I left my brothers home in Southampton at midday on December 31st 1981 and although it had snowed in the night the roads were clear and the sky was blue.
I dropped the soft top of my orange MG Midget and fitted the tonneau cover, with just the drivers side unzipped.
I had on my clogs, patchwork flared wrangler jeans (well it was 1981) woollen jumper faded Levi jacket and my felt lined denim flying helmet that I always wore when driving the Midget.
I found that in anything other than a heavy downpour you stayed dry enough with the roof down (and tonneau cover on) as long as you kept moving. The flying helmet prevented the cold ears and the heaters blasting away kept all the heat trapped under the tonneau, so with a warm top and the flying helmet it was nice and toasty even on the coldest of days.
I had topped up with petrol and checked the oil and tyres the night before, so armed with my last tenner secure in my pocket I was heading back to my local, the Eight Bells in Beaminster, for what promised to be a raucous New Years Eve night.
Only having a ten quid note left in my pocket was no major obstacle to a long night out on the lash as I had a tab behind the bar and I was looking forward to the revelry to come.
The roads out of Southampton had been cleared of any snow and I was soon on the M27 heading west. I had cleared the Cadnam turning where it becomes the A31 dual-carriageway and was happily driving along on a snow free and traffic free road.
As I came round the top bend at about 70mph and out onto the heathland of the New Forest the snow ploughs had just not gone any further and it changed from pristine tarmac to 6 to nine inches of snow instantly.
I hit the snow and began to pirouette helplessly along the road.
When in that situation it takes all the will power in the world not to stamp on the brakes and somehow I manage to drop the gears and keep some throttle on and stay on the road and not end up smashed in the ditch.
When I stopped spinning I was about 300 yards along the road from where the snow started and facing backwards up the dual carriageway. Even though it is fair to say that I was I was a little “freaked” by the incident, I was in one piece, so was the car, and so I decided it best to press on but watch out for any more snow surprises.
As far as I could see across the heath it was white, however it was dual carriageway and there were fresh looking tracks along the snow so I spun around and headed off in the direction of Ringwood.
There were area where the snow was quite light and I made steady, if not rapid progress to and beyond Ringwood.
This is years before the days of mobile phones and automatic traffic radio updates (not that I had a radio anyway) therefore I had no idea of the conditions ahead, but with blue clear skies overhead and making good progress I carried on, with the anticipation of being in Bridport before lunch time closing time.
Just outside Ferndown the steady engine note began to miss and the comforting brrrrrrrroooooooooommmmmm became a brrr----phut brrrooom phut phut brr brroom phut phut phut and eventually silence as I pulled into a convenient bus stop on the outskirts of the village.
Those of you who have ever broken down without warning will know of that slightly nervous and somewhat gormless thought process that takes over your brain for a few moments. A sort of light headed disbelief and failure to admit that it might be something wrong.
That maybe you imagined it.
That perhaps you had turned the ignition off by mistake, or that you had only dreamed that you filled her up with petrol, as you check the gauge ten more times just to be sure.
That brain block is replaced by a nauseous clenching of the stomach as the realisation kicks in that you have a problem.
I climbed out of my warm cocoon, lifted the bonnet and then did what all people do, who are not mechanics but have an understanding of the basics, which is to put my hands on my hips and give the engine a good looking at.
This is done in the hope that something glaringly obvious will reveal itself as being “the problem” and it will just take a quick replacing or jiggling of whatever it is that has come loose and I will be on my way.
When my initial “good looking at” failed to produce a result I allowed myself to start fiddling with the plug leads and checked the distributor and coil wires and all seemed to be in order.
The ignition light was still bright and the dials on the dash indicated that temperature and oil pressure and battery levels were all where they should be. I decided to close the bonnet and see if I had, by sheer will, along with a good looking at, managed to fix the problem.
I sat myself down and turned the key and she immediately burst back into a phut phut free, reassuring gentle throb.
I sat myself down and turned the key and she immediately burst back into a phut phut free, reassuring gentle throb.
“Onwards and upwards” thinks I, and with a big grin, and no small measure of smug amazement at my mechanical prowess, I pulled onto the road and continued my journey.
25 yards later I was pulled into the entrance of a house drive, with the owner twitching the curtains as I got out to repeat the task of exercising my full knowledge of mechanics once again.
I was still secretly hoping that it might be a lose lead but after some twiddling of the same leads and a restart that lasted for 5 seconds I was having to come to terms with the fact that I might have a more serious problem beyond my skills.
My prognosis was leaning towards a fuel problem but with no tools to work with I had no way of checking.
The sight of this slightly hippyish looking young man in bright orange sports car with the roof down in the snow gently tapping his head against the steering wheel, whilst wearing a blue flying helmet, must have proved too much of an enigma for the elderly gentleman owner of the house who approached the car and asked rather tentatively
“Can I help you?”
“Thank you, but unless you are a mechanic I don’t think you can.” I replied with barely concealed hope”
“Where were you going”
“Bridport” I replied
“Ah well says he you wouldn’t have made it anyway as the roads are blocked between Bere Regis and Dorchester and from Dorchester to Bridport. The Blanford Forum route is blocked by snow as well. It has just been on the radio and TV news.”
“Ahaaaa!” says I “I will have to revert to plan B then”
“What’s Plan B?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t thought of one yet but I am working on it”
“Oh Well just as long as it doesn’t involve you being parked across my drive, good luck.” And with that he wandered back inside and left me to come up with Plan B.
I tried the ignition and it started and so I set off trying to make the 100m yards or so to the motel I could see in the distance and where I would be able to park off the road.
It took me over half an hour to make it but I finally did. During this time I am starting to notice that once outside the car and with the heaters now not hot it was a bloody cold day and I had scant protection against the cold.
I used their pay phone to contact my mate, who I knew was in the AA, and got him to lend me his number. This was in the days before the sophisticated checks were put in place to prevent the sort of caper I was up to.
The AA man arrived at about 5pm (and it has to be said he was a very nice man). He soon isolated the problem to the fuel pump having packed up and said it was going to be a garage job. Luckily my mate had recovery cover, but with the roads being blocked there was no chance of recovery back to Bridport for the next few days, so I had to leave the vehicle where it was and try to thumb a lift back to Southampton and spend new years with my brother an his new girlfriend.
Although they already had an arrangement to go out he told me he would leave a key by the back door if I hadn’t arrived by the time they had gone, and there was plenty of beer and rum in and to help myself and see me later. Plan B it seemed was coming together nicely.
It was dark and well below freezing by the time I walked back to the roundabout in order to get hitching and I was feeling decidedly chilly in my levi jacket and jumper but the worst part was my feet due to the clogs I was wearing.
They had black leather uppers, open at the back, and a wooden sole about an inch thick. With nearly every step a bit of snow would manage to flip its way into the clog and my feet were soon wet, cold and getting colder.
A minor problem thinks I because at 6pm there is bound to be traffic heading Southampton way and in an hour or two I would be sprawled out on the sofa watching TV and drinking rum. Not an ideal or first choice way to spend new years eve as a 22 year old but none to shabby either considering the situation.
Approximately an hour later I had begun to question my belief that people would be full of good cheer and generosity to their fellow man and be willing to offer a lift on this cold (very cold) night. I had also over estimated the amount of traffic out and about.
I had the idea of taking off my flying helmet as I twigged that it might look a bit odd and perhaps put peole off giving me a lift so I began using it as a muff to keep the non hitching hand warm. (Both hands were getting a bit numb now)
The removal of the helmet must have made me look less like a weirdo and a car stopped some 20 minutes later. The driver said he was only going as far as Ringwood (about 10 miles) but I said that would, be fine and I could try again from there.
I had just managed to receive some feeling back in my feet and hands when I was dropped off at the first turning to Ringwood and so it was with renewed warmth and enthusiasm I displayed the thumb again.
After another hour or so (it is now close to 8pm ) of sinking temperatures, dwindling traffic flow, and personal resolve, I began walking to the next junction about a mile or two up the road. This is on a clearway dual carriageway so might have had something to do with why no-one stopped but there was so little traffic anyway.
It took me nearly an hour to negotiate the icy and slush at the side of the road to the next junction and by the time I got there my feet were numb and my hands were painful with the cold. I also was getting the occasional shivers which are the first signs of mild hypothermia and I knew from the survival at sea training I had done that I had to get a lift or get warm soon.
I spent another long half hour or more willing traffic to come along by but now it is closing on towards ten pm and I now know I am not going to get a lift. I had to invent then implement Plan C and quickly.
I trudged along the slip road back towards Ringwood and saw the lights of a pub in the distance. I opened the door and it was only then I realised how cold I had become as my teeth were chattering so much I could hardly make myself understood. I asked the landlord if he did B& B and explained my situation. He looked at me like I was a leper and said “No”
I said that the sign outside said he did and he just said well “No vacancies and we are not open anyway”. I asked if he knew of any other pubs in the area that might do B& B and he said he was busy but vaguely pointed me in the direction of another pub about half a mile away that he thought might but wasn’t sure what with it being new years eve.
I had to drag myself out of the warm and back into the cold night to walk to the next pub. I was chattering and shaking with the cold again by the time I arrived.
I told my story again and asked if they did B&B but she said normally but not at that time of year. She was looking at me guardedly but not with the hostility of the previous place.
I then asked if she could tell me where the police station was as I was going to have to break a window or something similar to get arrested and get a warm bed for the night because I would not last the night out in the cold and I could go no further.
I am not sure what it was about me or my demeanour that changed her mind as she suddenly looked at me and said “you are nearly frozen aren’t you”
I nodded and she said “If I can’t help someone out at this time of the year then when can I, Sit yourself over there by the fire and I will get you something warm. I explained that I only had a tenner and could probably just afford the bed without breakfast but I appreciated the offer of the fire and the bed.
She told me not to worry about it as she could surely manage a bowl of hot soup on the house.
I was in the lounge that was empty apart from a couple near the bar as all the locals seemed to be in the main bar.
I pulled chair up close to the fire and eased my clogs off and started to dry my feet and warm them, which if you have ever been that cold you will know is a painful operation.
About 15 minutes later, with the shakes stopped and some warmth coming back to me, the landlady turned up with a big steaming bowl of turkey broth and couple of door steps of bread.
Never has a warm meal been so welcome or the person receiving it so grateful.
She stayed with me for a few minutes chatting until she had the full story of what had happened and said that I was bloody lucky as she thought I was a junkie when I first arrived in the pub because of the clothes and the shakes and was about to give me the bums rush but there was something about me (later described as my honest eyes) that made her decide to hear me out.
I thanked her again as she left to resume bar duties with her husband and I sat there allowing the warm broth and the heat of the fire revive me.
She must have been telling the story in the main bar of this young chap who nearly froze and who would be staying the night as I noticed a few people peer through into the lounge but I was so happy and thankful to be warm I didn’t take much notice.
A short while later the landlord asked me if I wanted a drink and I explained that I only had enough money for the bed for the night and they had already been more than hospitable enough to me.
Two minutes later the landlady turned up again and said
“I have told people about you bad luck and nearly freezing out there and they’ve had a whip round for their “new year eve stray” (as they had decided to call me,) and there was more than enough for me to have a few drinks, so come round to the bar and join in with us for new years”
So that’s how I came to see the new year 1981/82 in, and for a few hours I swapped stories, sung, joked and laughed the old year out with a friendly, interesting and generous bunch of strangers, because of a simple act of compassion and trust by the landlady.
In the morning the landlady woke me about 9am and said there was a cup of coffee waiting for me in the kitchen and when I arrived there was also a monster sized full English breakfast. I sheepishly explained that I only had enough for the bed and she told me to be quiet while she was still being generous and I couldn’t possibly be allowed to leave to hitch hike on a cold day with out some food.
During breakfast she and her husband regaled me with some hilarious tales of their locals and their various shenanigans, whilst at the same time making sure I had eaten my fill and drunk enough coffee to keep me warm when hitching.
I thanked them wholeheartedly for their warmth and generosity and when I went to my pocket to pull out my crumpled tenner the husband looked at his wife and the said to me,
“You had best keep that in your pocket son as we would be deeply offended if you tried to pay us for simply helping out someone who needed a hand. You may be able to repay the favour one day, if not to us them to someone else, and I am sure you will”
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