The coming of the White Rabbit by William R Blankley

more by William Blankley

I think that for any rational person four Manta A series in a family might be enough. This is part of the tale of how we became seven and why the collective noun for you-know-what is identical with the singular.

The sight of a shapely rear end always sets me off. My apprentice car-bodger tells me that I resemble nothing of this earth, but that it seems to be in rut and desperate every time it sees a Manta.

A mission to Manta(s)

Thelma saw it first, not far away at all; parked in a front lot on The Green forlorn beneath a patination of leaves, huddling under a tree and quite obviously immobile. At times like this a lot of impertinent door and ear bashing is the only way. I took the Green Dragon round, we parked up next to the White Rabbit and started in on the house, it does help to have another Manta A to point to at such a delicate point in the enquiry. As always help and information flowed freely. I just stuck to the truth, all I wanted to do was find out about the car and see if I could be of some assistance having been through this before.

Tim, the owner, dwelt in the basement. After getting over the shock of being asked about the Manta we got on to its history and his hopes for the future which were being complicated by moving home.

Tim is a teacher and ace cricketer; he does not have much time. White Rabbit had been owned by a fellow teacher who was heavily involved with his charges and evidently had little time for the car, it died slowly, the dents visible giving mute testimony of the degradations and neglect to which the vehicle had been subject. It had belonged to the mans mother, to what depths had mother’s pride and joy sunk? Whatever, Tim had determined to save the poor creature and quite right too.

Out came the copy of "Manta News", the one with the list of Manta A body parts in, in went the OMOC commercial and under the car we went for a better look. In a word, fixable. The usual "A" rot points just satisfactory, at that time, with some holes in the rear of the sills. Oh yes, somebody had done some MIG welding.........I HATE C02-MIG WELDS out from under and sit in, She is the first automatic Manta A I have ever seen.

Fascination, spiked by the aroma of milk spilt on the now bald carpet in aeons past and the unmistakable nose of rotten eggs emanating from the boot. It was like being downwind of a farting contest! Wow! This was growing grass on my bald patch! In between deep breaths of this bracing aroma we looked at where the battery box used to be and admired a totally black filthy air filter element.

We had a long talk, about Manta A, about life and as a parting aside I said that if he had to let the car go for scrap to please give me first refusal. (Yes I had volunteerd to do a bit of welding; I gave best advice and acted ethically. No I was not lusting after his car, but it could not go to the breaker’s yard)

Time passes, and with time the seasons. There is a tide in the affairs of man and Manta, they are inexorably intertwined. I had passed to Tim as much information as I had and put him in touch with Mark Kinnon. The next time I heard from Tim it was my wife he wanted, Thelma sells life assurance and general insurance for GRE, as part of the service she fixes things. I will never know what happened and I will never ask. The next thing I find is that Tim is moving house and I’ve got me another Manta folks.

Never, ever, underestimate a Rust Demon. At the moment I am welding some new metal into the front chassis leg. Tedious. So is removing grot MIG weld.

As to moving the car, well, after an hour or more cursing in the rain she ran but on three cylinders. Had my x-ray eyes been up to the mark I might have seen the broken exhaust valve and the gaps in the rocker cover gasket. The engine was smothered in oily gunge. The swift dive round the corner nearly did for me as the oil on the exhaust manifold burnt off and the fumes came in through the vents and open windows in lumps and the noise, of course the exhaust had to blow as a fitting accompaniment, Just don’t say a word OK?

Off with its head (said the White Queen). The engine had been fed Russian petrol. Burnt valves with strange erosions, choked inlet ports, but perfect bores.

It is Autumn, why, because exhaust valve stem seals carpet the ground, that’s why.

So I did the head in a hurry, finished at half past midnight. The next afternoon I just slipped that number one valve out again to take another look in daylight. Pity about the cracked head.

(S)CRAP

In a real tear now, grabbed another head and set too. A little quicker this time; finished at eleven PM. The next day went out to admire my work I spun the camshaft so as to see the followers go up and down and the middle ones don’t. No problem, swap the camshaft and off we go. We did not, not only was the knocking stick worn but it was an undersize, the bearings had had it and by this time so had I.

(S)CRAP

While I was looking for the jigsaw, so that I could commit Honourable Sepuku, the head from the Breslaw engine turned up. When the carbon and mess had been scraped out of it that engine was like kissably beautiful. It is really being prepared to go in the Pumpkin but there are times and if this wasn’t one of them well I could go and wallow in a vat of used sump oil! Third time lucky?

Do in haste and repent at leisure I suppose? I repented at leisure as the third head was prepared. Yes it did work, but not until after a change of points and a new capacitor. Trouble starting a Manta is something that happens to other people, not me. It was half a days raving and screaming plus half a gallon of the black RAVING JUICE (coffee) before the light dawned. Perhaps I should always practice what I preach.

Meanwhile, here we are, one Arctic White Manta A Automatic of 1780cc, Blue interior trim, smells all gone and goes like a rocket now.

By the by, Tim and I filled two bin liners when we emptied the boot and there were six well rotted eggs. It took me a month to replace the battery box. I hate work. It is now twenty-second October with lots still to do. There are three Manta A series for a start. A Rover V8 aka Buick to find, the back issues of Car and Car conversions with how to build a 300BHP aka Buick to locate and try and find the money to pay for all this. Would I do that to a Manta? Of course not, a nice Jag V12 might just fit; no sense in risking being underpowered is there?

William R Blankley

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