Trueclassic Park

The land was on the whole not unpleasant. There were large, open areas covered with a light, sandy earth, and woods too, with tall pines and beds of fern bushes. It was in these woods that lay the ruts and gullies, dips and sharp climbs that made the island a place difficult to traverse – the very reason we were there. I call it an island not because it was surrounded by water but because it was an oasis in the middle of the motorways and busy A-roads, the towns, the parks and all the cultivated land that make up most of our country. This island was where vehicles could roam free, off-road.

I had been asked along by The Professor, an acquaintance of some years who wished to try out his new Land Rover Discovery. Known in the business for his ability to fix any problem - legal, procedural or contractual - The Professor had earned my respect and, to a degree, my loyalty. There was one thing he couldn’t fix, however, and that was machinery. That’s why I was there: to sort any problems with the vehicle and get us out of the mud if we got bogged down. The Professor had brought with him his two young grandchildren, Maxine and Tom, and they sat in the back of the Land Rover gazing out of its windows, as we entered this strange, new place.

We started gently, taking the vehicle over a few small climbs and through some shallow mud baths. It handled them with ease. We were already in low range (a ‘mountain’ symbol was illuminated on the dashboard display) and, as the vehicle is permanently in four-wheel drive, there seemed little else for The Professor to do but drive. I glanced at the small screen positioned in the centre of the dashboard and saw the differential lock symbols moving from green, open padlock, to red, closed padlock, as the diff-locks engaged and disengaged automatically. With traction control combined, The Professor simply put his foot down and let the vehicle, or rather, its computers, do the rest. All that was required of us was to know what was coming up - it would be no use looking at the sky one second, cresting a hill and finding ourselves facing a tree trunk the size of a Renault Magnum the next.

After passing through a reasonably long and muddy gulley we came to a large, flat clearing that had several tracks leading from it. But it wasn’t the thought of these and where they might lead that took our attention, it was what we saw in the centre.
“I haven’t seen one of those for years”, I said. “In fact, I didn’t think there were any left, anywhere”.
“What is it”? Maxine and Tom asked, speaking almost as one.
“What is it, why it’s a Bedford, a type of military TM, if I’m not mistaken". The Professor was craning his neck forward over the steering wheel as he spoke, to get a better look. “TW’s right, they became extinct long ago. Well I never”.
“What happened to them”? Tom had inherited his Grandfather’s inquiring mind and I knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until the whole story was unveiled.
The Professor looked into the distance, while softly stroking the crop of white hair on his chin “Oh, they couldn’t survive the challengers, I suppose. None did in the end”, He said.
“This one’s still here”, Maxine tried to be cheerful, despite her grandfather’s sad expression.
“It died long ago, I’m afraid”, I said. It was true. The lorry had been stripped of its front grill and other body parts, and all its tyres were flat. “But there were a few about in their day; I kept a small number myself”.
“Who were the challengers”, said Tom.
“The ones you see all around you on the roads now, Volvos and Scanias for a start”, I said.




It wasn’t long before the sight of the old Bedford became depressing, so I indicated to one of the tracks leading from the clearing and wondered aloud as to where it might lead. The Professor took the hint, engaged drive on the Land Rover’s automatic transmission and we accelerated forward. After a glance over my shoulder at the decaying carcass quickly disappearing behind, I felt the shadows of trees envelop the Discovery and we were gone.
“So, how were the challengers able to destroy the Bedfords”? Tom’s interest had been well and truly aroused.
“It wasn’t just the Bedfords, there were other indigenous makes - too many to mention”, I told him. “But it simply came down to survival; the challengers were better equipped to survive than our lorries.”
“How?”
“Well, the Bedfords - and the others - needed more care than the challengers, we had to tend them and keep a closer eye on them. The challengers were more expensive but they were good; they’d keep going, sometimes when ours had stopped. That was more important in the long run”.
“Why didn’t the Bedfords evolve and beat them off?”
“We didn’t let them,” I said.

Before long we were putting the Land Rover through its paces with new found confidence. It wasn’t surprising; the vehicle would always dig in, even with its standard tyres, and just keep going. The Professor was impressed - and pleased; he was a man who prided himself on spending his money wisely. The island’s open areas were fairly evenly strewn and so, before long, we found ourselves out in the sunshine once again and looking at another carpet of soft, sandy earth, surrounded by trees.
“There’s another one of those Bedfords”, Maxine was pointing to a lorry that was lying on its side, about seventy metres away.
We approached slowly, like explorers who had stumbled upon some strange creature, one that might awaken at any moment.
“Good Lord, that’s no Bedford, it’s a Foden and a six-wheeler, at that”. The Professor said excitedly, opening the Land Rover’s door and getting out of the vehicle as he spoke. We followed and found ourselves chasing after him towards the stricken lorry. Soon, The Professor’s head was darting back and forth as he ran his eyes over the lines of the vehicle. Its grill was open and parts had already been removed from the panel beneath.



“Was it destroyed by the challengers as well”, asked Maxine.
“It was, I’m sad to say”, said The Professor. “But its kind lasted longer than most”.
Tom was walking up and down the length of the underside of the lorry, stopping occasionally to look at the detail of some part or other – first a suspension spring, then a track rod and so on. “Why didn’t we let the Bedfords fight back against the challengers”, he said.
The professor looked at me before he answered. “Well, people Like TW here liked the challengers. They were quick and comfortable to drive. They came from a land where the conditions were such that they had to be well made. And, I suppose, we didn’t really realise to start with what a threat they were. So we bought them instead of our own”.
I found myself in a type of daydream, running my hand over the front of the cab, feeling the Foden badge between my fingers. It was something, I realised, that was now gone forever.

“Why didn’t the Bedfords and the others join forces and fight off the challengers”. Tom wasn’t satisfied with our almost, apologetic answers and I admired him for it.
“They did”, I said, coming back to full consciousness. “But it wasn’t enough. You see, they needed more. They didn’t breed themselves, they had to be made, and the people that made them let them down, as badly as we did.”
“How do you mean”?
“Well, the challengers were always looking for new ways to make things better. They invested energy, time and money in it. The people who made our lorries didn’t. They only followed on, and pretty half-heartedly at times. They thought they had the market to themselves; but they didn’t. For success in the long term, you have to give as well as take, it’s the same with anything you care to think about – nothing is free. We all just thought of ourselves, and short-term gains. All of us: the people that bought lorries, the people that owned the factories that made them and the people that put them together. There’s always a balance and in our case, the balance swung too far the wrong way”.

We drove off after a while and with heavy hearts. I had allowed myself to forget these lorries, and not for the first time, that was the problem. Seeing them again, in the flesh, had bought back a host of memories. Memories of a time when our roads were filled with British built vehicles. The market is still there – more vehicles are registered each year than ever before - but the badges are gone. Foden, ERF, Atkinson, Seddon have all disappeared. Rover, Leyland, Matchless are no more. All gone; along with pride and sense of achievement - and the type of collective employment that unified communities and built futures.


Soon, another upturned machine came into view – not one, I have to say, that I recognised. We stopped and sat staring at it from inside the Land Rover, each of us speculating as to what it might be. “Some sort of armoured personnel carrier”, I suggested.
“Yes, you know, I think you may be right”, The Professor said, with a puzzled but fascinated look on his face. Suddenly, and coming from somewhere in the woods, I heard the deep throated bark of a revving diesel engine. It was no off-roader I’d ever heard before. “Mmm. Sounds rather big”, said The Professor.
“Very big”, I said, as the ground began to quiver. “And very close”.
“Wow”. Tom had seen something behind us. I turned quickly to follow his gaze, as did Maxine and The Professor. Maxine opened her mouth, but suppressed a scream with her hand, clasping it across her mouth so tightly it made the colour of the skin change. Her eyes were bulging with fear.
“What is it?” Said Tom.
The Professor and I spoke together. “A bloody Challenger”.