Sunday at Mog 2000 was a big day. There was a trade show in the Sports
Hall of the college. All our favorite Morgan vendors were there. One
vendor printed Mog 2000 tee shirts while you waited. I bought a
gorgeous watch with the Morgan logo on it, only to find Judy bought the
same watch for my birthday present. Melvyn Rutter’s booth was there, as
were Brands Hatch, Simmonds Hoods, Phillip Bell Insurance, and many
more. The Gymkhana was taking place a Hothe Court Farm adjoining the
university. Photo contest entries were posted on a giant bulletin
board. A concert by the Kohima Band of the Princess of Wales Royal
Regiment was featured in the Sports Hall. A photo of the Morgan
Discussion Group was planned for 3PM. There were two scenic routes
mapped out for those who wanted to explore the beautiful Kent
countryside. And, there were Morgans everywhere.
Judy and I decided we would enter Squeaky in the Concourse, held across
the street from the Sports Hall. We were up early to clean and groom
her, even though the day looked gray. We arrived on time to find a
handful of very special cars in the show. Only a few of each model
Morgan, and one Plus 4 Plus, were there for judging, and judging we got.
The Mog committee brought in experts from every area of Morgan
restoration to judge the Concourse. There were chassis builders to
judge the chassis, and coachbuilders to judge the trim work. Each car
had a safety check. In our group Dennis Robson entered his newly
restored 1959 Black and Ivory Drophead Coupe. This car was a rusted
ball of junk when Dennis bought it 18 months before. Over that time he
personally built this car into the Best Of Show Winner at Mog 2000. A
trophy with Dennis’ name will be displayed at the factory. Squeaky was
then able to win Best +4.
Sunday evening was set-aside for the Gala Dinner. This was the formal
dinner of Mog 2000, a harp and a string quartet played, conversations
engaged, and food was consumed. As part of the program, our English
friends presented Squeaky with an award for traveling the longest
distance to come to the Mog. For many of the Morganeers the Gala was
the end of the weekend. But for 80 + cars it was on to France the next
morning.
Monday morning came early. We were up and on the road 6:15. But we
missed our turn and found ourselves on the motorway to London. After 10
miles in the wrong direction we found an off ramp to make a turn around,
and then we were heading south. We got to Folkestone with time to
spare. Unfortunately our ferry didn’t leave from Folkestone. So we
were off to Dover. But, we took the wrong ramp and ended up on the
motorway to London. This time we did know where the off ramp for a turn
around was, and after ten minutes heading to London we got ourselves
back on the road to Dover. When we arrived our ferry had long sailed.
We were late, lost twice, and we had a handful of directions from an
Englishman. Our first trip to France was off to a dismal start.
On a later ferry I noticed a Morgan parked four cars up and one row
over. So I made my plan to be by the other car long before the boat
docked. Jo and Vera Brown were surprised to find a strange lost
American waiting by their car when we docked, but they offered to lead
the way. As the ferry unloaded we lost Jo and Vera, but found some
other friends, Ricki and Pat Porter. They too were waiting for the
Browns. The three cars made a little convoy down the coast highway to
the shore town of Le Touquet.
The roads in France are like those in the states. They are wide,
straight highways with shoulders. Judy drove because, after all, the
French do drive on the proper side of the road. We rambled through the
French countryside without trouble. For the first time I was able to
relax and enjoy the view. What I did see were picturesque farms on the
rolling hills of northern France. We went over one of the hills into a
dark gray cloudbank, and for ten minuets or more a hard cold French rain
fell on our motorcade. Late, but undaunted, and dried out, we rolled
into the town of Le Touquet.
I’m not quite sure how to describe the sight of 80 Morgans in Le
Touquet. The French like cars, and they love Morgans. Eighty Morgans
parked in the town square was breathtaking, and the French came out in
droves to see the little cars. Old ladies pulling grocery carts, and
young girls on bikes came to see Morgans. Old men with canes, and young
men with strollers brought their children and grandchildren to see the
Morgans. They stood around quietly and stared. They pretended to be
passing by, but they stared. They came from every direction and milled
around the Morgans. Some were brave enough to walk right up to the
cars, some stayed in the street. But they kept to themselves and just
looked at the Morgans.
We Morganeers went into the Casino where a banquet was waiting for us.
This was not just a meal, but a slow and wonderful feast that only the
French could serve. A band played between courses of white asparagus
rapped in bacon, potato leak soup and lots of French wine. All the
while we were inside the town folks were outside gawking at Morgans.
About forty cars and their passengers where staying overnight in the
heart of this resort town. So we saddled up once more to drive through
the streets of Le Touquet. However, the directions to the parking area
were written by an English gentleman. He was to kind to us for me to
mention his name. I’ll only say that if he were a rally master in the
states he would have been lynched. Morgans were riding around and
around the little street of the town looking for the second right on the
left of the Red Fox Hotel. In my mind, I can still see the looks on the
town’s people’s faces. We did get settled and we had time for some
Belgium beer, a walk along the beach, and a good night’s rest.
In the morning we formed a five-car company and motored along the coast
roads of northern France to Calis. We passed the sunny beaches, and
through the small town. Along the way we passed the concrete bunkers
left standing as a reminder of the history of these shores. We stopped
for lunch at a small café in a park. The park was center around a
cluster of the bunkers of World War II. Then we were on to the city of
Calis, on to the end of our adventure.
On the ferry back we said our good-byes to our friends from the HOGMOG
Club. All that was left to do was to take Squeaky to Southampton for
shipping home, and rent a car for the trip to Gatwick. We drove up to
the see Phil at Brands Hatch to have the hand break cable repaired, on
the way we had a flat, on the M2. Those were the only repairs Squeaky
needed in our 1100-mile journey. Although I’ve described the sights of
our trip in detail, it was the people we met along the way that made it
the adventure of a lifetime. There are too many to name, and I’m sure
I’d leave more then one good person off the list. So to each of you,
thanks for a letting us be at home in England. That is the story of One
Morgan Over England.
Ed.
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