The car was a 1950s Hillman Californian Convertable with white walled tyres and a column change gear stick. Only trouble was it was really a bit knackered, although still driveable. The white wall tyres were a dirty grey colour and the softtop was cracked and let in moisture. An overnight frost would mean that the moisture would freeze on the inside and I would be driving along with water dripping onto me as the car heated up and the frozen moisture melted. It also had a starting handle (anyone remember them?) which was inserted in a hole somewhere beneath the radiator to ‘turn’ the engine in cold weather.
The column change would often jump out of third gear and so I found myself driving with one arm resting on the column change stick to stop it popping out, as it did once when I was negotiating a double bend near Rainham, leaving me spinning round and ending up facing in the opposite direction. As it was pre M.O.T days I could get away with (fairly) bald tyres and rusty old wheel arches that flapped in the wind as I drove along. The engine wasn’t up to much either and in todays world my car would have been in the breakers yard long ago. But I loved it. As well as mould it smelt of leather as the seats were all well worn dark brown hide. The driver and front passenger seat were all one, unlike the cars of today where they are two separate seats.
Although my car should have been considered fit only for the scrap heap it didn’t stop three of my mates and me from deciding to pay a visit to the Hampshire Avon and Dorset Stour using my car as the means of transport.
We all lived in South Ockendon, in Essex and we made up our minds to drive down to the Christchurch area on a Friday evening after work. The plan was to drive down overnight, sleeping when we got there, and fishing the River Avon on Saturday, moving on to the Throop fishery on Sunday, before driving back home on Sunday evening. Oh yes, as the one mate who had a driving licence was suffering a ban from driving and the other two did not drive, it fell to me to do all the driving myself. Lucky old me then.
I don’t know what time we set out, but as we were all working young men it would have been late Friday evening I guess. There was no M25 or Dartford Tunnel in those days so it was either up to and through London or use the Tilbury Car Ferry across to Gravesend, so we chose the Ferry crossing.
Arriving in Kent I think we took the road that led to somewhere near Sevenoaks and picked up the A25 to Redhill and Guildford, passing through Box Hill near Dorking. Then to the A31 at Farnham, past Winchester and on to Ringwood. During the drive the others all fell asleep and left me to it. (Thanks chaps). It was a long drive and with a top speed of around 40 mph (45mph downhill and about 5 mph uphill) it was hard going, downhill wasn’t so bad, but the car struggled on anything even remotely pretending to be a hill, and barely made it at times.
Somehow we did make it and arrived in the Christchurch area sometime after midnight. It was completely dark and I didn’t really have a clue where the river was from there, so I pulled into a residential street, parked up, and exhausted, fell asleep.
We were woken by the sound of clinking milk bottles as the milkman made his deliveries to the local residents. I think we must have found a cafe’ and had a breakfast as I don’t recall packing sandwiches or taking a flask. Thinking back we were not properly prepared and had not really put much thought into this trip, it was all a bit ‘ad hoc’.
When we found the river we were astonished at how fast the water was flowing. We had all been brought up on local gravel pits where the water never moved, unless whipped up by the wind. Our gravel pit floats and a few BB shots just could not cope, being rapidly swept down river and out of sight. We really struggled to get to grips with this new phenomenon and caught nothing other than a few minnows.
Later that evening we made our way towards Throop on the Dorset Stour, found a lay-by alongside a bridge over the river and parked up. As I mentioned earlier we hadn’t really prepared very well and now faced the prospect of the four of us trying to get a nights’ sleep, but without a bivvy (yet to be invented) or a tent, which we hadn’t even thought about bringing with us.
On the way down the previous evening the other three had nodded off in a sitting up position while I drove the car. We thought it unlikely that we could all fall asleep in an upright position in the car, so it was decided that two of us would sleep in the car and the other two underneath the car. Yes, that’s right underneath the car. Madness I know, and it was going to be a cold night as well. My car and I’m the driver so I’m inside, (on a full length leather seat to boot, real comfort) and the others can sort it out amongst themselves. It was a very cold night and I woke up shivering. The two underneath the car slept in their clothes on the tarmac and woke up feeling ok, they were actually warmer than I was, due maybe to the heat given out by the engine.
So, down to the river, and faced yet again by a raging torrent, well to us it was, and of course it was the same story, minnows, by the dozen.
Despite everything we all enjoyed our weekend and most certainly learnt from the experience.
On the way back we drove through London, and somewhere near Hammersmith picked up two young lady American hitchhikers. Well, Long legs and short shorts, WOW, what else could we do? It was a sunny day so we had the roof open and they sat perched on the back of the car.
So there we were, four strapping young men with two beautiful young ladies in tow and as we passed through Piccadilly and Trafalgar Square we smiled and waved to the crowds as if we were some sort of celebrities.
In a ‘clapped out’ old car full of rust, don’t think so.
Years later I returned to Throop better equipped and in a decent car to enjoy some excellent chub and barbel fishing. But I will never forget that first trip in my first car.
