The Story of Old Yeller

The fifteen years of my ownership have been condensed a bit, you'll be glad to learn! Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin:

In the beginning (all right, 1977) there was an Austin A40 Devon - with the relatively cool registration number: KDG 427 - for which Great Things were planned (aren't they always?); the Things in question proceeded as far as whipping out the oily bits and re-arranging the front panels to tilt forward in one piece. Then I decided to buy a '47 Morris 8 van which I'd seen advertised - having briefly forgotten that you should never, ever, continue to read Exchange & Mart when you've already bought something. The Morris was a bit of a shed - in fact it was being used as one - but with a battery, liberal doses of Easy-Start and huge volumes of smoke, it started and ran. I loved it immediately, but then, I'm a sucker for commercial vehicles - and, to be honest, a sucker.

After a year or so even I had to admit that, lacking a garage, there were rather too many of my embryonic rods littering the bailiwick and so the Austin went (in the direction of Steve 'Juiced FX4 Taxi' Birchall, who put it on the road - but that's his story as well as History). During this time the the Morris's wheezing 750cc Flathead had been replaced by 1098cc of throbbing Morris Minor 'power' - which proved easily a match for the original suspension - but I was young & wild: I wanted more! So, with a cry of: "I made those engine-mounts and I'm darned-well going to use them!", out came the 1098 to be replaced by a 1275cc Spridget item. If the handling had been interesting before, it became downright fascinating in this form.

Fortunately, I broke my leg on holiday before I could kill myself or anyone else with the van. During the non-driving months which followed, those voices in my head started telling me to have the roof chopped. You know what it's like, I'm sure. Off it went to A Company Which Will Remain Nameless Because They Didn't Know What They Were Doing Ltd and came back looking gorgeous. Only later did I discover The Horrors Beneath The Bondo (great name for a band) but I shan't bore you with that story. I haven't finished boring you with this one yet. Once back on my feet and its wheels, several relatively uneventful years passed, punctuated by a coat of red-oxide primer (the van, not me. Actually both - I'm a messy painter) and the occasional spin on a wet roundabout (not much weight; big bias-belts on the back - normal sort of thing) to provide my motoring adrenalin-rush. Then, suddenly, it was....

...1987 and 'Street Machine Magazine's John O'Groat's-to-Land's End "Cruise For Charity" loomed. A special effort was called for (the 1275 had expired rather spectacularly on the M25 anyway: I had to drive the last 5 miles home at 30mph, laying smoke like a WW2 Destroyer! It got me home but never started again.). So, what to do? At this point Steve Birchall re-enters our tale: it had at some point already been given HC Viva (just to be different) front suspension, but without Steve's encouragement, nagging and sheer hard graft it would not have received its Morris Oxford rear axle, P6 Rover V-8, re-wire and MoT in time for the Cruise. Oh, and fresh (two-tone this time) primer. At 4.00 a.m. we finished re-welding the rear-axle mounts and re-fitting the axle, which had come adrift on its post-MoT shake-down run. Later that same day we drove in convoy to Euston Station and loaded our cars on the train to Inverness. (I think there's a song in there somewhere; something along the lines of: "There were something something something on the train to Inverness..." but I'll let you do the final composition) Don't panic, the story of the "Cruise For Charity" is even longer than this one so I'm not going to tell it here; ask Steve. Or Tony Beadle (whose other achievements include inventing "Classic American" Magazine), as it was all his idea. Suffice to say that, rough but ready (just), it completed the full distance - and the drive back to Surrey from Land's End - and my previously-untried engine used only slightly more oil than petrol in the process.

Back home again, a couple more Rover V-8s resulted in a good one, and some 15" rear wheels with tall tyres improved the 90mph-flat-out top speed, whilst not hitting the acceleration too much. And - luxury of luxuries - that coat of paint, which resulted in the name: the Yeller Feller. It had to be done because I couldn't think of a rhymer for Primer. Oh bugger...

But things move on and Old Yeller had to move on too, when I could no longer pretend to the Family or myself that he/she/it was: a Sensible (wrong) Family (wrong) Car (wrong). 0 out of 3 is not too good, even by my standards. But cheer up - he/she/it was replaced by the Chaika: a Sensible (wrong) Family (questionable) car (right). One-and-a-half out of three; that will do nicely.

If I had to sum up The Yeller Feller briefly (and if you've read this far I bet you wish I had) it would be thus:

In its final form it went like a scalded cat; and it always handled like a scalded cat (on wet Lino).

Lovely.


Glorious (Austin) Devon	Van with 1275cc and 1970's stance
With untouched example; Cruise For Charity, 1987	Yellow Alert!
The fifteen years of my ownership have been condensed a bit, you'll be glad to learn! Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin: In the beginning (all right, 1977) there was an Austin A40 Devon - with the relatively cool registration number: KDG 427 - for which Great Things were planned (aren't they always?); the Things in question proceeded as far as whipping out the oily bits and re-arranging the front panels to tilt forward in one piece. Then I decided to buy a '47 Morris 8 van which I'd seen advertised - having briefly forgotten that you should never, ever, continue to read Exchange & Mart when you've already bought something. The Morris was a bit of a shed - in fact it was being used as one - but with a battery, liberal doses of Easy-Start and huge volumes of smoke, it started and ran. I loved it immediately, but then, I'm a sucker for commercial vehicles - and, to be honest, a sucker. After a year or so even I had to admit that, lacking a garage, there were rather too many of my embryonic rods littering the bailiwick and so the Austin went (in the direction of Steve 'Juiced FX4 Taxi' Birchall, who put it on the road - but that's his story as well as History). During this time the the Morris's wheezing 750cc Flathead had been replaced by 1098cc of throbbing Morris Minor 'power' - which proved easily a match for the original suspension - but I was young & wild: I wanted more! So, with a cry of: "I made those engine-mounts and I'm darned-well going to use them!", out came the 1098 to be replaced by a 1275cc Spridget item. If the handling had been interesting before, it became downright fascinating in this form. Fortunately, I broke my leg on holiday before I could kill myself or anyone else with the van. During the non-driving months which followed, those voices in my head started telling me to have the roof chopped. You know what it's like, I'm sure. Off it went to A Company Which Will Remain Nameless Because They Didn't Know What They Were Doing Ltd and came back looking gorgeous. Only later did I discover The Horrors Beneath The Bondo (great name for a band) but I shan't bore you with that story. I haven't finished boring you with this one yet. Once back on my feet and its wheels, several relatively uneventful years passed, punctuated by a coat of red-oxide primer (the van, not me. Actually both - I'm a messy painter) and the occasional spin on a wet roundabout (not much weight; big bias-belts on the back - normal sort of thing) to provide my motoring adrenalin-rush. Then, suddenly, it was.... ...1987 and 'Street Machine Magazine's John O'Groat's-to-Land's End "Cruise For Charity" loomed. A special effort was called for (the 1275 had expired rather spectacularly on the M25 anyway: I had to drive the last 5 miles home at 30mph, laying smoke like a WW2 Destroyer! It got me home but never started again.). So, what to do? At this point Steve Birchall re-enters our tale: it had at some point already been given HC Viva (just to be different) front suspension, but without Steve's encouragement, nagging and sheer hard graft it would not have received its Morris Oxford rear axle, P6 Rover V-8, re-wire and MoT in time for the Cruise. Oh, and fresh (two-tone this time) primer. At 4.00 a.m. we finished re-welding the rear-axle mounts and re-fitting the axle, which had come adrift on its post-MoT shake-down run. Later that same day we drove in convoy to Euston Station and loaded our cars on the train to Inverness. (I think there's a song in there somewhere; something along the lines of: "There were something something something on the train to Inverness..." but I'll let you do the final composition) Don't panic, the story of the "Cruise For Charity" is even longer than this one so I'm not going to tell it here; ask Steve. Or Tony Beadle (whose other achievements include inventing "Classic American" Magazine), as it was all his idea. Suffice to say that, rough but ready (just), it completed the full distance - and the drive back to Surrey from Land's End - and my previously-untried engine used only slightly more oil than petrol in the process. Back home again, a couple more Rover V-8s resulted in a good one, and some 15" rear wheels with tall tyres improved the 90mph-flat-out top speed, whilst not hitting the acceleration too much. And - luxury of luxuries - that coat of paint, which resulted in the name: the Yeller Feller. It had to be done because I couldn't think of a rhymer for Primer. Oh bugger... But things move on and Old Yeller had to move on too, when I could no longer pretend to the Family or myself that he/she/it was: a Sensible (wrong) Family (wrong) Car (wrong). 0 out of 3 is not too good, even by my standards. But cheer up - he/she/it was replaced by the Chaika: a Sensible (wrong) Family (questionable) car (right). One-and-a-half out of three; that will do nicely. If I had to sum up The Yeller Feller briefly (and if you've read this far I bet you wish I had) it would be thus: In its final form it went like a scalded cat; and it always handled like a scalded cat (on wet Lino). Lovely.
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