19^th July, Sheffield

“John-O? Where does the O come from? John-O’Neil? John-O be-good?”

Matt was a bit of a wind up merchant and a fellow 2CV owner. On this occasion he was picking at the absurdity of Martyn’s nickname, ‘Jonno’. If it was not the 2CV that had first triggered Matt’s irregular orbit with its infectious eccentricity it had certainly done nothing to cramp his style. It is easy to imagine him as a hero from a Roald Dahl novel. Oft donning a sturdy pair of leather boots, some oily cords and an oversized woolly jumper, his long blonde hair would be swept back into a ponytail and his forehead and nose fingered black with oil as he brushed his fringe aside. Matt also had an inventive taste in sandwiches; one memorable example contained stuffing, baked beans and tuna.

I had met him while racing across town to catch a shop before closing time. I’d shot past him as he was pulling out of a junction, roof down with bits of fire wood poking out skyward. He pulled out sharply behind me and the characteristic antenna-like lights blinked playfully at me through my rear view mirror. Torn between getting to the shop on time and being sociable I drove on. He followed me through a few traffic lights and a junction before I gave in and mounted the nearest curb. I held out my hand and introduced myself. We quickly got onto my participation in The Mongol Rally at which point he confidently stated,

“You couldn’t have chosen a better car. My 2CV has just come back from Africa. My girlfriend and I slept on a mattress in the back for six months and crossed the Sahara in it twice. They’re brilliant off road. Because of the articulated suspension system they’re really smooth. You can take them anywhere.”

Matt was a zealous preacher who could not extol the virtues of the exemplary post-war minimalist design highly enough. We agreed to meet again in a few days to go over the car and to become educated in the peculiarities of the car’s design.

We must thank Matt as much for his tips on maintenance as for his introduction to the bizarre world of the Citroen 2CV enthusiast. He showed us how to love the car as a lifestyle choice – a manifestation of a strange yet marvellously elegant logic. The car is simply not like other cars. It has a motorbike engine with cylinders that run horizontally not vertically. The wheels are mounted on gigantic anthropomorphic arms – essential to the novel suspension system. The windscreen wipers were originally powered by the speedometer cable and the gear shifter, a horizontal piston mounted where you would expect to find the radio, takes at least a couple of days to get used to.

Not only is the experience of driving and the mechanics quite unlike that of an ordinary car, there is something more than just novelty at play. Most of the body work is actually flat, the windscreen, the windows, the doors and the boot. Yet the pressed wings, bonnet and fabric roof give the lingering impression of a voluptuous and curvy car. The never ending oddness of this little French motor may have originated in the vehicle’s design brief. It specified that the car must accommodate a peasant driving while wearing clogs and a hat and was to be able to transport a basket of eggs across the furrows of a ploughed field without breaking a single shell. The humble French farmer should have inspired more cars.

Matt was really to prove his worth when, with just a day to go, our electrics burnt out. On a particularly wet and stormy evening the window wipers had become jammed, the motor overheated and the cables set on fire. The electrical system came into the cab through the bulkhead in a bundle. This bundle had melted together. Mercifully the ignition still worked but many of the wires lay bare and it was in real danger of shorting again. We also had no lights or dashboard controls.

“No problem,” said Matt, “The electrics in a Citroen 2CV are simple really. I could write you the whole wiring system out on a postcard.”

Thankfully his confidence proved to be reasonably well-founded. We started the electrical work rather late, having spent the morning changing the engine and gear oils and replacing the points. Then Matt and I stripped all of the systems out and replaced them in order of priority; firstly the ignition, then the headlights, brake lights and reversing lights. Things were going well so we fitted a novelty horn and our sound system while Jonno fitted a carpet to dampen noise and made a platform in the boot for his bed and our accessories. The whole street came out to get involved as it was glorious and sunny. Bea, Matt’s next-door neighbour, sat on the sofa-like rear seat which we had removed from the car and left in the street. Her children, Robin and Josiah, played with oily nuts and spanners while Bea soaked up the sun.

We also had a couple of electrical engineers looking suspiciously at our Heath Robinson handy work. Zaff, a high spirited Syrian of substantial bearing (not to be confused with Matt’s girlfriend Saf) bellowed critical comments about the rigour of the joints, their capacity to carry high amps or our junkshop tools. Despite appearances it was all in good humour and he also gave us a taste of Turkish coffee and told us stories of running over German tourists on holiday in Crete. Then he showed us round his garden.

Zaff liked collecting things; strong, useful things like Saabs, fire doors and welding equipment. Conveniently, these interests worked well together. For example, his three Saabs were packed, immovable onto his modest drive. They were all full, and I mean completely full, of useful things. From the foot well to the roof, the boots and the parcel shelves, all were totally jam packed with tools and paraphernalia including four different types of welder, five wire brushes, a number of stuffed toys and several metres of several varieties of pipe – a length of which we used to shield our new electrics.

Ingeniously, a number of hoarded fire doors had been combined to create a huge garden shed cum workshop, although it had become so full of stuff it was barely useable and impossible to find anything. But Zaff was busy making more storage space. He had moved, by hand, several tonnes of earth from the bottom of the slope in his garden to the top. Having built up a retaining wall, to keep the soil piled at the back of the garden, he was now building a steel structure in front. The structure was to support an extension to his new raised, flat garden and give him vast amounts of storage space underneath. We were recruited to help move some huge sheets of shipping steel. They were sitting on a frame about four feet up and were all about four foot square. It took both me and Jonno to lift one tentatively while Zaff pushed it into place; he had lifted them all up himself. The whole project had only taken a few weeks.

When Jonno and I returned from our tour, a little bewildered, Matt had reached the end of his tether. Problems had developed when he tried to install the blinking system for the indicators and hazard warning lights. After a very long and challenging day we resigned ourselves to setting off to London and into the unknown without any indicators.

We went back to our respective homes and packed. Unsettled by the last minute set backs we had a difficult sleep. The following day we packed as early as we could and set off to Jonno’s Aunt’s house in Essex where we would base ourselves for an early start for London the following day. In true Mongol Rally style we managed to get there pretty late as we had more to sort before leaving than we thought. After a few glasses of wine and a very welcome meal we were ready for bed.

Rising/Falling – Always Hoping -can be bought online at Amazon.co.uk, - ordered by your local bookshop for just £8.74 (the price the team’s car was auctioned for at the end of the rally) Just note the ISBN:0956196608 - or bought direct from the suppliers @ £10.99 (£8.74 plus £2.25 p&p) Address Cheques to Craig Chamberlain, Glovers Cottage, Lazonby, Penrith, CA10 1AJ