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July 05th, 2017

5/7/2017

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The “Unofficial” CMGO Grand Tour of Europe 2017
Or
Nine Countries in ten days – Phew!

Inspired by Tom Eaves grand tour in his 1946 MGTC of over fifty years ago, ( see article on this blog ); I thought it would be a good idea to do something similar in our modern MGTF.  Maggie & Tony Young also expressed their keenness to participate – see, I’m not the only one who is mad!  Anyhow, after several convivial evenings spent drinking……er, planning, (well beer bottles are great for keeping maps flat), it was decided that we’d all like to see Carcassonne whilst en route.  So, that became our first stop over.  After that we’d make it up as we went.  Well, we had a map of sorts and a pin!  The decision was made to go on Thursday 15th June.  The idea being the weather would be more favourable at that time of year and a lot less hotter than August – how wrong can you be???
So, early on the morning of the 15th June two MGTF’s left Limalonges on the start of the “Grand Tour”.
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First stop was as planned the medieval fortress “La Cite” at Carcassonne.

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We took time out here to visit La Cite and enjoy an excellent lunch.  Then we went for a boat trip on the Canal Du Midi.  Great views over the city and the fortress.  The temperature was beginning to get rather warm at 38C.  We continued to drive on across the South of France towards Italy.  We decided to avoid going anywhere near St. Tropez or Monaco because of the increased traffic and not wishing to get embroiled in traffic hold-ups.  So, resorting to the trusty map and pin, we headed across to Grenoble.  A place called Sassenage to be more precise.

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Contrary to the views of the mountains with snow on them, it was 40C at this point.  Luckily, our hotel had good aircon.  After an excellent dinner, we consulted the map and on the following day headed into Italy.  Italy is to be remembered for several reasons.  The roads were not the best, ( mind you we had more of a shock when we got to Belgium ), and very very expensive!  Indeed, whilst traversing across one particular motorway towards Milan, we encountered a toll for a tunnel – a very long one.  Now, we had already coughed up about 60 Euros to drive on the road and there was no way of getting off, to be faced with a tunnel toll of 45 Euros was a bit unexpected and the wallet went into palpitations!  Nothing for it but to grin and bear it and pay up.  The temperature in the tunnel was over 40C and you could tell it was an Italian tunnel because the roof leaked and the walls were being repaired!  Inspired with confidence – ( ok so I lie ), we pressed on and eventually emerged into 40C sunshine.  After squeezing even more cash out of the ever thinning wallet, we arrived at Como our stop for the night.  The accommodation was again excellent with aircon in the rooms.  We took a bus ride into the town and after visiting some of the sights went in search for food.  It turned out that Tony likes ice cream and being in Italy, well you’ve just got to try pizza and Italian ice cream.  It was unanimously agreed that certainly in Como the pizza wasn’t up to even Pizza Hut standards and I think it’s best to gloss over the quality of the ice cream.
Now we had been told that to enter Switzerland or Lichtenstein you had to pay a toll.  Since we were still reeling from the cost of driving across Italy and my Scottish/Yorkshire ancestry was baulking at the idea of paying a fee to go and look at Switzerland – a country that seems to hate the motor car – we decided to go around via Austria.  However, on the following morning there was a big problem with the alternative route which would have incurred several hours delay.  So, ancestry notwithstanding, we headed for the boarder crossing into Switzerland and paid up.  For those, like us, who have never experienced the Swiss toll; for 41 Euros you get a little vignette to stick inside your windscreen.  This entitles you to drive into Switzerland and Lichtenstein.  However, there are no tolls on the roads/motorways in either country and the vignette last for the whole year.  So it turned out to be quite good value and a darned sight cheaper than Italy!  Even the St. Gotthard Tunnel is included in the price of the vignette, all 17 km of it.  Unlike the Italian one.
 
The roads turned out to be excellent and we drove through Switzerland into Austria and on into Lichtenstein.  The scenery is fantastic and as Tom said in his blog, just has to be experienced from an open-topped MG.  We arrived in Germany on the hottest day ever recorded, 42C!!  The guest house was fine – but no aircon.  As our host told us, we don’t ever expect to get these temperatures, certainly not in June.  Our first German stopover was at Kisslegg.

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Another council of war after the evening meal saw the pin stuck in the map at a place called Gersnbach.  We stayed at a hotel just outside the town which was memorable for insufficient parking and small very hot rooms.  There was no aircon and it was still 42C!  However, the town boasted an ice cream parlour……which was outstanding!  Tony’s search for a great ice cream was achieved in fine style.  That evening we dined in a very hospitable restaurant that had been built in 1530.  Indeed, much of Gernsbach is very old.
On the following day we continued our drive through the Black Forest region.
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The temperatures continued to be unseasonally hot at 40C as we drove on towards Luxembourg.  At this point we received a message from our next hotel to say it was their day off.  However, they gave us the code for the front door and left our room keys in our respective bedrooms.  When we arrived at Vianden we found that we had the hotel to ourselves.  How’s that for service?
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The following day we moved on towards Belgium.  Belgian roads are well, awful!  Worse than Russia.  Even the HGV’s were taking avoiding action at some of the potholes. How the wheels stayed on I don’t know.  If I get a wheel bearing failure at CT time I wouldn’t be surprised.  Our target was the well known Ypres of WW1 renown.  Now called Leper in Flemish.  However, because it is so popular with visitors the cost of accommodation was prohibitive.  Also, as we were to discover the town was hosting the annual Ypres Rally.  So we stayed at a little hotel in Halluin 25 minutes away.  This proved to be an outstanding hotel.  Secure parking, good rooms, excellent food and our hosts Herve & Nathalie couldn’t do enough for us.  It also turned out that Herve is a MG enthusiast!!
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We took this picture of him sat in one of the TF’s and presented him with one of the CMGO cloth badges as a token of our appreciation.
For those who have never been to Ypres, it is highly recommended.  The town was totally devastated during the First World War and the medieval Cloth Hall reduced to ruin.  The town and it’s Cloth Hall has been rebuilt and today you wouldn’t know it was a modern reconstruction.  There is much to see relating to WW1, Flanders Field Museum, St. Georges Church and the Menin Gate of course which commemorates the 54,896 Allied soldiers who have no known grave.  Every evening since July 1928 at 8pm, the entrance through the Gate into the town is closed to traffic and the buglers of the local Fire Brigade play the Last Post as a tribute.  This tradition has continued ever since.  During WW2 when Belgium was occupied, the ceremony was carried out at Brookwood Military Cemetry in Surrey.  However, at the liberation of Ypres by Polish Forces in September 1944, even whilst fighting was taking place around the town, the Last Post was sounded again at the Menin Gate.
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The following day was spent sightseeing in Brugge or, in our case, taking the opportunity to visit relatives in Ostende which was the furthest point reached on our tour.  On Saturday 24th June we said goodbye to our hosts Herve & Nathalie and headed towards Rouen.
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The façade of the cathedral is most impressive and there is a lot of history and much to see here.  Certainly, we couldn’t begin to do it justice in just one day.  The church of St. Joan d’Arc has to be experienced and there are many other buildings and sites of interest.  We left on the following day to head back towards Limalonges and home.
There are those who look down on the “modern” MGF/TF.  Comments like it’s not a real MG are sometimes heard.  Well, if you look at the history of MG, most of the so-called real MG’s were cars that were made without the approval or authority of the Senior Management.  The exceptions being the MGA and MGB which were approved right from the start.  However, the MGF was made from the parts box without approval in true MG manner!  OK rant over.  To be fair, our little cars which are renowned for overheating, headgasket failure and numerous other foilbles covered around 2,260 miles in some of the hottest temperatures.  For the stats:-
11 days trip.  Around 44 hours total driving.  Total fuel consumed 46.5 gallons, giving an average of 48 mpg at an average speed of 52 mph.
Would we do it again – yes!  Except for Italy!!  Our appetite was wetted for another visit to several places we didn’t get time to do justice.  Also, other places that we passed and would like to go to next time.

Anyone fancy a trip around Europe in their MG?
 
John Murray

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by mgb and mgb gt v8 to sorrento

17/8/2016

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As you may know my daughter Frances married her fiancé Alex in Sorrento, Southern Italy, on 29th July. She requested her Dad's MG as her wedding car, so this was as good a reason as any to undertake a very special trip. Andy and Karen joined us - they are celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary this year and have special memories of Sorrento. When it came to the wedding they provided invaluable support - Andy is a great polisher - he also drove the car to the venue and then brought if safely back from the reception down a perilous road above the Amalfi Coast; meanwhile Liz and I were dancing the night away! This was some feat as by the time he got to the Sorrento Town Centre it had been closed to vehicular traffic for the evening. Not only did he talk himself through the first roadblock, but he got the police to radio ahead to clear the way for him.

To our surprise, whilst waiting for the return ferry in Naples, an MGB owning Italian cop pulled up to admire the cars. To our further surprise, whilst waiting for the next ferry to take us from Sardinia to Corsica, another MG loving cop stopped to take photos of the cars. This one spoke good English and even subscribed to MG Enthusiast!
If you want to know more please have a look at an article I was asked to do for the MGCC V8 Register - please click the link to view the document:
v8 Register Article
Some photos (click portion shown to view full photo, e.g. the bride! and also captions):


The bride 25 years ago, the same car and someone with a bit of a comb-over:
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restoration of an mg tc - or the quest for the perfect bacon sandwich..

10/1/2016

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mgtc_restoration_story.pdf
File Size: 2096 kb
File Type: pdf
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andy's rouillac article published in "enjoying mg"! To download and view a copy click link below:

9/8/2015

1 Comment

 
enjoying_mg_june_2015.pdf
File Size: 5377 kb
File Type: pdf
Download File

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MGB Leaving Australia for charente

29/7/2015

2 Comments

 
Prospective members Garry & Anna Cuthbert recently arrived to settle in France along with their 1970 MGB. Garry comments:

I have attached a photo of our car being loaded onto a car transporter in Hervey Bay , Queensland , prior to being loaded into a container in Brisbane for the journey to France.  The car is an original 1970 Roadster , with overdrive , right hand drive and I have owned the car since 1978 , too long not to bring it with us to France!  

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2 Comments

UMG 400

18/5/2015

1 Comment

 
Barrie has supplied a photo of UMG 400, which was a development car for the MGA. The story:

In 1951 Chief Designer Syd Enever built a streamlined body as a “one off” for an MG model TD to be driven by George Phillips in the Le Mans 24 hour race.  Although it was designated by the the factory reference “EX176“, this car is more commonly known by its registration number UMG 400.

Barrie continues: "UMG 400 was built at Abingdon for LE MANS, designed by Sid Enever and built on a TF chassis with the view of improving the aerodynamics but it didn't finish. The only reason I have the photo was that Sid, with Alec Hounslow, took it out one Sunday morning and called in to show dad, who was his big mate."
The photo below shows Barrie standing next to this unique car outside the family home at Kennington, near Oxford. Barrie recalls that the house was named, perhaps appropriately, Montlhery, after the Autodrome de Montlhéry (just South of Paris) where the C type Midget was so successful in 1931.
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submission by john murray - written by his 78 year old friend who has owned the same TF for 50 years

29/3/2015

1 Comment

 
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The Grand Tour of Europe

(Or what passed for it in my case)

By Tom Eaves

This is a tale of two misguided young men with an MG ‘doing’ Europe on a shoestring. It probably couldn’t happen today.

During the 2nd World war, which largely passed over my head in the form of the Luftwaffe, there was so little traffic on our roads that we could walk the mile to school in the middle of the road, with little danger of being run over by anything more dangerous than a horse drawn milk float. That changed when hostilities ended in 1945, and petrol - albeit poor quality "pool" petrol -  became available once more for the private motorist. The traffic level was still light, although we didn't stroll down the middle of the road quite so frequently.

One of the things which made a big impression on me was the appearance of some of the most delicious (in my eyes) little two seater cars. These were the T types made by MG. At that time I could not distinguish between the pre-war TA, and TB or the post war TC. In truth, there was very little difference anyway. I wanted one rather badly, but as I was only 8 at the time, sadly it had to remain a dream.

It was not until 1960 that I actually got my hands on one, in the form of a 1950 type TD in Hong Kong! I was at that time a Wireless Operator in the RAF, serving with the  Far Eastern Air Force and the TD belonged to one Corporal Dave Simpson, or Simmo, he was known to his colleagues. The registration number was XX1144, and as our Chinese amah pointed out, it was a very lucky number, having three doubles.  Simmo kindly let me drive it occasionally, quite legally as I had a full HK driving licence and it was insured properly.

Eventually, we all returned to the UK and went our separate ways. I went to college, and qualified as a Radio Officer for the Merchant Service, joined BP Tanker Co, and went to sea. Returning to UK for some leave in the spring of 1965, I saw an advert in our local paper, the 'Falmouth Packet', for a 1949 MG TC on offer by a gent named Bob Hope, who ran a small garage in Threewaters, near Truro. I went to see him, saw it, and bought it. It cost £125, and in my eyes was beautiful. Thus I became the owner of FAP 35 (pictured).

FAP 35

As was quite normal for these cars, it had enjoyed a lifetime of total neglect, lived outside permanently, had been 'maintained' by its previous (impecunious?) owners (read bodged ), and were by no means totally roadworthy. However, there was none of the MOT nonsense back then, so it didn't really make a lot of difference. If the engine ran and the wheels went round and you could drive it, it was ok.

If you have never driven a TC or its earlier relatives, you can have no idea of just how crude and brutal they could be. It has been said by many well informed people that it was impossible to drive a TC in a straight line down a straight road. I concur. You couldn't!!  It has been further said that and I quote "The TC corners as if it was on rails".
Yes, again I concur, but would add that the rails were as drawn by Salvadore Dali. With the TC I really did learn the true meaning of hair raising experiences. The steering wheel had only one and a quarter turns from full lock to full lock, and when the cars were new, one and a half inches of play in the wheel rim from the steering mechanism was normal. You didn’t steer them, you sort of aimed them in the general direction you wanted to go, and hoped for the best. You learned to read the camber of the road in front, and to load the steering wheel against the way you knew the car was going to veer. My hair took on the permanent appearance of a bottle brush.

FAP 35 travels to the Continent

Notwithstanding the roadworthiness or otherwise, on my return from my next spell at sea, which had included a trip round Africa to the Gulf, and then to Australia, I retaxed the TC, chucked a tent, sleeping bag, some tools and clothes in the back, and set off for Manchester where I picked up Frank, an Engineer Officer from the same ship, and we set off from there to Dover, and France. At this point I should mention that BP Tanker Co were very generous with shore leave, provided it was in mid winter!  After a sea passage of over an hour, we drove off the ferry onto the continent of Europe. Frank had agreed to be the cook on this trip, and I was soon aware that he just had to be a better engineer than he was a cook. His idea of breakfast was a crust of bread dipped in lukewarm tea.

Running Repairs

It was damn cold in northern France at that time of the year, so we headed south on the Routes Nationals which at that time were festooned with permanent notices declaring " Chausses Deformee". They sure were. The TC was equipped with 19 inch diameter wire wheels which had really seen better days, and it was not long before all four road wheels had assumed the general profile of a potato crisp. The poor TC shook, wobbled, shuddered and rattled its way south to Toulouse, where we had our first crisis. The fuel tank developed a leak. Now, you can't just have someone weld up a petrol tank.


British ingenuity came to the fore, and we removed it, cleaned the affected area with emery cloth, and patched it with David's Isopon and some fibreglass tape. Repairs completed, we set off once more for Andorra La Vella in the Spanish Pyrenees.

Principat d'Andorra in the '60's

Andorra it appeared to me, was a small enclave run by some sort of clergyman from either Spain or France, and is a tax free area. It's now a ski resort. The TC tackled the steady climb up into the mountains, the countryside took on an alpine appearance, and it got colder. We had run all the way from Manchester with the hood down and the side screens packed, naturally, The snow fields started, and as we climbed higher and higher it got colder and colder.  Eventually we arrived in the town of La Vella, and looked for the campsite.

W
e pitched the tent, and rolled out our sleeping bags. Mine was totally inadequate for a well below freezing environment. Walking up the one and only street in the late afternoon, I decided that if I was to survive the night I'd better get a bit more lagging. I tried to buy a blanket in a shop on the side of the street. The language used in Andorra is Castilian Spanish, of which I possessed not a word. After giving a performance worthy of a second rate music hall act, I finally managed to buy a thick blanket which was sold to me as Una Manta. It was still known by that name many years later. Having decided that Frank's cooking was not up to producing a dinner, and being ravenous by that time, we decided to have a meal in a restaurant. In we went, and I ordered Bifstek con Patatas Fritas. I knew that much Spanish. I forget what Frank ordered.

My order caused consternation.  It appeared that no-one in Andorra could afford steak. After a long discussion with the manager, someone was despatched up the street to the local butcher's shop, and he appeared at our table a little while later carrying a whole side of beef. After a further palaver, I was invited to indicate which bit I wanted, and a slice of beef was ceremoniously cut off where I'd indicated, the side was taken back to the shop, my slice disappeared into the kitchen, and everyone was satisfied. By the time all this had taken place, the entire population of Andorra had been made aware that someone had ordered a steak, and just about everyone including the mayor had turned up to watch the pantomime.

They were still there enjoying the show when my dinner arrived, and they all gathered around and watched as I ate it. By that time I didn’t care, but it didn't say much for the quality of evening entertainment in Andorra at that time.

Search for a Naked BB

Somehow, we survived the night, and the next day we set off towards Perpignan and the coast. As we left the snowfields, it got warmer again and life returned to what passed for normal for us. A rumour had been circulating that Bridget Bardot was to be seen sunbathing in the nude in St Tropez, so we headed in that direction to check it out. I can't confirm it either way, I regret to say. St Tropez was, and still is, sun and sea and sand, and it was damned expensive to boot. So we rolled eastwards along the south coast of France to Cannes, to Nice, and then on to Monte Carlo. Monte is another of those enclaves, this time a Princedom, with its own borders etc.

We crossed the border and arrived at a cross roads. In those far off days, busy crossroads were controlled by a gendarme on a little pedestal in the middle. We arrived, stopped, and he saw us. He blew his whistle stopped traffic from all directions, pointed at us and waved us through as though we were royalty. I remember thinking that I could get used to that sort of thing. Monte was much too highbrow for a couple of tanker officers, but we toured the town, drove round the famous Grand Prix circuit at a very modest pace, and saw the sights, the casinos whose thresholds we didn’t dare cross, and after a day or two, we headed east once more towards Italy.

The road from France into Italy east of Monte Carlo was in poor shape back then, and to cross from France to Italy you must take the formidable pass known as the Col de Tende. From the base of the foothills to where the road disappears into a tunnel there are well over a hundred hairpin bends of just under 180 degrees. Even with the most direct steering gear in the TC, it was damned hard work. Entering the tunnel, which was not lit, it took some time to get used to the mediocre lighting of the TC, and I did not realise that the tunnel was following quite a steep upward gradient. With no visible horizon, it’s impossible to know that. I was having nightmares wondering what the hell was wrong with the engine. I was having to use second gear and it seemed that I was beginning to run out of power. I knew that the altitude was considerable, and hoped that the engine would keep running and get us through the tunnel. In the event it did, and we emerged out into daylight at the Italian border to find ourselves in a heavy blizzard like snowstorm. It was finally time to put the hood up and to slip the sidescreens into place. The Italian border guards gathered round to look at the TC, (they pronounced it TeeChee ), shook their heads, and sent us on our way with much backslapping and good cheer.
Dropping down off the mountains which form the border between France and Italy in those parts, we drove east across a rather gloomy plain, which had very little to recommend it. The roads were still in poor condition, due no doubt to the financial situation of Italy, and of course the harsher winters they seemed to have in those days. We arrived on the outskirts of Turin in the late afternoon rush hour, which, in Italy, is a time to be avoided if at-all possible. As usual, Frank’s cooking and food husbandry was sadly lacking, in that we had no provisions on board, so I pulled over on the side of the road near a small conditorie, and sent Frank ashore to buy something for the evening meal.

An Encounter with Our Man in Torino


I sat in the car, and a large black saloon car pulled up alongside, blocking all the following traffic. Fearing attention from the Black Hand mob, I sat tight. A well dressed gentleman got out, and came over to me, and addressed me in perfect English, to enquire if I had come from England in the TC. Answering in the affirmative, I added that if he didn’t move his car, the law would be on his tail pretty quick. Horns were being sounded, and fists waved about from the line of traffic astern of his car. His reply was “Oh, the CD plates take care of all that nonsense”. He then invited me to follow him to his house to meet his wife and family. Frank appeared just then, and I told the gent that there were two of us, to which he replied, “Fine, follow me.” We set off through the suburbs and climbed out of the city into what appeared to be the well heeled part of town.

Swinging into a gateway with high stone columns topped with stone eagles we pulled up in front of a very imposing residence indeed. At this time I can’t recall exactly what this gentleman was, but he held some high office in the British Foreign service, probably the Diplomatic Service, and was stationed in Italy. We had a superb meal, talked to his wife and two very pretty daughters, told our story, and finally left quite late in the evening, unsure where we would find a campsite, or even if we would find one at all. The dear TC was, at this point, beginning to display some interesting handling characteristics.

Near Disaster and an Emergency Trip Home


We found a site on the banks of the River Po to the north of Turin, and pitched the tent, crawled in and slept the sleep of the exhausted. We spent the next day odding about, and I attempted to discover what was making a scraping sound from the front of the car. After a while, I noticed that the right hand side front wheel was standing at a different angle to the body than the other one. Our second crisis! Taking the wheel off, and the brake drum and bearings, I found that the front stub axle had a crack across it and it was bending. Yikes!!!!!  Why it didn’t snap off whilst we were driving is still a mystery to me. It was plain that the trip was over if I couldn’t find a replacement. The day after, I left Frank in charge, hired a car and went to Milan to the MG agents there. I had phoned them and they said they had one in stock.

The car I hired was a Lancia, and in it I covered the 160 kilometres of the autostrada between Turin and Milan in exactly one hour, in British terms, at 100 miles per hour.  Wow!! I had never driven anything like it, and it was absolutely exhilarating, and it had a heater !!

When I arrived at the agents, the part they had was for a TD / TF, and was totally incompatible. I knew I could get one in London, so the next day I hopped onto a BAC 111 belonging to BEA to Heathrow, got a taxi to Staines and S. H. Richardsons, bought the needed bit, got back in the taxi to Heathrow, got the afternoon flight back to Turin, and put the car back together again. Our Emergency Fund money had come to the rescue.

Poodles on Ice


Later, in the early evening, a large American caravan rig pulled in and pitched up near us. The driver came over, looked at the TC, and in a Texas drawl, enquired if I had one for the other foot. Hoots of laughter, of course, but he returned later with a full bottle of Jack Daniels, and the three of us sat in our tent until well after midnight and got very drunk. At some point there was a loud squawk outside the tent, as our guest’s wife had arrived, and proceeded to give us a hard time for getting her husband drunk. Anglo American relations dipped a bit, but she dragged him off, and we turned in. At about 6 the next morning, we were woken by an animal snuffling about round our tent, so with some difficulty, I opened one eye and looked out of the flap.

There doing what dogs do was a small one of the poodle variety, the only problem I had with it was that it was pink.  At this point one begins to question sanity and to avoid alcohol in future - not a pleasant prospect -; so I asked Frank to have a look, and after a while he confirmed that it did indeed appear to be a pink poodle.  Well, at least we were both seeing the same thing!

Four or five more pooches turned up, and they were all different colours, green, blue, yellow, orange, which at least gave us some hope that the booze of the previous evening had nothing to do with it. The dogs turned out to be part of the famous America On Ice Show, which travelled all over Europe, and during the day the rest of the outfit, hundreds of them, turned up in caravans and motorhomes.

All the showgirls and skaters, all the technicians, and as usual, the TC acted like a magnet. We were given tickets to the first show, and invited to be guests at the ceremony after the show when the local FIAT car factory was to unveil its newest creation, the FIAT Dino sports car. I took my camera, and during the unveiling, we wandered about on the ice with all the celebs and the glitterati, quaffed the champagne with the best of them, and finally staggered back to camp in an alcoholic haze.

We decided that it was about time we left Turin, not least because the boss of the AoI Show, having discovered that we were MN Engineering and Radio Officers, was trying to recruit us to join the outfit as technicians. Neither of us fancied that.

Escorted out of Italy


We packed up, and headed north out of Turin in the hopes of going to Switzerland. We got lost in the maze of roads, and I spotted a Gendarme with a motorcycle on the side of the road. I stopped and asked him if he could tell me how to find the road to Aosta. “Una momento”, he said, and called someone on his radio. Another gendarme arrived, and, forming up one ahead and one astern of the TC, escorted us out of Turin towards Switzerland with sirens and blue lights in action. I’ve no idea what the onlookers thought was going on, but for me it was the greatest fun in the world right then.

Swiss Account


We didn’t make it to Aosta, because the road finally ended in a huge snowdrift several metres deep, so I had to turn round and head for the Grand St Bernard Tunnel. You had to pay to use these tunnels then, and that was an unwelcome expense, but couldn’t be avoided. Once in Switzerland, we were camping out in very cold and snowy weather, and to be honest, our equipment was not up to it.

The tent was ok and big enough, but sleeping bags and general clothing were not. However, we survived our trip north across Switzerland through the Alps in all their winter glory. The Bernese Oberland has to rank amongst the finest mountain scenery anywhere in the world, and seeing it in all its icy splendour from the open cockpit of a classic T type MG simply has to be the tops. Finally, we arrived in Basle in the north of Switzerland on the German border.

Leaving Basle heading north we followed the Rhine on the early German autobahn which must be the most boring road in existence. There were no further adventures of any note, and we finally arrived in Strasbourg. So far this has been my only visit to that city but based on what I saw of it then, I would like to return and have a proper visit. Turning west at last with some five hundred miles to run to the coast, we headed for Nancy.

Readies Running Out

 Truth was, our money was getting very low, and in those days there were no ATMs or holes in the wall where you could draw money. It was currency or travellers cheques, and cashing those was not exactly easy or free. Banks tended to regard you with suspicion if you presented one. They needed your birth date, maiden name, passport number and Office of Issue, any aliases you might have sailed under, How’s your Father?, and driver’s licence, signatures in triplicate, then kept you waiting for 40 minutes whilst it was run past the security gnomes in head office in Zurich, all for ten pounds.


And you thought getting French registry for your MG's was difficult!!!

Unfriendly Welcome Home

We rolled northwest through Lorraine and through villages with names which had figured in the bitter fighting of WW1, through the Ardennes where the last tank battles of WW2 had taken place not very long before, through Cambrai and the flat agricultural plains of Northern France, and finally arrived back in Calais. We sailed across the channel on Townsend Thoresen Ferries, and drove ashore.
  We had crossed 6 national borders in our journey, and been treated so nicely everywhere, with friendly officials, and it came as a shock to come face to face with a surly and damned unpleasant British customs man in Dover.


We finally got away, but I left with a very sour taste and a determination to get my own back on their lousy service somehow, somewhere, sometime. (I have, but I’m not saying anything on the grounds that it would very seriously incriminate me!!)

Back Home

Driving through London, as one could back then, ( can you guys do that on French plates??), I called in at S H Richardsons in Staines to buy some bits for the TC, which by now was in a sorry state. The 19 inch wire wheels had taken on the role of overgrown three penny bits, (if you're under 40 and reading this, look them up on Google).  In general the TC was in desperate need of some TLC. In Richardson’s shop stood an MG T type TF. I thought - and still do! - that it was the most beautiful MG I had ever seen. The cost of the necessary TC spares was rather like a plumbers estimate and my by now meagre wallet couldn't cope with the expense.

Salvation appeared in the unexpected form of a car salesman who had clearly spotted me drooling over the TF and arrived with the speed of a robber’s dog!  He commented that my TC looked a bit jaded.  I explained about the European Tour and several thousand miles she had faithfully, (well almost), achieved without serious mishap.  At which point he offered, what to me seemed a very reasonable trade in - in fact it was a better deal than buying the spares and repairing the TC!  Fortune also smiled in that he didn't take the TC for a test drive but merely commented that she must be sound to have completed the trip.  (In all probability he didn't want to get his suit dirty, but I'm sticking to my version).

The TD


Thus I traded the TC in on the TF, but not before I had returned to Falmouth which was my home in those days to raise the necessary cash. My father commented that it was a waste of money, (he after all had supplied the readies) and felt that selling the TC and investing the money would be better.  Many year's later I reminded him of this and enquired where one might have invested £60 to achieve a return of over £15,000 which is what the TF was worth at the time).

A fortnight later, I drove back to London in the TC, did the deal and drove home to the West Country . Thus MG Midget TF ‘JDR 500’ came into my life. 

Picture
THE TD THAT TOM HAS OWNED FOR 53 YEARS
Wonderful Memories

That was in late April 1962 and in 2015 the TF is still with me.  It, too, has done the Grand Tour of Europe in its time, but with my new wife Christine as cook/navigator, which really was an improvement on Frank! My wife’s first real experience of the TF was on honeymoon, a fortnight’s trip which started in the car park at Lands End, and ended in the car park at Lands End leaving John O’Groats and Cape Wrath close to starboard. Looking back to the TC however, and in fairness to it, it did what it was supposed to do. It covered well over 1800 miles of very indifferent roads on the cheapest petrol available at a time of its life when it really shouldn’t have been tasked so sorely. Overloaded and facing some of the most gruelling gradients in Europe, often in bitterly cold conditions and spending its nights in open camp sites, it gave all that it had, and has left me with a very few photographs and some great memories.
                                                                       Tom Eaves.

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CMGO Under new management

11/2/2015

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It's come to that time of life when we just want to enjoy ourselves on a Run, so at the AGM Terri and I stood aside to let some "New Blood" into the roles. We need the new thoughts and input so that our CMGO does not stagnate. 

The mantle has been taken up by John (Upton) as President, ably assisted by Karen as Treasurer.  I'm sure that they will have everyones full support and that the CMGO will go on to even greater things under this new leadership.

The post of Vice president remains unaltered, in the hands of John (Nicholas).

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And so as 2014 draws to a close......

28/12/2014

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Christmas is over, the fatted goose has been consumed via roast, sandwiches, curry and any other means known to our wives and we move even closer to our AGM, on Thursday 5th Feb.

The AGM is also the last official "Do" for your Treasurer and myself, as after three years I feel it's time to stand aside and bring some new blood into the role, to stop us stagnating as an Association.   It's important that we have a new President as otherwise our ideas just end up repeating themselves (and after all the initial idea was that I was there for just a year).     Our Treasurer, on the other hand has been in the position for six years, which means that she's seen the changes with our Charente MG Owners (CMGO) and how the CMGO has evolved to our current status. 
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So as 2014's Summer draws to a close

2/9/2014

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This summer will be remembered by many things, not least the less than brilliant weather, but as September is with us things have picked up, with a rise in the temperatures, being the most welcome.

This week we're donning our shorts and flip flops for the "Beach Bash" summer excursion to Meschers, to get some sand in our toes and escape our usual haunt for the September meeting, so cross your fingers that the weather's as predicted.

Our return sees us edging even closer to the "Circuit des Remparts" where 13 (unlucky for some) of our Members Cars take part in the Rallye, on Saturday 20th.  We're hoping that our Midget will make the start, but it's crossed fingers, due to me bowing to the glorious weather and stripping the head, in the garden on a workmate.  For some reason I used a pair of Radio Pliers (that don't have teeth on them,) and preceeded to remove the small wire clips that hold the collets on the valves.  All went well until "ping",  one made a break for freedom and ended up somewhere in the garden.    Suffice to say that days have gone by, the 20th looms even closer, the ordered parts from the UK have not arrived, but the company are sending a duplicate order and constantly, The Samaritans have been engaged............18 days to go.

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