For one holiday we – Mum, Dad, my friend Ken and I – decided to go camping to North Wales and as by now I had a 500cc AJS, I was elected to buy a large box sidecar from somewhere and carry the tents and all our camping gear.
In those days you could camp on most farms providing you asked the farmer first. We set-up our two tents in a field near a farmyard on our first night. We then made our second mistake – the first having been to ignore the young heifers in the same field – and went to do some sightseeing.
We had borrowed one tent and when we returned we found, to our horror, that ‘Betty’ – a very frisky bovine indeed – had wrecked the tent Ken and I were to share. We didn’t have a good sleep under the borrowed tarpaulin slung on a rope between two trees, because our third mistake had been not realising that goods trains shunted all night long on the line at the bottom of the field.
Tired and dispirited, the next morning we forked out for a new tent, knowing that when we returned home we had to give it to the owner of the one we had borrowed. I have never been keen on tents ever since that time but Murphy had worse in store for us before the trip was over.
Dad beat him though! We had no such luxuries as airbeds or even camp stretchers. We just laid our blankets on a waterproof ground sheet. Mum, being a restless sleeper, even in a feather bed, tossed and turned all night and constantly pulled the blankets off Dad and, as it was quite chilly at night, he complained bitterly until he solved the problem by driving spare tent pegs in to anchor the blanket to his side of the ‘bed’.
All went well after that until, coming down the twisty road out of the beautiful Welsh mountains, I must have been cornering the outfit rather vigorously and loosened a weld holding the sidecar wheel on. Murphy waited until poor Ken took over on a flat road later that day, before the wheel came off and, with the outfit sending up a shower of sparks where the hub was scraping on the bitumen, we careened off the road, mounted a large pile of road metal and overturned.
My foot was caught up somewhere in the sidecar chassis but I managed to free it in time to jump off as the outfit cartwheeled. Fortunately, neither Ken nor I were hurt and the bike only had superficial damage apart from the ‘bodgy’ hub, which had been ‘repaired’ before we bought it.
The worst casualty was Mum, who had witnessed the whole incident from the pillion of Dad’s bike following us and had been certain we were going to be killed. She had to sit down for quite a while to recover while we went off to search for a new hub and stub axle.
Flying had its Murphy moments. When we had finished our basic training at St Athan, we were sent to one of the various Commands complete with our bright new sergeants stripes and ‘E’ (for Engineer) brevet or half-wing. Derek and I were sent to Transport Command and a temporary posting to Topcliffe in Yorkshire to await the time when we would go on a ‘conversion course’ to learn about the Hastings aircraft we would be flying in once we had joined a squadron.
We were supposed to be fully qualified flight engineers, despite the fact that we had only about six hours of flying time in our nice new log books. It was from Topcliffe that I did my first overseas flight – and what an embarrassment that turned out to be, thanks to my friend who managed to make things go wrong in a most spectacular way.
We had been issued with a ‘route bag’ – a traveling wardrobe that held a great quantity of clothes and toiletries, and into this I packed what I felt was sufficient for a short trip of about four days to Malta and the Middle East.
What I forgot was a civilian jacket, although I did put in a large raincoat.
The flight to Malta was uneventful and the next day I was invited by the seasoned crew members to join them for a visit to the capital, Valetta, for some sightseeing and lunch. When I found I had no jacket they said, “Just put your raincoat on – you’ll be okay.”
Lunch was in a quite elegant restaurant with a large, highly polished dance floor. Assuring the headwaiter that I really did feel the cold and really did want to keep my raincoat on, I sat down to enjoy lunch. Wanting to make myself comfortable, I decided to go to the toilet before eating, but here Murphy stepped in. I had a bag of aniseed balls in my trouser pockets and, although I hadn’t realised it, a hole in the pocket. The easiest way to get to the toilet was across the deserted dance floor and I was about halfway across when the paper bag burst and aniseed balls started to trickle down my trouser leg and roll over the polished surface, with this ludicrous figure in a raincoat scrabbling about trying to pick them up. Murphy and the crew laughed for a long time but my face was the colour of beetroot and I didn’t enjoy my lunch one little bit!
A few other little Murphs occurred too, like the time I was checking the fuel consumption and doing mental arithmetic as I rode along on my Ayjay. Feeling more and more pleased with the excellent result, I waited until the engine cut before switching to the reserve tank. Murphy, of course, had already turned it on and I was completely out of petrol and miles from anywhere.
Then I was home on leave and we all went for a ride – Mum on the back of my bike as she said she felt safer with me. Following Dad down a hill in Salisbury, with the road wet and greasy, I had to hit the brakes and swerve as he went sideways to avoid a car. Dad stayed on his bike while Mum and I went sliding down the road on our bottoms, with the bike making its own arrangements. She still said I was the safest rider!
One night, on the way back from weekend leave, the generator gave up the ghost in a little Monmouthshire village hours from camp and I spent the night on a cramped sofa in a Good Samaritan’s home – he had been walking the dog and took pity on me when he saw my predicament. An early start in daylight next morning got me to the gate on time.
A WET START
All was set to go and I headed out on the road to Navarre, heading for the Australian Caravan Club’s national muster at Lithgow, NSW. Suddenly, I saw lots of water ahead and there wasn’t time to stop!
Plowing on through the rushing water, I wondered why there were no signs or barriers, but eventually I reached the other end and stopped to check on a red light on the dash.
A farmer came down his driveway and told me that travelling on the road ahead was impossible. He directed me to a road over the hills and I was pleased to see that it eventually had signs to Stawell, Vic. Yemmy was lacking power and doing 85km/h flat-out, so I headed back home and a much-needed coffee!
Not wanting to give up, I searched my maps to find a better way to go. Going about 50km past Ballarat, Vic, and heading for Romsey, and then the Hume Highway, looked possible. So after giving Yemmy a road test and finding he was dried out and running fine, I headed off at about 1pm. All went well and I kept going until about 7pm, when I pulled into a rest stop and heated dinner in my microwave. I’m so pleased that my new inverter can run the microwave and my coffee machine – but not at the same time!
I woke to thick fog but, after a coffee, I was back on the road by about 6.30am and crossed into New South Wales at Albury about an hour later. The fog eventually lifted and despite lots of potholes, I was checking in at the Lithgow Sports Ground by 2.30 and soon had Yemmy parked on our allotted spot.
What followed was an excellent week with great activity, plus it was great to meet many friends. After lots of twisty and sometimes steep climbs, we finished up at a lovely vineyard and winery where we tasted many wines and enjoyed a lovely lunch with a lovely view.
THE WAY HOME
After our closing ceremony and not wanting to tackle the potholes again, I decided to follow my friend’s caravan up to the Blue Mountains and Penrith before hitting the Hume Highway on the outskirts of Sydney. It was a bit longer but a much better road and we stopped at the first rest area on the Hume – and it had a welcome meal wagon.
A few more ACC friends were there with caravans but Yemmy likes to travel a bit quicker than vans, so after a bite to eat, we left them behind and later that night camped in a rest area south of Albury.
Another early start and I was home by about 3pm, despite my GPS taking me through some little country towns like Daylesford.
MY 91ST BIRTHDAY AND THE MELBOURNE CUP
Every so often, my birthday coincides with the Melbourne Cup, and this year was one of those years. I only ever bet on Melbourne Cup Day and last year had the winner. This year my horse ran fourth – and that pays nothing! However, I did okay for the rest of the day and came out ahead.
My birthday was great! Sue and Shaun came over with scones and cream plus Toblerone and choc-coated licorice! Sue had also phoned my son Chris in Adelaide, and other daughter Jackie in Lakes Entrance. They all sang happy birthday! It was a great day and many, many friends posted their best wishes on Facebook.
