I told the builder he could have the door from the yellow van. That was a bit of a score we’d acquired, for spares to try to keep the red one going. Our long-term project. We’d sell the Type 3 when the red van, last year of the Type 2, was roadworthy. That’s the Hebridean idea of progress.
I didn’t want anything for the door. But he wasn’t to tow the van away. I needed the other bits.
He asked me again how much I wanted for it. I said that was OK, he’d have a bit I’d need sometime. Next time he saw me he put some notes into my hand. Worrying.
When I went out to the yellow van, for parts for the red one, the door wasn’t there. Fine. But neither was the bumper I’d come for. And the factory-made towbar just wasn’t there either. My watchmate, Charlie, had got that for me quite a while back. Perfect for towing a dinghy. A long connecting bar distributed the load to another strong point.
It had been cut off at the connecting bar. Must have been done in the dark otherwise the guys would have realised it was only a U-bolt in the middle and two studs either side to take it out clean. I’ve done it with a socket-set in three or four minutes.
I had a look at the builder’s blue, two-litre, Type 2 crewbus, when it came out of wraps. It had a newly sprayed bumper and a fitted towbar. This was no longer the standard, factory-built version that went all the way back to the rear axle to distribute the load. It had been adapted. I just asked him where he tracked all the bits. See that place you pass, near Ellon, on the Aberdeen road. You must have clocked a yard full of VWs. That guy was good for spares. If I needed anything, he’d have a look out next time he had the works wagon away, to pick up a kitchen and stuff.
‘Aye, strangely enough, I need a bumper and a towbar.’
Weird things happen. One of his squad did us a couple of big favours. This was the guy who was ace on the grinder and spray paint. Another of these dudes, like Charlie, who can fix anything. But Charlie had got word of his promotion move so our dream team could not last much longer.
‘You were looking for a nice stone slab for under the olaid’s stove,’ this cove remembered.
A piece of Penryn but not just any piece. It was part of the slate bed from the billiard tables in the castle. Guys were just throwing stuff like that from a height into skips. He’d another bit set aside for me, too.
That’s how we acquired a section of the bed of Leverhulme’s billiard table. It might even have been an original purchase for Matheson, the opium lord of the Long Island. Under new legislation it could probably be confiscated as the proceeds of that trade even though supported by the then PM of the realm. Of course we had to go to war in China to protect the interests of our merchants. It’s difficult to say PM out loud without thinking of post-mortem but we’re talking about Mr Disraeli, another prolific novelist.
He was the cove who coined the name McDrug for a character bearing a close resemblance to the fabulously wealthy Sir James Matheson Bart. You can’t say the old PM’s name without thinking of the Cream album. Disraeli Gears. Tales of brave Ulysses, how his naked ears were tortured, by the sirens…
Our heroes. But for the sake of historical accuracy it might be worth checking out Mr Clapton’s reference to Enoch Powell’s ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech. Total psychedelia was fine but it looks like at least one of those guys was against the idea of any more black in the make-up of the UK.
Talking of colours, think of the whin-yellow, the loganberry-orange and the raspberry-red of Type 2 VW vans. Pretty well the shades of the skoosh I used to find in cupboards in a pre-fab in West Road, Fraserburgh. I don’t think any pineapples were damaged in the making of that pineapple-ade. We’re looking at a coastal town situated not a million miles from the rural empire of a VW buff, on the outskirts of Ellon. But let’s move on from that. It’s circumstantial evidence.
Except that something even more strange happened. Now I wouldn’t have said that any builder I’ve come across so far was in a great hurry to give you anything buckshee. The finishings were being put on the olaid’s house just when I got the raspberry and cream van through the MOT.
With some help from Charlie.
‘I never thought you would do it,’ the builder said. ‘And you found a bumper?’
‘Aye,’ I said. ‘Just went for a Brazilian one from German and Swedish. I went over it with yacht enamel on the roller. Charlie Morrison’s paint. Came up OK.’
‘What did that ross you?’ he asked.
‘There’s a word I haven’t heard for a while. About a hundred notes,’ I said.
It turned out, the original door I’d got stripped – to go back between the kitchen and the porch – was warped. No use. And the reclaimed flooring that Charlie and me stripped for facings so it had that proper old pine look – that didn’t go as far as we thought it would. But the builder found a half-decent door and more wood and didn’t charge for extras. Interesting.
I no longer have the appetite required for the maintenance of Type 2 vans. Our red one got legalised and went on for a few years but then we found severe rot in the chassis. Not impossible, just what you’d call beyond economical repair. And yet, if you had the time or money, you could have brought it back to near-new condition. The body might be like a machine but you can’t really do that with humans. I’m in reasonable nick for my age, for example, but some parts have muscle damage which is beyond renewal. Like an area of my lower back. There was no drama. It didn’t happen up on a roof. It happened when I was bending to stack the bramble fruits of Ballachulish, on a pallet.
Then again, there are generations of vehicles as there are of people. As far as I’m aware the Type 4 VW is a very common van, these days though there might be a Type 5 or 6 when you read this.