YOU ARE VISITING THE REFERENCE PAGES OF THE U.K. N.R.A. HISTORIC ARMS RESOURCE CENTRE - MINIATURE CALIBRE RIFLES RESEARCH SITE
Back to: * SITE MAP or MENU PAGE * SITE SEARCH * POSTAL LEAGUE INFORMATION * TARGETS - LEAGUE & HISTORIC * LITERATURE * COPYRIGHT * LINKS
ENFIELD TRAINING RIFLES * BSA & OTHER TARGET RIFLES * Non-Firing Training Rifles * MINIATURE CALIBRE ADAPTERS & CONVERSION UNITS * SUB-target DEVICES

This is Colchester Left: Colchester Castle in the hometown of the .................................................

................Colchester Rifle Club

........ and of the Royal British Legion Mersea Island Rifle Club

Colchester (the Roman city of Camulodvnum) in North East Essex, is England's oldest recorded town

CRC are pleased to announce publication of a comprehensive

.........................................................and thoroughly researched history of the club.

....This beautifully produced hardback book is

............................NOW AVAILABLE

..FOR FURTHER DETAILS OF

............THE BOOK OF OUR CENTURY, click below:

.......................COLCHESTER RIFLE CLUB HISTORY

............ ...................................1900 to 2000 by MAX EARNSHAW

FOR FURTHER DETAILS OF THE CLUB Email: contact@colchesterrifleclub.org

Please also read a little of what we believe makes the Colchester Rifle Club special! ............ A Century of Shooting

.........................................................and of a club outing to Bisley for full-bore practice.......... "The Blunderbuss"

See also - Colchester Rifle Club members' successes post 1970 at .. Rifle & Pistol shooting (CRC)

(above link temporarily redundant)

......with particular note of Life Member ..................................... Les King.(link temporarily redundant)

......and of the sad loss in 2002 of the illustrious .......... Larry Orpen-Smellie (OBITUARY) (link OK)

What does a rifle club do to celebrate its one hundredth birthday? That was the question posed in1999 as Colchester Rifle Club approached their Centenary. The modern club movement can trace its roots back to 1900 since, following the disastrous first Boer War campaign, questions were raised in the House of Commons regarding the Army's inability to replace casualties with adequately trained men. The Hon. T.F Fremantle, later 1st Lord Cottesloe, with Capt. E.C.H. Grant who was D.A.A.G for musketry at Aldershot and A.P. Humphry representing the N.R.A., were requested to undertake a fact finding mission to investigate Switzerland's rifle club movement.
The full report appears in a history of the N.R.A., "The National Rifle Association 1850 - 1909", and makes interesting reading. In 1898 Switzerland had 3,446 rifle clubs, with a membership of 210,491 which expended 16,152,500 rounds of ammunition. 163,409 members fired what was called " a regulation course". The Swiss Government paid the clubs the value of the ammunition. If a member made the regulation score in less than regulation rounds, he could claim the value of the unexpended rounds as an incentive. After the report was published, the N.R.A. Council set about encouraging the formation of local rifle clubs in Britain and, by the end of 1900, ninety-two clubs had affiliated with a membership of over 6,000. Colchester Rifle Club was number 35.
Colchester R.C. records show a series of matches taking place on the newly opened Middlewick Range. These started on the 20 th. September 1900, between the club and the sergeants of the 4th. Battalion, The Royal Warwickshire Regiment. It was agreed that a suitable way to commemorate the club's centenary would be to organise a re-match. Club stalwart Anne then set about finding the Royal Warwickshire Regiment (R.W.R), which was not as easy as it may sound.
Over the intervening years the regiment had gone through several re-organisations and amalgamations. These led to the regiment being merged within the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers T.A., based in Birmingham. Contact was made and the challenge accepted. Les King, aided by Terence Smith, undertook the organisation and, with the permission of the Garrison Commander, Middlewick ranges were booked for the weekend of 11th / 12th September. The match was to be teams of twelve shooting at 200 and 500 yards. But the rifles and TARGETS would be of the 1900 period.
For perhaps the last time in a single match, a collection of .303's were gathered together including fifteen Long Lee's, a Martini Enfield, some early SMLE's and two Ross rifles. The assembly included a Tippins Long Lee, kindly loaned by the NRA museum. This rifle had been used by Mr. S.A Pixley in 1909 to make a record score of 105 x 105. Luke Tippins and his son John were both members of C.R.C. They lived at Mistley on the River Stour. Luke was the local schoolmaster, but his interest in rifles and ballistics led him to leave his profession and become a full time gunsmith. Many of his rifles and shotguns are still to be found in this country and others have been found as far away as Australia.
Luke was a man who did not mince his words, as anyone who has read his book "Modern Rifle Shooting" will know. He was a member of all the C.R.C. teams which challenged the R.W.R in the original matches. John Tippins won the Service Rifle Championship in 1911. He was a contemporary both of L.Cpl. H. Ommundsen and of Arthur Fulton. Ommundsen won the King's Prize in 1901 and was five times winner of the Service Rifle Championship between 1905 and 1913. He also won the Bisley Grand Aggregate three times and was runner up twice between 1900 and 1912. Until four years ago, Arthur Fulton was the only man to win the King's / Queen's prize three times, a feat now shared by Alain Marion. In a poll taken around 1912, John Tippins was voted by his peers to be among the 10 best marksmen in the world. Sadly both John and L.Cpl Ommundsen were to be killed in the first year of the Great War. John, aged 27, shot through the heart while fetching water for a machine gun.

THE CENTENARY MATCH
The R.R. of Fusiliers' team were to travel down to Colchester on the Friday evening. Saturday morning was intended as an introduction with an informal match using the Fusiliers' SA 80's on the electronic target system. The afternoon was to be spent shooting .22" Long Lee and S.M.L.E. trainers to familiarise their team with rifles which only two or three of them had previously experienced. Things did not work out according to plan! One of their vehicles broke down on the A14, and it was 5.30 am before they arrived at Colchester Garrison. Col. Sgt. Sean McGarr still managed to appear on the range at 8.30 and explain that his team had not yet enjoyed 2 hours sleep. It was therefore agreed to shorten the day in order that they could rest a little longer. Saturday turned out to be one of the hottest September days on record and the C.R.C. members, who had decided to dress in period costume for the match, were beginning to doubt the wisdom of the idea.
When the Fusiliers arrived, justifiably bleary eyed, they set to zeroing the SA 80's, which had come straight from being serviced. This having been done, lunch was abandoned, and time was found for a 40 round shoot on the electronic target system. We were pleasantly surprised how well these rifles performed. Several tight groups and respectable scores were achieved, including a creditable 37 hits out of 40 for Les , who then announced that in the heat of the "rapid fire" moment he had put one round on Terence's adjacent target and that he'd anyway only been issued with 38 rounds! Some of our guests were beginning to show signs of nervousness.
Late afternoon saw everybody transferred to our Layer Road range for a barbecue and the practice with our .22" training rifles. The Fusiliers then "retired" to experience the bright lights of Colchester, as recently advertised on television, and ready for the following day's match. Sleep never seemed high on their list of priorities!
Sunday morning dawned, a little cooler and with a hint of cloud. Some of our guests had an unfortunate experience with a curry the previous evening and were nursing sore heads amongst other things. Being trained soldiers they persevered.
The Fusiliers mounted the firing point and it was an education to see the expressions on some of their faces as they inspected the rifles with which they were required to compete. Did men really shoot these things in the OLD days? Many of our team had only fired the rifles once themselves, but that was another story. Suffice it to say that what should have been a two-hour trip down to Bisley for a practice two weeks earlier, turned into a five hour nightmare with two changes of coach. The trip included going in the wrong direction along the A12 looking for diesel, before spending time viewing traffic from the hard shoulder of the M25. This whilst awaiting the third coach.
Colchester shot first with the Fusiliers spotting. The course of fire was 3 sighters and 10 rounds to count. Giving a maximum score of 50. It was agreed that no sighters would count until the first bullet hit the target. This turned out to be a wise precaution. The last of the 200 yd. details saw Colchester with a team total of 502 .The highest individual score being 45 from J. B. The Fusiliers' total was 467, their highest scorer being Cpl. Richards with a 47. This was also the highest score at that range, a very good score for anyone with these rifles. Cpl. Richards confessed that he had shot .303" before in the cadets, perhaps a little more recently than most of our own team members' cadet experience.
All then moved back to 500 yards where Les proceeded to put up a 50 x 50. This feat was achieved using a Long Lee with it's original Metford barrel. The best score from the Fusiliers being a 45 again by Cpl. Richards. The totals for the range were 467 for C.R.C. and 309 for the R.R. of Fusiliers. The final scores were 969 for Colchester and 721 for the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers.
One notable member of the Colchester team was Steve , who shot in the 1999 Palma Team and also won the South African State Governor's Prize during the recent England Tour. Another was Andrew, a Life Member of the Club, a double Queen's Prize winner and Commonwealth Games Gold medallist. Andrew was heard to say that he had not needed to hire period dress. What he usually wore was perfectly representative! Both these world class shots assured all present that they were not proficient with the Service Rifle of the 1900's.

There followed a picnic lunch and the cutting of a Centenary cake. Informal speeches were made by the club's President, Hugh; by event organiser Les, and by Col. Sgt. McGarr for the Fusiliers. The Fusiliers presented the club with a regimental shield and a fine statuette of their mascot and fusilier handler (currently one of their team as it happened). The R.R.F. team members then presented each of their Colchester counterparts with a regimental cap badge surmounted by its red and white hackle.
Colchester returned the gesture with a presentation of the club shield and the promise of specially designed wire badges linking the Colchester and Regimental crests. These had been held up in the post. Newly struck hundredth anniversary medals were presented to the three highest aggregate scorers from each team. The teams parted with a genuine feeling that the event had been well worth all the hard work, and with an expressed wish that another hundred years should not pass before a rematch!

**************************RESULTS********************************
___Colchester Rifle Club ______________________Royal Regiment of Fusiliers_________

_____Gold ~ Les King _________________________Gold ~ Cpl. Richards
_____Silver ~ John Birkin _______________________Silver ~ W. L/ Cpl. Birch.
_____Bronze ~ Steve Penrose ____________________Bronze ~ Col. Sgt. McGarr.

__NAME. __200 yds. 500 yds Total. ______________NAME. __200 yds. 500 yds. Total
Tucker ____41 ____46 ____87 _______________L/Cpl Rowley _39 ___24 ______63
Cerrino. ___43 ____28 ____71 _______________L/Cpl Johnson _41 ___14 _____55
Penrose ___42 ____45 ____88 _______________Fus. Patton. ____36 ___22 _____58
Ireland ____42 ____33 ____75 _______________Fus. Johnson ___33 ___27 _____60
Birkin _____45 ____46 ____91 _______________Fus. LeMaster _32 ___11 _____43
Hunt ______44 ____27 ____71 _______________Cpl. Richards __47 ___45 _____92
King ______44 ____50____ 94 ______________W/L/Cpl. Birch __42 ___43 _____85
Bolton ____39 ____27 ____66 _______________W/Fus. Stuart ___12 ___13 _____25
Smith _____44 ____44 ____88______________ Cpl. Gauntlet ____12 ___21 _____33
Harvey ____44 ____40 ____84 ______________Cpl. Carruthers __38 ___26 _____64
Russell ____38 ____47 ____85 ______________C/Sgt. McGarr __43 ___29 _____72
Little ______35 ____34 ____69 ______________Fus. Clarke ____37 ___34 _____71
TOTALS __502 ___467 ___969 ______________TOTALS _____412 __309 ____721

It had been a superb weekend, which could not have taken place but for the considerable efforts of Les, Terence, Col.Sgt McGarr and others too many to mention. We would also like to thank the Garrison Commander, their R/Sgt. Major and particularly the Range Staff.
Further thanks must surely go to Essex Police, the N.R.A., and Mike of the Herts. and Essex Shooting Association for helping to make it all possible

:Return to: SITE MAP or MENU PAGE or TOP of PAGE ~

~

Some say that the best things only happen around once in every hundred years. Anyone who knows Les King reasonably well will be more than aware of his great organisational abilities. He is more than capable of arranging an outing that will be long remembered by those taking part. Those memories would become even more poignant when he accepted help and advice from a friend and colleague.

" Let's book transport 'in the spirit of the original' ", said Terence, " I know of a local firm still running little charabancs ideal for our small party" he said. "Yes." said Les, " We'll make this a trip never to be repeated!"
At around 0630 hours on August Bank Holiday Sunday, members started to arrive at Layer, bleary eyed but in good spirits, with the prospect of an unusual day's historic (and isn't that the word) shooting ahead.
Steve Hunt was one of the first to arrive for the 7.00 am planned departure. But then he had only come home at three o'clock that morning from a party. Not a moment of the weekend was to be wasted...... or so he thought! Mark Brewster, on the other hand, who had been at a stag party also until the early hours, was not going to waste any opportunity to catch up on his sleep. A coach ride was just what the doctor ordered.
The Harvey family arrived with their youngest who was about to experience his first ever ride on an autobus, well three autobuses to be precise. This must surely be a new Colchester record. We had thought that the purpose of the outing was to select a team for the Centenary Match, not a suitable coach. As the party assembled, our lovely cream coach arrived. "Dodge" it proudly proclaimed on its bonnet. Never was a truer word put into chrome print.
Our transport had been especially booked by Les, who had been most specific about our requirements. A thirty-odd seater to accommodate only seventeen people in great comfort, along with a large boot to ship about fifty rifles in large cases, ammunition and all the accoutrements of a sophisticated shooting team. This was also done in the knowledge that the return journey would be made with even more equipment. The N.R.A. had kindly agreed to a loan of scoreboards and easels for the Centenary Match at Middlewick. These would take up at least the rear set of spare seats.
"What's this", said Les." It's only got twenty seats!". Then he walked around the back, "and no boot! Where's all this kit going to go?".... pointing to about a ton and a half of ironwork and cases spread around the drive and car park. The driver looked non-plussed. But not half as much as Les!
The story unfolded. The superb vehicle in which we were supposed to have been conveyed had broken down the night before.(Alarm bells started ringing - but only faintly. They were to become louder!) This was the alternative that his boss had instructed him to use. There was an intermediate sized bus, but the large one having broken down, the boss had left for Gatport Airwick in that at about the time Steve Hunt had arrived home that morning!

Our assembly and luggage would patently not fit on the present vehicle. The driver would go back to his base and get a twenty-nine seater that was there and return to pick us up. Shooting started at eight-thirty, but we should still be there soon after nine. Then it was suggested that a little time could be saved if we could manage to get everything and everyone aboard for the short trip to their Colchester base....... (wrong). 'Your base is actually at Great Tey?. Oh well, never mind, that's still not too far"......... (wrong again). It took twenty minutes to load the kit aboard, let alone the crew. Steve Hunt stood in the aisle at the rear, holding back the one-and-a-half tons of equipment in case we had to make an emergency stop. He was heading for a pressing appointment.
Each approaching bend further illustrated the point that a great weight in the rear of a small coach seriously affected the handling. As the suspension bottomed over each bump, those fortunate enough to be seated were grateful that there was enough leg room to allow them to prop their frame into position against the strange motion.
As we swung into the farmyard in Great Tey, the glorious sun accentuated the rich brown rust spots on the line of what we knew must be retired coaches parked alongside the barn. Relief showed on each person's face as they spotted the larger and marginally more modern coach last in the line. "No; that's the one that broke down yesterday" said the driver." We're using the one parked this end." To all concerned this one seemed no larger than the one from which we were now in the process of prising ourselves. "That's true", said our driver struggling to further endear himself to us, " but it has more seats on it!". "It still doesn't have a boot" exclaimed Les, only showing a relatively small degree of exasperation. The tightness of his..... lips was the only give-away of the mounting pressure. That and the comment to Terence along the lines of "even Gill told you that their coaches were quite old, and Graham, if I remember correctly, said that their vehicles looked a little tired. Don't you remember?"
Terence was trying hard to forget but, as the day unfolded, this he was not to be allowed to do. " Spirit of the original" he reminded Les.
Twenty minutes later, at around eight o'clock, we had reluctantly embarked on our second bus. It looked outwardly identical to the Dodge, but nobody walked round the front to spot that it was actually a similar body on a chassis powered by Volkswagen. More than a few of the team were showing signs of impending stress. Had they known that we were aboard a vehicle whose smaller sibling had shown a propensity to burst into flames on motorways, the angst might have been greater! The seating arrangement was akin to that found on a military transport aircraft on a parachuting mission - tight as Les's ...lips; and I don't know if anyone else noticed the sign on our twenty-nine seater that announced "TWENTY FIVE SEATS" in bold letters beside the driver. Perhaps he'd never seen it either. The seat backs were upright, legroom non-existent, and the load-master had excelled himself. Our far aft C of G allowed the pilot to pull back on the stick and give us a good impression of being launched into space! Not dissimilar to the set off of a dragster either. However, the impression lacked the aspects of acceleration and speed, but at least we were finally on our way. Or were we?
Driver: " I need to refuel, there isn't much in the tank."
Les: "O.K. where will you stop en route?"
Driver: "Marks Tey"
Les: " Isn't that in the wrong direction?"
Driver: " Yes, but that's where we buy our fuel"
Les: said nothing, thought much!

Ten minutes later we pulled up on the forecourt and our driver disappeared for five minutes. Already the seating was taking its toll. It was really uncomfortable, but that sat well with our demeanour as the driver climbed back in his seat and set off without putting any fuel into the tank!
"Problem with paying, we'll have to go to Kelvedon" At least that seemed in the right direction!...........(wrong yet again).
Up the Kelvedon slip road we went.......... and back down the Colchester bound one! This was familiar territory. Les was toying with the idea of going to see if Gill might like to come to Bisley after all! Then another forecourt - another hour. Fuelled up at last, we set off.................. for Easthorpe! It was now obvious how much longer a journey can take if much of it is made in the wrong direction. One high speed "U-turn" on the dual (spelt DUEL) carriageway later, we were convinced that things were at last moving our way..... along with the large truck that had been bearing down on us! A friendly return wave of thanks from our driver, and we settled into the familiar drone of high speed modern coach travel, plus the vibration and the oil fumes. My feet were getting a massage from the floor - a great sensation for a little while. Then I noticed how hilly Essex had become since the last time I drove the A12.
A typical sunny summer's early morning brought the customary cycle race to our trunk road, though heaven knows why. Our sluggish pace was further reduced by our inability to maintain a reasonable speed in the outer lane between successive cyclists. We were continually brought down to their speed up the hills whilst the rest of the automotive world hurled past outside. We were only able to overtake one by the good grace of the occasional motorist or trucker who slowed to allow us to move out to overtake. Some might think I am joking. But don't forget that the turn of speed of a road racing cyclist downhill is altogether a different kettle of fish. You could tell that Les's habit of organising competitions of all kinds might be getting the better of him. A competition to count the number of overtaking cyclists whilst we were on the dual-carriageway was not the most encouraging of his ideas.
The conversation turned from the concerns of each successive moment to the relative merits of routing to Bisley on the M25 either North or South about. All present this day have now seen the answer proved beyond a shadow of a doubt! The long climb out of the Dartford Tunnel at less than the minimum motorway speed illustrated the point. In fact much of Kent did the same. The southern route was considerably extended by the driver's inability to coax the coach away from the tunnel toll booths in the right direction. It was continuing with its attempts to get as far East into Essex as it could within the day. Had it succeeded in going backwards over the bridge we would have surely found ourselves in the Guinness Book of Records, which is where we thought we were heading anyway.

With one professional and several amateur mechanics aboard, there were many pairs of finely attuned and well qualified eyes and ears monitoring both our progress and the vehicle's technical wellbeing. With a good few miles under our belt, and more time than you could ever imagine in which to assess the situation, the level of fumes, noise, driver ability, and a hundred other aspects were faithfully mentally recorded. Any hint of change would be immediately registered. Somewhere approaching the A3, having just peaked a long incline, the ensuing gear change heralded a severe power loss. Thirty-six ears pricked up. Thirty-six feet started mentally pedalling. (The figures credit the driver with the same thinking as his passengers..... a questionable supposition). Before we could apply sufficient effort to the plan there was an enormous report (a bit like this one), and unidentified components flew out of the side of the vehicle amongst the unsuspecting traffic.
The motor seemed unwilling to quit without at least trying to get us clear of the motorway, but it was confounded by a more easily disillusioned driver. Not that his disillusionment had anything to do with the barracking that he had earlier received from behind..... somewhere near where Ann Jelbert was sitting.
Entreaties to the driver for the conversion, of all twenty-two miles an hour remaining, into coasting towards the approaching slip road fell on deaf ears. Not surprising if he had been driving that coach for a few years! He pulled onto the hard shoulder without spotting that it petered-out in about a hundred and fifty yards...... along with the engine. The saving grace was the fact that we rolled to a halt alongside the only door in the huge wooden noise barrier stretching miles along that part of the motorway. The gap between this and the Armco was only about two or three feet. Hardly a suitable place for any of us, let alone a young Harvey in his pushchair. Both the traffic level and the sun were rising to a high level. The door opened onto a wooded valley as if we had enjoyed some fairy-tale escape from a nightmare. Steps went down to a dry river bed (drain), and a path led to a minor road passing under the motorway. Peace at last. Only the possibility of a passing policeman losing his sense of humour when finding an armoury in the back of a broken down bus caused any further anxiety. That and the fact that half the day had gone by, and we seemed less likely than ever to attain our goal! At this point Les had an idea for another competition, more to relieve stress than for any constructive purpose. The driver had walked back to see if he could find the article which had decided that it too no longer wished to travel on the bus. There appeared to be enough debris spread about to build another entire coach, but even Hugh Bolton shied away from this plan. However Les thought that we could put all the parts in a pile and see who could detect our missing parts first! The idea fell on ground almost as stony as the hard shoulder.
It had already been established (when leaving Layer) that the driver's mobile 'phone alternately either had no dial out facility or a flat battery, or perhaps the shoestring had broken. Anyway, Mike Cerrino's mobile became our only contact with civilization. Our call to the driver's boss woke him from his slumber in the Gatport Airwick coach park - or that was his story - where he was trying to cut down on the tacho time he'd amassed from the previous day's misfortunes. He agreed to drive up the M23 to rescue us, and arrived only shortly after Steve Penrose completed an impressive marathon to a reportedly nearby shop to buy a newspaper. Everybody then expressed surprise that our own misfortunes had not already been put into print in the Daily Mail. Surely the whole affair would have been a major scoop!

The new (and I use the word advisedly) coach was another dog. But a significant improvement for all that. The seats were at least as well space as the first ones of the day, and it had a boot. The third transfer of all the equipment took place. The human chain would have done credit to any fire-crew restricted to buckets! Our own marginally less despondent driver took over, and we left his boss at the side of the motorway with coach number two which was now lying on the hard shoulder in submission with its wheels in the air. The poor chap had only just arrived in what outwardly appeared a perfectly serviceable coach ( a point yet to be proven) and was now languishing with a wreck.
Justice at last!

There were only a few short miles to the A3 junction, but it soon became apparent that coach number three also needed an injection of funds. Especially in the engine department. Exhaust and oil fumes were penetrating the rear emergency exit door seals and the engine compartment panels respectively. But it didn't vibrate quite so much, and the seats offered much improved legroom. We were also not threatened by a cascade of heavy items from behind in the event of a sudden stop. Smiles returned to the faces of a group who had thought they might never see home again - not to mention Bisley. The less trusting amongst us were still listening carefully to the running noises, with justification, but we hoped the worst was over. Until the prospect of the return journey came to mind!
We arrived at Bisley with only one hour before the new lunch hour started at twelve thirty. Barely enough time for the 200 yard details. The good news was that the sun was shining and we were about to commence what we had come through hell and high water to do. The bad news was that the coach wasn't staying. It still had a party to collect from Gatwick. Would we ever see it again? Did we even want to?
Somehow, with everyone's co-operation, all the equipment was unloaded with another human chain and since it couldn't be left there, it all had to be ferried to the points with us. The prospect of having a coach which would follow us around Bisley to provide a base for our kit, and somewhere to sit in comfort between times, faded with the smoke haze as it pulled out of sight round the London and Middlesex...............
By five o'clock, we had managed to get through our day's planned Centenary shooting practice and enjoy shooting a few other rifles as well. Steve Penrose kindly put his Gemini stocked, Walther barrelled .762" at the disposal of one and all, (perhaps he already has a new barrel on order), and others were able to shoot extra-curricular rifles they had brought with them. It had earlier looked as if this might be impossible.
We had not quite finished tidying up, when that familiar cream paintwork appeared through the blue haze, heralded by the rhythmic "pfft.. pfft.." of an exhaust manifold leak. Our man was back. He had been to Gatwick, collected the other party, returned them to Colchester, waving to his boss as he went past, and then made the journey back to Bisley. Impressive - both he and the coach. Perhaps there was hope for us yet!
We loaded up, including all the N.R.A. boards and easels. The driver agreed that his tacho hours indicated a short break was necessary, and we all filed into the L & M to build up the Dutch courage needed for the return trip. We even bought him a couple of soft drinks. We must have been softening ourselves. Shortly after six o'clock the coach was boarded with some trepidation.

Leaving Bisley in the glorious evening sunshine was a treat, added to by the tour of the caravan site to empty Les and Gill's caravan of his large purchase. This proved to be the entire contents of the N.S.R.A. armoury, which Les had taken time out to procure, much to the amusement and amazement of all. This really did take up all the back seats!
The homeward journey passed almost uneventfully by comparison. The noise and fumes seemed less obvious, an indication that we should all have visited "the Donkey" before we left in the morning. Perhaps we can make such an arrangement with Alan for the next occasion. Our slow progress was slightly less painful, but showed up when the hour, which I had 'phoned home as an ETA, passed whilst we were still passing Brentwood. No matter, a little optimism never did anybody any harm, and at least we were still on the move, ..... or were we? I awoke suddenly from my gentle doze as we slowed unexpectedly........ "Only a fuel stop? at Easthorpe again? Phew!"
Through Stanway to drop Lisa and her son off near home, (Colin would come back to collect the car from Layer and save her the last few miles of torture), and we were cruising the streets of Colchester towards Layer. At least nothing could go wrong
this close to home. Then there was a tremendous thump. "What the heck was that?"....
Nothing could be seen in the dark, but at least we were still on the move. And in the right direction. We chose to take no notice.
Kingsford Park slid by in the darkness and the brakes squealed as they took the speed off for the bend round the bridge - memories of a Dutchman lying at the side of the road beside his powerful red motorcycle flashed through my mind, and my nostrils flared with that characteristic imaginary smell that comes with such memories. The bodily aroma of one, clad in leathers on a hot day, having just escaped death by the narrowest of margins.
One final burst of power up the hill, and the gateway appeared in the dim beam of the headlights. Several rushed to be ready to open the gate as quickly as possible. Another minute in this box was not to be contemplated. "Driver, where's the door handle?" .... " On the left of the door" .... "Oh no it isn't!" The memory of that awful thump came to mind. The bloody door handle had fallen off!....................
A frantic search in the dark seemed to take forever. Those in the back were clenching their teeth and fists at the same time. At last someone got a grip... a few fumbling moments and the fresh air cascaded into our airless spaceship. Or was that a spaceless airship. My mind was in turmoil. The surge for the door was expected; to be back on home soil was as if being transported to heaven. Who cared about the cars stopped in the road impatiently waiting whilst this coach blocked their way.
The gate was open and the slightly larger coach number three was tearing the branches away either side. Would the windows survive the beating; who cared, we were nearly there! One last squeal of the brakes and I was pushing at the back of the queue. Thank God it was all over.
The coach miraculously made it from one end of the drive to the other without breaking down. We all had visions of being in Layer and not being able to get the cars out of the car park. Why had we become such doubting Thomases? There was really no reason, was there?
My last thought as I watched the driver struggling to open the boot containing all our hardware was that the handle couldn't really come off in his hands, could it?

S.A. Pixley is believed to be the son of Stewart Pixley who, born in 1825, worked at the Bank of

England until opening a gold bullion brokership in 1825. He also became a Justice of the Peace. In 1862,

at the age of 37, he won the Queen's Prize at Wimbledon in only the competition's third year. It seems

unlikely that Stewart Pixley (Snr.) would have still been capable of making a record score with a Lee-

Enfield in 1909, when he would have been nearly ninety years of age. High achievement at rifle shooting

was evidently in the blood. .......................................Stewart Pixley is shown, right, in 1890

The CRC page has been visited times