”Oh dear" said the White Rabbit, pulling an unfeasibly large watch from his waistcoat pocket. ”Oh dear, oh dear, I‘m going to be terribly late!", and believe me, I know exactly what he meant. Sledmere is now seven days away (five if you count up to Friday when we travel to the site) and there is so much to do, so little time. Only my devotion to you, dear reader, keeps me at the keyboard when I should be in the garage. Well, that and fear of your editor, of whom more later.
OK enough of the waffle and on with the tale as actually much has been achieved since I last wrote. One weekend, as you have heard was lost to the York branch camping weekend and the subsequent bank holiday period to a visit from the grandchildren (increased in number by one since this tale commenced). I‘m not able to let the lads help any more since an unfortunate episode involving a tin of grease and some alleged lack of supervision. Work accounts for much lost time so finally, at seven o‘clock one Friday evening, Tony came to sort out the engine. He brought with him his carburettor balancer to match the one someone else insisted on lending me so we set to work.
Since the great flooding episode with Barry I had removed the offending carb and examined it for possible causes of flooding. This consisted of removing the bottom of the float chamber, during which procedure I sheared one of the fixing screws. My local engineer drilled it out the next day and I refitted the offending item none the wiser since all looked well to me. (Space here for derogatory remark from Editor). (No Comment Ed!) This was roughly the state when Tony started. Well, it would not run. What seemed hours of key turning produced only the odd cough. And then it flooded again. From the other carb. So off it came. The works looked ok just like the first so back it went. More key turning resulted in more inactivity so off both came. Dashpots off, needles out (so that‘s what carbs look like inside!) jet heights measured, rubber rings renewed and back on the motor.
No go, more flooding, carbs off again. Minus top halves they stood upside down on the bench. Tony felt the floats didn‘t sit as comfortably as they should and called for the old ones which oddly enough I still had. Much comparison gave time for a drink but no enlightenment until Tony noticed that the float tabs were bent in an odd way compared with the originals. And then it dawned! The floats were upside down, and since they are ”handed" for front and rear, also in the wrong units. Eureka! (So much for having them professionally restored, Ed!) Rebuilt, jet levels set and reinstalled we turned the engine in high expectation and - well nothing actually. It still wouldn‘t go. With a flash of inspiration I suggested we should go back to basics and pulled off the coil lead at the distributor. Turning the engine with the lead close to the block produced a spark so feeble that the look on Tony‘s face resembled the dog owner‘s whose pet has just brought in something unsavoury. A quick delve into the innards enhanced my reputation as an automotive idiot. The condenser was wrongly fitted and effectively isolated from all current. We righted the wrong and Tony said to turn the engine again while he held the lead. The belt he got from the HT was matched only by the quality of the dance he performed trying to let go.
Somewhat chastened we turned the key again and ”Bingo". The engine ran as smoothly as any engine can with a makeshift exhaust attached. For all of ten seconds whereupon it died. And it did it over and over. Run and die, run and die. Obviously a duff fuel pump. So off it came. Now the pump is a sealed for life unit so couldn‘t be repaired with a kit. Fortunately I had a spare which I gleaned from Barry. Sadly the connections were completely different and I don‘t keep a selection of pipe unions. Tony therefore did something clever with two male air line couplings which happen to approximate to the correct thread and with the hand priming lever on Barry‘s pump he fed the carbs by hand whilst I started the engine. And it ran and ran and ran. The fact that hand pumping could keep up with the engine shows how poor the original pump was.
By now it was midnight and it seemed reasonable to pack it in and let Tony go home. He hasn‘t been back since so it seems reasonable to assume he didn‘t enjoy the electric shock treatment. Funny that, Victorians used to pay for it. So I suppose it‘s down to me to get out the balancers and have a go at the carbs myself. (That will bring him running!)
The next morning, with the help of Paul Kelsey, who turned up to have a look at progress, I fitted the functioning pump with the aid of one union found in a corner (heaven knows what off) and one from the plan B engine still sitting in the trailer. Result happiness. And there it sits with bits if air cleaner still to fit as other jobs take up the time.
To pass the time I started fitting the chrome trim to the gutter. I couldn‘t see just how to snap it on till Fred said you tap it with a rubber mallet. Great, just up my street hitting things. I haven‘t got a rubber mallet but I do have a four pound club hammer and the butt end of that, gently applied worked well without damaging the trim more than I did when it came off. Much encouraged I also had a go at the front screen. It goes in the same way as the rear which went easily enough but I took Fred‘s advice and ran a bead of black sealant round the glass groove in the rubber. (A second hand and slightly imperfect one but it should do). It was a mistake. The half hour job took four hours and there‘s sealer everywhere. None on the white trim though thank heavens. My hands were covered in it and it won‘t come off. It‘s designed to repel water so washing‘s no good and I haven‘t found the right solvent yet. I had a meeting at work the following morning which I conducted throughout with my hands in my pockets. Deep embarrassment. For those who need to know in future cellulose thinners is the stuff. You read it here first. Unless you know already of course.
Screen in, engine running and roof trim applied it must be time to get it mobile. Just one problem. Despite much bleeding with the Easibleed the clutch doesn‘t work. There is minimal movement at the actuating arm when the pedal is pressed and the pedal itself is suspiciously soft. The gears are easy to select until the engine is started and then much grating. Enter Barry again. He called last Thursday on the way to the Bees Wing because I suspected the master cylinder was about as effective as the fuel pump and would have to be replaced. Barry tried the pedal, laughed, pumped it violently for a moment and it worked. Oh well, another lesson learned.
At this point it occurred to me that the car should go under its own steam. Hence the picture of me sitting in it without a seat driving it one foot forward and one foot back with a big daft grin on. One foot was all the space we had and if you think the wheel is strangely absent you‘re right. Nevertheless it went. And so to this weekend.
On Friday afternoon, with time pressure mounting, I fitted carpets, seat belts, centre console, gear and hand brake boots and a front seat together with the one remaining door seal. Since I didn‘t possess this seal I had a trip to the scrap yard where an excess of enthusiasm led me to remove all sorts of ”useful" bits, all of which proved to be useless because of age and which wasted most of a lovely afternoon. Still by bed time I really felt that progress was being made. True it did take two hours to fit the driver‘s seat but that was because of unexpected inaccessibility and a lack of a suitably cranked screwdriver. Funny that, I don‘t remember trouble taking them out. Still, what a chance to sit in the car and drive. Sorry no wheel. OK then, I bolted up the after market wheel with which the car came and pulled with the predictable lack of result. Then I levered and swore and twisted and pried until finally I did what I should have done first and hit it with the aforementioned lump hammer. No problem. The original wheel had very rusty splines and I was sure it wouldn‘t go on but a toothbrush and Brasso brought them up well so a spot of oil later we have steerage. So I get into the car to adopt the proper posing position and a big snag hits me forcibly up the rear. Literally in the shape of the big handle which frees the seat back to adjust the rake. If this is right then driving one of these requires armoured underwear. A quick call to our esteemed editor (well I am trying to get him back to tune the engine) revealed that the lever should be inboard of the seat and I have therefore spent two hours fitting the wrong seat. B***er!
Time now to clothe the beast. Doors first I think since they are in bits and need the innards putting back. I started yesterday with the offside rear since I thought I knew where all the bits were. Wrong. I have bits from at least four doors in at least six places and they are not sorted. Nor have I any real idea what fixes what since I neglected to leave one door intact for comparison. Nevertheless I propped the door securely on a padded chair and began at the beginning (or so I thought) by putting in the frame which bears the glass and winder. Various threaded holes line up with similar holes in the carcass as a guide to fixation but since all have quarter inch UNF threads and there are at least four different UNF bolts in the pile, some of which may have no connection with doors at all, it took me four hours to finally get it right. Then only the lock and handle to fit. At which point it became apparent that as they are behind the frame they should have gone in first. They are hell to fit last but there was no way I was undoing what I had done so far so ingenuity and long instruments sufficed in the end.
The England - Germany match now intervened but as the first half was so boring I decided to watch it in the garage (all mod cons) and with the insight so painfully gained and with a completed door for comparison I did the second rear door during the second half. The scratch suffered when Shearer scored will rub out I think.
And there we are for now. Five working days to go. If you went to Sledmere you will have seen the car and assessed its progress so far and hopefully I shall have met some of you. It will be there no matter how far from finished just to prove it does exist. If you didn‘t go to Sledmere - why not?