The Flying Anglia Part 1

Adventures along the way Devon-Dartmoor

Once upon a time…

Upper Norwood SE19, 1984 with the Magic Anglia/Weekly maintenance of vehicles was a ritual back when in the UK. She really didn’t need much work, and frankly she ran like a purring kitten most of the time.

In the early fall of 1984, prior to the US election, having had enough of Los Angeles, Ronald Reagan and the US in general we decided to relocate back to the UK. We left behind our community, hoping to push our musical endeavours with contacts in the UK at that point. It had been a long time coming. We had a great little flat on Bundy, south of Santa Monica Blvd. Our first real home together, with cat, friends and more…

Our dear friend Lizbeth saw us off at LAX, and in the process of saying goodbye at the gate pulled out an iron skillet that was quite heavy and gave it to Mary as a parting gift! Mary had to trudge that puppy all the way to Brixton with me offering relief on the way… The look on her face! We still have it after all of those years!

Arriving in London, we stayed with Ley and his wife Anne for a week or so in Brixton until we found a flat in a three-story house in Upper Norwood, (Upstairs/Downstairs three flats) furnished like all London flats for renters (really ugly furniture, but the back view was wonderful out on a green space.) We lived in the middle flat. The guy on the first floor was a mystery, but we had lovely neighbors above, Georgios from Greece and sad to say I can’t remember her name, from Hong Kong. Sweet, sweet people.

I found work with Wang UK as an international IT guy out in Hounslow (having worked for Wang in the US), Mary found work in the City with a trade group made up of ex-military people…

Over time we settled back into London. Being in the states for the length of time that we had been there changed our perception of living in London, as an example, depositing money into a new bank account in the US you could pretty much pull funds out within a day or so. This ran counter to the UK model, that wanted to hold your money for a month or two without allowing you access. Granted life ran slower then in London. It took some time adjusting, but we got there.

The second or third week in London, we came across the 1966 Ford Anglia… I paid 900 pounds for it; it was love at first sight. Bought it in the Eastside of London, from a secondhand car spiv at some wideboy’s car lot near Stepney if I recall correctly. “Only driven on market day by an old lady, look 36k on the speedometer” yada yada. I knew it had more miles than that, but it was a genuinely beauty.

Mary remembers it differently; in that we actually purchased it from the lady’s grandson. The same story about only being used on market day…

Whichever story is correct is now lost in the dust of eternity, 38 years on. The time that we had with the Anglia has remained a wonderful memory, regardless.

Red leather, the last fully hand-built vehicle in the UK was the 1966 Anglia. The detailing was very, very nice. (These pics are not of our Anglia but look much the same)

As we settled back into London, we made contact with friends who we'd known over the years in the UK and folks now living in London we had met in LA.

One of the friends, John who we’d met in LA had resettled back in Devon near his extended family. We had met him in Los Angeles through our friend Lizbeth. John had been a member of one of the early well known punk bands in the UK. (He was and from what I hear still is a stellar guitarist.) John had settled down the coast and started a family along with figuring out the next phases of his life.

John came up to London to visit along with his uncle, and for a concert in Crystal Palace Park where one of his old band mates was performing in a small mini festival that fall. Living in Upper Norwood it was a sweet walk up to the park. We had a great time that weekend! John’s uncle Richard told us stories about the Who concerts at Crystal Palace from the late 60’s. He had attended Kingston School of Art in the early 60’s along with Keith Richards, Eric Clapton etc. He was a most fascinating person, tied to a lot of the history of early Rock days in London.

Later on, after the festival, Richard shared that he and his wife Susan had a farm up on Dartmoor. As we’d hit it off nicely over the weekend, he invited Mary and I to come out and visit the farm and meet his family.

Time flew by, and in a few weeks, we drove the Anglia out to Devon down the A303, which is a lovely drive through Wiltshire, past Stonehenge among other wonders. When we arrived in Devon, we met up with John, visiting with him and his family on the south coast near Kingswear. We got to know his wife, his very young son and their lurcher (who was a fabulous dog.)

The Lurcher, John, his 3-year-old son and I went out coursing with the lurcher in pursuit of rabbits with no great success, but it was amazing to see the skill involved. John was getting by at that point on unemployment, and along with his wife gathered subsistence for the family in the woods and fields.

We explored Kingswear and surrounding areas up to Torquay (if I recall correctly) where his close relatives lived. Kingswear is to the east across from Dartmouth, on the River Dart, known as “The Road of Invasions,” to some historians. A marvelous part of the world.

Kingswear as seen from the River Dart Estuary

John and I went rambling a bit with his son and the Lurcher. We headed east up the coast, looking at old gun emplacements to protect against the German Invasion… and then John took me to a beautiful stand of trees, which turned out to be Redwoods purportedly planted by Alexander von Humboldt or an associate. I prefer to think the Humboldt planted the Redwoods or had them planted. Amazing. some 150 acres of Redwoods overlooking the south channel over to the Islands of Jersey, Guernsey…

Alexander von Humboldt

Truly it was astounding to see the Redwoods in the UK. John as I were enraptured by the stand.

In the following days, we explored up the road along the River Dart driving the Anglia to the ancient church at Stoke Gabriel with its amazingly beautiful giant old Yew tree, that has stood since ancient days predating the newer, christian sanctuary. (John was fascinated by all thing’s regarding trees… as I was figuring out at that time) he told us the tale of how the various priests have been reprimanded over the years by the bishops for allowing the local populace to dance around the tree and through the church celebrating the old pagan holy days… The tree is dated to at least 1400 years ago. The branches are held up by various devices spreading out some 70+ feet. You could see the old trodden path that went around the tree, in through the church out through the sanctuary and around. Like many places around the world the newer beliefs tried to glom onto the sacredness of an older site and to make their own. The peoples of the area had continued their rituals up into the 18th century if I recall correctly.

The ancient Yew in the Stoke Gabriel Church Walk. Beautiful!

We later made our way up to Totnes, that on the main is a tourist town but quite beautiful. There was a stone near the river (well not that near) in the pavement that supposedly Brutus had stepped onto off of his ship from Troy with fellow refugees. It is perhaps a joke about the ancient British myth of the Trojans settling on fair Albion.

According to local tradition, the stone was the first thing Brutus stepped on when he disembarked from his ship, saying, “Here I stand and here I rest. And this town shall be called Totnes.” This lore is likely incorrect however as the stone sits well inland from where any historic tide would have reached. - Atlas Obscura

Part 2 soon, when we venture up to Dartmoor and visit Richard at his farm. More on these tales later!