Tong

Is it really 12 months? Did I do a write up last year, I can't remember but, have no fear Cocksy's here. OK Russell, I know I have neglected you but I'm back so here goes.

Once upon a time there were four Landie owners, one called Michael Heywood,
one called Michael Higson, one called Peter Coonan and the last was called Clive
Cocks. They all lived in the sleepy little village of Whalley. On Friday night before the big party the four Landie owners gathered in the Swan.

Michael Heywood and .. .! This is crap.

The usual crowd, 1 amp, Squirrel, Pete can I do owt, Craig and myself
congregated in the Swan the night before Tong. Oh no we didn’t, Squirrel was missing. So the rest of us agreed to meet up at 1 amp's on Saturday morning.

I rolled up about 11 a.m. with Craig. 1 amp was ready and so were all the kids,
Torchie, Wee Willie, Little Rolph and Craig, Whowa! We now have two Craigs. Craig junior and Craig senior. Let's see, Craig senior has been with us for three years now and he's a plumber. The first year he came, our tent leaked. The leak must have known he was a plumber 'cos it poured on him all night and he soaked it all up, so for future reference and to avoid confusion, Craig senior is now christened 'Spongie'.

Do you like that Craig? Tough, you're landed with it.

Anyway I digress. As I said Spongie and I arrived at 1 amp's about 11 a.m.

Everything was ready, except the brews. All we had to do was wait for Pete.

Pete wasn't long. When he arrived El came out with the brews; no she didn't,
she came out to wave us off.

We had all said farewell to our loved ones so 1 amp turned to loved one to kiss
her goodbye. El was too quick though, she shot in between 1 amp and his beloved
garage and caught a smacker right on the lips. Well done, El. I think I might bring
a flask down next time, or maybe a little juicy box, or a can, or a bottle of water.

Anyway, we were off. I led with Little Rolf sat in. Pete followed, 1 amp came
next with a rake of kids in his shiny white Rangie and Spongie brought up the rear.

We made our way to the petrol station. Everyone filled up and I collected all the
air miles. I think I got enough to get me about four miles out of Manchester.

So off we went and a fairly uneventful trip saw us arrive at Tong just before 1
p.m. We sited ourselves in the bottom corner close to the bar and close to the bogs.

This year we were really organised, we had two tents: the old orange sieve was
for cooking and sheltering from rain, wait for it, we had a brand new tent, well not
brand new, but new to us and, wait for it, no instructions. Spongie picked it up and

he had a drawing. So we set about it, and after a lot of "What the bloody hell's this",
and "Where's this go" and "Where's that go", it was erected. All seemed well but
Spongie and I couldn't weigh up the lift up flap. Anyway, it was up and it was dry.

Lunch was served, then after that we challenged the lads to a volley ball
match.

We, the dad's gave the lads a right good stuffing 2.0, 2.0, 2.0, da de da da de da. So they sloped off to the bike trial with their bottom lips trailing on their chests.

Spongie and I didn't bother going to watch and had another look at this flap.
After a bit of poking and shoving we decided what was wrong. We had actually put
the tent up inside out. How about that. Anyway, we put it right and prepared for the
evening meal, chilli again with new potatoes and fresh brown bread.

Just as everything was about ready, up rolled Squirrel, just in time for dinner.
It seemed to go down well, everyone filled, we decided to move to the beer tent.

It was nice to see a few faces we knew including good old Boss Hoskins. Anne Whittaker joined us for a while and we had a good few drinks and a natter. Time for bed.

This new tent wasn't just as big as the other so I volunteered to sleep outside
the bedroom compartment. You may call this foolish, but I am a very warm blooded
person, so there was no problem keeping warm and I was just out of resonating range
of 1 amp's snoring, so it wasn't a good night's sleep, but it was better than usual.

I got up about 7 a.m., but Little Rolf had beaten me to it. He had been round
the woods on his bike. Bloody little barm pot. Anyway, I had breakfast and as each
bleary-eyed waifs and strays appeared I made theirs in turn.

So let the trial commence. I must admit it seemed a bit disorganised to begin
with, but everything soon jockeyed into position and off we went with our marshal
Kevin and his crew.

We trundled down to the bottom in search of Section 9. Kevin couldn't find it,
we were lost. So we sat there until Kevin ran about frantically until he eventually found out that Raymond had given us the wrong directions. So we all turned round and roared off to Section 9. Now you must appreciate the situation. There we were, half an hour late with the biggest group in the trial.

Section 9 — Pete was on the line and roared off to the big gully. I must admit
he gave it his best shot, but ended up back end in the mud. Some bright bugger,
I think it was 1 amp, suggested he drove down the gully. That was daft because all
he did was sink further in.

Never mind, send another motor through then we'll sort Pete out. 'Course, the
other motor got stuck as well so we had to get another motor round to the front to pull him out. What performance that was. Eventually I got cheesed off and drove up to the other side and yanked Pete out.

Everyone 'ummed and 'arhed about whether or not to send any more through.
Oh hell, let's have a go. I did my best but slithered to a halt half way up the other
side of the gully. At this point everyone else decided to drive up to the gully and collect a three, meanwhile I was still stuck half way up the hill. Eventually someone came and pulled me out.

Section 10 — This seemed fairly easy, so off we went. I was thinking too much
about the two big ruts ahead and came to rest with a thud on a tree stump. Ten points and the nickname of Stumpy for the rest of the day. Not a good start.

Section 1 — This looked OK apart from a fairly mean axle twister. Go for the ...
"crack" — one half shaft gone and my track rod was bent like a boomerang. That's
it, I thought, I'm going to retire and get ready for the comp.

Just then Karl Blackledge appeared.

"What's up?" he enquired.

"Bust half shaft," I replied.

"I've got a tool."

"So have I," I smirked.

"Mine can knock half shafts out," he boasted.

"Bloody Hell."

"Come on, we'll have it done in a crack."

And we did — we changed the half shaft and straightened the track rod and
were back before our group had finished Section Two.

By this time, Lynne and Phil Seedall had joined the marshalling to help move
us on a bit. I lined up for the start and waited. There was a red Series 2 diesel stuck in the river. I looked down and decided that he was well away from the section so I asked Lynn if I could go

"Go on then," she replied.

"It's dinner time now," she said, then she looked up at me with those big brown
eyes and said:

"But do you think you could pull that motor out before you go?"
"Go on then."

So the only way down was down the section again and do a seven point turn
in and out of the river to get myself into position. Squirrel was there, thank God,
because we tugged, yanked, screamed, fell in the river. Eventually we dragged him
out by putting the rope round a tree and me pulling at 90° to the stricken motor.

Lunch at last. We just about had time to throw a butt down, then we were
off again.

Things were moving pretty well now and my scoring improved as well. All was
going well and I even crawled out of the river on Section 8, but missed the 4 stick.

1 amp was having a reasonable time and he hadn't even dented his little dinky
toy. This was until Section 8. Down the hill he crawled, plop, into the river, brum,
brum, up the bank but not far enough. Disappointment crept across his face. Bruumm bruumm — it's coming out, no it's not, oops, slither, slither, and over she goes.

Squirrel shot down the hill.
"His legs out," he shouted.
"Are you all right?" he enquired.
"Ney, bloody hell, yeh!" 1 amp replied.

Everyone was impressed by Squirrel's concern for his mate, but he really needn't have bothered because 1 amp's leg didn't fall out, he was just trying to let his little dinky down gently. Rumour has it he was even shouting for people to throw their coats under it. Anyway what did he get? ... a tiny little dent in his wing. I didn't believe it.

So we battled our way through the rest of the sections and finished no later than any other group.

Well done Kevin and his crew and to Lynne and Phil for helping out and getting
the group through the sections as quickly as they could.

Back to camp.

My delightful stew paled into insignificance because of the lengthy scrutineering and the late finish on the trial. Nevertheless, my evening was enlightened by Lynne Oliver agreeing to navigate for me. Ardent followers of my write-ups may recall that last year Lynne sat in for two half laps. I promised her something better this year.

So off we went on the run round. Not Lynne and I, but Craig and I. All went well but at the end Craig said; "You missed a turning out there."

"Don't be daft".

Anyway, first run. We set off fairly sedately as we approached the end just past
the old start. Lynne shouted "right". What's she on about I thought, we always turn left here but she was right and so was Craig. I had missed the turning through the trees on the run round so a whole section opened up to me. Down the hill into the mud, splat, we were in darkness. We continued with what I can only describe as narrow tunnel vision, but we did and finished a very disappointing 8.48.

Next run. Things went better, but I still wanted to turn left at the bend before
the drop into the trees.

"Right, right!" Lynne screamed.

"Sorry".

But nevertheless the lap was going great. As we approached the next to the
last straight I could hear someone gaining on us. I thought, give it death, only one
more straight, one hairpin and the final straight. Unfortunately, I over-cooked it onthe hairpin and drove straight into the ditch.

Crunch. I jumped out, surveyed the scene and decided that we were stuck for the night.

Just then, three bar Andy Bury arrived and suggested that with a little bit of
opposite lock it might drive out.

It did start and did shuffle itself straighter. Then the right foot took over and by
fair means or foul it climbed out and finished the lap in 12 min. or so.

Back to the pits. As someone put it to me, my wing now looked like a dishcloth
which had been washed and left outside in the frost. Further inspection revealed that the spring had broken too. Never mind, let's finish the night off in style.

The last run went fine, but at the spot where Lynne had been shouting right,
right, all night, suddenly she had a change of heart.

"Left, left," she screamed.
"No, right," I chuckled.
Anyway we finished that lap at 7.04.
Time for the bar.

The usual diehards stayed for a few drinks and eventually about 1 a.m. we all
went to bed.

Monday — I was up at sparrow fart as usual looking for a spring and a shock
absorber. They were found and breakfast began.

Lynne breezed over about 9 a.m. and calmly asked "Are we ready?" I bit my lip.

The days runs went quite well and by now Lynne had learned how to hold it in
for me.

"No, no", the gear lever. I thought the old box wouldn't survive the trial, but
it did and with Lynne's assistance it survived the comp as well. Anyway the day was
coming to a close, we hadn't a chance of winning so the the last run I suggested
that we just potter round or go for Boss's fastest time of 6.10.

"What do you think," I enquired.

"Go for it," Lynne urged.

Ok, 5-4-3-2-1 go. Everything went perfect, except for the last bend and the humps,
but nevertheless, 6.04.

"Why didn't you drive it like that all the time," Lynne enquired.

"Because I've got to drive it home," I assured her.

Which brings me on to a more sober note. There I am, I have had my old crate
since 1986, it drives to events, it competes, and hopefully it drives home again. Over the years I've been asked to change my "U" bolts to high tensile bolts and plates, I've been asked to change my back member when it became too rotten and I've even been asked to put split pins in my track rod ends which have never had splits in all the time I've been racing. All these things I have done.

"Now I have to have a log book. Well, let me tell you now Mr. RAC Scrutineer,
my Landrover was made in 1967, I have modified it internally but it is still a bog
standard shape Series II with a V8 engine in it. Now, if you find that my bumper is an inch too high, or my wheel nuts are too low, you can stuff you rule book where
the money shoves his nuts, and I will retire.

Having got that off my chest, it only remains to say what a wonderful weekend
it was, Superb trial sections mainly laid out by Andy Bury and Phil Hargreaves. Excellent comp course routed by Gareth Almond. Maybe too many left-handers, sorry Gareth, no, excellent. My apologies for not staying for the prizegiving but time was rolling on and I had to nurse the old Thunderbus home.

Thanks of course to the land owner and the marshals and to everyone who helped
make the weekend special. Congratulations to all the winners and maybe, God willing, we'll all meet at the next event. - Bye for now,

Clive Cocks
P.S. — Lynne, have I got myself a permanent navigator?
P.P.S. — How's the knees, mine are all yellow and blue, Cheers — Clive.

THE CASE OF THE MOVING STICKS!

Late Saturday morning we arrived at Whitworth to find Dave McGivern stuck,
wheels dangling, on a lump (not Carol!!). Time to test the repaired crossmember
(bodgit and scarper). With a sharp tug he was off, with my chassis still intact. No
sooner had we tackled that task he was of and stuck again!

Meanwhile, at the horsebox, Michael Chaloner and two lads were cutting points
on to the new sticks purchased for the new event, two sections in one, RTV and CCV.
Penny and I loaded the motor with some sticks and set off under Russell's instructions to find some interesting terrain.

We followed Dave's lead and got stuck on a steep banking. Thanks for the tow,
Keith (Tidswell),

Setting up two sections in one got quite interesting with sticks all over the place
(Cones hotline). The first section we set had two sticks on the driver's side (12 gate) and one on the other. This denoted the start to both the RTV and CCV sections. Gate 11 was the same and then came the tricky bit — two separate gates from 10 down to 1 which got really confusing on Sunday for some drivers, especially as both sets of number socks were the same colour. Russell, Clerk of the Course, arrived to drive the CCV section and I drove the RTV part. I took time to remove some nasty looking stones on the top of a banking midway through the section, in the interests of preserving my crossmember.

Meanwhile back at the horsebox the axemen were still going strong although
one of the junior axemen had been sacked for wielding his axe too close to Michael
C's nose.

Russell, Greg Holdsworth and Dave M. were setting a section in the car park
area. I drove the first part of the section but commented to Greg that the "wall of
death" was a little steep at 75 degrees. After a slight alteration (wider gates) I managed to get round.

Setting out wound up around 4.00 p.m. after a very enjoyable day. The axemen
were later found under a large pile of sawdust with a 12 gate on the top ...

Sunday morning — event day — I was wearing my clogs so I arrived early. Good
job though as we discovered that most of the sticks we had laboured over the previous day had been removed by some thoughtful person or persons unknown.

Everybody then had to rally round to get them back in before the start. I had
to dismantle my motor for scrutineering after resetting my sections. I passed with
no problems as did Penny in her motor.

Carol Widdop, one of my regular navigators was marshalling so I had to go it
alone! I was doing really well, lots of crunching, scraping and horn blowing (ooer!).
I found time to watch a few through one of the sections I had set out. After the widening of the 5 gate for Steve Dobbie (his motor, not him personally), due to his complaint of being too narrow for a lightweight to traverse, I witnessed my friend, Keith Tidswell, roll his motor on to its side between gates 10 and 11. When someone asked later who set out the section I made myself scarce.

Thanks to everyone who set out Saturday and to everyone who set out again
on Sunday! and to the phantom stick-pullers, whoever they may be — ©**!©**!

Keith Normanton

(on the case) with a little help from Ed.

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