LAURENCE KNIGHT comes over all nostalgic about family holidays spent on the Isle of Wight in the 1970s when Lodekkas, seemingly ancient K-types and growing numbers of new VRs and Leyland Nationals presented the appearance of a big fleet in microcosm
I was filled with horror by my father`s statement: ‘This year we`re going to the Isle of Wight for our holidays.’ What? No more fascinating car journeys to the Norfolk coast? No chance to observe the buses of Cambridge and Norwich, the cherry red Bristol/ECWs of Eastern Counties contrasting with the green of those of my native United Counties?
Not to mention passing the mysterious bus-filled yard in Horstead, to the other side of Norwich, found subsequently to be the premises of the dealer Ben Jordan. And in any case, going ‘overseas’ held no excitement for me. I had no interest in foreign buses.
The dull weather of late July did nothing to lift my spirits as the family Ford Zephyr 6 forged its way south; it was all winding single-carriageways in 1969, and a good part of the journey was spent staring at the back of a Tesco delivery lorry with a top speed of 38mph.
My father aggressively puffed out clouds of Silk Cut smoke as he wrestled the column change up and down the gears, making abortive and quite scary attempts to get past, those soft Zephyr springs further adding to my sensation of nausea. Soon enough a pit stop was urgently requested, and the dreaded Tesco lorry mercifully disappeared from sight.
In my memory, the ferry crossing to Fishbourne was akin to a full-blown sea voyage, yet amazingly my arrival in this far off land was greeted by the comforting sight of a Tilling bus fleet in microcosm. Soon, we were staring not at the back of a lorry but an open-platform 1954 Bristol Lodekka LD, displaying the bizarre and enigmatic destination of BLACKGANG writ large on its rear destination screen.
And so it was, from 1969 to 1979, the annual family pilgrimage to a tiny cottage in Upper Ventnor became a bus enthusiast’s dream. The Southern Vectis fleet closely resembled that of United Counties, but transported to a miniature kingdom with its own strange-sounding destinations: Freshwater, Ventnor, Ryde, Cowes...even the Latin word ‘Vectis’ had a mystique about it.
Golden age
The late 1960s and early 1970s years were a golden age for the Isle of Wight operator; package holidays had not quite arrived, and the exorbitant cost of taking a car across on the ferry meant many holidaymakers arrived on foot, at the mercy of Southern Vectis to reach their accommodation.
The main artery, route 16 (Ryde-Blackgang), was augmented on Saturdays by a limited stop facility to reflect this influx, and for the high season, frequencies across the island were greatly increased. This meant the locals had to put up with a reduced service in the winter, so to compensate a lower fare level applied.
It certainly was not cheap to travel by Vectis in the summer – fares were among the highest in the country – yet many buses were loaded to the gunwales during the peak weeks, even late at night. I vividly recall travelling on 515 (KDL 511), a 60-seat Lodekka LD6G, on the 16 in 1975; it was so besieged with passengers that the frustrated conductor eventually gave up fighting them off the open platform, and we creaked painfully onwards towards Ryde with standing passengers upstairs and down, and seated on the staircase too.
By 1970, aged 12, I was allowed to immerse myself in Southern Vectis with a Rover Ticket. The child fare was 8/- (40p), a lot of money in those days (about £6.25 at today’s values), but clearly regarded as good value by my parents, since it got me out of their hair for a day.
Abiding memories on those days out were of early ‘long apron front’ LD-type Lodekkas (they seemed to get everywhere) attacking St Boniface Down with verve, vigour but not velocity; musty ECW interiors borne of many years delicensed for the winter in the yard of Ryde depot; K5G open-toppers that had an amazing ability to rattle eardrums and fillings; and Bristol VRs with rear destination blinds, not that I ever saw one displaying a destination.
The parallels with United Counties made those holidays all the more welcoming — all my favourite Bristol/ECW types transported to a fairyland of winding lanes, steep hills, glorious sandy bays and little bus stations en route, perfectly designed for the bus photographer.
Small variations from the United Counties equivalents gradually became apparent, though; most noticeably the Gardner engines that gave the Lodekka FLFs a distinctly different sound to the deeper-sounding Bristol BVW units back home. Even to this day, if I hear an FLF6G I am instantly transported back to the island, gliding along the Military Road from Yarmouth to Ventnor on trunk route 26, as it was then, watching the coastline unfurl in front of me.
It took a bit longer to realise the LDs were also Gardner – the engine note seemed more subdued – but one thing was for sure, those 60-seaters seemed to have amazing acceleration and pulling power. Even hill starts presented no problem in second gear, only a capacity load ascending St Boniface Down requiring a change down to first.
Rover days out
My Rover Ticket days out were always entertaining, but if one defining memory were selected, it would be the FLF that formed the last service 16 from Shanklin to Ventnor, around 23.00. We departed with a three-bell load of revellers, strap-hangers dangling at a drunken angle as we ploughed ever upwards on the climb up the Down.
As the incline bit, progress in second gear gradually reduced almost to a standstill in the pitch black, until finally, to the screams of passengers, a violent lurch seemingly backwards, before first gear was noisily located by the driver. I do not think the smells were just of burning clutch.
The island’s terrain was challenging, but Southern Vectis drivers displayed great aplomb. The gearbox of a prewar Bristol K5G can be an absolute demon, yet on a similar journey, a standing load climbing from Shanklin Promenade on the well-known Old Girl, CDL 899, our driver allowed the bus to grind almost to a standstill in second, before effortlessly clicking into first as if the bus were semi-automatic.
One thing I did not realise at the time was that Southern Vectis Bristols had a sneaky advantage to help them up those hills – a low-speed back axle. This undoubtedly allowed a perky performance, but with the disadvantage that the top speed was reduced to around 32mph. Not that you would notice on most of the island’s roads; so narrow were some of the lanes that hedgerows and trees seemed to twist, sway and almost self-destruct as they whizzed past the open platform.
FLFs had that fabulous optional extra, denied to the drivers of United Counties – a five-speed gearbox. This was put to full advantage on the trunk road between Ryde and Newport; once in fifth, transmission noise and vibration created the impression of almost taking off.
These bigger buses never seemed quite as well suited to the more hilly and tortuous routes; the one-in-five dogleg climbing out of Ventnor was a real challenge to an FLF and I imagine drivers preferred the more athletic 60-seaters, given the choice.
Back home in Northampton, my local bus to town was invariably a wonderful United Counties Bristol KSW. However, even in 1969, these were elusive on the island, compensated to a degree by the many early deep-grille LDs with open platforms and three-piece destination screens — KSW clones to this naive 11-year-old.
However, our little cottage in Upper Ventnor happened to be on the Ventnor-Newport route, and every morning I was awoken by the distinctive staccato clatter of a Gardner 5LW. Sure enough, passing my bedroom window was a JDL-registered KSW5G; even the registration mimicked the JBD of the United Counties examples.
Clearly the remaining examples were congregated at Newport and only rarely strayed out of town. Thanks to a hot-headed altercation with my parents one tea-time, I stormed out of the cottage to seek solace with the buses at Ventnor’s Town Hall terminus, and had a chance encounter with one of the remaining KSWs, waiting to leave for Newport.
This was August 1970 and the two KSWs remaining in the fleet had become six, I later discovered; four delicensed ones were reinstated because of the forthcoming Isle of Wight pop concert. Maybe this was one of the revived ones? The JDL looked curiously jaded, radiator encrusted with white oxidisation...how fortunate that I had enough pocket money to ride to Newport, my only Vectis KSW ride and one I will never forget.
Unsurprisingly the bus retired to the garage on arrival at Newport, but even the ride home on a Bristol SU single-decker was highly entertaining. Not all Southern Vectis buses coped as well with the hills as the LD6Gs, and certainly not KSW5Gs, four-cylinder Albion-engined SUs or 6HLW-powered RESLs.
I have long admired the architecture of ECW bodies. Everything seems somehow just right, and so it was that I did not even notice one Vectis KSW quirk until arrival at Newport. Perfectly mirroring the offside sunken gangway, was that another one on the nearside?
No, the dipped ceiling disguised a luggage rack, a legacy of those heady 1950s summers when holidaymakers arrived with cases but were faced with railway branch line closures. The curious beading on the coving ceiling panels of some LDs was also explained... extra luggage racks once existed over the rear wheel arches for the same reason.
Open-tops
No youthful bus enthusiast could fail to be excited by old buses in a second life as open-toppers, and the Isle of Wight had excitement aplenty.
Many operators contented themselves with a mere decorous trundle along a promenade, but Southern Vectis and its formidable K5Gs were made of sterner stuff. Route 47, climbing steeply out of Ventnor and straight up the side of St Boniface Down before plunging down the other side to Shanklin and Sandown, was testing enough for a Bristol VR, let alone a veteran. And what characters those open-toppers were – normal fayre in 1969 to 1972 were the three ex-Hants & Dorset K5Gs with home-built bodies, maybe containing components of older vehicles — each an individual in its own right.
Numbers 909 and 910 (FRU303/4) had six-bay bodywork as if to emphasise their antiquity; 911 (GLJ 969), not to be outdone, had standee windows and Brush on its gear casing. All three were incredibly noisy with an amazing talent to vibrate, owing to rigidly-mounted Gardner 5LWs and full fronts that served to amplify what was never going to be a quiet bus. No.909 was not content with such volubility and possessed a second gear growl that sounded like it could be heard halfway across the island.
The well-known native 1939 K5G, 702 (CDL 899), also put in occasional appearances on the 47, though was more likely to be found on the 44 (Shanklin Promenade-Sandown Zoo). It too was highly vocal, and once possessed – for emergency use – a packet of Aspirin in the cab.
But the most enigmatic of the open-top fleet was something of a lone wolf. For many years cloistered away on the 42 (Yarmouth-Alum Bay), 908 (FLJ 538) was often my first sight of a Vectis bus, parked near the ferry terminal awaiting departure.
Ostensibly a KSW, and very handsome in open-top form, some things did not quite add up...the narrow-tracked wheels, the early registration, the shorter platform and bonnet. Part of the thrill of being a young enthusiast was the mystery of certain vehicles, in the absence of access to fleet lists and transport publications. I experience the same exquisite frustration nowadays when gricing abroad, when no information whatsoever is available. ECW rebodied some wartime Ks in the early 1950s, some to a hybrid five-bay style that was a halfway house between a K and a KSW, and some, like 908, to full KSW style but shortened fore and aft. The new bodies were often (though not always) 8ft wide; I can only imagine the roadholding was not perfect. Could this be why FLJ was kept in exile, away from the wildly-twisting route 47? I do not know, but happily it was let loose on this route for two last hurrahs in 1973 and 1974, compensating for the sad demise of the full-fronters.
Long day trips
The anticipation of visiting the island on these annual family pilgrimages was overwhelming, and I would be off down Zig Zag Road to Ventnor Town Hall as soon as my parents allowed, for a Rover Ticket day out. Typically I would take the 16 as far as Shanklin bus station, often an FLF; swap then to an LD on the 8 to travel to Ryde via the coastal route, then walk to the Southern Vectis depot that now houses the Isle of Wight Bus Museum.
In those free and easy days I could wander around unchallenged, and a perusal of the ‘dump’ would reveal which buses never made the grade for the summer relicensing. Other oddities collected there too – DDL 50, sister to CDL, was often there in its guise as tree-lopper.
Then it would be on to Newport via the 1 group, usually a harassed FLF faced with a heavy load and struggling to keep to time, followed by a special treat, plaice and chips in the bus station cafeteria while watching the buses. Oh, how I used to live...nowadays it is a pack up of sardine sarnies.
Suitably regaled, the afternoon would involve a 12 or 22 towards Freshwater Bay, stopping at Yarmouth for a trip on the open-top 42 with FLJ. On my first day out I learned the derivation of ‘inclement’, as in ‘the service may be suspended in inclement weather’.
I imagine the tiny depot at Freshwater kept an old LD in the corner for just such days, since the service still ran but in covered top format. From 1973, the regular performer was OT1 (MDL 951), first of the LD open-top conversions that replaced the K types – even more sprightly without the extra weight of a roof.
As the day came towards an end, I would settle down on a 26 (Yarmouth-Sandown, duration around 2hr) — a Lodekka LD, FS or FLF until conversion to one-person operation with VRs (renumbered 46 by this point). Last thrill of the day was one of the full-front ex-Hants & Dorset K5Gs from Ventnor to Sandown Zoo, thence back home to the holiday cottage. My parents were clearly very trusting to allow me such free rein, but baulked at my plans to tour London and its remaining RT routes.
What had changed?
As each annual holiday approached, my anticipation grew. What new buses would there be? Which old-timers would be stood down? My devotion to Southern Vectis by now was all-consuming — even my Matchbox fleet had a batch of open-toppers (thanks to the hacksaw in my dad’s workshop) for which I devised a scenic route down the back garden path.
In no year was the anticipation greater than 1973; National Bus Company standard liveries were sweeping the nation and I was likely to get my first experience of a Leyland National. First priority was to stock up with plenty of film; my objective was to record as many buses as possible in the old Tilling livery, since within three years this would become history.
Imagine my chagrin on our arrival – every Tilling green bus had been adulterated with white relief, grey wheels and reflected ‘N’ fleet names. Southern Vectis was clearly toadying to NBC diktats, and to further despoil my camerawork those dreadful ‘We`re really going places’ posters (reflected ‘N’ sometimes pointing backwards) turned up on the sides of everything at which I pointed the camera.
My disappointment was further piqued by the aesthetic disaster of white waistband and grey wheels with dark green, and it was a blessed relief to me when the offenders received the full leaf green treatment. Yet even Southern Vectis’s assiduous adherence to the new order stopped short of touching up the Bristol LHs’ cream window surrounds in green, or – horrific to contemplate – painting CDL in National white.
Maybe the company`s eager compliance with the powers that be was misplaced. I do not think for a minute Southern Vectis wanted Leyland Nationals, but pretty quickly it got them – plenty of them, and long ones too. Space-age technology stood before me at the Ryde Interchange and I beamed myself aboard for a journey to Cowes.
By my mid-teens I was not particularly diminutive, but sitting towards the front I could barely see above the bottom of the window, so I decamped to the ‘poop deck’ at the rear. The Leyland 510 engine’s clattering cacophony soon erupted, echoing between the Formica panelling and Vynide seats – no cosy ECW moquette or green rexine to be found here.
Off we went with a hiccough and a jerk between each gear, Ryde seafront rapidly disappearing behind us in a haze of diesel fumes. Short versions featured too, but Southern Vectis had disposed of all its Leyland Nationals 10 years later, woefully short of the average life of a Lodekka; clearly they were too cumbersome for the narrow lanes that characterised the island.
Sundry repairs following minor damage were easily administered to traditional bodywork, but a Leyland National with its array of rivets and bespoke panel shapes was a different proposition. Dents and scrapes were left unchecked – which was most unlike Southern Vectis.
A year of upheaval
Many changes occurred in 1973, and none seemed to me for the better. The newest FLFs, 619-21 (KDL 143-5F), were transferred to the Scottish Bus Group during the FLF/VR exchange with NBC, although to be fair, the VRs received in exchange from Central SMT and Eastern Scottish achieved a creditable life of 17 years.
It was no surprise to see the departure of the ancient K5Gs with full-front bodies, but they were a hard act to follow and the Lodekka conversions – taken from the MDL-registered batch, for some reason never my favourite – were bland by comparison.
Only three of the earlier LDs, 517-9 (KDL 413-5), remained in service, 19 years old by now, yet the exceptional condition of this batch was not overlooked by my local operator, United Counties, which was struggling to keep ex-Luton Corporation stock on the road. Nine of them emerged from United Counties’ central works in Northampton, immaculate in their new coat of leaf green. Sadly life on the mean streets of Luton was cruel and they never looked as loved as they did on the island.
Southern Vectis Lodekkas achieved long lives, and they looked – and sounded – excellently maintained. Crew operation of many routes was regarded as essential during the summer months because of passenger loadings; in 1975 many of the 20-year old LDL-registered batch were still in front-line service, smartly repainted. Flagship route 16 remained Lodekka-operated year-round until 1976 because of difficulties with the extra height of VRs, and I rode on my last Vectis FLF in 1983 – among the last running for NBC.
And so the years rolled by. I said goodbye to the last Birmingham ‘Standards’ and London RTs; back on the Isle of Wight, Bristol VRs took over from LDs as the mainstay of the fleet, and I moved out from my parents` house to pursue my studies in Norwich.
But we took one final Isle of Wight holiday together in the summer of 1979 – more of a reunion really – and once again I hurried down Zig Zag Road from the familiar old cottage in Ventnor for a Southern Vectis jolly. It was almost as if they knew I was coming. Two of the once 65-strong fleet of Lodekka LD6Gs were incredibly still in service.
For one last time I could sit at the rear of the lower deck and watch the trees and hedgerows hurtle giddily past the open platform, Gardner 6LW purring away, the distinctive ECW musty smell vying with that of Ambre Solaire. It was as if I had never been away...and of course they were, as always, on front-line use.
Of these, 562 (SDL 267) was scurrying between Ryde and Cowes on the 1 group of services, while 563 was employed by Shanklin depot on the 16. The SDL batch of LDs numbered five, so could further surprises lie in store? A visit to Ryde ‘dump’ soon dashed my hopes; the three other SDLs were parked up, looking forlorn minus their destination blinds, bearing the dreaded paper stickers on the front bulkhead window: ‘NOT LICENSED’.
In years to come, I returned to the island on day trips, but the atmosphere somehow was not the same. Cummins-engined Leyland Olympians romped effortlessly up the hills, barely needing to change down; Shanklin bus station was now a layby; traditional routes were wiped out and by all accounts the natives now spoke French and travelled by Route Rouge.
After the 1979 holiday I returned to the fine city of Norwich, putting Southern Vectis firmly out of my mind and focusing on my studies. But not totally...the wheel had turned full circle, and I was once again in Eastern Counties territory. And yes, five-cylinder Gardner engines could be heard outside my bedroom window.
- Log in to post comments