The Austin A55 - Ute

Arthur the bugger! He preferred to be called ‘Doug’, rather than his given name but Henry was miffed with him, so Arthur it was!

Arthur had some morning appointment and did not arrive up at the logging site until after morning smoko. He was too miserable or maybe anti-employer to take his own vehicle up the forest road, instead he arrived in Henry’s trusty A55 Ute!

‘Yer old ute sounds a bit rough!’ Arthur announced to Henry. A bit cocky-like.

‘Who said you could use my truck? Henry frowned at him.

‘Albert said it would be ok with you because there’s no other firm’s transport.’ Arthur was red faced - guilty. Albert used his loaf and Henry accepted that, he encouraged initiative, but everyone knew rule ‘if you miss the bus, you make your own way’.

After the day’s work, Henry started his Ute and sure enough it was only going on three cylinders and there was the sound of metal chewing metal, so he quickly switched it off and they towed it to headquarters then manhandled it over the pit in the four bay garage.

It all sounded very expensive to Henry but the boss and some of the crew promised they would help with the repairs. Typical empty promises they were!

He had the usual financial pressures, so decided to do the job himself, after all, the old girl was a farm hack, and not at all flash, so not worth spending a fortune on.

Henry was no mechanic! He had enough comprehension about mechanicing because he was responsible for the forest machinery and vehicles, but he preferred to keep his spanners in the toolbox!

He knew the lingo right enough – mechanics’ jargon.

To make the inspection easier, he took the bonnet off which sounds easy enough but the nuts were a bit rusted and tight (as ‘a bull’s bum sewn up with a chain’) so he had to really swing on that spanner and liberally use CRC! After removing the air cleaner, it was simple enough to take off the tappet cover, then the cylinder head to reveal the back piston had collapsed. Bugger! So that meant draining the oil, removing the sump and taking all the guts out of the motor. He put the parts in a pattern, the reverse of which was the way to put it all together – hopefully.  

Apparently this was not the first time the engine was taken apart because the pistons were oversized, meaning the cylinders had been re-bored so larger pistons were needed. He was not too fussy , figuring that petrol needed to be clean because of the tiny jets in the carburettor, but he wasn’t too hygienic fitting new bearings and the rest. He had no ring compressor, so he used oversized hose clips and tapped the pistons down, which worked just fine.

She wound over ok on the battery and he gave her a helping hand by pouring petrol into the carburettor, starting her with the air cleaner off. She fired up well and with the air cleaner and bonnet back in place, he took her for a spin – all seemed ok.

He wasn’t sure that he had done things one hundred percent by the book, no bits were left over, so he hoped for the best.

Unfortunately the old girl failed at the next warrant of fitness check! The deck was rusted out and the cancer had spread to the chassis!

His mate, Robert gassed off the deck, which left a hole in the back of the cab, he repaired the chassis, built a frame of box section for the deck and patched up the hole in the cab with a sheet of tin - welded and riveted into place. She never ever rattled.

Henry built a wooden deck on to the frame Robert had made using Douglas Fir, not that good for wear, but it was timber he had on hand. Being lighter than the original deck, it compromised wheels traction somewhat, but that was made better by sitting a bag of sand over each wheel.

Not actually a pretty sight, but she was legal so passed the inspection.

‘Old Faithful’ suited Henry’s purposes fine for a further five years and the gutsy battery was handy to start his shearing plant, which was better than half a century older that the Ute.

His repairs couldn’t hold a candle to those restorers who meticulously restore all manner of old machinery, they would call him ‘a rip-shit-and-bust merchant’ – not that he worried.

Finally, he needed a better vehicle because his new job was further away, so he gave the old girl to a local lad who he reckoned would be sensible with her.

The sheepdog?  Bess a reliable workmate.