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One beautiful balmy night,
We decided to get out of town and spend the late evening messing about in the sort of place that your parents don't want to hear about, deep in undergrowth with rock caves and scary climbs up rock faces called "Jacobs ladder" and "Satan's Seat", an evening under the stars in the then beautiful picturesque natural place known as "The Habberley Valley", now probably built over with the latest council squats know as "The Patch"
My latest acquisition a Ford Pilot V8 (1949) nosed quick and quietly out of town ,down the country lane leading to our destination, windows wound down and the player banging out massive volumes of Bill Haley and the Comets. All was at piece in the night, birds asleep and not a soul in sight.
Being clever or stupid. (I still don't know) it was possible to take a short cut by going through a farm Carefully open and close the field gate and proceed in the darkness ,diagonally to the far side exit totally unaware that the farmer had excavated an irrigation ditch to drain his smelly pool further up the field earlier that day.
Suddenly there was an almighty crash, bang and squelch, the front end disappeared , we were thrown violently forward onto the dash-panel (didn't have seat belts back then). No injuries or damage just simply stuck the front wheels down a hole, then tilted ,leaving the rear wheels off the ground.
The walk back to town was slow and tedious, into the early hours and not what Sue had expected
But luckily she was game for whatever came our way
Back at my lock-up ,the only serviceable transport was a brand new motor cycle that had just been delivered the previous day, a Douglas Dragonfly 350 flat-twin with a seat for a pillion rider.
We collected ropes, chains, tie-down straps, paraffin lantern, torches and heavy duty pulley block and tackle set loading them into two sacks which were draped over SUE's shoulders on the pillion seat.
Somehow we arrived back at the scene and started to extricate the Ford Pilot (which is not light ) by attaching all of our kit end to end to the nearest tree ( sapling) and tugging on the block and tackle.
First me, but that was not enough muscle so Sue joined in and together we pulled and pulled and pulled. Falling down in soft sticky mud, digging in the heels, straining every ligament until finally we are just on the point of collapse when the car lurched back over onto the rear wheels. Success , time for a break to get our breath back, filthy, covered all over in the worst kind of farm mud
When out of the gloom appeared very bright headlamps and then a swivel spot-lamp (pencil beam)
OH ! Hell ! It's the Rozzers come to catch us red handed. You can guess the next bit [ello,ello, what's going on here then ?
They turned out to be couple of happy guys, laughed their ass off at our plight but flat-out refused to help, would not lay a finger on the job to lighten the load but did agree to stick around for a while in case we needed to call in outside assistance, even provided a swig of fresh coffee from their vac-flask.
( PS :- Those that muck in together stay together , just celebrated 55 years married ! )

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