Unlocking the past
MY PARTNER , Paula, rather likes the Model T but she’s been less keen on having to climb over the side of the car to get into it. This was necessary because the chap who converted it into a pick-up truck, a hot-rodder called Phil Wells, had artfully welded and bolted the doors shut for that authentic hot-rod vibe. Or maybe just to strengthen the body.
Truth be told, I sometimes struggled to lift my size 12s clear of the bodywork, too. Looking at the passenger door, it seemed that it might be made to open again, with a little grinding and cutting. And, to my intense relief, I was right. Phil had tack-welded a metal plate over the inner aperture where the door lock would have been, with a 90º flanged return that was drilled and bolted to the B-post.
To liberate the bolts, I had to take a disc-cutter to the metal plate. More by luck than judgement, I cut it in exactly the right place to facilitate part two of my cunning plan: to repurpose an old domestic Chubb lock that I’d taken off my workshop door. On any other car this would be a travesty, but on my ratty pick-up it feels entirely appropriate, in keeping with its 1950s DIY farm-truck vibe.
The first passenger to enter through the newly functioning door was not Paula but a friend in the village who was keen to experience ‘T’ motoring. Nick collects antique firearms and so we decided to visit a local militaria fair – like an autojumble, but selling collectable military items
– beside a reconstructed World War Two army camp. Ashdown WW2 Camp is near Evesham in Worcestershire and the owner, Emma, very kindly allowed me to pose the ‘T’ inside it. The next event will be on 27 September – see ashdowncamp.com for details.
Of course, you can’t go to a ’jumble of any description without buying something and, while I was tempted by the Vickers machine gun that one trader was offering, I settled for a World War One portrait photo in its original frame. Private Coombes’ jaunty, confident expression is made all the more poignant by the inked memorial underneath: ‘Killed 1 July, 1916’ – the infamous first day of the Somme. Maybe Private Coombes has no surviving family but, in our house, at least, he will be remembered.