Monday 9th August 1999 - we made plans. Independently we decided to head for Cricceth for the antiques fair and then, well who knows where. It was around noon as we set off, in convoy heading for Nefyn. We were approaching Y Ffôr, when I called Nip up on the CB, "there's a house coming down the hill", I told him, but as we approached this mobile home we discovered it was being, or rather was not being towed by an ex-military, Series III, LWB Land Rover. Further more it had been a radio vehicle so was a 24 volt example, with a Salisbury rear differential and removable cross member on the chassis, for easy access to the gear box or clutch from below, they were in trouble. If it had been any other type of vehicle, a Robin Reliant for instance, pulling the mobile home, we would have reached Cricceth - BUT - The cry went up "Land Rover in distress".  

The off side wheel of this house extension (for that is what it was to be) had split and of course it decided to disintegrate not far from a corner, on the fastest stretch of the road between Y Ffôr and Nefyn, therefore Hoagy, the driver of this prince among vehicles, had no choice but to go

into four wheel drive and continue towing, or rather dragging his load a further twenty or so meters, to a marginally safer location. Naturally the wheel had, by now, buckled out of all recognition. Gromet's flashing beacon burst into life as we swung in behind them, while Nip carried on up to the corner, pulled over and activated his hazards. We leapt out of our respective vehicles, Gill stationed herself fore and I aft of the articulated home. I can now fully justify the great number of times I have avidly studied the film 'Monty Carlo or Bust', with particular reference to the sequence depicting the Italian policeman, with their modern ballet approach to traffic control.   Hoagy explained they were trying to get the mobile home to Rhosfawr Nurseries, Touring Caravans and Camping Park, Telephone 40 (0) 1766 810 545, as a staging post, prior to the longer run, about another 4 miles, along tortuous single track roads, to his mothers house, an idyllic cottage in an idyllic setting. Prior to our arrival on the scene a car had pulled up and spirited his wife, Tamar, away for help. With us directing traffic, Hoagy felt able to tackle the errant wheel, but no sooner had he laid himself, prostrate, in front of the jack or spanner than the cry went up "car coming", where upon he would emulate a gazelle leaping to safety on the Serengeti Plains. Eventually, however, after a great struggle, the wheel realised that further resistance was useless and gave up peaceably to Hoagy, leaving the axle ready to accommodate it's replacement. Minutes later Tamar returned with good news, 'Stan the Scrappy' was looking through his store of wheels and would be along presently. True enough, within half an hour he was there with the most creditable example of a caravan wheel you could hope to see, there was only one flaw, it's diameter was not as it should have been on this particular occasion. On his return, Stan the Scrappy, handed the correct wheel over, with great pomp and ceremony, where upon Hoagy slid it carefully onto the axle and secured it. With a great flourish he let the jack down - and the tyre! The day carried on like this - disaster - solution - disaster - solution - disaster, it was one of those days that comes shortly before a full eclipse, the tyre desperately required air, I had leant my electric pump to our neighbour, who leant it to friend, who burnt it out on a bouncy castle, Glynis then insisted I take theirs, " You never know, it could come in handy" her words echoed in my ears, as this little miracle of modern engineering chugged away merrily pumping 25 pounds of fresh Welsh air into Hoagy's newly acquired tyre. The tyre was still very flat but it kept the steel rim clear of the road. It was time to move. The instant the road was clear Nip swung into action. He was stationed at the van of our train, with head lights blazing and hazards blinking, while I reversed down the hill, behind the crippled convoy, lights and beacon flashing wildly. It was under half a mile to the safety of the lay by, next to the dairy, however we were spotted, almost instantly, out of the sun came a most aggressive milk tanker, it bore down on us, air horns blaring. The gesticulating driver conveyed the impression he would rather we were not there, this feeling was mutual. The trip seemed interminable, as we waited for the blow out or the collapsing of the gallant little wheel. but safety did come, we moved, as a body, to the right side of the road where we slipped quietly, but thankfully, into the waiting lay by. There was still air in the gallant little tyre, it had done well but Tamar and Hoagy had had enough. We agreed time for recuperation was essential, a trip to the Feathers in Llanystumdwy, home of Lloyd George, was most definitely in order. With out further adieu three Land Rovers shot up the road like the veritable bats out of hell.  While sitting in the side garden of the Feathers, on that sunny afternoon, we got to know one another. Hoagy is a musician and Tamar an artist, teaching art in London at present. As Rosie teaches art, and I too am art trained, a link appeared almost immediately, apart from the Land Rovers. Jessica also taught art in her younger days, coincidence after coincidence emerged during the day. It also transpired that this adventure actually began, for us, two years previously when we visited St. Bueno's, the little church at Pistyll. It was a beautiful day as we pulled up outside this most picturesque church, we were all traipsing down to it, in high spirits, when Laura tripped and fell, giving herself a very nasty cut on her knee, out came Gill's trusty first aid kit but despite this prompt attention the marks can still be seen today. The church itself was beautiful and was decorated with wild flowers and fruit, further more, to our astonishment, we found the grave of Rupert Davies, of Maigret fame, we were amazed. On Sunday we again visited the church but the grounds were over grown and the church was bare. We re-visited Rupert Davies grave before returning to the Land Rovers, but in the mean time Laura managed to encarsarate an irate wasp inside her jumper, it was livid and stung her several times.   As we sat in the pub chattering away, as though we had known one another for years we mentioned Pistyll church, they knew it well. I added "Ah, but did you know Maigret, Rupert Davies, was buried there". "Oh yes", said Tamar, he is Hoagy's father. Astonishment all round, we heard many stories, about Rupert's love of vehicles, boats and the cottage at Pistyll, how they bought it, brought it back to life and eventually moved in. After a drink, or two, and baguets, freshly baked at the shop over the road, we waved a fond farewell to the land lady. The tyre was further resuscitated, this time up to 50 psi, we dare not match the other at 75psi due to the state of the wheel. (As I write this I have had to close the door, despite the sunshine. We had a robin in here a couple of days ago, I had to catch it and take it out. This morning it has been the turn of the swallows, however, so far they have managed to find their own way out, after flying around the room.)

Once more the intrepid convoy set forth, but with a little more confidence, the tyre was, by now, quite cheerful having proved, to itself, that despite it's age and health it could still transport this huge caravan safely, it was raring to go. Our only problem was crossing the staggered cross roads at Y Ffôr, the surrounding vehicles had no understanding and, I suppose inevitably, one managed

to nip inbetween me, with my flashing roof light, and the caravan, where he was trapped for a good 3/4 of a mile. At Rhosfawr I swung across the road and blocked it, while Hoagy manoeuvred the van into the entrance and up the gravel road. Once there we were introduced to Margaret, a delightful lady from Scotland, in fact this whole episode introduced us to many very delightful people. We were invited back to his mother's house where we met Jessica who welcomed us in as though we had been firm friends for years. I think we all fell in love with both the cottage and Jessica on sight, not to mention Ewok, the little Shitsu cross. The other cats and dogs, all rescued animals, were lovely and friendly but Ewok was something very special. We remained there for hours listening to stories, drinking Early Grey tea and eating ginger biscuits. We even toured the extensive gardens. They were just unreal, they must rival any botanical gardens anywhere with the range of plants and trees, but with the addition of friendliness and happiness, something that can only grow into a garden and can not be found in any public garden, no matter how grand. Then, to add to this wonderful scene, there were the old Land Rovers nestling in amongst the plants.

 

We left around eight o'clock to watch the 16 ton, 6 wheeler coming up, the single track road, to pull the furniture van out of the ditch. The van had conveyed Ben's belongings up from London. Today was the day, Jessica's sister and Ben, after 20 years of planning, and at the age of 79 were moving in. They were within 200 meters of their goal when the van

emulated the fate of so many vehicles, on this narrow road, by slipping into the ditch. We had not been there twenty minutes when a growl could be heard in the distance getting louder by the minute until, with blazing lights, a huge vehicle slowly emerged over the hill. It filled the road and dwarfed the house next to it, it was massive and looked as though it had just come out of a show room, Apparently this huge Leyland no longer works for a living, it is in retirement with Tony who collects vehicles and brings them up to concourse condition. It required a three point turn just to get round the corner before going up the lane to the stricken furniture van, where horror of horrors, within ten minutes it too had succumbed to the ditch, this time on the other side of the road, the verges were deceptively soft and streams ran down either side. Tony could do nothing, the incredible power of his vehicle was useless. The three wheels in the ditch had nothing but soft mud and water to grip while the other wheels barely touched the road.

Further more there was nothing for the winch to pull against. Tony was low on fuel so I took two jerry cans to Y Ffôr for petrol, hoping that I would find my way back. I did but to Tony's dismay the petrol cap was locked and the keys were in the box on the other side, impossible to get to. We remained there, trying everything we could think of until around

eleven o'clockwhen we had to depart. My spot light's packed up and my head lights, on full beam, searched out the tops of the tree's making driving rather difficult, then to our total disbelief, on reaching Nefyn, there was an awful smell of burning and a horrendous noise from somewhere along the drive train. We pulled over, the heater had burnt out. On pulling away the noise was no less insistent so I stopped under a lamp post, Nip had watched and listened and was able to narrow it down to the front end.  While he drove off in search of food I jacked Gromet up and removed the off side front wheel, on turning it by hand it was more than obvious that the root of the problem was here. I have replaced the oil in the swivel joints with Land Rover grease, I thought this might be the problem, the use of this grease, in Series Land Rovers, is controversial. Nip returned, no luck with the food but he had a torch. After a close inspection he produced his trusty Swiss Army knife and dislodged a tiny piece of pink granite wedged between the brake disc and it's steel protective plate.

We chose the beach on Tuesday but on Wednesday, after the eclipse, (more of that later) we set off for Cricceth and Jessica's cottage, to see how they had fared. The errant road was closed but the vehicles had gone. Further more Hoagy and Tamar were still there, they should have been in London on Monday, but were still here having spent Tuesday unloading and

transporting two furniture van loads up the lane to Ben's house. The boss had come up, in the second van, ready to fire his driver, but after seeing the width of the lane and after Hoagy had explained that it really was not the drivers fault, many a vehicle had succumbed to the same fate on that stretch of road, he relented but of course he would not allow the second van to go up the lane, thus the relay of furniture had begun. Hoagy taking trailer load after trailer load up to the house with his Land Rover.   The story of the recovery was unfolded, in it's full glory, as we sat in the garden enjoying more tea and coffee. Eventually they too had to abandon everything on Monday night. Tony then returned on Tuesday with a very big JCB and a four wheel drive tractor. Hoagy brought half a dozen railway sleepers along and with a lot of pulling, shoving and lifting both the furniture van and the 16 ton beast were freed. The story was of course told in great detail, with all it's adventure and drama but I am conscious, dear reader, that I have written a great deal.   We spent the rest of the afternoon in conversation sipping tea and looking at Hoagy's Land Rover, his starter motor had packed up. After boiling his batteries and cleaning his contacts we gave up. Using a multi-meter we had traced the problem back to the starter motor itself and it had become obvious that it would have to come off. As they simply had to get to London we bump started it allowing Hoagy to drive it further round the garden where he parked it up, to remain there until his return. After exchanging addresses we waved a fond farewell to our new found friends and drove to our ultimate destination, Cricceth and Cadwaladers, for some of their excellent ice-cream.