Testing times
Dave’s 1984 Ninety was due for its MOT. Surely it would just be a formality?
IT was MOT time, so I took my 1984 Ninety for a jaunt across to Norfolk to get my mate Nigel Hammond to do the business. I was expecting this to be little more than a formality – just an annoying rear diff seepage to sort out and, on the way over, I noticed the windscreen wipers were past their best.
On the way across I made my usual detour via Breckland to drive a forest track and take Billy for a walk through the trees. It was a beautiful morning and, on an east-facing open ride, a clump of
dewberries (low-growing brambles) were in full flower and getting the benefit of the rising sun. Some insomniac butterflies were taking advantage of this nectar-rich breakfast and among them was a silver-washed fritillary – the first I’ve ever spotted in West Norfolk and a welcome sight it was, with its big, intricatelypatterned ginger wings glowing in the early light. Unfortunately it flew off before I could photograph it, but I did capture a perfect snap of a little copper (the butterfly, not a diminutive policeman), as well as an inquisitive muntjac deer that poked its head through the undergrowth to see what I was up to. Luckily Billy didn’t see it: the muntjac is small, but a feisty character if cornered and can do a lot of damage with its tusk-like antlers.
What a lovely start to the day. I had a big smile on my face as I set off on the 15 miles or so to Nigel’s workshop, near Fakenham.
Nigel had booked my Ninety in at his local MOT station at 3.30pm, so when I turned up a little after 9.00am, he was in no rush to get started. We had a coffee and a gossip, then Nigel leisurely did his pre-mot inspection. All the lights worked, the brakes were fine, the suspension was pucka and the leaking diff was soon cured: the breather was blocked and corroded, and so quickly replaced. So were the suspect wiper blades.
By midday, Nigel was underneath checking for rust. Again, all perfect, apart from a front chassis outrigger that could do with a small patch. But then disaster…
The groans emanating from behind the driver’s side footwell meant Nigel was either in a state of excitement or had found something amiss. It was the latter, of course. The footwell, said Nigel, resembled a very rusty lace curtain, riddled with holes and held together only by the thick layer of self-adhesive Dynamat soundproofing that I’d applied three or four years ago.
In the cab we lifted the rubber floor mats and peeled back the Dynamat to reveal the extent of the corrosion. It was even worse than it had looked from beneath the car.
It was obvious that we had no chance of meeting our appointment with the MOT tester at 3.30, so Nigel cancelled it and took a look at the passenger side footwell, which was similarly afflicted.
This was going to be a big job, and the Ninety would be going nowhere for a few days, so Nigel kindly gave me a lift home to Northamptonshire in his
Tdi-powered Range Rover.
I was back in Northamptonshire when Nigel set to work, and it took him 18 hours of very hot work to cut out the rust and replace it with beautifully seam-welded new panels that he’d made up himself. Unfortunately I missed the panic that ensued when the Dynamat still adhered to the adjacent bulkhead caught alight while he was welding. It was soon extinguished, but Nigel apparently emerged from his shed shrouded in smoke, closely resembling Wesley Pegden from Last of the Summer Wine.
Sadly, his wife Sally also missed that comedic scene, but she did kindly take the before and after photographs of the driver’s footwell that you can see on these pages.
With its newly-welded footwells, the Ninety passed its test on the Friday with no advisories, so I arranged to pick it up on the Saturday, which just happened to be the hottest day of the year (so far) with temperatures in the east of England forecast to hit 30 degrees C. I therefore set off at the crack of the dawn in my 1996 Discovery, this time to Old Hunstanton on the north-west tip of Norfolk, so Billy and his pal, Maya, could have a dip in the sea. It would be the first trip to the seaside for Maya, who is a very lovable rescue dog owned by my neighbour, Sharon, who joined me for the ride.
They had a lovely time splashing in the warm, shallow water and we had the beach to ourselves that early in the morning. Even when we left at 8.00am, very few day trippers had arrived.
Half an hour or so later, Nigel was hospitable as ever. Besides my Ninety, he had a few other interesting vehicles in for repairs, including two Range Rover Classics – one French, another a very unusual camper conversion – that were getting full restorations. He’d also just completed the rebuild of a 12J naturallyaspirated diesel engine in an ex-military Ninety. Apparently a water pump bearing had failed, destroying the crankshaft.
After a quick cuppa and a chat, I drove off in the Ninety, leaving the Disco with Nigel for its MOT, which is now due. There aren’t many steel body parts on the Disco that haven’t already been replaced, but I expect it will still require some welding. What a shame these vehicles weren’t made rust-proof when new.
Back home in Northamptonshire, damp weather has encouraged a very early harvest of delicious field mushrooms, so my dawn forays into the countryside have been rewarded with some extremely tasty breakfasts. There are few things tastier than a wild mushroom the size of a dinner plate.
POSTSCRIPT: The bill for the repairs, parts and MOT test on my Ninety were less than £400. That compares nicely to the cost of a minor repair on Steve Miller’s Disco 3, which is invariably over £1000. That’s one of the reasons why I love older Land Rovers so much.