The Hillman was our current transportation and Dad had not owned it for very long. Despite it’s unreliable engine, and decaying bodywork, Dad still referred to it as his “new’ car. Prior to Hillman our principle mode of conveyance had been a Ford pork pie van. Although it had high mileage, it was mechanically sound, and Dad had managed to strike a good deal with the local butcher to acquire it. It had the advantage of being able to carry a large payload on Dad’s regular trips to Bollington’s, and almost every week he would set off to the auction house with a truckload of good saleable items, and return with an equally large cargo of skillfully negotiated useless junk. It was the ideal vehicle for Dad.If the pie van had any disadvantage it was the large sign that graced the side panels and back doors of the vehicle that read, “Smith’s Pork pies.” It was beautifully scripted in gold with a large picture of a steaming pork pie over block-lettered text that read, “The best in the land.” There was also a picture of plump pork sausages, visible behind the pork pie. They looked to have been fried to perfection and their swollen crispy skins were golden brown. The skillful artist who created the picture had even drawn wisps suggesting the mouthwatering aroma of well- seasoned meat rising gracefully from the food. Whenever we parked the vehicle we would return to find numerous people gathering around the van demanding that we sell them pork pies. Even our cat would sit and stare at it for hours. Some people, seeing us drive by would actually follow us home and pull up behind us in the driveway requesting the tasty dish advertised on the sides. Dad would often have to open the back doors and show them that the area they expected to be full of pork pies was actually used for building materials, fire wood or the latest batch of Bollington’s treasure.
Dad eventually assigned Pete the job of painting over the signs but several weeks passed before he completed the task. Until that time, we continued to fight off hoards of hungry people clamoring for some of Mr. Smith’s delicacies.
Prior to the Pork Pie Ford was the Austin.
My father purchased it in a moment of madness after Mum’s declaration that she liked the color. In the several months that Dad tried to drive it, we were plagued by constant mechanical breakdowns. The engine made a loud knocking noise that drove Dad crazy, and if you exceeded twenty miles per hour a whining sound emanated from the gearbox and got louder as the car’s speed increased. The rear door on Pete’s side did not close properly, and I always suspected that Dad secretly hoped that Pete would one day fall out. My job was to gaze out of the back window, which was cracked, and watch for road bumps or potholes. If we hit any, which we almost always did when Dad was driving, the boot would open by itself and anything inside would fall out.
Dad finally gave the car a decent burial by driving it past rat barn and deep into the sea of stinging nettles and brambles beyond. That’s where it remained to this day, rusting and overgrown with weeds and creeping vines. It served out the remainder of its life by being a source of engine parts, spare wheels, bolts, brackets and many other improvised solutions to my father’s needs.
Steve R. Drage
Mud Lane. http://www.mudlane.net/
Copyright © 2011 Stephen R Drage
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