that shell before it went off to Copy Nook Garage to be painted.  Bright red on the outside, black interior, and white inside the bonnet and boot for maximum visibility in the dark.  Then back home and just before swapping everything over, I thought I should treat the underside to a Waxoyl finish.  I’d only just started spraying when I started feeling high:  luckily, Val was at home so I went and found her and asked her to keep an eye on me in case I did some drug-crazed damage.  Not having taken any drugs before in my life (apart from alcohol… oh, and nicotine, but I gave up smoking when I was 14) I wasn’t sure what might happen next.  I survived intact.

After that, it was a case of swapping everything over. Over the previous couple of years, I’d got to know Gordon Birtwistle.  Gordon was – and still is, well over a decade after he could have retired – the ‘go-to’ man for rally car suspensions.  We must have hit it off alright because Gordon seemed quite happy to come over frequently to make sure everything was ok.  He had a great approach to his job – he would always say “Your brain can only cope with so much at once.  If half of its energy is spent on keeping the damn car on the road, then there’s only the other half left to sort out all the important stuff – like “where’s the road going next?” and "can I push it just a little bit more?"  So for goodness sake, get the car handling right.  If you’re doing 70 mph on the motorway you should be able to take your hands off the steering wheel and let it carry on in a straight line”.  Gordon had seen cars that needed 80% of brain power just to keep them on the straight and narrow.

That reminds me of something I forgot to mention earlier.  I bought the car from Ian Parrington in late 81 or early 82, won at least two rallies and scored a reasonable number of points in the MN championship, mainly in the first nine months of 1983.  Between the Bolton Midnight and Mull, I took it up to Copy Nook Garage, the garage at Bolton-by-Bowland that Ian and his father ran.  We decided we should completely remove the front suspension and check everything over.  Gordon was there when we were doing it.  “Hang on a moment chaps,” he said, “Let’s take another look at those Bilstein struts…”  And then he laughed, one of those long, deep, from-the-belly laughs.  “How long have you been running this set-up?” he asked. “All the time I’ve had the car,” I replied, “Why?”  “Well,” said Gordon, “You’ve got a tarmac spec strut on one side… and a forest strut on the other!”  I would never make a test driver!!  (We had tarmac struts on both sides after that.)

Back to the re-shell project… I think everything swapped over without too much trouble.  I didn’t save as much weight as I could have done – I kept the steel doors and proper glass (although bonnet and boot were fibreglass), and I even managed to find a buyer for the old shell.  By February or so, the car was finished.

It looked mint.  And it drove really well too.  I couldn’t wait to get back out into the lanes with it.

But John couldn’t commit to another season’s rallying.  He was getting more responsibility at work, and had committed to do the Astra Challenge with John Morton,  so didn’t feel like he could commit to the time required to be really competitive. 

Mike Kidd was on the look out for a handy partnership, and we’d chatted a few times, so although he lived near Cambridge, we felt we got on together well enough to make a good team.  So in March we did our first event together, if not the first then one of the first MN rounds of ’84 – the Agbo.  Mike was, of course, not John.  The biggest difference was he was never quiet.  If the road was straight for one mile then Mike would keep on saying, for the whole mile, “It’s straight, it’s straight, dead straight, straight, dead straight…”  And he knew the Welsh roads pretty well.  In fact very well.  So well in fact that just after the petrol halt we came on to a straight and Mike said “There are two crests which are flat, then immediately after the third crest the road goes square left.”  The first crest appeared and Mike shouted “Keep it flat, it’s straight!” Over we went, and kept going to the second crest, and again “Keep it flat, this one’s straight too!” and over we went… the road went square left, and we sailed into the trees.  How we missed them all I’ve no idea, but when the car stopped both doors were so close to tree trunks that we couldn’t open either of them!

Mike was beside himself with remorse.  He was feeling so guilty, I was embarrassed.  These things happen (and the car was undamaged – amazingly!)  But it took us a long time to extricate it, so we effectively retired on the spot.  On the way home Mike suggested that we hadn’t had time to get used to each other, and perhaps we should do an event on my patch next, as a familiarisation exercise.  We chose Springhill Car Club’s Ribble Rally in April.  The entry list was pretty competitive and much of the route was quite familiar to me.

After Gisburn Forest and a series of tests in North Lancs, we seemed to be just shaving the lead from Ken Skidmore and Kevin Savage, then over Barbondale (quickest) to Dent before the mighty Kingsdale.  I love Kingsdale (actually Dentdale and Kingsdale, from Dent to Ingleton).  Pace notes were still legal at that time, and on some events – those with long, relatively junction-free sections (many of the Yorkshire Dales roads especially) – you had to have them to stand a chance of winning.  I told Mike I'd brought pace notes for this road and was a bit taken aback when he told me he didn’t do notes, didn’t believe in notes, and every bend would be on the 1:25,000 map that he had.  “Oh no it won’t” I replied, but he wouldn’t be swayed.  The notes stayed in the back of the car and as we set off from the selective start, Mike read the road from his map.

Once you get to the summit, there’s a cracking section where the car is pitched into the air a few times, but at an angle to the road (not sideways, not pitch – perhaps a sailor would call it yaw, where the right hand side of the car lands first, and vice-versa) but when you get it right, it’s awesome.  When you get it wrong you crash…  and then the section from Kingsdale Head is just sooo fast!

Anyway, we arrived at the finish about sixth or seventh on the road, to find that the marshal is showing everyone’s times on a blackboard.  We are fastest.  Mike turns to me and says “There you are, I told you the map was as good as any pace notes” to which I replied, truthfully, “Mike, I haven’t listened to a word you’ve said since the start!”.  Mike went on to coach rally crews on the use of pace notes on events like the Mull Rally…

We finished first overall and felt like now we were a team.  Two weeks later Mike travelled up from Cambridge again, this time for the next Motoring News round, the Colman Tyres, starting from Ilkley.  We had a ‘steady’ run, finishing a slightly disappointing 11^th o/a – but it was a strong field, and only 2 minutes separated the six cars from 5^th to 11^th.  Ron Beecroft and John Millington were the victors, with Pattison, Moran and Gwyndaf Evans in the top five.  Ken Skidmore (10^th) beat us by one second! We would have to go quicker still.

Onwards to the ’84 MN Championship… or so we thought.  Fate has a funny way of moving the goalposts quicker than a well-sorted car over Kingsdale though…

16 - The 1983 MN Championship (Part 3)

16 - The 1983 MN Championship (Part 3)

With John Meadows on the 83 Devil's Own Rally

Since my last post I’ve found the most amazing mine of information in the form of Bob Chapman’s huge spreadsheet – detailed results of every Motoring News event since Jesus was a lad until 1987.  It’s amazing how the memory plays tricks after a mere 37 years – the stories are all true but the details seem to get a bit muddled – for instance, the 83 Devils Own was in August, not April as I’d thought.  So now (to some extent) I can tell the story knowing that the meat on the bone is of better quality than some – only ‘some’, mind – of the recent offal (which I know rhymes with waffle.)

So back to 1983, where I now realise I’d already missed those couple of rounds I mentioned last time and was in fact about to do every single event for the rest of the year except the last one, the J J Brown.  I’ve already told you about the Devil’s Own of course, except that I can now tell you we finished 8^th overall (the winner was my old mucker Ian Woof with Derek Fryer), and for completeness our earlier results were:  Gremlin (Wales) 14^th, Agbo (Wales) 11^th, Coleman Tyres (Yorkshire) left the road in thick fog, Cambrian News (Wales) rolled, Eagle (Wales) 11^th, and finally the Devil’s Own (Cumbria & Lancs) 8^th.

Next up was the R L Brown, that classic Lakeland event that often features the iconic, terrifying Hardknott and Wrynose passes… a quick digression… Before I even did my first rally, so this must have been around 1969 or 1979, I spectated on an event in the Yorkshire Dales which came into Kettlewell via the Park Rash hairpins.  If you don’t know them, they’re a series of steep hairpins on the Coverdale road.  Not as steep as Hardknott, but I’ve cycled up them and can assure you that they are steep!  Two cars – only two – applied full throttle between the downhill hairpins, and I remember thinking “that must be how to win rallies – those two must have been quicker than the rest of the field.” And I’ve never forgotten that.

The other feature of the R L Brown is the use of really narrow, twisty, claustrophobically walled roads like Jackson Ground and Stephenson Ground.  You know when you read ‘Postman Pat’, who used to drive along the fictional ‘Thompson Ground’, that the author, the late John Cunliffe, must have been a local (he lived in Kendal, although he was born in Colne.)

The 83 R L Brown Rally

After finishing 8^th in 77 and 10^th the previous year, we were disappointed to get two punctures (good job I always carried two spares – on the basis that if you clip a rock on the apex of a bend, one spare won’t be enough!) and ended up only two minutes out of the points but in 19^th.

And so it was on to the Bolton Midnight in late September.  Classic Cumbria, Yorkshire Dales and Lancashire fell roads, including some of my all-time favourites.  If ever I had a chance of winning a Motoring News round, this was it, I thought.  We were both pretty psyched up despite only being seeded at no 11 and with opposition including Briant/Kirkham, Bengry/Watkins, Beecroft/Millington, Woof/Fryer, Hutchinson/Harris,  Gwyndaf Evans/Evans, Moran/Beddoes… the list went on.

Disaster struck on the very first section. It can happen to anyone (it’s certainly happened to me when I’ve been navigating!), so no apportioning blame or hard feelings, but John had one of those complete meltdown moments.  Suffice to say that we ended up in a farmyard with no idea where we were. The farmhouse light was on, so John jumped out of the car, knocked on the door – they were having a dinner party! – found out where we were, jumped back in and off we went.  I was convinced we must have dropped at least 4 minutes, although the results show us 2:19 down on Mick Briant’s fastest time.  Perhaps we were headed for something better (!) – who knows?  We went on to have mediocre times on Fox’s Pulpit and Lenacre.

At this stage I must have given myself a good talking-to and pulled myself together. Apart from three frustratingly cleanable selectives, I didn’t set a single fastest time but I was second – by one second – on Buttertubs, Semer Water and Gisburn Forest, and in a very close top three on Barbondale, Kingsdale and Lythe Fell. On Lythe Fell I was second despite catching Ron Beecroft (he was in Ernie Larton’s Samba), passing him, outbraking myself and having to reverse back out of a farm track, much to John Millington’s amusement, and passing him again!

A bit of a wide line on the 83 Bolton Midnight

The end result was 5^th overall, with us both rueing what could have been.  But I’ve studied those results and even if we’d cleaned the first selective, the best we could have done was 2^nd – Mick Briant was absolutely flying that night!  And 5^th on a Motoring News event isn’t all that shabby, is it?

Next of course was our annual pilgrimage to the glorious Isle of Mull.  The weather isn’t always glorious but the scenery, the roads, the welcome from the local people, the camaraderie… almost everything about Mull makes you want to return again and again.  Even now, well over 20 years since I last did the rally, I go every year in October and usually once in Spring.  You can even recognise my car by the number plate – MU11 OCT! (The car salesman once came up with a great explanation. I hadn't told him why I have this plate, but he said "You're a Manchester United supporter and a Bobby Charlton fan - his birthday is 11 October!" I had to give him top marks for trying even though he was wide of the mark...)

One year after I’d retired from rallying, it was raining on Saturday evening and the thought of the MacDonald Arms in Tobermory seemed more inviting than standing out on a cold, wet road in the middle of nowhere.  So that’s where we went, and who should walk in as I’m at the bar than Ron and Susan Beecroft, so I bought them a drink too.  Now, at that time there was a rumour going about that the Mishnish put up the price of beer for rally week. I’m not sure whether it’s true or not, but it was certainly dearer that the MacDonald.  The more mature lady behind the bar (not Susan, I hasten to add) must have pressed at least one wrong key as she rang the sale up on the till, and it came to £97.30.  Very calmly, I said “If that’s how much those four drinks cost, I’ll have to pop back home, ‘cause I don’t have that much on me.” Just as the lady began to panic, a younger member of staff emerged behind the bar, took one look at the till, weighed up the situation in a flash and said, with a twinkle, “I bet for a moment you thought you were in the Mishnish.”  One of the funniest off-the-cuffs ever.

A change of navigator of course, as father Roy always did Mull with me, but we were just as fired up.  In a low-powered car against much superior machinery it felt a bit like David and Goliath, but it made 6^th overall feel so much more satisfying.  Dad loved the fact that some of the top MN crews started talking to him – he said they’d never done that before!  He wasn’t so pleased when I outbraked and slid off on the long Loch Tuath selective – just far enough that he had to get out and push – and his age was also showing with stifled groans of pain after each big yump and heavy landing (if you aren’t familiar with Mull, there are quite a few!)  I love Mishnish Lochs, a fabulous mixture of fast flowing roads and lots of hairpins, getting a consistent 5^th or 6^th fastest each time, with no more than 11 seconds difference on each of the four attempts.

Kevin MacIver recently sent me a photo he took that year, of the car parked up after the finish.  Not an ‘action’ photo but to me it somehow sums up the effort that went into that event.

I love this photo from Kevin MacIver - KKC after the 83 Tour of Mull

Finally that amazing Welsh classic event, the Cilwendeg.  I was so looking forward to this – the fact that it was to be our last event of 1983; I’d bought a brand new shell for the car’s winter project; the remarkable nature of the incredible maze of roads in that area, and of the event itself.  Starting in the tiny market town of Newcastle Emlyn in Carmarthenshire, the route of nearly 190 miles never crossed itself or used the same road twice and yet – amazingly – never went more than 9 (NINE!) miles as the crow flies from the start/finish.

We were going well (again!) – I’d just about perfected my ‘handbrake the car sideways on to Give Way junctions’ technique (sooo satisfying!) – when one officious Judge of Fact decided there was no room for leeway.  He gave us a fail for ‘not stopping on the line’ – and just in case you were thinking I was banged to rights and out of order – he gave fails to at least 15 other crews including nine in the top thirty.  Put simply, a fail means you’re out of the running, and to make matters worse there is no appealing the decision of a Judge of Fact, so there was nothing we could do.  We found out at the petrol halt that we’d been penalised, and decided – as the car was to be re-shelled after this event – we’d complete the rally to see what times we got.  They were good enough for the top six again, but with the fail we were classified as also-rans.  Not the best way to end the season, but at least I finished the 1983 Motoring News Championship, the unofficial national road rally championship – in an underpowered car and on a budget thinner than a shoestring – in 9^th position.

I was happy with that.