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A PUN TOO FAR?Readers may recall my tale of the prototype aluminium semi-trailer that trundled out of the Experimental Shed in the late 1950's (Newsletter Autumn 2004). "Someone up there" decided that it should be fully tested before setting out on a sales tour around the UK, and to this end the Motor Industries Research Association (MIRA) facility at Nuneaton (rather than tank testing at Farnborough!) was the agreed venue. Wilf Fox from Ken Boye's department and me, provided the advance party, and we were responsible for liaison with the staff at MIRA and for hiring the Leyland "Comet" tractor unit and drivers. Incidentally, Wilf had a propensity for adopting the accent of anyone that he happened to encounter and after we had inevitably lost our way in the town of Leyland, he pulled over to ask a policeman to direct us to the Leyland factory. |
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The policeman replied in a broad Lancashire accent, with Wilf interjecting with his own version of the North Country dialect and me sinking lower and lower in the passenger seat expecting the policemen to tell us where to go, and guessing that it wouldn't be to the Leyland factory! For me the period of testing at MIRA lasted about six weeks, with Wilf and myself logging the performance of the trailer as it sped over the test tracks including the dreaded Belgian pave with its undulating surface. We took turns with the Leyland drivers (strictly unofficially of course) and experienced the tooth-rattling corrugated concrete track which caused some spectacular blow-outs when the air suspension bellows lost their seals. As I was on the weekly staff payroll in those distant days, my overtime hours were beginning to pile up in a very satisfying way. However, my dreams of avarice were brought to an abrupt conclusion when a message from base was received. "Pleased to inform you that you have been promoted to Monthly Staff with immediate effect!" As readers will recall, this staff category meant that overtime was unpaid, and the word pleased was not one that I would have chosen! Pressing the rewind button will take us back to Filton, where the instrumentation team led by John Dickens, was about to set off to Nuneaton aboard a not so trusty Bedford Doormobile”. Two sales staff members from Alec Symon's department also made their way in convoy, using a private car, and their role was to gain familiarity with the trailer that they might be selling - eventually! The presence of one, namely Bob Peers, is important to my story. Also, of equal importance, is young (in those days) Ernie Stocker, one of the instrumentation technicians, whose stock in trade (forgive the partial pun) was just that - a pun for every occasion. Fortunately for my anecdote, but unfortunately for the team, the evening journey was beset by two major problems: dense fog and a catastrophic loss of hydraulic power to the foot brake. In those days fogs were pea-soupers’, and dual hydraulic systems, seat belts and motorways were yet to arrive. But all's well that ends well, and by dint of careful driving and the reliance on a not so reliable parking brake, John Dickens nursed the ailing vehicle and its weary passengers to the hotel that would be their haven for that night. He had accomplished this in poor visibility for many miles along unlit roads, and remarkably, the van bore no more dents or scratches than at the start of its journey. All traces of the pea-souper had gone by the next morning, and in order to save time it was decided that all the available cars would be used to ferry John and his team and their equipment to MIRA, and Bob the salesman would take the “Doormobile" to a suitable garage in Nuneaton to arrange the necessary repairs to its defunct braking system. The next part of the tale would not be known to us until we met up with Bob a short time later that day. Apparently, Bob had duly sped off in that flamboyant mode that typifies the slick salesman, and as he cruised along in the morning sunshine he had espied a suitable repair establishment - although it was not yet open at that early hour. Two large wooden doors guarded the opening to what was obviously the workshop area, and with his brain still in neutral, but with the van in gear he swung into the forecourt having temporarily forgotten why he was there in the first place. Too late! The lack of response from the foot brake provided an instant and painful reminder as he desperately heaved on the handle of what is laughingly known as the parking brake, the same brake that John Dickens had successfully manipulated to good effect during the hairy trip north. Fortunately the garage doors were only slightly damaged, but the lights on the van now looked less than pristine - assuming that they had looked that way originally. But the most damage had been suffered by Bob's pride and to save further embarrassment to himself he hastily reversed from the forecourt leaving only the two scarred doors and a neat pile of shattered glass to mark his passing. We will never know what transpired when the garage was opened for business that morning as it is highly unlikely that the staff there will ever see a copy of our newsletter! Meanwhile, and in blissful ignorance of Bob's confrontation with a set of garage doors, the remainder of our party had arrived at the test facility and we were there standing in a group discussing the various tasks for that day. Someone suddenly piped up, "Isn't that our van coming across the track?" In the distance we could just make out the familiar shape of the elderly vehicle, but it was a sight that we had not expected to see until much later that day at the very earliest. As it drew ever closer, the shattered headlamps bore witness to Bob's momentary' lapse of concentration and then came the groan producing remark from Ernie Stocker that is the punch line of this true tale. "OH! LOOK! THE VAN! IT'S DE-LIGHTED TO SEE US! John Payne |