Special thanks to author Brad King and Frank Wnek, editor of The Morganeer, the Journal of the 3/4 Morgan Group, Ltd. for allowing us to reproduce this article.

Brad King | October 13, 2014

There is a moment in the film The Bridge on the River Kwai when Colonel Nicholson (played by Alec Guinness) suddenly realizes his folly in trying to prevent the destruction of his bridge and mutters this immortal line before falling on the plunger, thus sending more lumber than you’ll see in Home Depot plummeting south. And so it seems with me and my latest (seeming) folly in the wonderful world of Morgans.

So, Molly was brought over from Blighty (see glossary below) three years ago. She wasn’t in bad shape, perhaps a little tatty around the edges (like her owner) and had been restored at some point in the past. I had redone the interior and had the engine rebuilt after she threw a piston ring – a common fault on Kent engines, especially if not used a lot. Molly HAD been used a lot by me, but the previous owner hadn’t, hence the sale. He’d bought a Porsche Boxster instead. Baffling! Hairdresser’s car if ever I saw one.

My first year was spent in an apartment and I just had to put her away for the winter in a nice heated storage facility. Gone are the days of all-year round driving I thought. The summers here are fabulous BUT—yes there’s always a BUT.

The paint job was an old one – no clear coat, thin in parts (wish I was) and parked outside. Cue New England rainstorms. Straight through the “outdoor” cover (some joke, who do I sue?) and the paint job was history. Acid rain or salt blotches, pimple like cracks. Ugh!

Lin and I moved thereafter and we now have a garage, thank God. However the damage was done. And there was also a “Hello, what’s this?” moment when I shone a torch (see glossary below) into the engine bay (nothing on TV that night). Ye GODS and little fishes! A hole in the chassis where it joins the bulkhead cross member. I’d been under this car oodles of times and she was great. What the hell happened here? Lin slapped me back into the here-and-now after this stunning realization.

There’s nothing for it. I’m going to have to bite the bullet and go for a re-spray.

What kind though? My local chappie (see glossary below) said he could do it by taping over the lights etc. That’s no good I thought, let’s do a proper job. Body off and wings akimbo (see glossary below). Stripped down to the bare essentials. It’s only a bucket of bolts after all (as I was soon to discover). Here I go again—champagne ideas and beer money.

Where to start? An estimate. Reaching for my trusty Morganeer I phone the first-advertiser of “British car – restorations a specialty” services. “I’ll have to see it,” says the viper. Two hours driving later on a sunny Saturday and after much sucking of teeth and the usual “Jeez, who did the LAST paint job then?” the conversation skirted around a money figure and fizzled out. Obviously not interested. Must have heard the old getting the wings back on is a nightmare scenario.

Onward I go to one of THE specialists. Yes, well it’s going to cost about $25,000! Lin slaps me back to reality again, this time with a swift follow-up of gin. Another says the same. Jeez are they all suddenly Melvin Rutter? I once saw in an article that “you know you own a Morgan when you put Melvin down on your IRS return as a dependent.”

Next, the little red guy on my shoulder says “Go on, do it yourself! You can do it! Rollers are a dollar fifty at Harbor Freight.” I slap HIM.

Sigh! What to do? Enter Larry Sheehan and Frank Wnek. Both had their Morgans repainted by Brad Carter of Bow-boing-ham or some such place in Maine. Piece of cake is the collective opinion. All you have to do is get the parts to him and Bob’s your Uncle (see glossary below).

Larry quickly offers to help with the disassembly. I dismiss the fanatical gleam in Larry’s eyes as a trick of the light. His right hand twitches as he mutters “air tools” and “lock wrenches” in a way that can only be described as diabolical. Still, the offer of help is too tempting despite Frank looking decidedly queasy on witnessing this new side of Larry. “Don’t worry, we’ll help dismantle” comes the collective, airy morale boosting chant and I calculate the cost in beer. Now THAT’S what I call CURRENCY!

The other Brad wants the pieces as soon after Autumn MOG as possible. With one thing and another it just doesn’t happen and I am looking at dismantling the car in February. Double UGH! Well, it shifts to March. Larry alas cannot join in the fun as he will be away (to Hawaii, of all places!). He is really upset, too upset, but will lend his air tools. But Frank (relieved?) is game. That’s the spirit methinks!

I pick up the compressor and fifty pounds of assorted pneumatic hammers and nut drivers from Larry and leave with lots of good advice. Frank arrives on a COLD winter’s day with lots of enthusiasm and good intentions. We set-to (see glossary below). The weather is perishing (see glossary below). I have borrowed a kerosene heater and Frank goes to fill it – with petrol. Ho hum. The situation is rectified and the heater sparks, no BLASTS into life. It is a terrifying piece of kit (see glossary below) but heats up the place marvelously. I am wearing jeans, a shirt, sweater and overalls. In comparison Frank is wearing a suit. I must get the name of his tailor.

Frank knows his way around a Morgan—that’s for sure—and the plan unfolds in his head. Thankfully, he eschews Larry’s assortment of pneumatic jackhammers and prefers more traditional implements of destruction – wrenches, lock pliers, various assorted hammers (Frank refers to them as ‘persuaders’) and, if all else fails on rusted hardware, a trusty hack saw. The WD-40 Kings set to work on either side of the car and Molly seems to disintegrate before my wary eyes. Knuckles are scraped, of course, and the vocabulary becomes very – ahem – basic. Frank, the former naval person, knows some words I’ve never heard. I share some fruity oaths with him in exchange. Casually wiping a bloodied knuckle with an oily shop rag, Frank also notes that you have to shed some blood on your car during disassembly as a sacrifice to the Morgan gods—to be assured of a proper restoration and that it will all ‘fit’ back together. REALLY?

After a day and a half’s work the front and rear wings, cowl and body (tub) have been removed. The Mem’sahib (see glossary below) has ‘done us proud an’ no mistake’ with tea, coffee and luncheon. Frank seems rather satisfied as I look upon the pitiful stripped down remnants of my once beautiful Morgan 4/4 and mutter to myself (for the first of many occasions in the coming months) Alec Guinness’ immortal words. Frank consoles me and brings me back to reality with a cheery “Well, that’s done. Let’s go have a beer!” With some trepidation I go along, a bit dazed but trusting in Frank’s apparent optimism – a state of mind I will struggle to maintain over the coming year.

BRAD’S GLOSSARY OF OBSCURE ENGLISH TERMS

Blighty (often seen as Old Blighty) – an affectionate term for one’s home country of England which originated by soldiers during the Boer war and carried over to WWI and to present. The term is derived from an Urdu (India) word meaning home, or English, or foreign, or European.
Torch – flashlight
Chappie – idiom for chap – a good fellow, who obviously wears chaps
Akimbo – going in all directions, as in ‘arms and legs akimbo’
Bob’s your uncle – A Cockney expression meaning easily done, or ‘piece of cake’ (as used elsewhere)
Perishing – as to make the faint of heart expire. In this context ‘EFFing COLD!’
Set-to – begin doing something vigorously
Kit – In the British Army anything from a pencil to a tank is universally referred to as a “kit” or “piece of kit”, as in “whole kit and caboodle”
Mem’sahib – From British India…The Wife: “She who must be obeyed”
“Done us proud an’ no mistake” – Cockney, meaning looked after us wonderfullyEND OF PART ONE – IS THERE ANY HOPE FOR A HAPPY ENDING TO THIS STORY? STAY TUNED, DEAR READERS.