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When Gillian met Henry.................
Gillian and Henry at Tebay
You can read Part 1 of this story here
Now continuing with Part 2 -
11th October 2009
"Henry – your first mission, should you choose to accept it, is to safely deliver your new owner across a distance of some 400 miles to remote Scotland. This mission may, at times, seem perilously loaded with impatient motorists who have forgotten the Standard name & the pride with which we blessed each and every one of our vehicles as they left us at Coventry but remember, there is little that your 1957 wheels will not have seen before. We have every faith in you – good luck 995 UXP."
It was a damp morning as I pushed back the curtains of our upper-
In the evening light of the day before, I’d bought a Standard 8 called Henry in the small village of Alvechurch. From the southern outskirts of Birmingham and in the dark, Henry had brought two very content but weary passengers up the motorway to Darwen services, north of Manchester, where we had just rested for the night.
I’ve never been known for my eagerness for mornings but today, with a Standard 8 waiting in the car park outside, I was soon ready for adventure in unparalleled measure.
After picking up a few supplies for our journey, Chris & I set out. Henry had a good number of miles ahead. We were keen to get out on the road early but we were also feeling slightly anxious for the previous night’s journey had not been without its dramas in the dark.
Following Henry’s purchase, we had decided to eat in a small Alvechurch inn. This had given us a much needed chance to re-
It was a great feeling to leave the restaurant and cross the car park to climb into a classic. However as we had went to leave, we’d noticed the headlamps were failing when dipped. We tried to fix the problem but our repairs worked only as far as getting one light on full beam to work and as the last of the evening light slipped away, the problem began to upset other drivers as the sole working headlamp shone alone and too brightly. Understandably, other drivers became somewhat irritated when we passed by or sat behind them for too long and so getting up the initial stretch of motorway became a matter of regular service station stops to try to coax the dipped headlamps into working and keeping a reasonable distance away from the other traffic.
Gillian, Henry and a Big Map
But the headlamp hadn’t been our only concern -
Leaving Darwen and joining the early morning traffic, the M6 didn’t appear too daunting. Henry sounded as clear and healthy as he had done the night before and soon enough we began to relax whilst travelling with him.
We were most likely the slowest travellers on the M6 that morning but our initial awareness of how often we were being passed was soon replaced with an amusing awareness of how much curiosity we seemed to be stirring amongst our fellow M6 travelling companions. Many cars gave us a cheerful toot of the horn and a wave of hello. It seemed that most folks were really pleased to see a classic car out on the road.
The reactions from other passengers kept Chris & I in busy and excited conversation. We both knew that Henry was a fairly unusual car to see but this didn’t stop us from feeling quite surprised at the amount of friendly response coming our way.
As we spotted signs for the junctions at Blackpool, we’d settled into making our journey and Chris began telling me about a visit to Blackpool Zoo he’d made as a kid. Whether it was the story about the zoo or a misleading sign, Chris accidentally took the turn for Blackpool and we found ourselves off the motorway. As with most sliproads, it didn’t take long for our route to become cluttered with roundabouts and sideroads and so I consulted a map to help us find our way back onto the M6.
"It doesn’t look like we can get back onto the motorway from around here – I think the next place we can get back onto the M6 is up at junction 33. It’s a little bit away though …"
I hesitated as I counted up the inches and worked out the distance from the scale on the map.
"Yes, you mainly just have to follow this road straight north. There’s a junction near a place called Catterall which we’ll have to watch but mainly we’ll just be running alongside the M6 for a bit before we can join on … in around .. mmm … 16 miles or so."
Chris looked at me with a frown that spoke of disbelief. I casually shrugged my shoulders – there was nothing to do but to simply follow Lancashire’s twists and turns until the M6 reappeared. I could almost hear the "16 miles is quite a diversion" in Chris’s head but secretly thought to myself that it actually would be rather nice to get a bit of scenery and that it might be fun too. I was right. We drove between a patchwork of green and yellow agriculture and through a couple of small villages, a few of the locals giving us a wave as we went by. As I directed Chris past the junction at Catterall, I noticed the frown had disappeared and he now seemed to be quite enjoying himself.
"Actually, this is great. I thought Henry was relatively interesting to drive on the motorway but this is even better. He kinda rolls through the corners in a nice way and he feels really good" said Chris.
"Yep, it’s turning out to be a nice day and we’re driving through very English looking countryside in a classic – I’d say that’s pretty awesome actually" I replied.
Having emptied out my finances completely with Henry’s purchase, we decided that we simply couldn’t afford service station eating and so we sat outside in Henry with a picnic and flask of tea instead.
We didn’t remain unnoticed for long as we enjoyed our picnic. An older couple, enjoying a picnic of their own, seemed to keep looking over in our direction. A quick glance, a bit of discussion, another quick glance, a piece of cake, yet more discussion. They seemed to be debating what kind of car we had. Meanwhile we consulted our map once again, planning our entry into Scotland and where else we might stop for fuel and more cups of tea.
A soft tap came on the driver’s window. It was the older gentleman from across the car park. Chris rolled down the window.
"This is a Standard that you’ve got here?"I couldn’t really see the man who was asking. He was too close to the car.
"Yes, a Standard 8 -
The voice became a face as the gentleman bent down to look in the window across at me. His eyes scanned the dashboard and he appeared satisfied with what he saw. "I just had to come over and ask … to be sure. I used to work for the Standard Company … many years ago. It’s nice to see one out on the road. My wife & I haven’t seen one for quite a long while. Where are you headed?"
"We’re headed for Scotland. We live just above Edinburgh, by about 60 miles" said Chris.
"That’s a long journey"
"Yes, we’ve come all the way up from Alvechurch. Gillian has wanted to buy one of these for years so when we heard of this 8 for sale and that it was within her budget we went for it. We haven’t really had any problems other than a faulty headlamp. I think we’ll need to look at the wiring to the bulb when we get back."
The gentleman nodded. "We live in Wales which is quite far off from here but we like being out on the road so it’s quite normal for us to be this far off from home. Your Standard looks to be in fine condition. I do hope you look after it. I think we built them well back then. This one seems to be doing well."
By now, the gentleman’s wife had joined us and she began taking some pictures of Henry. "You must come and stay with us if you’re ever down in Wales" she said. Yes, we could put you up and the Standard could sit out on our drive" the gentleman added.
"As long as I could take some pictures of the Standard of course" she said, handing us a card with their contact details on it. "Keep in touch and have a safe journey back" and with that they headed off, waving from their car as they went.
Chris & I were rather pleased to have spoken to them. The mix of toots and waves on the motorway and now an offer of accommodation made us realise that we had a car with us which was generating an impressive amount of nostalgia and kindly affection. At our next stop in Abington, not far beyond the Scottish border, this was again proved to be true as another older gentleman came over to Henry to make some enquiries and take a better look.
"I used to have one of these" he said with a twinkle in his eye as he looked Henry’s bodywork over. He looked over the interior from my passenger window. "Just as I remember" he said nodding. "You have beautiful eyes you know" he added and with that Henry’s charms were now more than obvious to me. I smiled, wished him well and we headed off again.
As we continued up into Scotland, the scenery was changing noticeably. To me, as you travel north along the M6 (becoming the A74 (M) beyond Gretna Green) it appears to be quite obvious that you’re entering Scotland. At this point, the familiar rugged hillsides of Scotland come into view and this gives a different character even to the generally plain motorway stretches. In the rear-
Scottish Skyline, we are nearly home!
We continued to stick with the A74 (M) towards Glasgow, passing Kirkmuirhill, Larkhall & Hamilton on route before then selecting the A80 for Kincardine. As we did so, the ignition light came on. All seemed to be fine with Henry but the light remained stubbornly on. As we entered Glasgow, the motorway narrowed and we found ourselves in a single lane queue as we passed the roadside maintenance. Henry had to start and stop regularly as we were held up in the queue and our concern over the red light by IGN on the dash grew. With this and no hard shoulder to pull over onto, I got out of the passenger side and climbed into the back, reaching behind me to get the handbook out from the boot. The handbook detailed a few possible causes but we needed an opportunity to stop out-
Now we really are home!
Weariness had crept in during the hold-
Henry had made it to his new home in Scotland. I felt very proud that he’d had so few problems given the distance we’d asked him to travel. Not only had it been a special experience to be in a car from 1957, it had also been fantastic to see the affection that people hold for classic cars. As we locked the garage, I thought of all the people who had tooted on the motorway, the locals who had waved to us as we’d passed through the villages of Lancashire, the thumbs up from the motorcycle club and I smiled. Henry’s journey may not have been one of James Bond-
That's a great story Gillian, and almost as much of a tear-
I look forward to the next instalment and I am sure the readers do too!