Out with the old and in with the new.

First things first in getting Molly ready for the wedding is to give her a face lift.  She's getting on a bit and everything is starting to slip as it happens to the best of us.  We decided to respray her and make any required repairs along the way.
Here she is looking a bit of a sorry state after her rear door had fallen off.  This happened earlier in the year but other projects meant the repair was postponed.  In the picture you can see I have started the long and arduous task of rubbing her down.

 Now, Our Molly doesn't have an awful lot of steel in her compared to other vans of her size but what steel there is is subject to the same fate; rust.  We'd done a bit of welding to her before including repairing the bulkhead, a small section of chassis and the NS inner wheel arch.  But I also knew there was some lurking behind her front panel so I removed it to make the repairs.
Here is a section I removed and next to it is the new one I made to replace it.  At the bottom is another replacement although I've not yet made the square hole in the pic.

 The next sequence of photo's show the section being installed.  The top of the panels either side of the radiator were also rotton and needed replacing as were the forward part of the front wheel arches.  All the metal is good nick was ground back, treated and then primed.  I'll paint this all and waxoil what needs waxoiling in the near future.

On the road

We made 100ft dash to the hard standing whilst being watched by the bemused grins of the Canavan's. Once parked up we got our first proper look at the van as a whole.




The next leg of the journey took us down the drive and toward the A-Road. We pulled up just before hand to check things over. A passer by kindly pointed out there was a gallon of petrol beneath the van. Well at least the fuel tank was unblocked then.


And so, with no brakes, no fuel tank, no way to shut the engine off and no tax, MOT, insurance or registration, we made our merry way down the road and toward the Landrover yard.

The rush was now on to get her out of the garden before the rain and snow settled in. Luckily, in our search for a condenser, we had chanced upon a Landrover and classics restoration centre just next door. The chaps there were apparently all too happy to let Molly stay a week or two while we tried to find a way of getting her moved down to Somerset. This meant we only had to traverse about 100ft of lawn and 300ft of A-Road to get her to relative safety. The important thing, however, was not to chew up Mrs Canavan’s lawn.

Firstly the configuration of the column shift boggled us; namely where in the hell the Bedford company had put reverse. Once we had established that, I tentivley put her in gear and tested the clutch with a few revs. She shuddered a moved about 10mm. A success I'd say. Now we tried to gently rock her out of the ditches that had appeared beneath her tyresover the last ten years. Each time the engine began to come under load it would try and cut out. A finger down the carb mouth revealed a puddle of fuel in the manifold. The float valve was presumed to be not seating properly so I decided to rebuild the carb as a matter of course. A kit was about £15 I think, same Zenith downdraft as the series Landrovers.

Then the spark disappeared again. Bugger knows where because it was back again a few hours later. Electronics is not my forte. In fact, my ad-hoc wiring seemed to have bypassed the ignition switch, so as soon as the batt earth was connected that was it, she was ready to go. This meant shutting her down was a matter of pulling off the battery strap and waiting for her to wind down.

The exhaust manifolds had decades of oil and dirt on them so as soon as a bit of temperature got threw them they began bellowing out with smoke that made your head feel spooky.

We decided to test the brakes at this point. The pedal was very stiff and then, worryingly, went very floppy. No brakes then. Or, more significantly, brakes fully on.

Thus began the circus act of trying to move her from what was meant to be her final resting place. I saddled up while Rachel filled her Fairy liquid bottle. The battery strapped was tapped lightly on so it could be released with a nudge of a toe. Pump primed, ignition on and she jumped into life once again. The exhaust manifolds promptly started profusely smoking. We got loose of the ditches in one great lunge. She would only move in bursts so we roared our way back across the garden. The cabin was now full of smoke and noise and petrol. I signalled for Rachel to jump out. I took the key out the ignition but nothing happened. Rach knocked off the battery strapped but Molly continued to run. We stood by her side perplexed (probably from the fumes) as she slowly wound down. It was a grand moment, we'd moved 13 1/2ft.

Signs Of Life

   We shook on the purchase of the two vans and wandered off down the garden to start fettling and exploring.  Rachel grabbed Molly's door handle and without hesitation, the door fell off  its hinges.  A sign of things to come perhaps.
   After releasing Molly from the briars we set about taking a look at the engine.  The bonnet is about just about big enough to get your head trapped and nothing more.  The carb to air filter hose and the engine inspection cover were off already so that made us think that someone may have attempted to start her at some point in the last ten years.  We connected up a half knackered battery from my freshly scrapped 405 and tried to jump it off Rachels little golden clio.  The engine turned over freely.  There was, however, no spark and no fuel getting to the pump, let alone the carb.

   We presumed that the diaphram had perished, or, more likely, the fuel tank/ lines were blocked with silt, rust and other crap.  I pulled off the pump, took it apart, gave it a nod and put it back together again.  It still didn't pull fuel up from the tank so we settled for a bit of old pipe and a fairy liquid bottle as an auxilary tank.
   Next was the ignition system; new rotor, coil, condenser, plugs and leads.  Still no spark.  I followed meters of corroded wiring around the van without any joy.  One of the terminals on the starter solenoid looked a bit iffy so we replaced that as well.  Still no spark.  Then a helpful voice muttered in my ear; 'Have you cleaned the points?'  and with a splutter and a puff of smoke Molly merrily woke up and appeared to be rather over come by the whole ordeal.
   That makes it all sound rather easy but in reality there was much more head scratching, cups of tea, bleeding knuckles, swearing, kicking, chocolate hobknobs, petrol soaked gloves, electric shocks and shitting in the garden.

Meet Dolly

I fell so in love with Molly on first glance that I couldn't bear to cause her any pain, or separate her from her sister (the non-running donor vehicle) and that is how we came to own two Debonairs'.

Molly

and Dolly

Dolly is a later model, 1967.  Bought by the Canavan family in the early '90s as a donor vehicle for Molly, although never used for any parts, she has sat idle beneath this tree for twenty odd years.  Dolly will be our next project, once Molly is up and running!

Champagne and Caveats

This is the story of Molly.  Beware of spurious prose.

For the truth about Martin Walter and Dormobile - http://www.dormobile.org.uk/Dormobile_History.html

The Story So Far

It's 1965 and Martin Walter lies on his death bed. He attempts to regain his focus on the world whilst waiting for the call that could send him happily to sleep. His room is piled to the ceilings with blue prints and plans. Artist’s impressions of strange vehicles hang from the walls and the smell of engine oil is thick in the air.

He was a dreamer; an automotive visionary and a figure head for the liberal and creative revolution that in only a few years time was to reach its peak.

His past life gently scrolls through his mind; Jackie, his wife, his children; Caspian, Stryker and Claremont.

'Such joyful times.' Thinks he as his vision again begins to fade.

But one lingering doubt remains still. His life's work is incomplete. For nearly forty years now he has worked on one project, one defining machine to triumphantly carry his name through the eternity of time. The summit, the absolute pinnacle of his vision, skill and devotion to his work but his life is waning and he has heard no news now for days. The phone rings.
His clasps the receiver with a frail hand, there is a momentary pause and then a familiar voice shatters the silence.
'You did it Walter, she's alive, and...'
'Tell me John for God's sake.' Said he.
'And, Walter... She's beautiful.'

The receiver drops to floor and there is silence.

                                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forty six years later and a couple are walking down the side of a road on the outskirts of bath. It’s four in the morning and it’s cold and wet. They are both miserable and soaked through, having been trying to get a lift now for hours. Suddenly, between the thick matted hedges they see a light. They push their way through the undergrowth and find themselves in the grounds of large abandoned house. In the ravels of briars and shrubs they spot an unusual looking van with a warm glow coming from within. The rain is hammering down now so without hesitation they clamber inside.

A single light in the ceiling of the van shimmers yet it looks as though it has not been used for decades. A pair of gentlemen’s driving gloves lie neatly folded on the bench along side a tweed flat cap. A pack of cards sits in a royal flush across a dining table beneath a thick layer of dust. In the sink there is a tea cup and saucer. In one of the numerous cupboards is a copy of the Times dated 1965.

‘This is rather queer isn’t it Herewood?’

‘I dare say it is Hermione.’

‘What ever do you think it is?’

Herewood paused for a moment considering his surroundings.

‘It is almost like a home but in a van. Look there; a cooker!’

‘Oh yes.’ Said Hermione. ‘And here, a cocktails cabinet.’

‘Ah ha, running water, and here; a toilet.’

‘It has a double bed Herewood, no, there are two!’

‘By Jove! This is a grand thing, whatever is it doing here do you think?’

‘I don’t know, but shant remain here a moment longer.’