This is the last report for 2001 - where has the year gone? This is the silly season, with all the dinners, barbecues and get-togethers, and our club is holding its Christmas function at the Greyway Lounge with a dine and dance - it will be a good night. This will be the last club activity for the year. The next outing is the New Years Day trip to Fairlie, for the parade and cruise. Yes, I have sold my Mk3 Zephyr and the new owner, Steven Forbes has the car looking really great. Steven intends joining the club in the New Year. I have filled the gap in my garage with Gary Hodder's Mk3 Zodiac - Anne is getting used to me arriving home with new Zephyrs!! All the best to everyone and I hope you have a great Christmas and New Year. We look forward to the activities being organised for you by your committee for 2002. Merry Christmas and Happy Zephyring. Bob Stevens President. |
The Mk2's outnumbered others on our November run. A good run around Claremont
and Holme Station to the St Andrews Domain where we had some time-trials.
Best time to Bob Stevens, closely followed by Dave Harkness. 1 January 2002 run to Fairlie Meet at Pak 'n Save at 11am for run to Fairlie. We will have lunch on the grass area at the south end then join the parade. Leaving Fairlie at 4.30 pm we will drive to Lake Opuha for a barbecue tea, then home via Cattle Valley and Raincliff. Bring your lunch and tea - barbecue provided. February 2002 - Lake run Are you interested in this run? Any ideas to make it interesting, let me know (688 1463). If the Zephyr is not going, bring your road car. Members of our club or other clubs are always welcome to join our runs. Peter Hunter Club Captain |
South Canterbury Zephyr & Zodiac Enthusiasts Club Timaru New Zealand |
Club Magazine December 2001 |
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For Sale MkIII Zephyr 1964 128,000 miles, 11,000 on rebore. Beige with green interior. Numerous spares including recon head, gearbox, radiator etc etc Contact Kevin Adams 18 Hockey St Christchurch. Ph 03 359-9374 MkIII Zodiac dashtops available. Contact Geoff Taylor for more details. Ph 03 303-7290 MkI Convertible - suitable for restoration, plus MkI saloon with O/D. Ph Phil Rooke 03 686-1812 or 025 350-674 Buy MkI Convertible - 2 Door handles wanted by Canadian enthusiast. Ph Mike 03 688-8391 MkIII Sunvisor - Expanded metal type Ph Mike 03 688-8391 |
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How did it escape the cutting torch? We can only imagine that it passed to the Experimental
Department, because it has some extra modifications not usually found
on a rally car, such as Girling disc brakes on all four wheels! At some stage it has been partially 'civilianised'. Tony told me that "the car has a mechanical tachometer in a special housing. It still has (very old and therefore probably original) perspex rear door windows; the rear offside quarterlight has a damaged but legible '9th Tulip Rally' sticker (ie from 1957). There is evidence of a hole cut in the upper part of the offside rear wing for a supplementary fuel tank filler, but this has been roughly filled-in at some time. It has Armstrong-type lever arm rear dampers with - and this is something I have never seen - adjustment knobs for stiffness. These must be very special original works car parts? In 1983 the Zephyr was bought by haulage contractor John Hutchin who wanted a car for Classic saloon car racing. He soon realised he had something special, but then business commitments came first and restoration was abandoned. He is now regaining his enthusiasm for the car. Article courtesy Thoroughbred & Classic Cars Magazine 1990 |
Ford had a policy of destroying their old rally cars in the Fifties, but Tony Dron,
who is interested in anything Ford Zephyz recently heard about a reputed ex-works
car awaiting restoration in Hertfordshire. 628 HVX is a Mkll Zephyr which was rallied by Dennis Scott and Ken Armstrong in 1958. Certainly this car took part in the RAC Rally in that year, where it won its class, and it is illustrated in Mike Allen's book Consul Zephyr Zodiac - The Rig Fifties Fords (which will be republished in second edition form this month). Mike has been helping me with this piece and told me that it might have been a Monte Carlo rally car as well, and it could just have been used in the Tulip Rally |
Club member John Lilley�s MkIII, originally purchased new by his father, at a reunion
in Ashburton to mark it�s 100,000 miles travelled. |
John says: �This car is still in the same family, first registered 24-1-64 but is a '65 model. It ran on Castrol 30/40 for 36 years. It is now on GTX 25W/50 - this is great, oil changes are now 3,000 miles, not 1,000 miles. Car is original blue and mileage is now 100073.� �It was my father�s only new car, and was the first MkIII to be sold in Ashburton� |
I enjoy being a girl in a car By Anne Batt I'm one of those helpless women drivers. Not for me the sweet mysteries of internal
combustion. Not for me a brisk tinker under the bonnet in times of trouble. I just stand there. Helpless and unashamed. I'll tell you why- Two years behind the wheel of a Sunbeam Alpine have taught me that the car has become such a symbol of male power that I have only to assert myself by so much as the teeniest depression of the accelerator to bring down on my rear bumper all the wrath of injured male pride. It's not fair- The meekest Mini-driver poddling along the motorway becomes a cloth-cap Fangio if I dare to overtake. Young bloods in far more ferocious hot-rods than mine draw level, hover alongside for a few moments as though throwing out a challenge, then rip past with a superior smile leaving me to rub the dust out of my eyes. The type of mild Englishman who would step back politely if we met in a doorway, becomes an uncaring bully if he meets me trying to filter into a stream of traffic. But let something go wrong. Let some mechanical fault force me to pull out of this extraordinary sex race and I know that before I have time to start wondering how to open the bonnet there will be some grinning male with an eager �let ME help". |
Help? If I�m to be reminded that I'm the weaker sex every time I turn the key in
the ignition of course he can help. You see, from the day I took delivery of my first sports car, I realised there would be humiliating potholes dug by male pride in the road ahead. It wouldn't start. Eventually I abandoned my pride and phoned for a mechanic. He watched in silence for quite five minutes as I demonstrated the obstinacy of the controls. Then, speaking very slowly to protract the moment of triumph and very loudly to involve the curious, all-male audience, inquired if Madam was aware she was pulling out the heater knob instead of the choke! As further evidence, m'lords. I recall the bizarre incident of the Surrey puma. As a reporter, my little car takes me on many an unusual assignment and on this occasion - trying to locate a mystery puma-I had left the hard top at home. For four hours I motored through driving rain- hatless in a cotton dress with the rain watering the mascara on my eyelashes so that it ran down my cheeks in grey dribbles, and what was the reaction of male motorists? Thcy laughed. Not a single nod of sympathy did I get. At traffic lights, Bentley drivers winked at lorry drivers, motorcyclists grinned at Mini-men - all momentarily united in their glee. But I've noticed an even stranger personality change in the average Englishman when he chances upon a girl in an open car. Gone the reserve that would make it unthinkable for him to bid me "Good morning" in the street. Total strangers extend invitations to dinner over a quick gear-change at the lights. A girl-friend tells me how she was waiting to turn into a main road when a young man actually vaulted into the passenger seat with a decisive, 'Well, where are we going?" And only the other day, renewing my make-up in the driving mirror while caught in a traffic-jam, I was startled by a leering face in the car alongside mine and eventually, as I put my lipstick away, a disconcerting "Well, are you ready for me now?" I can't believe four wheels make me more approachable than two legs. But for a certain type of quiet Englishman, HIS four wheels are certainly a prop for Dutch courage. But inside my little white cocoon-pride, joy and protection from the real world beyond the windscreen-I poddle along regardless, determined that neither road-hog nor Romeo shall come between me and my dearly-loved jalopy, You see, ever since Emily I have been passionate about cars. She was a funny-looking old girl. You never knew when she was brewing up for one of her explosions and even in tranquillity she was like an absent-minded lady-always losing her possessions. But to me-nine-years old at the time, father's first car was magic. No young blade collecting his first E-type could experience a greater thrill of delicious terror than I had that momentous day in 1949, when, sitting bolt upright as her dignity and curious suspension demanded, I took my first spin in a car. Grandpa would have nothing to do with her and remained a bicycle man to the end ("You won't catch me in that death trap". But for me, born in to the generation which has seen the flowering of Emily into full maturity, it was the beginning of The Affair. There's hardly a hint of dear, deceased Emily in the car I have now, but although I have been driving for nine years, I have only to turn the key in the ignition and the same delicious thrill returns. It is difficult for a man to appreciate the tender relationship between a woman and her car. For me like my husband who dreams of idyllic weekends dissecting a vintage Rolls, a car is essentially a servant-to be controlled and mastered. For me, left cold by his enthusiastic explanations of the processes that go on under the bonnet, the car will always remain master: I the adoring and willingly mystified servant. It doesn't make me a dangerous driver. Apart from the time I reversed into a wall, forgot to put the brake on, rushed back to view the damage and watched by beloved Mini disappearing slowly downhill, my nine years of motoring have been accident free. As insurance men acknowledge, women are the safest drivers. Infuriating ditherers at times, I admit, but way behind the men in contributing to death on the road. Perhaps it is because we feel no need to prove our superiority on the highway, but we don't take the same risks. Why then so much fuss if we women attempt to master anything more ambitious than the family car? Why such a struggle to be allowed to drive the family car in the first place? Why the palaver when London Transport recently considered permitting us to drive a bus (when the women bus drivers of Stockholm have already proved the point). Why did it take until March this year for Britain's first women driving instructors to be appointed? Why do I invite male giggles if I attempt to manoeuvre into a tiny space whereas my husband in the same situation would be rewarded with sympathetic nods? Because way back in the days when Mr. Daimler was still fiddling with his sparking plugs someone decided the car was of masculine gender. Don't let those feminine names like Tin Lizzy fool you-tough, virile, flagrantly sexy, the modern car has become the last citadel of the suburban Walter Mitty, who seems hell bent on recovering all his lost ground the moment he gets behind the wheel. And like a mink coat for a woman, a car is his most visible status symbol. No wonder he flaunts That's why you won't find rue up to my elbows in oil if I break down. O.K. you've got me where you want me so prove your mastery, you self-appointed Kings of the Road. Helpless and unashamed. That's me. Aricle courtesy Daily Express Motorshow Review 1966 |
The Male Brain |
The world's first women only carpark opens |
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There was a competition to cross the English Channel doing only the breaststroke.
Just three women entered the race: a brunette, a redhead, and a blonde. After approximately 14 hours the brunette staggered up on the shore and was declared the fastest breaststroker. About 40 minutes later the redhead crawled up on the shore and was declared to be the second place finisher. Nearly 48 hours after that, the blonde finally came ashore and promptly collapsed in front of the worried onlookers. When the reporters asked why it took her so long to complete the race, she replied, "I don't want to sound like I'm a sore loser, but I think those two other girls were using their arms." |
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