26 - The last hurrah

I've saved my favourite photo till last

By now I was working hard to make the business a success.  John Meadows, my longest-serving navigator, was having great success in Internationals with the Mitsubishi Rally Team and his driver, Kenjiro Shinozuka.  Together they won two rounds of the World Rally Championship – consecutive Ivory Coast Rallies – something that even avid fans of the WRC sometimes seem to forget.

John also co-drove for Colin McRae on his first ever rally.  Jimmy, Colin’s dad, reckoned Colin might be ‘a bit useful’ but Ian Grindrod thought he was too close to the family to give an unbiased opinion, so they asked John if he’d co-drive for Colin and report back on how he rated young Colin.  He gave him at least 10 out of 10.  I sometimes wonder how history might have been different if, just for fun, John had come back and said “He’s useless…”

On another occasion John co-drove for BBC presenter Tiff Needell, a circuit racer rather than a rally driver. On one forest bend Tiff dropped the inside wheel into the ditch, lifted off, then drove out before continuing.  John, unhappy at losing time, advised him next time to just keep the accelerator down and drive through it, allowing the car to ‘ditch-hook’.  Which on the very next stage, when the same thing happened, Tiff did. And ripped off the suspension when they hit the huge tree root ¾ of the way round the bend!

We had our heaviest roll ever just outside the old Calgary School (I must have had an affinity to rolling outside school houses).  The accident started on the afternoon stages… from Dervaig we had a non-competitive section through Glen Aros, and just as we left the village I reached for my bottle of orange juice which was behind my seat.  Distracted momentarily, I drifted left off the road and clattered some rocks set in the verge, instantly puncturing  both nearside tyres.  We stopped to change them, but as the afternoon drew on, a thick drizzle set in – and now I only had a full set of dry weather tyres.  After a hurried search we found some tyres on wheels that would fit, but I wasn’t happy with the grip.

Five miles into the ‘long one’, the second night stage starting from Dervaig, the car drifted wide on the medium-fast-right-over-crest just before Calgary School house.  At this point the side of the road is shaped just like a skateboard park – the car was flipped up as it rolled, landing really heavily on the driver’s door and ending upside-down across the middle of the road.  We both managed to scramble out through the broken windscreen.  I felt really sore.  Spectators were soon running towards us, surrounded the car, rolled it back on to its wheels, though not before holding up John Cope’s Sierra Cosworth for more than a few seconds.

“I think it’ll still go!” shouted one.  “I don’t think I will!” I replied.  My side really hurt.  We sat, disconsolately, at the roadside until the road-opening car passed.  They asked if I was OK and my answer was ‘Not really’.  Some time later I was lying on the kitchen table at the Bellachroy in Dervaig as one of the rally doctors gave me the once over and announced that I’d either broken or cracked two ribs - it didn’t matter which, as the cure’s the same for both.  Rest, a few paracetamols, and a whisky before bedtime. (We landed so hard it was my elbow that broke the ribs.)

We’d hired a van from Rufus Carr, but I didn’t feel up to driving home. John and Alison Fisher, our next-door neighbours at the time, had come to Mull for John’s first attempt at the rally, and it was decided that Alison would drive the van back to Clitheroe with mum while John drove the rally car & trailer outfit, I’d go back with Dad, and Val and the children would drive... whatever was left, I can't remember! The van was only insured for me. John rang Peter Bryan from Rufus Carr, who we both knew well. If talking for England was an Olympic sport, Peter would have several gold medals by now. He started telling John that there might be complications connected with his request for Alison to drive the van. I’ll never forget listening to John as he cut across Peter, saying “Peter, it’s not a request. The ferry leaves before you get into work tomorrow, and Alison IS driving the van back to Clitheroe. So you need to sort it out. Got to go, ‘bye!”

The car needed a new shell, but Hellifield Garage sorted it all out, re-shelled the car (I now had a big-winged MkII for the first time ever!)  I also had a 5-speed Sierra gearbox (never had five gears before).  Gordon Birtwistle had found an electronic gizmo – commonplace now – which displayed a series of lights so that you knew exactly when to change up, the big red light meaning “If you haven’t changed up yet, DO IT NOW!”  The speedo wasn’t at all accurate, but being curious I worked out how fast we’d be going if the red light came on in 5^th – 123 mph.

On the Gribun stage, we entered the straight that goes past the telephone box and the ferry to Inch Kenneth. I’d thought it strange that there were at least two of those little yumps (you know, the ones where the back wheels lift off the ground and the engine note rises for a fraction of a second) when just before the telephone box, in 5^th gear, the red light came on.  All I thought was ‘Dear God!’ – Terry Harriman style…

One earlier year, just past this point and no doubt doing around 100 mph, a huge Red Deer stag suddenly appeared to the right, and almost stumbled on to the road.  I remember laying some serious black lines on the road, then getting so close to the rear of the beast that I had the most intimate view of its rather large genitals!  I would guess that we got within 12”, fortunately without making contact.

How to tell a rally enthusiast from a Muilleach (someone who comes from Mull) – car arrives at stage finish control with some damage.  Spectators mill around.  “What happened?” “We hit a deer!”

Rally enthusiast – “Is the car OK?”

Muilleach – “Where’s the deer?”

Our last Mull rally was 1994.  We were having a pretty average run, when the gearbox started making strange noises and clearly wasn’t well.  We didn’t have a spare, but Nick Considine asked around at Craignure service and by the time we arrived, he’d borrowed a standard RS2000 4-speed box, which was fitted in just over 20 minutes.  As soon as we left service I realised that this was just a ‘get you home’ box.  First gear in a standard RS2000 is unbelievably low.  The gaps between the ratios meant that – with a cammy engine – as you changed up at maximum revs from one gear, the engine was off the cam in the next gear and a couple of seconds passed with the engine spluttering, before it got back on the cam again.

But we weren’t even going to make the finish.  Towards the end of the next Gribun stage, the gearlever came off in my hands.  In the haste of fitting it, the nylon cup screw hadn’t been tightened fully.  I couldn’t get it back in for some reason, the engine stalled and wouldn’t restart, and I just thought “We’re not meant to finish this year”.

It was getting too difficult to keep a business going and rally once a year as well.  I told Dad I’d decided to call it a day.  His response was typical.  At the age of 71, he said “Well, I’ll respect your decision, but if ANYONE asks, it’s YOU that decided to retire, not me!”

Postscript.

Although I almost wavered the following year, I knew I would never drive competitively on rallies again.  Mull did that to me.  Of all events, Mull seems to be the one where years after people retire, they find they can afford to make a comeback.  Every year, old faces reappear after a long absence.  In the vast majority of cases, drivers underestimate the damage a lay-off does, or overestimate their capabilities, and they haven’t done enough miles either to bed in themselves or the car.  Most aspiring comebacks end in breakdown, a crash, or a finish way down in the also-rans.  I suppose I’m just too competitive.  As soon as I retired I realised this, and I also knew that none of the three outcomes would interest me at all.  There’s lots of other things to do.  Move forward.  Never look back.

Not that long ago I bumped into Keith Watkinson, who like many competitors of that era is now in his seventies.  He chuckled as he told me that some of the drivers today call him a ‘has-been’.  “What they don’t realise,” he said “is that in order to be a has-been, you’ve got to have been there.  They can’t ever take that away from you!”

Wise words – but I’ve saved the wisest till last, and as you can probably guess, they came from Dad.  Right at the start of my rallying career, I remember him metaphorically taking me to one side;  “Whenever you get to the end of a rally,” he said, “you’ll hear a lot of drivers and navigators talking a load of bullshit. It’s called ‘Why we didn’t win.’ And there’ll be all kinds of reasons – car not right, wrong tyres, held up by slower drivers, everything.  Join in if you must (although I’d rather you didn’t.) But when you get home, remember this – there’s only ONE reason you didn’t win, and you have to admit it to yourself if no one else.  Somebody else was faster than you.  It really is as simple as that.  You didn’t win because you weren’t fast enough.  And until you realise that, you will never win, so learn it now – you win when you’re the one who was faster than anyone else.

And as Sergei would say, “Seemples”.

This series is dedicated to that well-respected gentleman, often cantankerous, always conscientious, caring but at times bloody-minded, humble but not always easy to get on with, certainly not a sufferer of fools,  Mr Frederick Roy Honeywell (1923 – 2017).

25 - More rallies with XUX

One year on Mull, David Calvert broke a cam belt early in the week whilst reccying in the rally car (an Escort), and bent all eight valves.  None were to be had anywhere on the island or the nearby mainland, but he managed to arrange for someone who was coming up on Thursday to pick up a set from Thomas Motors at Blackpool and bring them for him.

So far so good… but when the Good Samaritan arrived with the valves, there were eight alright – but five were inlet valves and only three were exhaust.  Lesser mortals might have thrown in the towel, but Ribble Valley farmers are made of sterner stuff.  Dave found a lathe in Tobermory and turned down the inlet valve (thankfully inlets are larger than exhausts) to make a near-perfect set, which were then fitted, allowing Dave not only to compete but finish the event.

  

I was always trying to drive faster, but around this point my times seemed to plateau, and however hard I tried, I didn’t seem to be going any quicker.  So I decided to try and drive smoother instead.  And almost immediately my times started to come down again.

Joe Riding and I did one or two more rallies together. On the last one we had a good first half – not only leading at petrol by a good two minutes or more, but this was after being badly baulked on the Haylotts white east of Lancaster.  I don’t think I’ve ever been closer to inflicting physical damage on another human being – everyone who’s ever rallied knows the unwritten rule that if someone catches you, you pull over as soon as you can and let them past.  Not this fella.  Although passing wasn’t easy, there were several places where he could have pulled over, but in fact he seemed to be deliberately holding me up.  As we arrived at the control I jumped out and just managed to control my temper, giving this idiot a piece of my mind rather than a black eye!

Petrol was at the garage just west of Kirkby Lonsdale on the A65.  As I filled up, Joe went off to look at the results. He came back looking perturbed. “What’s up?” “We’re in the lead.” “Great!” “By over two minutes” “Excellent! – so why the puzzled face?” “I didn’t think we were going quick enough.”  That made me really happy!

But not for long.  A few miles into the second half there was a long straight with a crest after half a mile.  Joe called out a 45-right over the crest and immediate square left after.  I thought I could remember this bit of road, and also thought I knew better – that the bends were much sharper on the map than on the road.  I was completely wrong.  We actually made it around the 45-right.  But we were still going much, much too quickly to get around the square left, and slammed into the bank on the outside.  Ouch!

I couldn’t see properly – I've always been very short-sighted and the impact had caused my glasses to fly off.  I thought they must be outside, but then realised all the glass was intact.  But they were nowhere to be found, and I daredn’t move too far in case I broke them.  A frantic search ensued, which seemed to take for ages, before the offending spectacles were found… neatly folded up in the passenger door pocket!

Soon, I left Black Horse Agencies to step out on my own in business.  Eventually quite good for me I guess, but not good for rallying.  I learnt that when you have your own business to develop, there isn't much time left for rallying, and the result was really an end to my ‘leisure career’ of rallying – apart from a few internationals still, and of course, apart from Mull, for a few years.

The problem with driving on only one event every twelve months is that – when you’re still in your late thirties and early forties - you find that each year you drive faster.  But you’re no longer ‘in the groove’, and when something goes wrong, not only does it seem to happen faster, but you’re not so quick at sorting it out either!

Luckily, Hellifield Garage came somewhat to the rescue by not only offering to prepare and maintain the car for Mull, but eventually they let me garage it there too.  This all happened at the same time the RAC banned Targa timing and effectively put an end to the fast and furious road rallying as we had come to know it.

Back on Mull, Brian Molyneux and his team were moving mountains to convert the Tour of Mull to a closed road stage rally.  At the time this was a completely outrageous idea:  even an Act of Parliament was required, no mean feat.  And because of the idiosyncrasies of our parliamentary system it almost didn’t make it.

The year was 1988 – after road rallies were ‘banned’ and before the Act was passed – that the infamous ‘Not the Tour of Mull’ took place.  The weather was horrendous, with rain of biblical proportions, whilst the organisers had prepared a completely off-road event with several new and unused stages.  The attrition rate was phenomenal, including me and Dad – we wrecked the suspension on some of the roughest roads I’d ever driven on.  The Glenforsa stage became a rally car graveyard.  Almost half the cars that started reached the finish.  But there was the same fellowship, and everyone looked forward to the following year.

There was enormous anticipation for the first closed road event, but we had to wait.  The Act of Parliament arrived too late for 1989, so the first closed-road tarmac stage event took place in 1990. The car was ready but with virtually no practice for two years, I decided I would have to drive carefully just to get back in the swing of things.  In 1991 I decided to use the same tactics and no one was more surprised than me when we finished 6^th overall, one place ahead of the next year's winners and another father and son team, Mark and Tony Wagstaff.

The following year was another retirement, for the by now ‘traditional’ reason of braking too late.  Soon after Torloisk, heading towards Calgary, is the old Kilninian School House, preceded by a square right.  Everything was going according to plan, but I hadn’t noticed the water running along the side of the road, and as I hit the brakes the front locked up.  Instinctively now, I lifted my foot off the brake pedal for a split second, then hit them again, with the same result.  All in little more than a second or two, I slowed down with cadence braking – but not enough.  I turned into the square right carrying too much speed, couldn’t help running wide (and on most Mull roads there isn’t room to run wide!) so off I went, down the slope, rolling once to end the right way up at the bottom.

Dad calmly got his flask, sandwiches, oh! and the OK board, and we spectated until everyone had gone through.  Several competitors mentioned to the marshals at the stage finish that they’d “seen Roy at the side of the road with his flask and OK board” but they’d no idea where our car was, as it was completely out of sight.

The following day we went to recover it.  I wondered why the driver’s side rear quarter-window was broken, retraced the car’s steps and realised that a decent-sized boulder in the grass had gone through it as we rolled.  I remember thinking we were lucky that it hadn’t gone through the driver’s window…

I think we had one more reasonable result, though not in the top ten.  The quality of the entry was getting better, whilst we remained in the ‘road-rally’ car class, in an increasingly underpowered car, compared to the opposition.

I'll tell you what happened - in perhaps the last episode - next week.

24 - More amusing tales from Mull

In 1969 dad and Trevor broke down near Torloisk, where Jimmy Milne was hosting a rally-watching party which had also been tasked – perhaps by Customs & Excise, who knows? – with despatching several bottles of whisky. Trevor had gone about half a mile past the house when the car stopped, and was wondering what to do next when Jimmy arrived in his minivan, clutching two full glasses of whisky (don’t ask me how!) which he gave them whilst ushering them into the minivan. He drove back to the house, nearly crashing about four times on the half-mile journey. When at last (or so it seemed) they arrived, Jimmy said “Och, I’m sorry for the rough ride boys, but I’ve had a hellll ovalot to drink!”

The Honeywells and Robertses became good friends of the Milnes. If ever you called whilst touring the island, Jimmy or Jeanette would always pour out a full glass of whisky – at least a week’s worth at home. Dad once said “Jimmy, it’s an awful long way just to Tobermory (the nearest town) – how do go on when your car needs an MOT – do you just have to lose a day’s work?” “Och no!” Jimmy replied, “See, I just ring Duncan McGilp (the garage owner) and say ‘Duncan, I need another MOT’ and he says ‘I’ll have it in the post tonight for you Jimmy!”

Jimmy and his son Angus later became popular musicians. I had a tape of theirs entitled “Jimmy and Angus live at the Bellachroy” which you couldn’t help reading as ‘live’ – rhymes with ‘spiv’, rather than ‘live’ – rhymes with ‘hive’. We asked him if he drank much when he went to the Bellachroy; “Same as always!” “And do you get a lift home?” (the ‘hill road’ is a very challenging single track mountain road). “Och no, I drive the minivan. The secret is to keep it in first gear all the way. Never change out of first gear. Two weeks ago I forgot, and changed up into second, but after 200 yards I said to myself ‘Woah! Slow down Jimmy, you’re going too fast!’ and changed back into first again!” Jimmy cut down his alcohol consumption after one particularly good night in the Bellachroy: he got home late, went to bed, and in the morning Jeanette asked him where Angus was… it was then that Jimmy realised he’d completely forgotten to bring his son home with him!

I find it hard to believe that for several years we towed the rally car to Mull and back with my Orion 1.6i Ghia – not the largest of cars. Not only the rally car and trailer, but four-up in the car (well, two children) with all our luggage for at least a week, and the rally car was jammed full of more luggage plus all the (heavy) spares, tyres, the lot.

One year the trailer had a suspension failure, which meant unloading the rally car somewhere around Ecclefechan just north of the England / Scotland border and driving it the rest of the way, the reduced load on the trailer meaning it was just about towable. The rally car engine was by this time reasonably well tuned – to be driven with right foot to the floor, or braking hard – and not much in between. 70 mph was achieved on something like a one-sixth opening of the throttle, but it still didn’t like it and popped and banged the whole way to Lochaline, where the ferry went across to Mull. It felt like an awfully long way…

Worse was to come. The poor Orion was still overloaded on the way back home when we set off from our rented bungalow at Strongarbh in Tobermory. There was only one route out of town that avoided hills that were too steep, but on this occasion it was drizzling and after I turned on to Victoria Street I took the wrong turning – first right instead of second. Half way up the hill the Orion’s front wheels began to spin, and we were going nowhere. Nothing for it but to try and reverse back to Victoria Street, but reversing on the way down was hardly possible either, as the car was completely unsteerable. And we had a ferry to catch. I missed the railings on the corner by about a centimetre, and must have sweated at least one litre in the five minutes it took to get out of danger!

Bert Hall was the landlord of the MacDonald Arms in Tobermory, a legendary and rather fearsome character with a rather intimidating gravelly voice.

He got on well with dad, however, although the relationship was put to the test in 1975 when we went to Mull in for a week’s holiday during the last week of May. The day we travelled up was the day of the once-traditional annual England v Scotland Football International, and we listened to the match commentary (with some pleasure and satisfaction) on the journey there as England thumped Scotland 5 – 1 at Wembley.

As we walked into the MacDonald Arms that evening, dad, feeling rather cock-a-hoop, approached the bar and before ordering the beers said to Bert “FIVE – ONE!” Bert appeared almost unmoved, then leant over the bar, looked dad straight in the eye and said in his menacingly sotto voce gravelly tones “Roy – you can say that once, and go in peace. But say it again, and you’ll go in pieces!!”

Tony Wagstaff, the winning co-driver in 1992 with son Mark, upped sticks with Jean from their home in Horton-in-Ribblesdale to live between Pennyghael and Bunessan on the Ross. Like most of Mull it isn’t densely inhabited, and a few years ago his next-door neighbour (from at least 200 yards away) called in to tell them he was going on holiday for a fortnight and would Tony and Jean look after his chucks? “Certainly,” said Tony. “Will you be locking your house?” “Och no, I never gave that a thought,” was the reply. But Tony mentioned that one or two dubious characters had been spotted recently, and thought it might be a good idea. “You’re right,” said the neighbour, “I’ll let you have the key in case you need it.” Two hours later he was back. “I’ve looked everywhere but I cannot find the key. I’ll have to leave the house unlocked.” “When did you last have it?” asked Tony. “Well, let me see, it’s 19 years since I bought the house… and I’ve never locked it, so that’s probably when I last had the key!”

Tony also told me that after moving to Mull he got a part-time job with Bowman’s Coaches, which involved sometimes driving the regular bus between Craignure and Fionnphort (where the ferry crosses to Iona). It was on one of these drives that he picked up an American tourist who insisted on standing just behind the driver and talking the whole time. Once or twice Tony suggested he would be safer taking his seat, but he carried on talking (and to use Tony’s words, he was just so boring!)

At Pennyghael Jean had just finished her stint at the café, and spotting her walking along the road, Tony stopped to pick her up and give her a lift the couple of miles home. She got on, smiled and thanked Tony, and went to sit down. “Gee! That’s what I just love about this country!” exclaimed the American. “You stop the bus to pick up a passenger and she isn’t even at a regular bus stop. That just wouldn’t happen in the States!” “Well, the thing is,” replied Tony, “that I quite like that lady, and I’m hoping I might get to sleep with her tonight!” Quickly, the American found a seat and sat down for the rest of the journey.

Meanwhile, back in the MacDonald Arms… Before the McGochans era, things were a little different. During rally week, every night was busy in ‘The Mac’ and Thursday night was unbelievably so. Dave Fotheringham, that well-known ‘second-hand Mexican bandit’, seemed particularly to enjoy himself at these busy times. One evening many years ago a young lady (I think I’ll hide her identity but she’s on Facebook and will hopefully remember the story…) was there with her good-looking beau, and with space being so tight, they were almost crushed together as they talked. Dave, standing behind, put his hand on the young lady’s bottom. She thought it must be her beau and smiled at him. He liked this. Dave caressed her bottom a little more. Half the MacDonald Arms, including me, had been watching this with much amusemen, when a couple of minutes later the young lady realised she could see both her fella’s hands! She whipped around to see who the culprit was – but I can’t remember whether he was caught ‘red-handed’ or escaped undiscovered.

Another Thursday evening, Ron Townson from Clitheroe, perhaps navigating for Derrick Hall, arrived at the Mac wearing a tie. He was without doubt the only person there wearing a tie. Dave accosted him, stating the obvious – “Ron, you are wearing a tie!!” “Yes I am,” came the reply, “and I shall wear what I want.” Dave quietly went behind the bar, picked up a pair of scissors and returned, severing the tie just below the knot. “I don’t think so,” he said, as the flabbergasted Ron looked on, and the pub erupted in laughter once again.

On a much quieter night a few years later, I was in the bar at the Mac and got into conversation with an older gentleman who told me he had been to the south of England on his summer holidays. He had gone to the pub there – the Hampshire coast, I think, and was telling a fellow customer that the following day he was planning to visit a village some 20 miles away. “He asked me what route I was taking, so I told him, and he said ‘Oh no! Don’t go that way!’ – and then he went on to explain a route in such detail I couldn’t possibly remember it, but I listened, and he went on and on, and I had to listen to him until he eventually finished, saying ‘that way will save you at least 10 minutes’. So I looked at him and said ‘It’s very kind of you, I’m sure, and I’ve listened very patiently do your directions, but now would you kindly tell me – what am I going to do with that 10 minutes once I get there?’” There’s a lesson for us all there…

23: A few amusing tales...

Navigating for Brian Harper in the Minisport Mini

I thought it might be an idea to pause the narrative and review some of the many true stories that have all stemmed from my involvement in rallying. Later you'll see that a large proportion originated on the wonderful Isle of Mull.  I can't give you a reason for that, apart from the fact that it's such a wonderful place.  If the weather was warmer and drier it would be perfect;  of course, it's the people that make the difference, but whether it's the locals, or the visitors... I think it must be a combination of both! 

In the mid 70s we finished a rally at Forton Services on the M6.  Dick Atherton finished in his Triumph 2.5Pi, quite a big (and powerful) car in its day.  A friend of Dick’s wasn’t so lucky – his mini needed a tow home to the Blackburn area and Dick was happy to oblige.  They’d just got the tow-rope fastened when another crew in a Hillman Imp asked if he would mind towing them home too.  “Don’t see why not,” was the reply to this rather unusual request, and so the Imp was attached by another tow rope to the back of the mini.  Everyone figured that at 6.30 on a Sunday morning there were unlikely to be any police cars about.

All went well for about 10 miles heading south on the M6… until the driver of the Imp dozed off and started drifting to the right.  There was nothing the Mini driver could do, so whilst Dick fought to keep his car in the inside lane, the Imp, in its journey to the overtaking lane, dragged the Mini to the centre lane.  What a sight that must have been, with the Triumph, Mini and Imp straddled across three lanes, and the first two blowing their horns in an attempt to wake the driver of the Imp! (They did, and apparently everyone got home in one piece.)

George Hill and Keith Wood at the start line of the 1971 Tour of Mull. Look closely at the crowd - a very young-looking Yours Truly is on the left, whilst just behind George's car is none other than Roger Clark, probably Britain's best rally driver in the 1970s

Before we were married, Val and I – like most other couples I guess – used to go out to pubs to socialise, and the red Mexico TCW was my only transport.  She was used to my driving – well, pretty much.  One evening in Ye Olde Sparrowhawk at Fence, we were chatting with some friends and Val said “I’d like to navigate for you on a rally if you’d let me.”  I immediately replied that she wouldn’t like it.  “Yes I would! What makes you say I wouldn’t like it?”  “Well,” I replied, “You wouldn’t like the speed I drive at.”  “Rubbish!” said Val, “I don’t mind the speed you drive at!” … “But I’ve never driven at rally speed when you’ve been in the car.”  This took Val aback somewhat.  “You always drive at rally speed.”

I couldn’t persuade her that the pace she thought was rally speed was actually (for me) driving very sedately with consideration for my passenger(s) and she clearly didn’t appreciate how much faster I could – had to – drive on rallies.  It was agreed that we would use the narrow, mainly twisty but occasionally fast, Padiham Heights road, from Fence to Sabden, on the way home.  Poor Val.  Suffice to say that when she’d regained her composure she vowed that she never, ever, wanted to navigate for me.  Ever.

Having said that, another evening we’d been to the Bay Horse at Roughlee and came back home via Downham village.  From Barley the road climbs to Annel Crossroads, then across the side of Pendle to an adverse camber medium right before dropping again past Gerna to Downham.  There was a touch of frost, and as I put my foot on the accelerator half way around the medium right, the back end let go and I found myself in a clockwise spin.  “This could be nasty!” I remember thinking, as the car, now going backwards after spinning 180°, continued to 270°… and I thought… “if I keep the clutch engaged and tap the brakes now, it might just lock the front wheels only and finish the spin…” so I did, and as the spin reached full circle, I dipped the clutch, dropped it into second and continued as if nothing had happened.  “You’re brilliant!” was the unexpected message from the passenger seat.

The first time Val and I went to Mull together was 1978, two months after we were married.  We only had the one car – the rally car – so we had no choice but to drive it to Mull, hope it got around in one piece, and drive it back home.  For some reason my usual route to the M6 North was through the Trough of Bowland, then Dolphinholme, ignoring the No Entry signs at Forton Services and joining the motorway there.  Val had a portable TV on her knee.  Mark, not quite three years old, was wedged in between bedding and a back seat so full of luggage that we thought it would take a tin-opener to get him out.  Until he was sick somewhere near Sykes Farm in the middle of the Trough.  We had to move very fast!  I clearly hadn’t thought that one through.

When we got to the Corran Ferry we all needed the toilet, and with a good 10 minutes before the ferry would return, off we went.  But on our return I saw that I’d left the keys in when I’d locked the car.  Disaster! Or was it?  The car in front was a Ford Granada.  Not long before whilst on a rally, father and I had moved all three Escorts and a Capri blocking a farmer’s track by opening each one with the same key for dad’s Escort.  I asked the Granada owner if I could borrow his car keys.  He looked at me very suspiciously but I assured him my intentions were honourable.  Granada keys in Escort door, quick wiggle… and we were in.  I took them back with grateful thanks and we continued on our way!

Trying to behave myself in Lettermore Forest

Mark was around 11 years old when, one wet day on Mull the weather confined us to indoors, and we decided to play the ‘Word Association Game’ – Mark, me and dad.  It was going well – ‘Football – ground – coffee – tea …’ and so on, when in walked 4-year old Catherine.  “What are you doing?” she asked.  We explained the name of the game and how it worked.  “Can I play too?” she asked, and her face beamed when we said she could.  She wasn’t bad at it either – for a 4-year old.  A couple of rounds ground to a halt and we re-started, then the next time it was Catherine’s turn to start.  “What do I do?”  “Think of a word” we replied, “Any word?” “Yes – any word”…  Long pause… and then Catherine said “Res‑pons‑ibility”.  You can’t play Word Association when you’re rolling on the floor laughing…

One year in the early 70s three ladies who went to Mull that October were all pregnant.  I think my sister Pat had a craving for coal, whilst Susan said she “couldn’t bear the thought of prawns any longer.”  Class will always out.  Pat #2 was the furthest into her pregnancy and the only one who at that stage didn’t even know it!

It’s the Sunday night after the rally, again back in the 70s, when there were no ferries on Sunday, everyone stayed on the island, and a very large proportion had way too much to drink.  The crowd in the Western Isles Hotel was getting a little boisterous when in marched a policeman, dragging behind him a man in his 30s who was far too drunk to even contemplate walking.  “Has anyone here NOT had anything to drink?” shouted the bobby.  Although no one was expecting a positive response, one chap – I think he must have been on some form of medication that tells you not to mix it with alcohol – said “Me sir – I have had no alcohol this evening.”  The policeman walked over and handed him some car keys – “Well sir, I’ve just stopped this poor fellow from driving his car – would you be good enough to take him home and then drop the keys off at the police station?”  Times have changed…

Jimmy Fleming was a regular competitor in the 70s – he had a car dealership, somewhere near Glasgow I think.  More than a little flamboyant, he would arrive on Mull with service barge, car on trailer, and service crew, plus a certain glow which stemmed from the fact that the ferry was at that time one of the few places in Scotland where you could enjoy a drink at any time of the day.  In fact one year, on arriving at Craignure, he told the service crew to get the vehicles off the ferry whilst he made another return trip to Oban, never leaving the bar of course.  One of the crew had to wait in Craignure for two hours to give him a lift to Tobermory!

Has it really come to this? How it's possible for an old has-been to have some fun!

22 - The excitement of a new car!

A new car - how exciting!

Still short of photos as always.  So here's one generously provided by Kevin MacIver of the 'Skidmore Hire Car' from 85

September 1985; back from the Manx, not yet paid out by Black Horse (I'd have to wait until early next year for that), Val wanted a new fireplace and carpets etc, but I would still have enough money to buy another Escort – decent ones were going for between £3,500 and £4,000 in basic road-rally spec.  I never did aspire to an all singing and dancing big-winged model, and I think the writing was on the wall with the RAC removing stage cars from road rallies.  My heart was in road rallies, not stages.

For me, the perfect rally was a no-nonsense route, challenging but with no devious tricks – because that was still a supreme test of driver, navigator and car.  To win an event all three had to be on top form.  It simply wasn’t possible to succeed if any one of the three had a bad night, or even an indifferent one. 

I kept looking at the adverts in Motoring News until one Thursday several months later, I saw a ‘T’ reg car for sale near Fishguard in Pembrokeshire, fairly standard but with Bilsteins and a few upgraded items – the single twin-choke Weber carburettor had been replaced with an upgraded (still single twin-choke) version.  £3,950.   I honestly can’t remember whether it had rear discs or a balance bar brake system, but if it didn’t then, it soon would have!

Pete Croft went with me to Pembrokeshire, together with a Building Society cheque for £3,400 and £600 cash.  I’m a big believer in fair but firm negotiation, hence the flexibility:  I can’t watch ‘The Apprentice’ any more, as none of the contestants could negotiate their way out of a paper bag.  What they call ‘negotiation’ is almost always merely the most basic form of haggling, and they’re even hopeless at that! (I watched Tom Hanks and Mark Rylance in ‘Bridge of Spies’ recently – if you want to know what negotiation means you could do worse…)

The car was really good, and felt fine on a short test drive.  I think we agreed at £3,650 and I drove it all the way home, grinning most of the way.

Mull 1986, full chat through Dervaig village.  You might see lots of photos of very sideways cars at this junction.  In my opinion that's playing to the gallery and this is much quicker. 

You may remember a few episodes ago I mentioned Gordon Birtwistle – the Number One man when it comes to rally car suspension.  Some time in 1985, I think, I got instructions to sell the house next door, and knowing that Gordon was in the market for something like that, I made sure he got the details. I’d have been prepared to move heaven and earth to get him to buy it, but on his first viewing he liked what he saw and decided to go ahead. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.  Surely there could be no better next door neighbour?!

As soon as Gordon knew I’d bought a fresh rally car, he told me to go the weighbridge at Dugdale Nutrition (with half a tank of fuel and driver and navigator in the car), and come back with NINE weighings– all four wheels on, then the two front wheels, both back wheels, left hand side, right hand side, and each individual wheel.  The man operating the weighbridge was very patient!  Gordon took the printout, made lots of measurements on the car, then went off to study them carefully.

When he came back we had some jobs to do, including moving the battery from front to back, and other jobs to get a better weight distribution.  Gordon supervised removing all the suspension as we increased the castor angle and gave the car a bit more negative camber.  You’d be surprised how much ‘tolerance’ there was in cars at that time – nothing was exactly the same on both sides – and we had to get it all perfect.

The result was a Road-rally class Escort which had, in its day, fabulous balance and handling, an absolute joy to drive and one where you could take your hands off the wheel at full speed and it would just continue in a straight line.

After concentrating on the Motoring News Championship in 1983 it was over three years since I’d done a ‘local’ local event, apart from that familiarisation with Mike Kidd on the Ribble Rally in 1984.  I also needed a new navigator as John Meadows was busy elsewhere, but I soon found Joe Riding was looking for a driver and another partnership was struck up.  We decided to enter the BAC Charity Rally in August 86.  It started at Quicks for Ford in Bury, with Ken Skidmore / Charlie Woodward seeded at No 1, Tony Shields / Paul Burns at 2, J Naylor / A Sanderson at 3, and Alan Shaw with Rod Brereton 4.  We were seeded 5, and it felt great to be back on those Lancashire / Yorkshire roads, especially the moorland stuff!

You knew it was going to be a tough night when Clerk of the Course Mike Shields saw the weather forecast and extended maximum lateness by 15 minutes;  then we were only given the second half of the route to plot, being handed the first half as we left the start for a run out to Pendle Hill.

I must have been a bit rusty, as Ken took 6 seconds off me on the first section, then more over Gisburn Forest to take about a minute’s lead.  I was cross as I’d outbraked myself and slithered past a crossroads, having to reverse, then select first gear again, losing a few seconds in the process.

Exiting the hairpin right in Fishnish forest

But on the last three sections before petrol I started to drive much better, so that at halfway we were only one second behind Skidmore & Woodward, with Shaw / Brereton leading the rest of the field a rather distant three minutes back.  Ken pulled out more time on me after the restart, then I wrested it back once again, until at the start of the final test – Widdup Moor, south of Burnley – we were still only separated by a single second.  Ken and Charlie beat us by 2 seconds on the last test, taking the rally win from us by an unusually slim 3 seconds - after all that driving!  In third place, a further 8m 40s in arrears were Alan Shaw and Rod Brereton.  I’ll never forget Alan taking his first look at the results when they were posted, and turning to me to say “I think you and Ken were having your very own rally last night!”  I was still thinking about that overshot crossroads…!

Only 30 cars out of 55 starters managed to finish – that was a tough event!

Two months later on the Tour of Mull, we were seeded at 10 but our early promise failed to bear fruit this time.  We’d been comfortably inside the top ten times on the first five sections, and were lying 7^th overall when on no 6 (Glen Aros & Loch Tuath) something went badly wrong and we dropped 45:51 to Pattison’s 1:45.  That was effectively the end, although we came back out for the Saturday afternoon forest stages (16^th o/a) and restarted on Saturday night, but whatever the problem was it must have come back as our night times were poor.

A nostalgic tip of the hat to the man who created the Tour of Mull - Brian Molyneux 

Early in 87 I teamed up with Joe Riding for the second time, this time to do the Roskirk (South Shore MC), once again finishing second overall, this time to Dave Calvert and Stewart Lawrenson.  I think this was the event that went past Dave’s front door at Cow Ark, north of Clitheroe near the Inn at Whitewell.  On this road there’s one of the ‘sweetest’ yumps anywhere, where you can have all four wheels well off the road but the car always lands really smoothly – all very satisfying.

On this section I thought (correctly) that Dave would take time off me, so I gave it the full 100%, and I guess must have taken that yump faster than ever before.  Instead of the nice sweet landing I was expecting, we came down with a hell of a bang!  I wouldn’t advise doing this in daylight when the lockdown’s over…

At least I reckoned I was back in the groove.