CARS

 

To my mind there are two kinds of car owners. One likes fancy, good-looking cars that are probably expensive, and the others want a reliable vehicle that will start without fail, go from A to B inexpensively, and not caring too much about its looks or attractiveness to thieves.

Margreet and I have reached a third kind - people who live in town, have the good fortune of access to excellent public transport and have no need of a car with its many related expenses.

As a child I was lucky that my family owned a Bullnose Morris with a dicky seat. From this open-air position behind the driver’s front seat, we children could enjoy the flowing air and the interesting countryside. But OT70 did need a push up a hill occasionally. From this open-air position we could invent many games to keep us happy - like Beavers (beards). The first to see a beard got a point, a big beard two points and a woman with a beard, game set and match. The points score would be very much higher today. 

Caps were worn back to front, petrol was added to the tank through a funnel containing a fine metal filter to prevent foreign bodies from entering the carburettor. Batteries had to be topped up and punctures were commonplace.

Engine temperature was watched by observing a simple dial on the bonnet, and oil levels were carefully checked. Most cars seemed to leak oil and left their mark when parked. Cars were not easy when I was a youth, but they were fun for us children. Then I remember we owned a streamlined Ford 10 and an Airflow Chrysler, the latter handed down to us by rich relations who would buy the latest. 

My own first car was a post-war sporting affair. This was an open two-seater with an outside exhaust. It was a fun car, but girls could burn themselves on the exhaust and get wet in the rain. It was made for me by a mechanic at Toton, near Southampton, who constructed cars out of spare parts. Mine was mostly Austin 7. But those Austins never had good brakes, so they were a bit dangerous to drive at speed, when mine might also become unstable. 

I belonged to an Austin 7 racing club. At one meeting I asked Collin Chapman (the founder of Lotus) why my car could misbehave at speed. He could find nothing wrong with it. 

I sold it to a City man who, when telephoning me, possibly to complain about some mechanical matter, told me that he had not taken it above 30 miles an hour.  

Then I owned a Citroen 2CV, an Ami 8 and lastly a VW Cabriolet. This open-topped car was lovely. It could reach 115 mph when going slightly downhill on a straight road, but conked out if driven through a large puddle at speed.

I once used it with the roof down to show a Russian colleague of my ex wife some thatched houses in the country owned by wealthy people. He wondered why they had roofs of straw.

But the 2CV and the Ami 8 cars did me proud. They were mechanically much the same, but the Ami 8 had a station wagon body. They were simple cars made by a genius who understood mechanical simplicity.  As long as the two spark plugs were thrown away in the autumn and replaced by new ones, starting them up in any weather was never difficult. Mine also had the centrifugal clutch - genius again - as was the suspension. 

Cars, to me, are now generally much more comfortable, very reliable, but far too complicated electrically - and much more expensive accordingly. But they are often necessary.

For me - no thanks. It’s  lovely to be without one. 

ANIMALS

 

Parts of what is to come may have been read before in my previous 450 odd blogs. With “animals” it is almost inevitable.

As others have often said, and it applies to me, my relationship with animals is much the same as with children. When they are well trained and obedient they are a delight, but if  untrained they are pests. Fortunately, most of my contacts with animals come within the first category.

As the son of a farmer I was trained to shoot and snare animals for the pot and was adept at plucking, paunching and skinning as we probably all were in the family.

Dogs were an important part of our country life, not only as pets but as working animals.

The two dogs in my memory were Bunty, a Cairn, and Ben a Spaniel. 

Bunty was a ratter par excellence as she could chase down rats and shake them to death - and there were lots of rats on a free-range chicken farm. 

Bunty’s puppies were a lovely crowd of individuals, Big Ben being one of my favourites. But as nice as they were they did smell horribly. So I was both sorry and glad when homes were found for them as pedigree animals.

Ben, had a special relationship with my chicken-farmer father. When we or a customer wanted a fine chicken to roast, my father would select one and Ben would immobilise it by pressing it to the ground with his paw. This must have involved a close relationship with animals and in telepathy. 

Peggy the horse not only provided my sister June with a steed for cubbing, but was also a carthorse for the farm. She was docile and pleasant enough. When I rode her I almost invariably fell off. Riding was a serious matter. My devil-may-care attitude was not appreciated. Peggy just carried on.

In their season, pheasants would be hung in the larder by their two tail feathers. Then, when they were pretty high in decomposition they would fall to the floor. Not until they did so were they thought to be ready for the pot or oven. That was the way with them at that time, and they were considered to be a treat. 

It was much the same with Stilton cheese, which had to be kept free of maggots and was refreshed with Port. 

Step forward a few years to just after the start of WW2 when I was a refugee in America.

For a “puber” as the Dutch say, alone in a foreign country, a dog in this case, called Smudge, became a good friend. That’s what dogs excel at. I needed Smudge. 

Jump forward in time again.

When the war had ended and me being invalided out of the RAF as a pilot with TB, a wealthy uncle, leaving his Côtes d’Azure house in the hot season to stay in his cool house in Brittany, asked me to stay in the South of France to pay his staff (of two) and feed the dogs (two) and parrots (also two).  I accepted gladly, living for free and able to paint and draw as I pleased.  

One parrot was an Amazonian Green and of no great character - if any parrot could possibly lack character.  The other was an African Grey who was bursting with joie de vivre. His name was Gérard. I was to cut some of his primary feathers at one side to prevent him from flying away (he might fly but would spiral to earth). I was warned that he could become nasty when his feathers were cut. This was untrue as he and I were friends and I had no trouble from him when using the scissors on his wing feathers. 

Gérard and I had a great time in areal manoeuvres as I would swing him around and up and down much to the delight of both of us. BUT, Gérard hated women. When one appeared he would chase them around on foot. Women just had to run faster than Gérard. 

Of the two dogs to be fed, the poodle, Pistache, was a nice enough woman’s plaything, but the huge, white bull-bating and muscle dog, called Brute, who could have killed any one of us with a bite, was friendly and so lazy that he could not even be bothered to lift his leg to have a pee, but would just do it as he walked along.

I exercised him by throwing stones for him to chase and recover - a game that he loved. But that was something that uncle said: “ruined his mouth” and asked (told) me to leave.

I no longer had to pay the staff or feed the animals, but had made such good friends nearby (one with six poodles) that I had several offers of accommodation as I awaited the arrival of a friend to accompany me on a drive through France to Rome and then Venice before heading for home.

In thinking about it, I do seem to get on well with animals and they with me.

(On being kicked out I chose the house with six poodles.)