29-10-2019, 10:07 AM
I am reading 'Tempest Pilot' by Squadron Leader CJ Sheddan DFC, RNZAF, with Norman Franks (published by Grub Street). Very entertaining - and our favourite marque makes an appearance. Now, where did I leave that Spitfire battery...?
Scotty, as befitted a commanding officer, bought a 1936 Austin which, I expect, would have cost him in the region of five pounds sterling. Such a princely sum was well beyond our limited resources so Joe Helleen, Sandy Powell, Bruce Lawless and I formed a syndicate, the idea being to raise the necessary in order to purchase a vehicle.
Before a suitable machine could be found Joe had been shot down over France, and Sandy had become so entangled in the web that his thirst and girlfriends had spun around him, that he had to withdraw. The loss of our two partners left Bruce and myself with the problem of financing the deal, providing that a suitable car could be found within our price range; our combined liquid assets were eighteen pounds! Looking around proved to be thirsty work and soon the pool had shrunk to seven pounds and fifteen shillings.
One evening while in the bar of a Chichester hotel, we were telling a civilian friend of our problems. Wonders will never cease! Not only did he own the car that we were looking for but seven pounds and fifteen shillings was the price he wanted for it. After last orders we went along to have a look at the 'bomb' - at that price what else could it have been. It turned out to be an old Austin Seven of 1927 vintage parked in what must have been an old hen house. It was covered in dust and a collection of junk. After removing the 'camouflage' we helped to push the relic outside and discovered that not only was there air in all the tyres but that the tank actually had petrol in it. The motor burst into life without much persuasion on its owner's part, so, on the strength of the demonstration, we decided to buy the old girl. On later reflection, events had gone too smoothly, it must have been a plant. We had been set up and it was our good fortune that we had only this limited amount of finance available.
After completing the deal we headed for Tangmere but had not gone far before we began to realise that with ownership went problems. Our first was a large policeman waving a torch. It was a dark night and we had no lights, but with the black-out we had a genuine excuse. No brakes, as the man behind the wheel soon discovered, and the law seemed to think that I should also have a driver's licence! Also, with no registration or ownership papers and after a quick look around, by torch light, he discovered that there wasn't a vestige of tread on any of the tyres. After listening to our story, that policeman's opinion was that we had been grossly overcharged. His advice was to get the thing to Tangmere, even if it involved pushing it most of the way, and keep it there until it was roadworthy, though he seemed to think that this was a very remote possibility.
The battery was on its last legs, but where in all England were we to find a six-volt replacement and how were we to pay for one providing it could be found? The battery crisis we solved by removing the rear seat and installing a twenty-four-volt Spitfire battery. The high voltage we solved by using a quarter of the battery at a time. The Spitfire trolley accumulator had the same size tyres as our car so a few cigarettes changed hands and soon the old Austin was sporting a new set of tyres and that included the spare. If the tyres on the trolley accumulator were any indication of the age of the Spitfires, they must have been around since World War One.
Scotty, as befitted a commanding officer, bought a 1936 Austin which, I expect, would have cost him in the region of five pounds sterling. Such a princely sum was well beyond our limited resources so Joe Helleen, Sandy Powell, Bruce Lawless and I formed a syndicate, the idea being to raise the necessary in order to purchase a vehicle.
Before a suitable machine could be found Joe had been shot down over France, and Sandy had become so entangled in the web that his thirst and girlfriends had spun around him, that he had to withdraw. The loss of our two partners left Bruce and myself with the problem of financing the deal, providing that a suitable car could be found within our price range; our combined liquid assets were eighteen pounds! Looking around proved to be thirsty work and soon the pool had shrunk to seven pounds and fifteen shillings.
One evening while in the bar of a Chichester hotel, we were telling a civilian friend of our problems. Wonders will never cease! Not only did he own the car that we were looking for but seven pounds and fifteen shillings was the price he wanted for it. After last orders we went along to have a look at the 'bomb' - at that price what else could it have been. It turned out to be an old Austin Seven of 1927 vintage parked in what must have been an old hen house. It was covered in dust and a collection of junk. After removing the 'camouflage' we helped to push the relic outside and discovered that not only was there air in all the tyres but that the tank actually had petrol in it. The motor burst into life without much persuasion on its owner's part, so, on the strength of the demonstration, we decided to buy the old girl. On later reflection, events had gone too smoothly, it must have been a plant. We had been set up and it was our good fortune that we had only this limited amount of finance available.
After completing the deal we headed for Tangmere but had not gone far before we began to realise that with ownership went problems. Our first was a large policeman waving a torch. It was a dark night and we had no lights, but with the black-out we had a genuine excuse. No brakes, as the man behind the wheel soon discovered, and the law seemed to think that I should also have a driver's licence! Also, with no registration or ownership papers and after a quick look around, by torch light, he discovered that there wasn't a vestige of tread on any of the tyres. After listening to our story, that policeman's opinion was that we had been grossly overcharged. His advice was to get the thing to Tangmere, even if it involved pushing it most of the way, and keep it there until it was roadworthy, though he seemed to think that this was a very remote possibility.
The battery was on its last legs, but where in all England were we to find a six-volt replacement and how were we to pay for one providing it could be found? The battery crisis we solved by removing the rear seat and installing a twenty-four-volt Spitfire battery. The high voltage we solved by using a quarter of the battery at a time. The Spitfire trolley accumulator had the same size tyres as our car so a few cigarettes changed hands and soon the old Austin was sporting a new set of tyres and that included the spare. If the tyres on the trolley accumulator were any indication of the age of the Spitfires, they must have been around since World War One.