Tink - A series 1 Story Pt 1
As there was an unprecedented amount of ‘likes’ on our Facebook page (@TheMudLifeMag) last week when I posted a few photos of Tink, our 1955 Series One Land Rover, I thought I’d share her story again.
First though, apologies if some of you have read this before. Tink’s tale has popped up in more magazines than I care to remember — Difflock, 4x4 Mart, Land Rover World — and I even let Paddock Spares run it on their blog.
Anyway, back to 2005. At the time, I was swanning about in my first Toyota Surf. Great motor, a proper revelation in many ways, but I was Land Rover-less — which might’ve been good for the wallet, but it wasn’t doing the soul much good.
Tink’s story really begins at the Northern MG Owners Rally at Scarisbrick Hall, near Southport. A casual look at a MG ZT revealed a scrap of paper in the window that simply read:
“1955 Land Rover Series One for sale, 37,000 miles, 2 owners from new, original registration, excellent condition, £1,500.”
Well… what else was I supposed to do?
Within half an hour we were stood on Joe’s driveway. I’d expected to find some battered old ex-trials motor on knackered SATs with barely a straight panel left. Instead, I was gawping at a remarkably straight, original Series One — paintwork faded and peeling, yes, but still honest as the day is long. She was stripped to her waist, looked perfect for summer, though looking a bit odd with her Series 3 bumper, and sat on a set of Discovery rims with bald 205s. Joe casually mentioned he also had the original date stamped rims tucked away if I wanted them, along with her ‘til sticks’.
As I gave her the once-over, those familiar tingly feelings began. Rear crossmember? Solid. Chassis and bulkhead? Solid. She looked right, and when Joe fired her up she sounded right too. My guard was slipping fast.
Her history was simple enough. First owner, a farmer, had kept her for 35 years, mainly to deliver milk round a small housing estate near his farm. Joe had then had her for a further 15 years, mostly for fetching logs, though she hadn’t moved for the last five. He admitted he’d originally bought her just for the registration, but once he got her MOT’d, he fell for her charm. He even had MOT certificates going back to the early ’80s showing just 22,000 miles — proof of her ridiculously low mileage.
She appeared original, too. Indicator and horn, starting handle, and even a well out of date fire extinguisher!
That was it. She was a siren in aluminium, whispering sweet nothings in her Brummie accent. Just as I was about to offer Joe my watch as a deposit, Muddy Madam grabbed my arm and dragged me away muttering something about “not making rash decisions.” I still don’t understand what she meant, but being the sensible one, she whisked me to the nearest Italian restaurant and ordered pizza and wine.
The following day we returned with our mate Chris. Now, what Chris doesn’t know about Land Rovers isn’t worth knowing. I needed to know if this was just green-oval-tinted glasses on my part or a genuine gem. Chris spent a good half hour prodding, tapping and muttering, while Karen Lee and I braced ourselves for the truth. Finally, Chris emerged from underneath and said to Karen Lee, “If he doesn’t buy it, I will.” That was good enough for me. Deal done. I was a Land Rover owner again.
Back then (wow, that makes me feel old), all vehicles needed an MOT. As Tink didn’t have one, I roped in my father-in-law, John, to steer while I towed her home.
At Muddy Towers, I poured half a jerry can of petrol into her tank and ran her while making a list of jobs I that required sorting for her first MOT in years. Honestly, it wasn’t much: nearside headlamp dead, offside rear light out, windscreen wiper not connected, one rear axle strap snapped. And after running for about 30 minutes she began spluttering, probably due to five years of tank gunk coming loose, so a service was added to the list.
A nice surprise was to find quite a few spares hidden under her passenger seat, which would hopefully save me a few pennies!
Then, just as I switched her off, I heard a faint sizzling. Under the bonnet I spotted water bubbling on the manifold. A split top hose was spitting coolant everywhere. Luckily, I was heading past Land Ranger Services the next day, so a new hose and headlamp were ordered.
Fitting them was straightforward, and while I was at it I flushed the cooling system, serviced her, and swapped those Discovery wheels for the date-stamped originals. They looked better and, despite being crossplies, actually had more tread.
Feeling confident, I booked her in for an MOT. I wasn’t daft — I didn’t expect a pass, but at least it’d get the ball rolling. First though, I thought I’d inflate the tyres using my Surf’s compressor. I reversed Tink into the back street, inflated the offside tyres, and began a careful five-point turn so as to inflate the other side, that’s when disaster struck. A metallic ping was heard, the steering wheel went loose… and then came clean off in my hands!
The cause? The steering box had snapped in two. Oh, how I laughed (eventually).
With the help of my Hi-Lift jack, I manoeuvred her into a position that allowed me to reverse her back into the yard. Demoralised, I then put my tools away, trudged into the house and found solace in a bottle of red, and a huge pizza.
Part 2 next week - after I’ve found the rest of my photos!