Boys and Motorbikes
Today I've decided to reminisce with some boyhood
memories of growing up on The Farm. This missive is essentially concerned with
motorbikes that we as a group of adolescent boys used to play with whenever we
had free time. There were also cars and tractors, and other forms of
transportation available to us.
Let me begin by saying the first vehicle I ever drove
was a David Brown tractor, back when I was the grand old age of 8. Farms are a
bit like this. Obviously this and any other vehicles mentioned below were never
driven on the road, but were used for work or fun in the fields that surrounded
the smallholding.
By the age of eleven I was accomplished at reversing
the hay wagon, a very large 4-wheeled trailer we used to carry bails of hay and
straw. Two-wheeled trailers are pretty easy to manoeuvre once you get your mind
right, but the four-wheeled version with wide axles and about 40 feet long took
a bit of learning. If you are in a straight line and reverse, then turning the
tractor wheels left, will pirouette the rear tractor wheels, and the front axle
of the trailer will go right, meaning the trailer reverses in the opposite
direction to the way you turn the wheel. This changes once you are not in a
straight line of course, so mastering this was I thought, quite an achievement.
However, from second year at secondary school, my main
interest became motorbikes. They were just so ‘it’! At the time the first
Japanese machines were appearing on British roads, but my enthusiasm was for the
host of old and trusted British motorcycles. Around this time my life-long
friend Ian Brown came to work at the farm during the summer. My Father had
since moved into dog boarding kennels, so a raft of you helpers were needed to
exercise the dogs and clean their accommodation. Ian was two years ahead of me
in school years, but we got on extremely well, and I also came to know many of
his friends also over time. We had one thing in common - were all crazy about
motorbikes!
At age fourteen I bought my very first motorcycle, a
350cc single cylinder Velocette MAC. These were very distinctive by having a
fish-tail exhaust pipe, and a very high reputation. I paid ￡20 for it in roadworthy condition, and spent most of the first week
leaning how to start and stop it! Whilst I was great with four wheels, two
wheels and many unknowns took some getting used to. There were ignition
retarders and valve lifter, and many things a boy had to master. However, once
I had mastered the controls, it all became a lot easier and by then I had also
got used to the standing weight of the machine. That week-end Ian came to walk
dogs, and was wowed by it! Thus began the saga of many motorbike adventures at
Bogmoor.
Meanwhile my oldest friend who lived just down the
road (1 and a half miles), Rex Rees, had his brothers Squariel plus chair to
play with on their farm. In English that is an Ariel square four = four
cylinders in a square formation, 1, 000 cc’s. The engine was larger in capacity
than most cars of that era! If you don’t know the jargon, the a ‘chair’ is a
sidecar. Well, it didn't’t have any seats actually, and you sort of hung on for
grim death; throwing your body weight over either the passenger seat or third
wheel so as to keep the thing on the ground as much as possible. It was a nice
bike, if a bit the worse for wear. Rex and I built a course around the horse
jumps, through the silage pit, and then up and over the animal excrement heaps.
It was great fun! Sometimes he would come over to play motorbikes with us, but
mainly like me, his free time was devoted to working for the family farm
business.
For one year we had the greatest fun riding the old
MAC around the fields, and I was the envy of virtually all my peers, who would
rock-up occasionally for a go. Of all the helpers at the kennels, Ian was the
most frequent, arriving most week-ends throughout the year, and staying on to
help feed as required. The second summer he entered the fifth year at school,
and his main ambition was to own a roadgoing motorcycle. We used the Velocette
at every opportunity, and he became a very skilled rider, as did I. On his 16th
Birthday he got his licence, and a Honda 90, which was actually a very hardly
tool. However, it never had the fun of the fields, and whilst stood him proud
through his test and subsequent pass, it was never taken to the dirt.
Around the same time, the Velocette had a serious
problem, due simply to W.A.T. (Wear And Tear). The main bearing went, and this
was a major job because the design was such that the crank was cast in a single
piece. This meant the engine had to be stripped and sent away for a new main
bearing to be pressed into place. However, a few days before we had been
offered a Matchless G9, which was a 500 cc single stroke (One cylinder). It was
a bit of a wreck really, but fired up and worked fine. The seller was asking ￡5 for it, but I beat him down to ￡3 and 10 Shillings (￡3.50), and we towed in away using my Father’s Humber Hawk and a pig
trailer.
I think this turned out to be my favourite out of all
the various contraptions I have ever driven/ridden in my life. Getting the old
Sierra 4x4 up to 150 comes close, but didn't’t quite have the outright thrill
this menace provided us in bounty.
Our first experience was when we tried to kick-start
the beast back at the ranch, only to have it try and remove our right legs! It
had a devilish kick-back that almost saw both Ian and myself admitted to
hospital! Fortunately the magneto ignition was fully retarded, otherwise it
would probably have succeeded. Quickly learning never to attempt kick-starting
again, we were both pleasantly surprised when our first bump-start produced
immediate results. The G9 was the last of a dying breed. It had an incredibly
long stoke which meant that on tickover it fired about once every two or three
seconds. G’doom ……….. G’doom ……….. G’doom! The first accessory to be blown off
was the exhaust pipe – well, it only had a downtube to begin with, and this had
been wedged into the manifold with a small piece of wood. We became increasingly
attracted to the flames coming straight out of the single pot, and the sound
was deeply incredible.
We decided it needed to be field tested immediately,
but lack of any type of seat would make this a tad uncomfortable. Fortunately
there was a handy piece of wood nearby that when tied in place with some bailer
twine worked perfectly. Seeing as I actually paid the money for this behemoth,
I got first go. Wow! Despite the flat rear tyre which made handling
‘interesting’, this thing moved like hot shit off a shiny shovel. It was
awesome! I bombed around the field for a few minutes, before feelings of sorrow
for Ian crept into my consciousness, and I reluctantly decided to let him have
a go.
Preparing to land as it were, I was not expecting the
rear wheel to completely lock when the rear brake was gently applied. The
missile didn't’t have a front brake by the way, so this was the only means of
stopping it. Well, that’s not technically true. One of the safest ways is
simply to turn off the fuel and wait for it to conk out. Another method is to
pull off the spark plug lead … but if you have ever tried doing this with with
a
As it was, I applied the only brake and with the aid
of the flat rear tire, and wet grass, the thing sort of slid a bit. This was
when we discovered that the fuel tank leaked … directly above where the exhaust
pipe used to be. Sliding to a halt just short of Ian’s legs, I quickly removed
the fuel filler cap = no pressure build up – and we watched it burn.
To be truthful, there really wasn't’t very much to
burn apart from the petrol. The plastic fuel pipes didn't’t survive, and
neither did the seat, but apart form that it started immediately the next time
we came to use it. The rear brake upon closer examination, was an either ‘on’
or ‘off’ affair, due to the return spring being missing. As we replaced the
wrecked fuel pipes we also dabbled with the ideas of fitting some form of
return spring to the rear brake, and also looked at ways of reattaching the
exhaust downpipe. We briefly considered fixing the leak in the petrol tank …
but you know, this thing was so much fun we only replaced the fuel pipes and so
it went on. In the beginning we had to replace these pipes every time we tried
to stop, but as our skills developed, we found we could have several goes
before the inevitable happened. It became a game of sorts, and such a great and
visual laugh. Neither did we ever consider inflating the flat rear tyre ... we
liked it just the way it was
Throughout all of this, neither Ian nor myself
sustained any form of injury. We learn’t how to fall off motorbikes, how to
deal with unexpected situations, and how to live with the fun we had, which was
exceptional!
The next diversion was when my Mother bought a Morris
Minor convertible and decided to learn to drive. Now I know what you are all
thinking, Morris never made a Minor convertible. Well, this isn't’t strictly
true, because the one my Mother bought was about twice the size of any you may
have seen. It also had a split front windscreen, and single wipers for each
side you had to switch on independently, at the screen mounted motor.
Rex and I spent many evenings driving it, whilst Ian,
and later myself used it to perfect our driving skills ready for the road. My
Mother never really got the hang of it, nor driving really; as she had over 50
lessons and never even approached being ready to take her driving test. In
those days it was something few older women did, and with no disrespect
intended, my Mother was definitely one of that number.
As another year passes we witness the farm has
acquired numerous vehicles, either given to us or sold for a song. We were
given a Lambretta scooter because it didn't’t work. Well, the problem was a
coked-up exhaust pipe, and whilst we offered it back to Angela, she had gone
off the idea. We had also bought a BSA Bantam for a quid, and acquired a
Villiers 200cc trails engine that was ‘ported’. Jeoff Peck had purchased a BSA
B24, which is the old 400cc bike you may have seen in a lot of old British war
movies. It was very green in an extremely dull sort of way, and probably worth
a bomb nowadays.
Meanwhile Ian had passed his test and invested in a
real motorbike. It was a Norton 350cc single with a great fairing and sporty
looks. It also happened to be green, but in a real boys sort of way. We used
this greatly for boys’ night’s out, until the awareness of something known as
“girls” happened to him!
Ian decided that the best solution was to buy a car …
except it wasn't’t actually a form of car any normal person would be seen dead
in, but it had three wheels, was enclosed, and was called a Messerschmit.
That’s right, it was made by the same company that made the German war planes
of WW
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Driving the cockpit of a fighter plane that is only
designed to be driven forwards, but in the reverse direction – is an
‘interesting’ experience, even for boys! We made it all the way up to |
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This episode made us consider grander schemes, and
seeing as we had now amassed a plethora of contraptions that some brave hearts
would catalogue as being vehicles; we decided it was imperative to test them
all to see which was the fastest over a standing quarter mile. We paced the
field diagonally, and discovered it to be 460 yards = ideal! 50 yards was a bit
of an incline, so we decided that each vehicle should make the run twice, and
we would average the times. So far so good. For those poor souls that only
understand the french metric system, then 440 yards is a quarter of a mile,
leaving us a grand total of ….. 20 paces to brake = piece of cake!
First up was the old Velocette, and with himself at
the helm, we managed to average a very respectable 18 seconds over the two
runs. I was pretty chuffed with this actually. (In those days, and even by
today’s standards: naught to whatever records over a standing quarter were held
jointly by the 7 litre Shelby AC Cobra, and TVR Tuscan, both clocking 12
seconds dead).
Next up was the Lambretta, which despite Ian’s best
intension's, only came in just below 31 seconds. That was quite amazing, as I
didn't’t realise it was actually that slow. Must be due to ‘The Italian
Paradox’. Next was the Bantam with Villiers engine. I didn't’t do much better
clocking 26 seconds average over the double run. These two suffered from lack
of top end power, as did my Mothers old Morris Minor – but seeing as it had a
top speed of only
However, the Velocette was still way out in front, and
we really didn't’t know if the Matchless would beat it. Just as we were arguing
over who would take the G9 for its attempt, Wilf rocked-up with his road-going
Triumph Tiger –Twin (Not Tiger Cub). This was a 320cc twin pot if I remember
correctly, and he was game for a shot. We all knew that him having to ride it
home afterwards would slow his times – but he gave it a very worthwhile shot
clocking under 19 seconds over the two runs. And he rode it away homewards
afterwards. Ian had absolutely no intentions of risking his Norton 350, and
neither did Polly with his BSA 650 Rocket, adorned with ‘Ape-Hangars’ and was
so very cool.
Ian pulled one on me, and with Poly timing the first
run uphill, he clocked just over 13 seconds. What!!! We were all already and
transfixed for the second run, which was the downhill element. At this point I
must pay due respect to Ian, because he didn't’t brake until 25 yards from the
hedge separating us from the main road. He clocked an amazing 12.2 seconds,
which catapults this beast with no exhaust pipe and flat rear tire, into the
realms of contemporary supercars!
We all soon discovered that 25 yards was not actually
enough space to stop this particular missile, and for all his experience’s with
the beast, Ian and the Matchless ended up somewhat entrenched in the hawthorn
hedge … which duly caught fire. Ian was laughing so much it was hard to take
the situation seriously - well up to the point where the Holly tree also
ignited. Cause and effect meant we physically dragged the burning motorcycle
from the hedge, and tipped it upside down to get r id of the petrol. We were
using 5*, or 101 octane rating, which hasn't’t been sold for many years since.
We then set about beating-out the flames, and rescued my Father’s favourite
holly tree from incarceration also.
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All in all it was a grand blag, and so worthy of the
substance that makes up a boys small life. I’m quite sure many other teenage
idiots did very similar things and also survived to tell the tale. A little later we all progressed to ‘cars’, because
‘girls’ happened to us. But I always remember that Matchless G9 with the
utmost fondest of memories. Later Ian snaffled a young Scotish lassie from
Runcorn called Sue, and together they have raised a brewd that surley have no
idea just how totally stupid their Father was in his younger days – Cheers
Mate! I’ll leave you with this picture of me aged just 16,
and my roadbike – a Norton Dominator 650 SS |
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