Astle Park 1000 Engine Rally
Interesting. I'd not been to this rally before and whilst perhaps there were not a thousand engines present, there were certainly more than I'd seen in any other place by a good long way. The engines, tractors, hot fog vehicles and old cars & bikes were in serried ranks arrayed with a reasonable distance between each one. Camping and caravans were scattered around the site in profusion, but even here there was an underwhelming sign of overt organisation, just tidily parked because that seemed to be the thing to do. I was most impressed, actually and any Health and Safety officer would have been mildly pleased to see such underlying common sense exhibited by so many.
I arrived at 10.30pm on Friday, found a spot in the line up, put up my gazebo (ably assisted by Neville, who knew me from somewhere), unloaded the engines and went to the beer tent. I had a cyder but couldn't see anyone I knew, so went to bed. Nature called me at the ungodly hour of 5.45 and I knew it was useless going back to bed, so went in search of petrol, finding it on the M6. Back for breakfast and a wander around the auction site where absolutely nothing called to me. I looked at various things in the club stand, some of which did call to me but none of them loudly enough to get my wallet out - in fact, the only thing I found to interest me was a pressure gauge which the bloke apologised for the needle being stuck at just under 15 psi. So I gave him £1.50 for it .
It was now 10.00am or so, so I wandered back to the line up, started the engines (Coventry Victor MA2 and Norman T300 marine engine, plus my hybrid Iron Horse teaser and the Edgar Westbury 80 watt) in time for it to rain. No sooner done than a steward arrived to tell me I must remove my gazebo. It appears that they are not allowed at this rally (completely news to me!!) as " . they are dangerous when they blow away."
R-i-g-h-t.
I argued with all the authority and eloquence of which I am capable as the rain pattered on the plastic roof above us, but he stuck to his guns and offered me the loan of a fishing umbrella. This I accepted with reasonably good grace, but I was not happy to cower thus before the occasional flurries of rain and decided then that I'd be on my way that evening. Dave Croft had posted a .jpg of the rules at
I walked around the stalls for a while and was struck by the ever-increasing number of stalls selling tools and WD equipment. There seem to be more and more at every event I attend.
Back through the engine pens and an exciting array of engines both ancient and modern, including a Norman T300 that spent its entire day INSIDE a fishing tent, gleaming but silent. Philip T-E remarked upon the sheer number of engines that must have been cast in water-soluble iron as they were tightly sheeted down for the whole day with none going near them let alone running them. Many that were cheerfully running in the rain were stared at, but none called to me to get my chair for a longer look. It was noticeable (as usual) that cantankerous and hard-to-start engines attracted the onlooker whilst those quietly pursuing their lawful occasions were unremarked. Damp, windy fields are no place for hot bulb engines! May you live with an Interesting Engine, perhaps ;o))
This hobby is a small enough world for one to collect a number of friends and acquaintances in quite a short time, but I was nonetheless surprised at the number of people that said "Hello Kim". Included amongst the ones I could place a name to was Andy Badman that had sold me the Norman marine engine and the Westbury 80 watt I was exhibiting, the guy next to me on my left was Paul to whom I'd sold a Wolseley magneto and Jim Anderson from Edinburgh, the previous owner of my much prized ABC auxiliary engine appeared like a genii from a lamp to make my day complete. Amongst the usual suspects, Philip Thornton-Evison, Tim Leech, a Wild and Wolseley Scotsman, Nick Highfield and his wife Helen, Dave Croft and Arthur Griffin who arrived in his usual quiet fashion expecting me to have forgotten him! I lost count of the people who came up and discussed the Parsons with me, each saying that they'd been to look at it or thought about buying it and complimenting me on my nerve on taking on such a nerve-wracking long distance tow. Sheer bloody-minded stupidity, more like . I wasn't taking notes, so I know I've forgotten some names - my apologies for that.
Having been involved in outdoor events for many years, I'm interested to see the level of control - or the lack of it - at events like this. We are a pretty decent, clean living, urban set of people, so I suppose there is no real reason for a tightly written set of rules, but I could find no one to tell me what time the public arrived or were encouraged to leave, what time we could get vehicles on, leave or whatever - although it is true I did not go to the lengths of asking at the caravan. So I resolved of my own authority to turn my engines off at 4.45 and fetch the car at five. This I did, stripped my rather soggy patch and, returning the fishing umbrella on the way out, made my way in advance of the two coach parties to the Anson Museum just ten miles away.
Regards,
Kim Siddorn,