Classiccars magazine

In the February 2008 edition of Classiccars I had a featured article on the 1949 Invicta Black Prince. Copied below :-

Published in Classiccars Magazine

 

An Invicta Black Prince Wentworth Saloon from 1946.

 

Almost the price of a Bentley – Dearer than a Jag!

 

Words 2.129

 

The double doors opened with difficulty, scraping on the old concrete floor and pushing back the detritus of years. In the gloom within, surrounded by straw, animal feed bags and covered in dust was a big black saloon car. Going closer and brushing off the spiders, Rodney Bishop realised that he had never seen a car like this before – ever.

Had he walked away then he would now have been far better off financially but this big black lump intrigued him. There are many ways that people see and buy their first classic car but in the case of Rodney it was back in 1979 under the warm summer sun of Somerset. A friend had suggested that he come and look at a hotrod that he was building, he wasn’t really interested in hot rods. But when the friend mentioned that a rather strange and decrepit old car sat in another barn he just had to go and look. On a reckless impulse, a deal was struck and for £1.750, this strange black vehicle became his with all of the tea chests of bits that came with it.

Now with the lump safely ensconced in his garage it was time to start the detective work. What was this car? He quickly ruled it out as a kit car but what had he lumbered himself with? No computer to help him, he dug out his father’s old classic car books. The main clue was the word INVICTA on the rakishly slanted Rolls Royce style radiator grill. The big black lump, soon to be christened ‘The Sponge’ because of its ability to soak up funds turned out to be a 1946 Invicta Black Prince Wentworth saloon 6 with a Charlesworth body.

The original company had closed down in 1935 and after the war a group of investors decided that they would re-introduce the marque. One of the 1920’s Invicta designers, William Watson was invited to return and design a world beating car. It was to be pitched at the top end of the luxury car market. The company was prepared for a long and successful production run and the car was to be built at Virginia Water in Surrey under the name Invicta Car Development Co (London) Ltd.

This complicated pile was what Rodney had to bring back to life many bits were missing and he saw that it had been fitted with a Jaguar gearbox. He first contemplated the easy way out by buying a cheap ‘S’ type Jag and dropping the engine into the Invicta. But no, he was made of sterner stuff so he started to look for the correct parts and advertised in classic car magazines. As a result he got no parts but a letter from a man who told him that what he had was the prototype and show demonstrator - the only one with that body style. Further detective work was called for.

Watson had been behind the record breaking pre-war Invictas and in 1946 he set about designing a car for the future. ‘The Sponge’ was the result, a large classical saloon car, its tall chrome radiator grill emblazoned with the word Invicta and a sculpture of the Black Prince standing majestically as if to cut a swathe through the traffic with his sword. He wanted to create a car that was both sedate but sporty, curved glass windscreens had not yet been perfected so he put in a split windscreen. The rear end dropped away in an aerodynamic slope, the rear wheels covered by spats to add to the smooth look.

It was a very rare ‘Sponge’ indeed and Rodney realised that it was a bigger job than he could ever have anticipated.

In 1984 he moved house and his wife’s patience was evaporating, Invicta or wife? The choice had to be made and it was made amicably; soon after, Rodney had a new wife, who unlike the old one actually liked ‘The Sponge!’ The engine block, pistons, shell bearings are sent away for overhaul and new con rods are machined from scratch. New exhaust, tyres, gearbox re-build and to pile on the agony, another house move!

Its 1991, 12 years have passed and all the bits have been returned; he fits them and presses the starting button licking his lips in anticipation. Nothing, it’s as dead as ever Rodney decides to sell it and take up a cheaper hobby like travelling the world but instead he shuts the garage door, gives up, admits defeat and concentrates on his new daughter!

By 1994 something has to be done, the car sits in his garage so he has another go. The engine is taken out again and sent to the workshop. It’s soon back and he fits it, the water pump doesn’t work and no other car has a similar one – but the central heating pump on a canal boat will do the job, and it does. Some professional help follows and in January1996 the car is ready for its MOT, a minor fail is followed by a pass and he proudly holds the certificate.

Opening the ‘suicide’ driver’s door Rodney climbed into this large imposing motor car. Pulling the door shut and sinking into the brown leather seat he takes hold of the massive upright steering wheel with its chromed horn ring. In front of him he admires the varnished walnut dash with its assortment of gauges, lights and switches and the built-in original Smith’s Radiomobile valve radio. He looks around proudly at the cockpit of this now driveable car. As he presses the start button the 24 volt Dynamotor system directly coupled to the front end of the crankshaft engages. It instantly turns the 3 litre straight 6 DOHC Henry Meadows power plant from a dead lump of aluminium to a throbbing 120bhp engine ready to propel the 1 & 3/4 ton car forward. 

Looking down the long black bonnet at the figure of the Black Knight, Rodney savoured for a minute the old car smell of leather and – well – old car. A glance in the rear view mirror reveals the oval back window which seems to be set back even further than it is across the wide expanse of brown leather that is the rear seat. He eases the car forward and it quickly becomes apparent that Mr Watson has injected some of the magic inherent in his original 1920s Invicta creations. However, the 4 wheel independent suspension with its torsion bars front and rear does not really work and as Rodney points out later, it has the suspension of a farm cart! The engine, served by 3 SU carburettors, growls reassuringly as it effortlessly builds up speed. When new it had a Brockhouse Turbo Transmitter fluid drive. This was basically an auto box without any gears; it offered approx 15 to 1 to 1 to1 ratios in a continuous fashion. Reverse was obtained by a pawl engagement which made things go the other way in the box. Reverse was a major problem with the vehicle and 9 times out of 10 the new owner would find himself hard up against the garage wall unable to go backwards! In most of the remaining cars manual gear boxes have been fitted as replacements including Rodney’s in which a Jaguar one has been used.

There is a big heavy aluminium engine that weighs down the front somewhat and tends to drag the car into, as opposed to around corners! But it’s fun to drive and Rodney guides it tentatively around the streets of 1996 England soon getting used to it and actually getting to enjoy the experience immensely. The car has all round hydraulic brakes and four built in hydraulic jacks. When new, the car was fitted with mains operated radiator and sump heaters with a built in trickle charger but these items are no longer on the car.

It is now 12 years since Rodney’s first real drive in the car and I stand in his drive with the car between us, I ask him if he has enjoyed driving it.

“It’s quite a handful,” he replies, “heavy at low speeds and quite wayward at normal speeds but it easily keeps up with ordinary traffic. It’s most comfortable on the motorway at about 65mph, there’s a hand throttle that can be engaged, and then you can relax a bit. I’ve had it up to about 85 mph once but bottled out after a mile or so due to the intense concentration needed and the fear of something falling off!”

“There must be a lot of interest in such a rare car?”

“There certainly is, in fact an old chap approached me and asked if I would take him for a spin, he was a bit of an Invicta fan. As we slowed for traffic in the town, people stopped to stare, as they normally do and he wound down the window and shouted proudly ‘this is an Invicta you know?’

“What’s the ride like?”

“It can best be described as a little bit harsh and bouncy; the car handles very well when you get use to half a ton of engine in front of you. It handles better with four people on board and tends to get smoother the faster you go - up to a point that is!! Brakes are very smooth and powerful but as there is no servo they do require some serious pressure. I'm sure that the addition of some shock absorbers would be an improvement; they were a factory option although the publicity material deems them to be totally unnecessary due to advanced nature of the all independent suspension. I’ll fit some one day.

“How does it compare with its rivals, I believe that it was aimed at the Rolls Royce – Bentley market?”

“No way, this was nearly as expensive but that is where the comparison ends. I would think that this one is dearer than they are now though.” He replies smiling

“What about Jaguar?”

“The price of Invictas reached £4.000 when they went under, you could get a beautiful Jaguar XK120 for under £1.500, and even the Mark 5 was cheaper. I wouldn’t change this for any of them though.”

 ‘The Sponge’ has come into its own and the work and wait was worthwhile. His new wife Barbara is as enthusiastic as he is - in fact, for his birthday a few years ago she purchased the defunct company name Invicta Car Development (London) Ltd. So now Rodney actually owns the company who made his sponge like car and the plaque is on his garage wall.

Now that the car sits in the drive awaiting the next of its frequent outings Rodney can do some more detective work and research the Invicta Company. Over the four years of manufacture only 17 cars were produced, most being very attractive two door open tourers and 14 Invictas, mostly open tourers, are known to survive worldwide. The price and competition all acted against this unique new marque and with a price tag of £3.000 raising to £4,000, the price of 10 Ford Anglia’s and almost the price of a Mark VI Bentley - it was doomed. The bankrupt company was bought by Frazer Nash makers AFN Ltd and an offer was made to build a car jointly with Armstrong Siddeley but this went nowhere. The shareholders lost a lot of money and the glowing future was not to be.

As for the prototype, Rodney’s KPK 75 it was a demonstrator with the company from 1946 to 1950 when it was sold to Hoffman’s Garage in Halifax. Two years later it was registered by a gentleman in Essex who kept it for a year before it was passed on to KN Rudd (Engineers) Worthing Sussex. E.N Jackson at Blackheath in London became the next owners and eventually Charles Williams of Stogumber in Somerset.

“Would you do this again?” I ask Rodney as he stands proudly at the side of the car.

“It has been interesting,” he replies. “In fact I really have no regrets; I just wish that I had enough funds left for the final touches to the bodywork, it is original though.”

I leave Rodney and his Invicta as he and Barbara climb aboard for the weekly shopping trip. “Don’t see many of these on the road” he laughs from the window as the big engine roars into life. An understatement if ever there was one! But for the perseverance of this man at great expense and against many odds this unique piece of motoring history may have been lost forever.

The Invicta Car Club caters for all Invictas from 1925 to the present and the secretary Jo Moss can be contacted on 01590 645311.

 

 

 

The Invicta a roaring twenties supercar!

 

Words 200

 

In 1925 the automobile engineer Noel Campbell Macklin and wealthy businessman Oliver Lyle teamed up with the intention of building a car with Rolls Royce build quality and Bentley performance. With designer William Watson they produced the Invicta marque, twice winners of the RAC Dewar Trophy and true world beaters.

Noel Macklin’s sister in law Violet Cordery was a brave and skilled driver; she took Noel’s concept and really put the name Invicta on the map. With her sister Evelyn they broke four world records and 33 Italian records at Monza.During the period fledgling racing driver Donald Healey (who later developed Austin Healey cars) worked for Macklin. He won the 1930 Alpine trial and the 1931 Monte Carlo Rally in an Invicta, the first British car to win it. In the1931 Alpine rally Healy’s co-driver was Ian Fleming who later wrote the James Bond series.

The company ceased manufacturing in 1935, an attempt to resume was made in 1937 and then the 1946 Invictas with the Black Knight as the prototype. In 2000 a new company called The Invicta Car Company started to produce the Invicta S1. A bespoke sports car powered by a 4.6 litre Ford Mustang engine.

 

Copyright Paul Hurley

January 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

New Woodworker Magazine

  This is the national glossy magazine that is published by The League of Master Craftsmen.My story and photographs about John Duncan cover two pages in the Spring 2006 edition.

Somerset Life

The Somerset Life article in January 2002 was my first magazine piece and as a result the magazine takes pride of place in a frame in my office. It was titled Winsford to Winsford. Below is the slightly amended version that appeared in the Chronicle in this version the emphasis is on Winsford Cheshire. In Somerset Life it was Winsford Somerset.

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Orphan Articles

Being Freelance means occasionaly writing articles that are not required. These are a few, articles that no one wants! So if you own a magazine  and want to use them, let me know.

PENNYPINCHING IN MEXICO!
A true story

      "We're going to Chechen Itza the Mayan City in the jungles of Mexico." I told our new friends at the Blue Bay Village, an all-inclusive holiday complex in Cancun, the 'jewel' of Mexico. They had already been there and were able to offer advice.
      "Don’t go on the official tour - that costs £45. It's only £5 return on the public bus."
'Well', we decided, there is a big difference between £90 and £10; it's worth a try. We settled back to enjoy the sultry evening in this idyllic place. The fairy lights glittered around the pool and the 'free' drinks flowed and flowed again.
      "Dos returno to Chechen Itza." I said in my best Spanish. It must have been good because the clerk handed over two bus tickets and pointed to the correct bus. We climbed aboard and settled into the seat, it was comfortable and air-conditioned; we had obviously had good advice. The journey passed pleasantly with the lush jungle passing us on both sides as we sped along the well-maintained highway only stopping at the tollbooths on the way. The journey lasted two and half-hours and we arrived at this famous tourist destination.
 Being on an all-inclusive holiday, we tended to carry little in the way of cash and after paying the entry fee and for refreshment, there was not much left.
      "Stop buying things," my wife, Rose, commanded as the time to leave drew close, "we’ll have no money left."
      "It's alright," I replied, “we have return tickets. I'll just get this painted native mask and glass pyramid, and then we'll go." The place was about to close, so we made our way to the exit, as did the other tourists. Outside they all climbed aboard their tour buses and we waited in the queue for the public one, 'What mugs' I thought looking at the tourists in their overpriced tour buses.

      "You need return ticket," said the ticket collector looking disdainfully at my proffered offering.

       "These are return ones." I said.

       "No they're not," he said looking at the queue stretching behind me. "Next!"

       "But we have to get the bus," I insisted.

      "Not this one, you try next one, it cheaper anyway, Next!" He wasn’t going to change his mind and it didn't matter how cheap it was, we had no money.
       "You can have my watch and credit card until we get to the cash point," I said looking through the door imploringly at the driver whose knowledge of English was on a par with my knowledge of Spanish. There was a great hiss as the brakes were released and the bus drove off.
 The bus station was becoming quiet, the old woman in rags with the piece of cardboard saying, 'my house has burned down and my children have nowhere to live, please give me money.' Had changed into nice clothes and driven off in the smart car that was hidden around the corner.
 We joined the only remaining queue. It included people with boxes of live chickens and a goat! The bus was different, the windows were open and the occupants included animals of all description, now I knew why it was cheaper.
      "Go Cancun, I pay at other end, you keep card." I said in my best pigeon Spanish and offering the driver my gold card. I got that same look that said, 'I don’t know what you're talking about, but I'm not interested anyway.'
 Now we had problems, we were in the middle of Mexico in a place that closed for the night with no habitation nearby and was probably extremely haunted by the Mayan virgins that had been chucked into the nearby water hole. Rosemarie was sitting on the footpath in tears. But wait! One last chance, there were a few taxis left with the drivers talking together prior to going home, why didn't I think of that earlier?
      "How much to Cancun?" I asked the nearest driver. He told me, and after a little mental arithmetic, I calculated that he was asking for nearly £300.
        I went back to Rosemarie who was now in the sitting up foetal position rocking back and forwards and anticipating a night in the jungle with wild animals, big insects and ethereal Mayan virgins who would not be too happy about being sacrificed. I was about to tell her to find a comfortable bush as my pride did not allow me to pay £300 for a taxi when we were joined by an ancient Mexican. He offered to take us for £100 in his antiquated and battered Nissan Bluebird taxi.
 I thought about it, looked at my wife and agreed and we climbed in. The journey was exciting, because on that money, he couldn't afford to use the nice toll road; we had to travel on the rough jungle roads, a journey of over four hours!
         Every few miles we were stopped by a contingent of the Mexican army who searched the car from top to bottom. As they did, we stood on the roadside listening to the myriad sounds of the jungle and looking at the rough open fronted Mexican houses, each one with the friendly glow of a colour television coming from within.
 Eventually we reached our destination and Rose was held hostage whilst I went to the cash point to get the money for the driver.
      "Well, was it cheaper?" asked our new friends as we joined them in the bar.
      "Well, yes and no," I replied, "we spent about ten pounds more but had an unforgettable experience, it was quite exciting really."
       "You speak for yourself," said Rose darkly, still thinking of the big animals, insects and ghostly Inca virgins at Chechen Itsa in the Mexican jungle. "Next time I will look after the money and sort out the transport and you can just leave the wooden native masks and glass pyramids were they are."
         We were back in civilization, bar staff noisily made tequila slammers, a Mexican quartet played and the late night buffet was set out. 'It was good fun I thought', but this time I kept the thought to myself!

Copyright Paul Hurley
January 2007
Words 1,000

Cuba. Sunny Climate and Sunny People

Spain, Portugal and the Canaries. The usual foreign holiday destinations for the settee bound Corrie watching and kebab eating Britons. Why not flaunt the flab at a more exotic destination? Why not go to Cuba? 
         Cuba has reinvented itself, but still remains one of the only representatives of pure communism worldwide. After the USSR folded, their main support was pulled away and they had, for the first time since 1959, to stand on their own feet. With a superb climate and blue waters, the obvious choice to make a few bob was tourism. They picked a far away coastal bit of the island to set up a holiday resort from scratch; they called it 'Varadero' after a Honda motorbike, or was it the other way round?
         It must be admitted however that they had some hurdles to cross to get there. Money was not one of them. Eventually they will be allowed back into western society, and so investing good western money is not a bad risk. Unless you live in the USA, they are still banned from investing. The investors had to work around an infrastructure so run down and neglected as to resemble England in 1945. So far, it has gone well but there is further to go yet. 
         Let us look at a Cuban holiday through the eyes of a typical British couple, us.
        Wishing for something different, we booked a week in Cuba at the Gran Hotel in Varadero. The tickets arrived, we were to fly with 'Cubana' the national airline of Cuba, and it was a scheduled flight into Havana after which we would board a bus for the remainder of the journey to our hotel. From Manchester we would fly to Gatwick to collect the rest of the passengers, and then on to Havana, it sounded all right.
         The plane was a Russian Antonov or some such name, either way; the interior was lined in pink melamine. Barry Bucknell would have been proud to have it on his DIY programme in the 1950s. It was packed, every seat was taken. The plane may have been old with second hand interior fittings taken from a 1954 English kitchen, but the staff was excellent. A theme that we were to experience intermittently throughout the holiday, the cabin staff was easily as good as those on the best Eastern Airlines.
         Twelve and half-hours out of Manchester we were told that due to the weather in Havana, we were to land at Varadero Airport. Great, we thought, that cuts out the two and a half hour bus ride.
 Wrong, we were to wait in Varadero airport for at least an hour, then get back on and fly the last forty five minutes to Havana. We were driven back up the steps to the aircraft; the only things missing were the cattle prods!
          Late at night we arrive at Havana, a load of tired people who had been traveling for between twelve and fourteen hours. The immigration control boxes looked like welcoming beacons in a bleak night, once through those, we will be on the way.
        We all got in the queues to each of the empty desks. It can’t take long, we thought, ours is the only plane in! The staff in their olive green Fidel Castro look-alike uniforms chatted and smoked cigarettes and cigars in the foyer beyond and we waited.  One hour, Two hours, this cannot be happening; they must have run out of cigarettes and cigars by now. Every time someone went to a booth, there was a sigh from the crowd until they saw that they were only after a clean ashtray.
          Two and a half hours and there was a casual opening of the desks and we started to move. It was slower than ordinary airports, but then ordinary airports didn’t have so many international spies and subversives passing through with suspicious names such as 'Airtours and Co-op Travel' on their bags. Once through though and we would find all of the baggage waiting for us with dust covering it. Wouldn’t we?
          Wrong. It took another one and a half hours to come along the conveyor belt. By now the most meek and mild amongst us was definitely getting slightly annoyed. The rest were livid. Then we had to face a bus journey of two hours to go back to where we were some four hours earlier. When we finally arrived some sixteen hours after leaving Manchester, we booked in and went to bed.
          The following morning a quick exploration revealed that it had all been worthwhile. The hotel was beautiful, right on the beach with pools, bars and palm trees. It had the making of a peaceful and relaxing holiday; there was even a piano bar. It was also all inclusive, we had been on an all inclusive holiday in Mexico and it would be difficult to compare it to that. To be fair, Mexico was far more slick and professional, we later went all-inclusive in Sri Lanka and that came between the two.
          The rooms were perfect and the restaurant was self-service, the food was plain and good. It was like a mother would have prepared in the 1940s, everything resembled home made food with lots of rich and stodgy cake. There was however a total inability to control the flies, they were everywhere. If someone went and sold those neon insect killers they would make a fortune! Even the beer tasted as if it had been made with a Boot's home brew kit and that’s not a complaint! But once again, the staff did their best and nothing was too much trouble. You could even buy unopened bottles from the all-inclusive bar, for some reason though; you had to pay a small fee for these and the barman sort of passed them to you in a brown bag!
          At the start of our bus trip from the airport, we had noticed how nice the roads were, and then we had fallen asleep. On a day trip back to Havana, we saw them in the daylight. The roads around the airport were nicely laid out with a tarmac surface. After a few miles, you fell off the end and the rest of them were crumbling. In fact that would be a good word to describe the rest of Cuba, 'crumbling'. The roads were doing it, the buildings were doing it and the cars were doing it. The whole country is just one large crumble! The vehicles on the roads were large vulgar and very old pre 1959 American ones. There were also Russian and Czechoslovakian cars, (Including Lada stretched limousines!) and a few newish Japanese cars.
          What the country lacked in amenities and infrastructure it made up for in atmosphere and friendly people. It was easy to see why Ernest Hemmingway had made it his own. Eventually, Fidel Castro will go to the great proletariat in the sky, the Americans will move back and the country will become a big holiday camp. Until then, it is there to be enjoyed.
          The flight back was on the same Russian Jet, this time, there were only 27 of us and we flew straight back to Manchester. Why go to the European resorts every year when for a similar price you can be exotic and go to Cuba. Get through the officialdom and an excellent holiday awaits you.

Copyright Paul Hurley
January 2007
Words 1,228

Delamere Camp. Mid Cheshire does its bit for the war effort.
At the start of the war throughout Cheshire military establishments were being re-activated or set up to join the war effort. Air bases at Byley and Tatton Park were in action and airfields at Little Sutton and Calveley were under construction. Montgomery was not yet a Field Marshall but a few years later he would join US General's Patton and Eisenhower at Peover Hall near Knutsford to work on plans for the invasion of Europe. Whilst there he would dine and take refreshment in the Bells of Peover pictured here.

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