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OMG
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The Morris Minor , assume it was the wreck of the Mac Gregor accident mentioned elsewhere on the site ??
@Sandy...I cannot comment, will wait for Tuys....
long socks and shorts and men in hats another memory
thank you
Still no confirmation on this wreck? Mr.Molloy or Mr Creedy know something?
are-you-there
Still recall the wreck as being the Mac Gregor tragedy ... Bob ?? John ??
Hi All,
Sorry, not a notion. The accident must have been long after my time, no buses appeared in the town until the early 70s. The damage to the larger vehicle looks spectacular but the Landy less so. I once wrote off a Landrover totally in a stoush with a Rolls bulldozer but that's another story if anyone's interested.
Regards,
Bob.
Not a scratch to the Rolls then?
are-you-there
The bulldozer was a D12, the largest in the range. It also carried massive rippers at the rear. I can still see them, painted Tory blue in the corporate colours of the Rolls Royce empire. The disaster (for me at any rate) happened at Mittag which in those days circa '60 was criss-crossed by sand roads with sand banked up on each side and only occasional space for vehicle passing.
I came around a dune, driving my pride and joy, the newly renovated CDM 55, a short wheel base Land Rover so fresh out of the workshops it still smelt of paint and upholstery cleaner, complete with a new windscreen and wing mirrors. There ahead was the D12, rippers raised, travelling away from me. On the bench seat were two Ovambos, one obviously instructing the other. I trailed behind, looking for an opportunity to pass.
Suddenly the machine stopped dead and then reversed without a backward glance from the driver. The Rolls, a very versatile machine, was a whole ballgame ahead of the American Caterpillar which would have taken up to half a minute to stop and reverse. Its advantage was an electrically operated gearbox that allowed an amazingly fast response for such a huge machine.
I stopped too (later measured at over 12 metres behind) and also reversed at speed, a very dumb thing to do. The Landy dug in, stalled and skewed slightly which in retrospect probably saved my life. Before I could reach the ignition key the steel treads of the D12 were biting into the front bumper. It was time to abandon stations and watch the wreck from the safety of the bank. Easier said than done, the door had jammed.
That left only a bail out through the back door. I was fairly fit in those days so a back flip wasn't a problem. I put my hand on the steering wheel to get some thrust and kicked back; none too soon as the treads had already ripped off the bonnet and were flattening the engine. I felt the wheel sink to the floor as I let go. The noise was deafening. The back flip took me into the rear of the Landy all right but no hope of reaching the backdoor as the treads were slicing through the roof. I crammed tight against the aluminium side of the vehicle, backside on floor and legs draped over the wheel arch, and looked up as treads slicked through the car roof to find two wide-eyed Ovambos goggling down at this dumb Whitie and the remains of his vehicle.
The dozer stopped instantly but the engine kept roaring. Obviously the driver had only declutched. Then I saw his hand move to take the machine forward. Bad move. It is well nigh impossible to smoothly engage a dozer in a straight line. There is always a little jerk as the driver adjusts the clutches on each track. I was crammed as tight against the cabin wall as fear could make me but the treads were still brushing my shoulder. The slightest jerk would take a piece off me. I screamed at the driver to stop but he panicked even more and took off at full bore.
It was smooth as silk. Suddenly there was space and air. Saved by British knowhow and the fact that the Rolls was almost new and still had no clutch wear. Red anger replaced blind fear. I picked up a small rock and jumped onto the treads of the now idling bulldozer, intent on smashing heads. Both Ovambos took off like arrows into the bundu and stayed there until long after I had cooled down and several other vehicles were on the scene.
Later that day I had the pleasure of dropping one of the wing mirrors on Transport Manager Tiny Steinberg's desk and asking him to please attach another Land Rover to it, as the vehicle his workshops had spent so many weeks meticulously restoring was now little more than a heap of scrap.
His language was unrepeatable.
Ouch !! and yes a narrow escape Bob ,,,
Yes! Another great tale....... I was wondering "Uncle" Bob, now that you are about to get your OBE ...... are you going to pen all those memoirs of yours together?
And in relation to the harrowing tale, did they attach a new landrover to the mirror?
msn emoticon (9) idontknow
I spent a lifetime writing other people's stories, and ghosted eight years of weekly newspaper columns for heart transplantation pioneer Chris Barnard but somehow a personal memoir has never appealed.
There's also the very practical aspect that memoirs - unless by celebs willing to drop names and dish the dirt - seldom attract a publisher. No publisher, no market, hence one ends up with a garage full of books no-one wants to read. I've written a once-over-lightly version for my kids who've also been pushing for a memoir but very little of Omund as three of them were born and grew up there, and possibly knew more than I.
Oranjemund has done well in terms of memoirs, with the latest by Gordon Dally due for publication shortly. I'll keep you posted on that.
Re the question: did they attach a new Landrover to the wing mirror?
Tiny eventually calmed down and gave me the keys to another Landy but the Safety Officer, then a character known as Boulderhead Beresford (he was as bald as a billiard ball) found me guilty of destroying company property - without ever speaking to me or getting my version - and proposed that I pay for the damage.
It was a complete kangaroo court jackup. Hard to credit I know, but I was never asked for my report nor given the chance to attend the inquiry.
Unfortunately for Boulderhead I took a pic of the wreck plus the skid marks (which he didn't, reporting only by word of mouth to the enquiry) and knew I had a case. One glance at the almost flattened Landy would have shown that no driver could have survived a forward crash as the impact would have thrown me either into the windscreen (no seat belts in those days) or under the dash. In either situation I would have been minced by the dozer treads. The only conclusion could be that my vehicle was stationary when struck.
Fortunately Hughie Marx who was the mine electrical engineer and my head of department, came in to bat for me. I also knew my way around the Mines and Works Act, one requirement being that in any mine accident resulting in injury or death the Inspector of Mines (a person akin to God in the mining world) could be called in to officiate.
That was my ace in the hole though, as Hugh pointed out, I was clearly not injured and very much alive. My point was that I would decide whether I was injured or not and, if I was railroaded, I would certainly appeal to the Inspector. I was pretty damn sure that mention of the Inspector would send everyone screaming for cover. Hughie took that message back to the Kangaroos. I have no idea what happened behind closed doors but Boulderhead quietly dropped the case.
As for the wing mirror: Tiny gave it back to me as a souvenir. I kept it for years after and was even allowed to take it with me when leaving Omund. It was eventually fitted to an old WW2 Willys Jeep which I rebuilt for use as a dune buggy when living in Hout Bay. Just before leaving SA in 1985 I sold that lovely old vehicle - complete with CDM55 wing mirror - to a jeep freak like myself who lived in Durban. I assume it is still dune buggying around somewhere. Wing mirrors tend to last a long time........