EDITORIAL AUGUST 1988

Despite holidays and all the comings and goings herewith the August Newsletter.

My thanks to everyone concerned with its production. It's the enthusiastic back-up

that makes it possible.

David's Opal is still on the road, but despite that he has provided us with

another 'Bodger's Corner'. We don't wish his car ill although it is a pity that this

saga must end!

There's news of Bob Lawrence, whose Club Newsletter in Canada quotes the DA7C

Newsletter's appreciation of his talk to us last September.

The second gripping episode of "Through the 'Death Valley' of South Africa" is

within - best to have a glass of something cool beside you as you read - and we have

reports of the Club Barbecue and the DA7C Vintage Picnic Tea Run.

As I write Mervyn is three days into his marathon cycle ride. Be sure to

return your sponsor form, plus cash, to him if you have not already done so.

Send to:-

Mervyn Frampton

'Sutherland'

Broad Oak

Nr Sturminster Newton

Dorset.

If you are now off on your holidays journey safely and have a great time! If you've just returned you will be glad to know that it ain't 'arf been wet here. All the best.

John

SECRETARIAL

Hi Gang. The 'Dorset' luck held out for our Barbecue at Studland and the evening stayed fair; fair enough in fact for a few of us to again venture into the sea for a swim, most of us, if not quite all, suitably attired!

The weather was also a little kinder for the Solent A7 Club's 'Rally within a Rally' at Marwell. I remember last year it poured all day, not so this time, a gaggle of Dorset Members met at Cadnam for the trip via Romsey and Winchester to Marwell Zoo, arriving at around 11.30. Members cars did well in the Concours, several taking Cups.

At least two members have bought a second Austin 7 this month. Our Editor in fact, arrived for the July run in a very smart '32 Box, and I understand Lawrence our Treasurer has acquired an extremely nifty Special.

Pat and I enjoyed the Raspberries and Cream Run last month, organised by Phil and Hilary Whitter. It took a very picturesque route to the Drover at Gussage All Saints where we had an excellent lunch, after which we continued our run through leafy lanes to a forest glade near Linwood where we enjoyed a picnic tea and Raspberries and Cream to the accompaniment of two gramophones playing 1930s' records, a superb day out.

Well, enough waffle from me for this month, hope to see you all Club Night.

Glyn

RICHARD AND MARGARET CRESSEY have written to thank everyone from the Club who attended their village fête on 25th June. The village made a profit of approximately £980 (£450 of which will go to the school funds). They say that folk really enjoyed seeing the cars and, as you will be aware from Jill's account last month, it was a very enjoyable day.

A CANADIAN VIEW

Club Members who were there will surely remember last year's outstanding talk by Canadian Bob Lawrence on the Canadian EXPO '86 exhibition of veteran, vintage and collectors' cars, backed up by his unique collection of slides. Many of the cars were new to us and with prices few could ever afford.

Gordon and Biddy are still in touch with Bob and have kindly sent his account of the Beaulieu Autojumble, as it appeared in a Canadian motor club newsletter. It makes interesting reading and is a reminder that the annual plod-around is almost with us again.

Herewith a photocopy of Bob's account. (2 Canadian dollars = £1):‑

AN AUTOM0TIVELY JUMBLED REPORT FROM ENGLAND

In the autumn of 1986 I was able for the first time to be in the south of England in mid-September. Therefore, with the legitimate cover of doing serious theatre ^-research five miles from Beaulieu (interviewing a retired actor), my wife and I joined many other people at the Autojumble organized each year (on a Saturday and Sunday mid September) by the National Motor Museum, which began about thirty years Igo as Lord Montagu of Beaulieu's private collection.

That is an Autojumble you may well ask? A large heap of wrecked cars? No. It’s what we in North America call a swap meet. This one, reputed to be almost as large as Hershey, consisted of 1,600 stalls and was attended by 39,000 people (two-day admission about $12.00). Lord Montagu profitably opened up four pastures and chased out the cows. It rained! His Lordship thoughtfully put down corrugated tracks along the main avenues so that vendors could get their vans on site, but in between, along the many rows of stalls, mud was knee high, churned up by approximately 78,000 marching feet. This figure makes no mathematical allowance for those feet that covered the same lane two or three times as their owners searched for an elusive spare part.

I found it impossible in less than two days to even glance at all 1,600 stalls stretching, it seemed, to infinity, as my feet got more and more tired, each foot carrying pounds of mud. Food stalls offering beer, hotdogs, tea, fish and chips, were in evidence, but they had no seats. The secret was to take time to look over the indexed catalogue. Thus, if you were looking, say, only for Jaguar spares, you could mark on your map the location of the twenty-two vendors of Jaguar material. Then you start a weaving course to bump into each Jaguar unit, taking care not to be distracted by the stalls offering non-Jaguar items. There were headlamps, badges, auto toys and pedal cars, books and brochures, spark plugs, valves, wheels, and new tires, bumpers, doors, radiators, mascots, bicycles (a genuine 1860 boneshaker for $3,000), and thousands of other tempting goodies (prices negotiable). Think sympathetically of a visiting Canadian with only two suitcases for accumulated treasures.

I noted very few spares for pre-war North American cars, principally because only a small number were sold in GB and present owners of old Fords, Buicks, Pontiacs, Cords, etc. are catered for by their own clubs or sub-divisions of American clubs. I spotted a rusty hubcap for a Ford A - asking price $16. I didn't buy it.

Two or three vendors had glass Lalique radiator ornaments on offer. I thought that a Lalique eagle would look good on the front of my Model A Ford. The dealer wanted $600 for it. I didn't buy that either.

I did, however, have fun chasing Bentley spares - not many about. I wanted an exhaust manifold for a 1930's Bentley and learned that one stallholder somewhere in the four fields had two. Then came the pleasure of pursuing that lead from stall to stall through the mud. I heard repeatedly, "I don't have such a thing, but you might try the man in K22 (a quarter of a mile away)." At last I caught up with the owner of the manifolds. One had already been sold, but I acquired the last Bentley manifold at the Autojumble, at a little less than the asking price.

Text Box: THE AUSTIN MAGAZINE 1096 August, 1936

Through the "Death Valley" of South Africa skill. But my car's track was narrow, and only

— contd. one set of wheels could take the "spoor" ; while

the offside wheels ploughed deep, the near

You have heard, I do not doubt, of America's wheels churned over the hump between the

"Death Valley," an inferno of heat among the scores. We lurched along at an incline of 30

Californian Hills. Gold seekers have left their degrees, swaying, jolting, skidding.

bones in it before finding wealth ; one God- And then at last we found a hard patch, 30

forsaken ranch huddles somewhere in it next the yards across, on which we could stop. We

solitary spring ; the two motor cyclists who first filled up a bone-dry radiator and deflated the

crossed it wrote half a book about it. tyres to half-pressure, a device we should have

Though you may not know it, South Africa adopted before if "Death Valley" had not taken

also has its "Death Valley." On ordinary maps us unawares. Only tough tyres will stand up to

you will find no trace of it, just as Bushmanland much work deflated, particularly in abrasive sand,

will probably be little more than a blank, bare which wears the very soles of the Afrikaner's

of names or markings. But on a large scale veltIskoens in a few score miles.

surveyor's map you may be able to trace a Then 1 looked ahead and saw the harrier

depression shown as "Koa Valley." which the tough gentlemen of Springbok had

This was the former bed of the Orange River, described in awe and solemn warning. Imagine

which has now found a course a dozen miles or it, if you can ; Muizenherg or Waikiki beach,

so to the northward. two miles wide, coloured a blazing red : ruffled

It is a sea of sand, rather like the bed of the and scrabbled by a thousand school children ;

Bromo craters in East Java. Unwary, I drove and then upended sharply to the steepness of

down a hillside into the valley, and before 1 Pike's Peak or some other famous test hill. And

could shake off the drowsy heat and summon then imagine coaxing a baby car up it.

up alertness, we were in the sand and we had This was Kooisabees Hill. We debated waiting

to go on. fur the relief lorry, but pride forbade the admis‑

Your city motorist knows nothing of sand. sion of defeat. We would go on, even if we left

He never has to drive in it. He meets a ten-yard the hones of the car on the hill. At least we

strip near the seashore, and sticks. In Thirst- should be found and rescued.

land you learn to negotiate sand while you learn We let the engine cool, and shading it with

to drive. Otherwise you never learn to drive blankets from the fierce rays of the sun which

at all. kept the radiator almost at the boil. We dumped

One pause would have been fatal for us ; slow- overboard every superfluous article of gear ; I

ing wheels would have sunk rim-deep in the "revved" the engine up as carefully as though I

soft, clinging stuff, and we should have found it were in an aeroplane starting a flight.

difficult to free them. So, with the engine racing The car rushed at the hill, swore, raved up it

in second gear and the "Tar Baby" bucketing in low gear, stammered and faded, picked up

about like a destroyer in a heavy seaway, we again, almost gave up. I sensed the door swing‑

roared onwards under the relentless sky. The ing open ; a hundred yards on 1 missed my

temperature in the sun was 151 degrees Fahrenheit; passenger ; noble fellow, he had jettisoned

the water in our radiator boiled furiously, the himself !

stench of superheated oil hung heavily in the Somehow the Baby climbed the hill. I think

saloon. the laughter of the tough gentlemen of Springbok

I mourned for the engine, bursting her little spurred her on. I swear she could never do it

heart to pull us through ; for a quarter of an again. I would not ask her. Two miles up that

hour we raced through ; for a quarter of an ferocious hill—oh, the agony for her tiny brave

hour we raced onwards with the radiator boiling engine.

all the time. On the best of roads, in the heat My passenger walked two miles up, up that

of this desert land, my passenger had to climb ferocious hill. The temperature in the sun was

out every ten minutes to refill the radiator ; now 151 degrees Fahrenheit. Fortunately he wore

we could not risk stopping. shorts, shirt and wide-brimmed hat. I was

My eyes glued to the track—a double line of driving clad only in a towel for loincloth, and

wheelmarks which a heavier car would have vehlskoens to insulate my feet from the searing.

found useful. The big car with standard track heat of clutch and accelerator pedals. Even so.

finds little difficulty in taking sand if driven with I streamed with sweat.

August, 1936 1097 THE AUSTIN MAGAZINE

Through the "Death Valley" of South Africa the hottest place in South Africa, but a paradise

—contd. to us at the moment.

"If I could only be in my office writing an [Roodhouse is, as the official temperatures show,

article about ice hockey," said my passenger, the hottest spot in South Africa. Day after

collapsing into the car. day it heads the temperature tables issued by

At the top of the hill a heavy six-cylinder car the Government Meteorological Department

had smashed a big end and piston and torn a in Pretoria. It stands supreme as a hot spot,

hole in the side of her crankcase. Two dis- and because it has had such constant publicity

consolate Germans in khaki bush.shorts, and for its temperature records, Roodhouse is

bound for Windhoek by way of Roodhouse generally accepted to be a town.

Drift, were struggling to extract the smashed Actually it is no more than a fruit-growing

piston. estate inhabited by one white man (Carl

A week or two before another heavy car broke Weidner) and three-score coloured folk. It lies

down on the hill. The passengers, a man and a athwart a drift on the Orange River, just scrap‑

woman, both over 60 years of age, walked 12 ing into the Union of South Africa. Across

miles to Roodhouse for shelter, food and 750 feet of muddy water lies South-West Africa,

assistance. which was German territory until, with the

The Baby Austin skimmed onwards in the ending of the War, the Union accepted it as

twilight over a road no better than the first 55 a mandate from the League of Nations.

miles, but no longer execrable to us. The sunset Today the Roodhouse Drift is one of the

had tipped all the fantastic sea of peaks bounding accepted ways into South-West Africa. Bold

the Orange River with scarlet tints ; behind us motorists strike up from Cape Town occasion‑

was the red hell of Kooisabees Hill and the red ally through Namaqualand to the drift, and

desolation of "Death Valley." then head northwards through more desert

Before, on the river bank, was Roodhouse— to Windhoek.)