Who was the girl in the Royal Enfield ads?

A man and woman seated on Royal Enfield motorcycles gaze at one another. But her face is turned away.

 Who is she? An intriguing wartime Royal Enfield photograph, undoubtedly shot for an advertisement, shows a young woman with her face turned away from the camera. She hasn't been identified, as far as I know. 

But I think I do know her name. Follow along as I explain: 

The photo was probably one of several meant for a series of patriotic Royal Enfield advertisements placed in late 1941. 

As was the practice at the time, the photos used would be traced by an artist to make highly detailed drawings. The finished drawings would be used in the ads. Of course, to Royal Enfield, the precise details of the motorcycles shown were much more important than the exact features of the human models used. 

In the process of producing the ads, details (presumably even including the clothes) could be changed and "mistakes" removed. For instance, in the photograph, props are seen holding the motorcycles steady. Those would have to be erased. 

But some unusual details remained that I think give away the identity of the young woman. 

In late 1941, World War II in Europe was beginning to look up for Britain. 

While the United States was still not in the war at her side, the U.S. was beginning to supply armaments in quantity. Meanwhile, Germany had attacked the Soviet Union in May, which at least distracted the Luftwaffe's attention.

As Christmas approached, Royal Enfield decided to place a series of patriotic advertisements looking toward prospects for happier times to come.

The ads would suggest the Royal Enfields of the peaceful future, with civilian paint, set in nostalgic countryside settings. The young couple shown are nicely dressed. Him always in a suit, usually with striped tie, her in a variety of outfits.

It's partly the man's suit, striped tie, the high part in his hair, and the curls in her hair that encourage me to think all the photos for this series feature not only the same man, but the same woman, despite her clothing changes.

Royal Enfield motorcycles weren't for sale to civilians in 1941, of course, but the company apparently wanted to remind potential future customers of the joys of riding. The ads ran in both leading motorcycle magazines — dates varied.

As far as I can tell, the first ad in the series was entitled "There'll Come Another Day," placed in The Motor Cycle on Aug. 7, 1941. This shows the young lady, dressed in what may be a woman's horse riding outfit (jodhpurs), pausing to talk with a horse rider engaged in that distinctly British sport: hunting.

Her clothes are different but her curls and the motorcycle are the same.

The copy is corny, but optimistic: "When we're no longer petrol-conscious and signposts guide the way, we'll ride down Victory's pleasant lanes and along Peacetime's happy highroads..."

Note the references to gas rationing and the removal of road signs to foil German invaders! The ad includes a reminder to support the National Air Raid Distress Fund.

The second ad in the series was "There'll Always Be An England," placed in Motor Cycling on Oct. 23, 1941. Our girl is now dismounted and wearing a skirt. The ad title is a reference to a patriotic song that includes the lyric "There'll always be an England, while there's a country lane..."

Another outfit.

It's certainly a pleasant association for motorcyclists, and the ad copy takes advantage of it, reading: "There'll always be an England, whilst there's a country lane to ride down on that brand new after-the-war Royal Enfield Motor Cycle."

Then came "It's a Lovely Day To-Morrow," placed in Motor Cycling on Nov. 6, 1941. Here again, it's based on a song title, this time written by American Irving Berlin, but first performed in London, in 1939. British singer Vera Lynn recorded it in 1940.

Different clothes, again.

The ad copy began "When Victory has been achieved, we'll ride once more through the England that is ours, ten times more conscious of its beauty..."

That speaks of determination. They'd need it, as rationing and sacrifice in Britain did not end with the end of the war.

"What More Can We Ask?" appeared in The Motor Cycle on Dec. 11, 1941. Here we have our young couple posed just as they are in the original photograph, although the woman is, once again, not in the same clothes.

Different outfit but the same pose as the original photo.

The ad copy here suggests that all we really need is sunshine and a new Royal Enfield, and England as "her old happy self."

As far as I can tell, this was the end of the original patriotic series of ads. But the photo would get one more outing.

Years later, as Victory in Europe approached, there was "Joys to Look Forward To," an ad placed in The Motor Cycle on April 26, 1945. The copy is very similar to that of the original series, but adds a twist: "When the guns have fired their last shots..." there will be motorcycles "Made Like a Gun." Clever.

As the war in Europe came to an end, someone remembered this.

So who is the woman?

According to Anne Bradford, author of the book "Royal Enfield, The Story of the Company and the People Who Made It Great: 1851-1969," the young woman riding the back of the motorcycle in the ad "It's A Lovely Day To-Morrow" is Royal Enfield employee Barbara Seviour. This is the one positive identification we have.

In the book, Barbara talks about posing.

"Royal Enfield sometimes asked me to model for them. I'm featured in two 1941 advertisements sitting with a young man on a motor bike. The illustrations are sketched from photographs. I would hasten to add that I was used as a model not so much for my looks but for the simple fact that, as Tony Wilson-Jones's secretary, I was on hand. He was the technical manager of the experimental department which looked after buyers' interests and he therefore worked closely with Ed Blanden in the publicity department."

She is too modest about her looks. She was, after all, chosen Redditch Carnival Queen in 1943.

True, she mentions only "two" advertisements. But note that she says Royal Enfield "sometimes" asked her to pose. Were the two advertisements she mentioned just meant as examples (a "for instance"), and she in fact posed for still others?

Let's look at the five advertisements, taking them from the first one, entitled "There'll Come Another Day," with our girl, wearing horse riding pants, seated on a motorcycle and looking at a rider on a horse.

Her posture is very similar to the original photo, but not exact: she doesn't have her left hand on the handlebar, as she does in the photo, the tilt of her head is different and the wheel of the motorcycle is not turned to the left. Perhaps this pose was a companion shot to our original photograph.

Which makes sense, because SHE IS SITTING ON THE VERY SAME MOTORCYCLE. Pay no attention to the registration number on the front fender. The artist added the mythical "R.E.1941."

What is distinctive is that the motorcycle is a flathead Model CO with a civilian tank and paint at a time when Royal Enfield was making only military models. The photo was shared with me by an expert on wartime Royal Enfield motorcycles.

That motorcycle is a prototype, the rare sort of thing only the factory would have, and appropriate in an ad praising the new motorcycles they'd be able to ride when peace comes.

She is in pants, practical shoes, and riding gloves, when the other ads show her with bare legs and hands, and high heels. The ad wants to associate her with riding to the hunt.

The artist may had to change a lot of details, and perhaps the ad was based on a lost companion to the original photo we have, but how many curly haired young women got to sit on that rare motorcycle?

Next came "There'll Always be an England," with our girl dismounted and looking at a pair of piglets. Here again she is not dressed as in the original photo, but the gentleman certainly is: striped tie, pocket handkerchief, hair parted just off center.

What about the woman? Look back at the original photo, at her right wrist. She's wearing a wristwatch, somewhat unusually, on the right wrist. If you strain your eyes looking at the ad you can see what probably is that wristwatch on that right wrist.

See the wristwatch on the right wrist? Now compare the shoes to the original photo.

How unusual is it to wear a wristwatch on the right? Lots of people are left handed. But that doesn't explain it. My father was left handed, but wore his watch on the left. Most wristwatches of that day have the winding/adjusting knob on the right side of the case — it's difficult to adjust the watch or (in 1941) even keep it wound if it is on the right hand. This is very unusual. Our girl is one in thousands even if she happens to be left handed.

Case closed? Almost. Look at her shoes. The shoes in the ad feature the same backward swirl seen in the shoes of the original photo. She changed her outfit (or the artist changed it for her), but the shoes were unchanged.

Next up is "It's a Lovely Day To-Morrow," and we know from Anne Bradford's book that this is Barbara Seviour, riding pillion. Her outfit has changed again, but look closely and you'll see the same right-hand wristwatch and the backward swirl on the shoes.

Wristwatch and shoe in photo and ad. We know from Anne Bradford that this ad shows Barbara Seviour, so it must be her in the original photo.

And now, at last, comes "What More Can We Ask?" and we see the exact pose of the original photograph, with the young couple gazing into one another's eyes. Her outfit has changed again, certainly the work of the final artist, as the pose is otherwise perfectly identical to the photo.

Why all the outfit changes? Keep in mind that this series of four ads was meant to run one after the other. The gentleman could wear the same tie, as nobody was looking at him. The woman's clothes could not escape attention.

But, then, there was one more!

"Joys To Look Forward To" appeared at the war's end, re-using the pose in the original photo. Someone remembered the ad series, and thought it appropriate, now that the peace so desired was finally come.

It had been a long time since "What More Can We Ask" so it was judged OK not to bother drawing a new outfit for the woman.

Barbara Seviour's memories of Royal Enfield appear in Anne Bradford's book. Fortunately, there is a bit more about Barbara in the out-takes from the book that the author put in the custody of the Royal Enfield Owners Club (UK) and the Redditch Library. And there are some basic facts on MyHeritage.

Barbara's maiden name was Lealand. Her father and only sister (Cynthia R. Lealand) also worked for Royal Enfield. She went to work at 18, in the offices of the Redditch factory in 1940. She admired her boss, "Mr. Wilson-Jones," who was kind enough to help when she couldn't make out the shorthand dictation she took from him.

Her recollections of wartime ("it was so exciting working during the war") are those of a young girl experiencing the challenges and dangers of the home front, with her eye on a young man. Harold Thomas Seviour had joined Royal Enfield in the Industrial Engine Department during the war and rose to be an executive. 

She felt it was "the biggest mistake of my life" when, after the war, she left Royal Enfield to commute to a job at BSA in Birmingham. It was a relief when, having found a home to rent in Studley, she and Harold could marry and she could leave work. Former boss Wilson-Jones was best man at her wedding.

When Royal Enfield was sold to E and H.P. Smith in 1962, Harold was made redundant. "He was devastated... he loved work and his whole life revolved around it." Unemployed for two years, his health began to fail and this would force him to finally retire after 10 years at a new job.

Barbara Mary Seviour passed away in 2010, at 87.

My analysis may be all wrong, but it seems certain to me that the young stenographer and carnival queen did her duty posing as a patriotic inspiration when having hope for a better future was not only natural, but vital.

I'd like to know more about her. Anybody?

Illustrations for this article came from Rockers Bike Ads database.

The best collection of high-quality prints of these advertisements for sale I have seen is TheNostalgiaShop in the UK. 

How Royal Enfield workers talked

Slang words and phrases always fascinate me.

 The Three Lions Pub in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, advertises itself as an authentic British pub. 

The decor certainly makes an effort, including a clever framed sign, "I Want to Be British, Then I Could Say..." And then it lists and defines some pretty familiar slang expressions. 

You will recognize most of them. 

But see if you recognize these additional Britishisms below (definitions are at the end of this item). 

I came across them (and had to look them up on the Internet) while reading outtakes from Anne Bradford's book "Royal Enfield, The Story of the Company and the People Who Made It Great, 1851-1969." 

Bradford's book is composed of conversational contributions from the people who worked in Royal Enfield's UK factories up to 1969. Their language is sprinkled with delightful terms of that place and time.

Do you know what they mean?

"My foreman was Harry Hay, he was a proper toff." — Wilf Kinchin

"Those of us who were not on tour used to doss down on the factory floor by the old cost office." — Wilf Kinchin

"In those prewar days nearly everybody had an allotment and a 'pig on the wall.'" — Edna Kinchin

"Apprentices were not, as a general matter, treated as navvies." — Mac McGowan

"I used to collect up the orders for the canteen from the men and get their Tizer." — Mervyn Panting

"We finished stocking after two days and spent the rest of the week doing crosswords and playing noughts and crosses." — Mervyn Panting

"I've never known a palaver like it!" — Raymond Jones

"Being a stroppy youngster..." — Paul Savage

"They went into twinsets and straight skirts and that was it." — Sally Hawthorne

"He was as fair as he could be in those days  —  a foreman had to be the gaffer." — Wilf Kinchin

"We went in two charabancs." — Harry Hughes

"He was a tubby man, a bit shandy." — Louise Challice

"Albert was off sick, he was probably swinging the lead." — John Latter

"If you wanted you could have a ha'porth of milk in your tea." — Bert Wedgebury

"The Tannoy had been installed during the war to warn the workers if any enemy planes were coming over." — Eddie Wright

DEFINITIONS

Proper toff — Stylishly dressed upper class man.

Doss down — Bed down in a convenient place.

Pig on the wall — A joking phrase about a simpleton lifting a pig so it could look over a wall to see a passing parade, but in context it seems more likely the meaning here is that the family had a dressed and smoked pig in the larder.

Navvies — Common laborers.

Tizer — Citrus flavored orange soft drink.

Noughts and crosses  — Tic-tac-toe.

Palaver — A fuss.

Stroppy youngster — A difficult or contrary child.

Twinsets —  A matching pair of women's sweaters, a pullover and a cardigan, intended to be worn together.

Gaffer — Manager. Context here is that the foreman had to take charge.

Charabancs — Horse drawn or open topped coaches.

Shandy — Redheaded.

Swinging the lead — Dodging work. A sailor tasked with measuring the depth of the water would swing a lead weight ahead on a knotted rope and then, when the ship passed directly over the lead, now on the bottom, announce its depth. Pulling up the weight was hard work, so the sailor would swing the rope as long as he could get away with before letting it fly.

Ha'porth — A halfpenny's worth; in other words, not very much.

Tannoy — The first public address system of loud speakers for buildings.

Anne Bradford wrote Royal Enfield history

Author Anne Bradford has died, at 91.

 Author and historian Anne Bradford won a permanent place in the world of Royal Enfield motorcycles with her 1996 book, "Royal Enfield, The Story of the Company and the People Who Made It Great, 1851-1969." 

The book, a compilation of interviews with former workers at Royal Enfield factories in the UK, captures the memories of the people who created Royal Enfield in Britain. Most of the people she interviewed are gone. 

And now the author herself has passed away. 

Anne Margaret (Russon) Bradford, born April 9, 1934, died Nov. 30, 2025. A memorial service for her is 12:30 p.m. Friday, Dec. 19, 2025 at Redditch Crematorium. 

Bradford called herself "an oral historian," a task for which she was well qualified, as a former teacher of shorthand. In retirement she became a writer.

"I have written about 30 books and dozens of booklets," she noted at one point.

"I concentrate on local material. The most popular is ghosts, murders and scandals. Haunted Pubs has sold well over 2,000. However, one book has bombed; my grandson... wrote a local ghost book to encourage him to read and we still have 500 stuck in the outhouse."

There was more to this spunky lady. Her obituaries appear in the Redditch Advertiser and the Redditch Standard.

Bradford lived and sold books from a small house at 66 Enfield Road, in the Hunt End neighborhood of Redditch. There's a colorful story about how her house led to her writing a book about Royal Enfield.

Blogger Jorge Pullin tells it on his blog My Royal Enfields:

"Redditch historian and Royal Enfield author Anne Bradford says that her interest in Royal Enfield started because local historians claimed that the house she lived in was the Givry Needle Works, which later became the first Royal Enfield factory in Hunt End.

"It turns out this is not true, the Hunt End factory was destroyed by a fire and there is now an industrial estate in the place it used to occupy. However, it is true that Anne Bradford's house was a replica of the construction that anchored the Givry needle works."

Anne Bradford's book is a must read for Royal Enfield enthusiasts.

On my blog I called the book that resulted "The Royal Enfield history you must read.

"It is more than a history book," I wrote. "It is the affecting story of ordinary (and extraordinary) Royal Enfield employees, told in their own words.

"Readers learn not only how these people contributed to Royal Enfield, but how the company intersected with their lives, sometimes through generations."

That Bradford wasn't a motorcyclist herself is obvious in a 1995 letter she wrote to Doug Young, then the archivist of the Royal Enfield Owners Club (REOC). The club apparently had invited her to an event.

"To my surprise, I thoroughly enjoyed the rally," she wrote. "It was nice to meet everyone, and very interesting to see the bikes after reading up on the theory."

Her book is listed for sale on Amazon and as available on Kindle.

But wait. There's more:

In another 1995 letter to Young she wrote "I'm very disappointed that not all of every interview can be included as I have made many friends among the interviewees but I suppose the book will be all the better for the stringent editing."

Fortunately, her concern for local history never flagged, and she expressed her determination to leave full copies of the interviews with the Redditch Library and the REOC.

I've made an attempt to mine those outtakes for tidbits that I think add to the story of Royal Enfield in the UK. You'll find the resulting blog items at these links:

Anne Bradford's magnificent outtakes

More from Anne Bradford's archive

More of "The People Who Made It Great"

Donations in memory of Anne Bradford are welcome to Alcester Day Care Centre at Justgiving.

The Redditch Local History Museum collection of history books is named The Anne Bradford Heritage Library in her honor.

More of the 'People Who Made It Great'

Royal Enfield workers with Redditch factory exhibit at 1948 British Industries Fair. (Photo from Gordon May, Royal Enfield Books)

 Many of the passages cut from Anne Bradford's history of Royal Enfield in Britain were no doubt left out so other bits could make it into her 166-page book, "Royal Enfield, The Story of the Company and the People Who Made It Great: 1851-1969." 

Her book is mainly composed of the recollections of the factory workers and executives employed at Royal Enfield in those days. 

Naturally, some of the memories she gathered were of more personal than historical interest. Even so, we can be grateful that the author left a full archival record of the interviews she collected. 

In this and my previous two blog items, I describe a few of the omitted passages I think broaden our understanding of the time and place in which Royal Enfield was born and grew in Britain. 

In one passage, employee John F. Smith (1936-1950) talked of chief planning engineer Jack Hassall, who he credited with building up Royal Enfield from the 1920s until dying only six months after leaving the firm.

Smith reports that one manager said Hassall "had died of a broken heart" after leaving Royal Enfield.

Left out of the book is Smith's note that Hassall's one bad habit had been heavy smoking: "Whenever you went into his office it would be filled with smoke and I often had to wait until he finished coughing to resume a conversation."

Roger Boss (1950-1967) would ultimately take over all UK sales for Royal Enfield, but he began as a motorcycle tester and only later went into sales with no experience.

The book omits his initial trepidations at taking over a sales territory in Wales from a Welsh speaking Welshman of 30 years experience. It turned out to be a happy career of making many friends with his wide (I had the pleasure to meet him once) smile.

Also omitted from the book is his effort to answer why the British Motorcycle Industry collapsed in the face of Japanese competition. It is, of course, an old story, but Roger's analysis goes deeper than, simply, young people liked Hondas.

To paraphrase: The Japanese started from a clean sheet of paper. With adequate financing they could assess what the world wanted, and how much the world wanted to pay for it. They carefully developed the products to match and, then, produced them in such huge quantities that their costs were reduced.

In contrast, Royal Enfield was taken over by a company that only meant to milk it. Roger saw the end coming; but that is in the book. (You have to read the book to learn the full story of Royal Enfield; don't settle for my few excerpts.)

Brian Crow (1957-1966) joined Royal Enfield at 18 years of age and "very keen." Incredibly, he immediately became part of the tiny Experimental Department, testing prototypes.

Helmets were not provided but they would not have worn them anyway, he tells us. Flat caps and goggles and wellingtons would do.

Made the young foreman of the department, Crow had the help only of apprentices, some of whom were a real handful. Not in the book is his tale of having tamed one "miserable, unhelpful, sadistic" apprentice by sending him out in the winter cold on a motor bike and threatening to do so again the next day if necessary.

Also not in the book is Crow's brief description of being the first-stage rider in the famed Land's End to John O' Groats run put on to promote the then new Continental GT 250.

In the dark, in a blizzard, and nearly lost, he made his scheduled four-hour ride with 19 minutes to spare. "But I don't know how I did it."

Charlie Blundell (1946-1951) discovered in his first month in the Test Shop at Royal Enfield that he had to be very careful what he said -- "because everybody was related."

Omitted from the book is what happened when a customer brought the brand new twin he'd bought back to the factory because of a backfire. The bike was referred to Blundell, who found a minor fault, fixed it, and offered to take the fellow for a ride to prove it. This was done, at 90 mph, to the passenger's dismay. For Blundell that was nothing; he was doing 90 mph on the bikes nearly every day.

Also omitted from his contribution is a lengthy reminiscence of Testing Department hi-jinks and accidents, many serious and one, sadly, fatal. These were too long for the book, apparently, and are too long to summarize here.

One funny story bears telling: a traffic court judge refused to believe Blundell — as a motorcycle tester — hadn't been speeding, as accused. Of course, this would have to be the time he was innocent!

M.J. "Curley" Rogers (1948-1959) was assigned to test motorcycles at 16, without having passed his driving test. That's remarkable, but the book leaves out something else remarkable: he later became a dealer!

He would leave Royal Enfield to open his M.J. Rogers Motorcycles in Redditch. Even though Royal Enfields were good sellers, he ranked them below BSA, Triumph, and Norton. But "all British bikes tended to leak oil."

Nigel Buckingham (1957-1962), motorcycle tester, began his contribution with his story of being chased (allegedly at 90 mph) by a police car with its bell ringing. He claims he thought it just happened to be going in the same direction and wanted to pass. "I never dreamed he wanted me to stop."

The story got into the newspaper and Royal Enfield sacked him. He found another job, at twice the pay, but in a way he regretted it. He had lived for the riding. For example, he and his buddies had enjoyed racing the little 125 two-strokes around the test track, trying to catch up with their own smoke.

John Hill (from 1961) remembered his department using its grinder to sharpen lawnmower blades for employees. Not everyone rated this benefit: "It depended upon their status or whether or not they had a friend in the Tool Room."

David Wilson (1954-1965) and his wife were proud of their family connections to Royal Enfield, not all cheerful. "My great grandfather's brother was Tom Morris who was killed by a grindstone at the Hunt End factory."

Lenny Rudge (1957-1960) told many outrageous stories of high spirits among the young employees, not all of which made the book. "One Christmas, I was dared to ride up the long flight of wooden steps in front of our grand offices and into the front office." He did, to screams from the girls. And then he rode back down.

"Management turned a blind eye."

Peter Normandale (1953-1958) wrote that the highlight of the year was the Annual Office Girls' and Apprentices' outing to Blackpool. Not everyone got to go; you had to be "in" with the girls in the Wages Office, who organized it.

"We were all paired up, two girls with two lads, and the funny thing was we used to stay that way and we never used to split up... A lot of marriages came about after the Blackpool weekend."

He married one of the office girls from Royal Enfield, but lost her to cancer when she was only 20.

Mervyn Panting (1955-1962) remembered the degree of pilfering. The factory repaired workers' bicycles and he remembered how one employee rode in on a rusty old ladies bike, paid for a paint job, and rode out on a brand new Royal Enfield Bermuda. 

Panting has one exciting story after another, including falling into the path of a lorry whose wheels passed either side of him as he lay in the road.

He, too, called the Apprentices' and Office Girls' Blackpool trip "the highlight of the year." The seat next to him on the bus was empty, so Hilary sat next to him, and they had a good time. His first day back at work he found her standing outside the factory gates waiting for him to give her a ride home. They married.

Hilary (1947-1961) remembered how she took a fall, going from the Wages Department on the third floor to the showroom on the ground floor, using a circular iron staircase, like one in a lighthouse. At the other end of the office building was a "splendid staircase" leading up to the executive offices.

Her other memories of Royal Enfield (and Blackpool trips) were much more positive.

Derek Newman (1950-1960) played an important role hosting the young man from Madras sent to Britain to study the making of the Bullet. Newman was chosen for this because they were about the same age. Derek's  girlfriend and future wife Eileen (1953-1962), only 18, made it a threesome. "Royal Enfield was a very friendly, caring company," she wrote.

Raymond Jones (1951-1966) was grateful that his "Uncle" (actually second cousin) Oliver Wythes, the Royal Enfield works manager, found him a job, at 15, at Royal Enfield. But his desperate need for help didn't make the book. He and his sister had been orphaned young, eventually ending up living unhappily with relatives. 

His sister ran away.

But, at Royal Enfield, Jones became a proficient mechanic and even suggested improvements in the motorcycles.

Jim Freeman (1948-1966) rose to head the Royal Enfield Fire Brigade, and fondly remembered the annual fire brigade championship contest with other big firms, hosted by Royal Enfield one year.

But he also remembered dark days. His job at the factory included compiling lists of materials needed for coming production. But suddenly that stopped. He kept asking how Royal Enfield was going to survive, and was told not to worry.

Next thing he knew they all had their layoff notices. He felt it was a raw deal, and for a few years he ever wanted to hear "Royal Enfield" again.

Paul Savage (1954-1956) on the other hand, "was never very happy at Royal Enfield." He wasn't paid enough, and he was assigned to bicycle production even though he was mad about motor bikes.

A Mrs. Hodgetts had reason to be grateful to Royal Enfield, because it paid her father's wages during his lengthy recovery from an accident in the Royal Enfield van.

She was five at that time, but later worked for Royal Enfield herself, in the canteen, and she describes the service: sandwiches from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., lunches 10:30 a.m. to 1 p.m. and dinner from 1 p.m. to 2 p.m. One side of the cafeteria was separated by glass. There foremen and office staff had waitress service, although the food was the same and they sat at the same style tables.

Jean Wormington (1947-1958) remembered being chosen for the Redditch Carnival Queen court. This was not a bathing suit competition. During the carnival dance, women in evening gowns were chosen from the dance floor.

Barbara Seviour (1940-1946), from the office, was also chosen for the court. Barbara was asked twice to pose on a motorcycle for a Royal Enfield advertisement, but is quoted in the book as saying that this had nothing to do with her looks. (Possibly it did?)

Diane Long was another office girl. She was taking an armful of letters across the snow to different departments when they were blown from her arms by a gust of wind. The letters had been opened and the fountain pen ink got wet and began to run. Fortunately, the dreaded Post Room supervisor never learned of this.

John Jones (1946-1956) was very happy to be assigned to repair and overhaul of the Flying Flea motorcycles. But he saw "the other side of the coin" when he left to work for Royal Enfield dealer Wilf Green. The 125cc two-stroke Royal Enfields, descended from the Flea, sold well "but we had a lot of trouble with them."

Colin Wheeler told how his father was the first person at Royal Enfield to arrive at work on a Honda two-stroke. This caused an uproar, and Royal Enfield executive Major Smith borrowed it for a couple days to try it out. On returning it he said "it's alright, but if people want quality they'll buy one of ours."

Possibly the saddest entry in the book comes from American Dean Murrah, who never worked for Royal Enfield, never owned a Royal Enfield, and hadn't visited England. He worked for Los Angeles importer Frank H. Cooper. 

"We never realized the whole British industry was headed down the tubes!" he told Anne Bradford.

There were warning signs. Left out of the book was his recollection of clearing up back-orders for parts by uncrating and dismantling 700cc Royal Enfield twins. "Wonder what became of all those frames left over from this?"

With the help of Royal Enfield's Major Mountford, he gradually built up a good supply of parts.

"It was a sad day when we got the telegram telling us of Major Mountford's sudden death."

Despite Mountford's help, the knowledge and experience the Americans acquired didn't often make it into Royal Enfields. The hot-rod modifications that made the motors stronger and oil tight were judged too expensive, or were just ignored by the factory.

The Interceptor was the big seller for Royal Enfield in the U.S., but Murrah was interested to see other Royal Enfield models that were sent over in small numbers to test the market (none ever caught on). 

There was the Super 5, the trials 250, the 350cc New Bullet with its unit engine/gearbox, and one lonely blue Airflow Super Meteor. He took off the unloved fairing and they sold the Super Meteor naked.

The unused fairing was still there when he left Cooper. It wasn't the only thing he wished he'd kept. He actually enjoyed putting miles on a Turbo Twin, and wished he had bought it.

Eddie Wright remembered being "very suspicious" when told at a planning meeting in the 1950s that the Japanese would be no threat to Royal Enfield. The same thing had been said about the Italian scooters that had wiped out the lower end of the market for two-wheelers.

Phylis Gibbs remembers that the factory was "overrun with cats." Major Smith was very fond of his cats and he wouldn't have anything done about them.

Sally Hawthorne (1963-1966) noticed the advanced age of many employees. "In the office was a great big ledger showing the name and address of every employee and when they started. I often wondered what happened to it."

Rita Nati (1951 to closure) gets almost the last word, in the book, and in the archives of complete interviews. 

Her final words, that she would work for Royal Enfield without wages, if it ever came back, is in the book. 

But left out were her appreciative words for Bob Cassey, whose job was closing up the factory and seeing its machines auctioned off: "Kind and gentle."

On learning of a worker who was upset, he would tell her to "bring them in for a chat and get them a drink, and would you like a cup of coffee?"

The real final word belongs to Bob Humphries (1950-1964) who demonstrates in a long passage how Royal Enfield excelled and had the ability to succeed and continue if only it had been given the chance. 

Every word of his interview is in the book. It makes fascinating reading. Don't miss it. Buy the book.

The archive of material omitted from the book concludes with unorganized "Anecdotes and Other Information" including personnel lists for some departments, and an unlabeled site plan of the Redditch factory (there is a better version, with labels, in the book).

There is one humorous anecdote, attributed to "Anonymous" that bears description:

The many veteran military officers who became executives at Royal Enfield "often used to parade in full regalia." You'd hear the tramp of their boots, the door would fly open, and you'd hear the name of the person they wanted to see shouted, as if the place was a parade ground.

It was, after all, "Royal Enfield."

More from Anne Bradford's archive

Royal Enfield's Redditch, Britain factory circa 1950s.

 Author Anne Bradford collected the memories of more than 80 Royal Enfield factory workers for her 1996 book "Royal Enfield, The Story of the Company and the People Who Made It Great: 1851-1969." 

Not all of those memories fit into the book. Fortunately, the author left an archive of the entire contributions she gathered, including the parts omitted from the book, so historians can get a broader view of life at Royal Enfield factories in Redditch, Britain. 

In the book, Bradford described Redditch before Royal Enfield as having had "a sprinkling of dark,  satanic mills." 

Royal Enfield workers would operate in brighter, safer surrounds, eventually in a brand new factory, but industrial danger was unavoidable. 

Gilbert Hunt worked at Royal Enfield from 1922-1933. His contribution was considerably shortened for the book, but he was a colorful storyteller who didn't balk at the macabre.

He is only one of several contributors who mention the danger of getting caught up in the long leather belts that carried motion to the machine tools. There was disease, too. Tuberculosis was at least suspected.

And then there was the danger posed by the product itself. Hunt recalls that Royal Enfield executive Major Smith was driving an experimental machine that had a steering wheel in the sidecar and no handlebars on the motorcycle. He lost control at the bottom of Bates Hill and rolled three times, suffering a broken nose.

But Hunt ends with admiration: "The last time I saw him he must have been in his seventies and he was riding a 692cc Constellation, still going to work."

"Dolly" worked at the factory from 1928-1953. Trimmed from the book was a story she told about hearing that there is a picture of her in one of the magazines. If  you spot it, she says, look for the string holding her shoes on; oil on the factory floor spoiled shoes, so the girls wore their oldest pair.

Left out of the book, too, is her comment that "I worked there for 25 years in all and I enjoyed very minute of it."

Author Branford notes from the start of the book that many of her contributors cautioned that their recollections of so long ago may be inexact.

Her concern for accuracy is apparent. For instance, Bradford writes that Harry Hughes, who worked for Royal Enfield from 1921-1969, passed away before there was a chance to check over with him the contents of his 1994 contribution.

But there's no doubt he did accurately remember being laid off just six months before his 50th year of service -- missing out on the customary gold watch.

John Latter (1926-1939) didn't rave about working at Royal Enfield. He complained of how hard it was to be paid on the piece work system. He found the rates set so unjust in one department that he and a co-worker pooled their earnings to even things out.

Another problem was cuts in hours. Fed up with not working full time at Royal Enfield, Latter sought a job at the Austin factory -- only to discover that Austin and Enfield had an agreement not to hire away each other's workers.

A sympathetic executive at Royal Enfield gave him a note to let Austin know it was OK to hire him.

Bert Wedgebury (1928-1967) considered the bicycle assembly department -- the "Chain Wheel Gang" -- the mainstay of the factory.  The motorcycle business had ups and downs, but there was always demand for bicycles. Not that it paid particularly well, but he liked his co-workers.

In particular there were the women who worked in the adjacent department, lacing bicycle wheels. They used to "get a whistle" when they walked past. He asked an especially nice one, named Beatrice, for a date. She didn't show up the first time, so he asked again. They later married.

Wartime service interrupted Wedgebury's employment, but in 1941 Royal Enfield pulled him back for months of "essential service" -- testing motorcycles made for the army.

The push was on to get them out the door, so the hours were long and conditions hard. Testing each bike meant nine miles on the road, even in the dark, with only the shuttered blackout headlight for illumination.

Eddie Wright (1925 to closure) remembered how the war finally changed some pay scales at Royal Enfield. Competing factories had government contracts and could pay more, so Royal Enfield had to compete for workers. Even within the Redditch factory, and between Redditch and other Royal Enfield factories, workers doing government work were paid substantially more for the same tasks.

Wright's tasks, at the end, sadly included closing and decommissioning the works.

Jack Normandale (1940-1961) gave Anne Bradford an extensive description of the underground factory at Westwood, near Bath. Employed at Redditch, he and his wife volunteered for the cave factory in 1942, during World War II.

Left out of the book is his description of the benefits of moving to Westwood: Royal Enfield paid for the move, and provided a three-bedroom bungalow. Black-out curtains had been fitted, and mats provided, along with color wash for the interior walls, and a supply of coal in the bunker. The bungalow across the street had a better garden, so he angled to get it instead.

Also not in the book is that the couple worked 60 hours a week, 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. six days a week, with a Saturday afternoon off once a month. For him there was one evening a week on Home Guard practice (running across a field with a bayonet) and then a Home Guard parade on Sunday morning.

I hope he found time to enjoy his garden!

Contributor Vic Bott described the post-war enthusiasm. But at Royal Enfield there was aggravation with materials shortages.

He was instrumental in creating a production line; no longer would one man assemble an entire bike. This made him unpopular with the workers, at least at first.

Bott also created Royal Enfield's displays for the Earls Court motorcycle shows, sometimes involving moving parts that made the motorcycles on the stand seem to run.

The big stands at the show were Triumph, AJS, BSA, Norton, and Royal Enfield and, of course there, was competition between them.

Bott fondly remembered the year Royal Enfield was a sensation, with the introduction of the swinging arm rear suspension. "We knew it was good but we didn't realize that it was going to be the success that it was."

Bott had a cut-away demonstration bike riding on rollers to simulate a rough road, with the swinging arm taking it in stride. Show goers wondered "how do they do it?"

Left out of the book, too, was Bott's description of how little Prince Charles almost didn't get the specially painted and equipped child's bicycle the factory planned to present to his father, the Duke of Edinburgh, at the show. Just before the show Bott caught a man making off with the bicycle, and called security.

Edna Kinchin joined Royal Enfield in 1935, at the age of 14, starting "like all the new office girls" in the Post Room. This involved picking up the mail and taking mail around the factory and to other factories in town. "I suppose I was cheaper than the postage."

Her description of wartime fashions is interesting ("we put gravy browning on our legs" -- there were no nylons) but this didn't make the book.

As it would be expected, contributions from executives or influential designers were less likely to be omitted from the book than the recollections of others. But one omission was designer Reg Thomas's memory of an incident at the Earls Court Show:

"I can vouch for Roger's tale of the dealer from Scotland falling into the floral display, I was at the show that evening and remember it well!"

Told by Roger Boss (1950-1967) it is a wonderful story, omitted from the book, about the Royal Enfield dealer who became inebriated at the Earls Court Show, finally ending up in the floral arrangements at another booth.

Discovering he had a train ticket to Edinburgh in his wallet, the Royal Enfield executives present loaded him into a taxi, took him to his hotel, packed for him, got him to the train, and bribed a guard to keep an eye on him.

"A few days later Enfield received a letter of thanks from him."

One other omission I think I can explain from my own research. Reg Thomas said "I do remember having one showdown with Vic (Mountford) after he became managing director."

I've blogged about that incident here.

We'll dig more into more omissions from Anne Bradford's book in my next blog item.

Anne Bradford's magnificent outtakes

The proud factory of Royal Enfield in Redditch, Britain.

  Author Anne Bradford's outstanding 1996 book "Royal Enfield, The Story of the Company and the People Who Made It Great: 1851-1969" is largely a collection of contributions from people who worked at the Royal Enfield factories in Redditch, England before the firm went out of business there. 

It's an outstanding history of the early days of Royal Enfield, and it is listed for sale on Amazon and as available on Kindle. 

The interviews, edited by Ray Knight, are precious and revealing; but that is not all there is, the book explains: 

"In order to produce a book at reasonable cost, Ray Knight has had to carry out some vigorous editing. A copy of all interviews in their entirety have been lodged at the Redditch Library and in the archives of the Royal Enfield Owners Club." 

In these archives we learn what had to be left out. In all, editor Ray Knight did a fine job of keeping contributors on subject. But some of the left-out material is eye opening.

You should read the book to know the full story of Royal Enfield in Redditch. But, below, I'll offer some bits that were trimmed out in hope that these small additions broaden the story for you.

At 16, Redditch lad Vic Bott and some pals abandoned their protected factory apprenticeships to enlist for World War I. He served in the trenches of the Western Front from 1916 to 1918 in "wet, mud and desolation."

When peace came, in 1918, it found the young men with "no jobs and no skills and we were thrown into a mass of (now unemployed) munition workers whose generous pay and skill created  a 'them and us' situation."

As a result, "the 1920s, were vicious," Bott said.

Royal Enfield took on as many former soldiers as it could, including a grateful Bott, but this inevitably meant lay-offs for everyone when business was slow.

"In the whole history of the factory, the worst trouble came during the 1926 General Strike..."

"Out of a workforce of about 260, 90 to 100 people refused to strike and most of these were ex-servicemen. When we walked into work we had to go through a crowd of pickets on the gate, all booing and shouting and calling us 'blacklegs.'* This caused a lot of bitterness on both sides, which continued for many years and sometimes marred an otherwise happy and friendly atmosphere."

The British Legion, a charity for former soldiers, helped. Bott proudly states that, in Redditch, it did so under the leaderships of the father and sons who managed Royal Enfield.

Royal Enfield managing director R.W. Smith provided a lodge for meetings. Son Frank Walker "Major" Smith was president of the British Legion in Redditch. Major's younger brother Gilbert was treasurer, and the youngest, Stanley, was chairman.

There were better times to come.

Bott remembers assembly and testing departments supervisor Fred Bicknell, who was so esteemed they called him "Mr. Royal Enfield." He competed in trial events, contributing to the brand's reputation.

Bicknell returned from one event where he had spent too long having to change a rear wheel.  He devised the clever split rear fender that gets out of the way of removing the rear wheel by loosening only two nuts. You don't even have to entirely remove the two nuts!

Clever swinging rear fender eases access to rear wheel.

Ray Knight edited this out of the book (probably rather than have to explain how the fender works) but now I know to thank Fred Bicknell every time the design eases maintenance of my 1999 Royal Enfield Bullet!

A high proportion of women were workers in Redditch factories, Bott said. The firms had started as light industry -- making needles and fish hooks -- so  there was a local tradition of women on the shop floors.

He claims that at Royal Enfield the women factory workers in overalls earned more than the better dressed women in the offices, who had shorter hours and more comfortable conditions.

Bott is a fountain of information, all of it fascinating, and much of which had to be left out of the book. He talks about how hard it was to work at a piece work rate, where a difficult job done carefully might pay less than an easy one done quickly.

Work started at 8 a.m. and you had better not be late; they locked the gate and docked your pay.

There was an unofficial tea break at 10 in the morning and lunch was noon-1 p.m. When, around 1922, the factory got a tin shed as a lunch room, factory workers and staff sat in separate areas -- not because of social distinctions, but only because the factory workers' clothes were typically greasy.

The then new factory was in the countryside; you could go for a stroll, or play soccer, cricket or tennis on a field provided for workers (today a company would certainly utilize that space for a parking lot, I suppose).

There was no afternoon break. Work ended at 5:30, but you'd stay for overtime if you were allowed.

Bott is quoted as saying that Royal Enfield made its own sidecars in those days, out of "American" white wood. In the book this is changed to "Armenian" white wood. I'd guess the archival version may be more accurate than the published version in this one case.

As always in memoirs, it's important to keep in mind that some memories from long ago may be inaccurate or were hearsay to start. While most trims were made to save space in the book, some archived cuts might also have been made because the information could not be confirmed.

We'll look at more deleted gems in my next blog item.

*Various sources explain that "blacklegs" was not a racial term. It's used in the same sense "scabs" is used in the United States. One origin suggested is that men who meant to disguise that they were working with coal would roll up their pant legs to keep them clean, but the coal-black skin of their legs would give them away.

The Royal Enfield history you must read

Anne Bradford's book about Royal Enfield in Britain. 
It's for sale on Amazon and available on Kindle.

 It was one of my proudest moments as an amateur historian of Royal Enfield motorcycles. 

In 1933 the press reported that Royal Enfield had delivered a startlingly beautiful, white, V-twin motorcycle to the president of a South American country. 

But which one? 

By carefully considering the biographies of every president of a South American country of that year, I concluded that none of these men seemed the type to have been interested in motorcycling. 

But aha! A president of a Central American nation -- Guatemala -- was famous for his riding, and would lead armed men on motorcycle forays into the countryside, enforcing his dictatorial rule. 

It had to be him! I congratulated myself on my discovery and boasted about it in a blog item.

I should have been more modest.

Author Anne Bradford had beaten me to it.

Her renown book, "Royal Enfield, The Story of the Company and the People Who Made it Great: 1851-1969" is a priceless account of the company's history. (It's also known as "From the Bicycle to the Bullet.")

And there, had I bothered to look, I would have found, on the back cover, IN BOLD FACE TYPE, this:

"On the wall of Major Mountford's office was a map with a flag for every agent and you could see we had an agent in every country of the world. We even had one in Guatemala. In fact we supplied the President with a splendid white twin (motor bike) with a mounting for a machine gun across the handlebars, between the two grips. A couple of weeks after it was delivered somebody tried to assassinate him so he sent for some black enamel paint."

Anne Bradford had the solution to my "mystery."

I noticed this embarrassing find just after picking up the book. A copy was graciously sent me by Bruce Gipson, a fellow Florida resident, and the owner of a wartime Royal Enfield WD/CO motorcycle.

My proud "discovery" presumably has been on the cover of Anne Bradford's book since it first was published in 1996!

Reading the book I found there was much more I had to learn.

I also discovered that it is more than a history book. It is the affecting story of ordinary (and extraordinary) Royal Enfield employees, told in their own words.

Readers learn not only how these people contributed to Royal Enfield, but how the company intersected with their lives, sometimes through generations.

Hardly a contributor fails to complain about how little they were paid when they worked at "The Enfield," as they called it.

Nevertheless it was home to them, and they gave it their all. Not a few risked life and limb, testing motorcycles in awful weather.

The story begins in 1851, with a needle factory, but the first in-person testimony we get is from Vic Bott, who worked at Royal Enfield from 1920-1968. He was nearly 100 years old when he contributed  to the book.

"Consequently I am one of the few people alive today able to describe life as a worker at Royal Enfield in 1920 and the years that followed," he begins. His first task at the factory was to affix linoleum to the floor boards of motorcycles.

Later, having risen to be an engineer and designer, he would create the Royal Enfield Revelation, a miniature adult bicycle with space saving frame and small wheels. The famous story is that he joked he could design the bike in only two weeks. Taken seriously, he then had to do it!

Through war, Depression and decline, employees were loyal. Rita Nati, who stayed until the bitter end, probably exaggerated just a bit when she said this:

"If Royal Enfield came back now to Redditch I would go and work for them without any wages. The firm was great."

Of course the book includes their theories about why Royal Enfield came to an end in Britain.

The market for motorcycles declined as automobiles became affordable. Royal Enfield's plant and products were aged and would cost too much to update. The American market demanded horsepower Enfield designs couldn't provide without losing reliability. The nurturing leadership of R.W. Smith and then his son Frank Walker "Major" Smith came to an end. Vulture capitalists descended, looted the factory, and fouled its future.

But here too are intriguing theories about how the Royal Enfield of those days could have prospered, despite it all.

Those "what-ifs" never happened. And, as a book first published in 1996, it could not foresee Royal Enfield's stunning triumph in India and its surprising 21st century return to Britain and the world.

Which reminds me: Why, all those years ago, did Guatemalan tyrant Jorge Ubico need black enamel paint for his white Royal Enfield?

There apparently had been a plot to assassinate him; at least 12 people were shot by firing squad in 1934 for planning to blow him up in his automobile.

My guess is that the white motorcycle was too showy. Royal Enfield supplied six V-twin motorcycles to Guatemala, three of them in 1933; but only the special one for the president would have been white.

It would have made him a target.

The resplendent white Royal Enfield 1933 V-twin for a tyrant.

The day Royal Enfield closed the canteen

 Built during World War II, the Royal Enfield "Canteen" (cafeteria) on Hewell Road near the Redditch, UK Royal Enfield factory, served the nutritional and social needs of workers. 

Here was a large, comfortable, clean building, away from the noise and bustle of the factory, where workers could socialize over a meal. Ceremonies honoring long time and retiring employees were held in the Canteen, and there was an annual Christmas extravaganza for children, complete with Santa Claus. 

There were dances inside the Canteen. Workers were invited to compete in Field Day competitions in the large field behind the building.  

Royal Enfield presents a gold watch during tea in the factory Canteen, April 4, 1958. (From Motor Cycle and Cycle Trader, April 26, 1958.)

Wartime demand for motorcycles and other Royal Enfield products was heavy. Royal Enfield workers had all they could do to meet that demand. 

Peacetime meant a slower pace for the factory. Cutbacks were inevitable and these would affect the Canteen.

In 1961, Royal Enfield director and secretary B.W. Smith announced that as of Monday, Aug. 14, cafeteria  service would be conducted by The Midland Counties Industrial Catering Co., Ltd., of Birmingham.

Royal Enfield was outsourcing meal service.

The next announcement was easy to foresee. Mr. Smith opened this second memo with the good news:

"The Management was pleased to hear at the last Works Committee that since the Canteen was taken over by Midland Catering there has been a general improvement in the standard of meals.

"Since the last increase in canteen prices there have been several increases in the cost of food and wages, and these together with the improved standard of meals make it necessary to revise charges. The new prices will be operative from 6th November, 1961, as follows:"

Prices followed for Main Course, Sweet, Sandwiches, Tea and Coffee.  Coffee with milk carried a slight added price. But "Persons under 18" (presumably apprentices) got a price break on the Main Course.

All well and good. But, of course, temporary. The axe would finally fall.

"The Management feel that it is necessary to make certain economies in expenses and to this end it has been decided to close down the present Canteen building," Mr. Smith announced on March 28, 1963.

"The Canteen will be closed this week and alternative facilities will be available in the old Fibre Glass Section with effect from Monday next, 1st April.

"Access to this Canteen will be through a door leading from the Weighbridge drive.

"It is proposed initially to run a Snack Bar service and a tariff of prices will be displayed at the counter.

"Provision has been made for separate rooms for the Senior Staff and Foreman."

In an earlier blog item I wrote that "Presumably, the Canteen remained in use until Road Enfield ceased operation in Redditch in 1970."

My presumption was wrong. It had closed in 1963.

Former Royal Enfield factory Canteen still stands in Redditch.

The Canteen building, converted to other uses, remains in Redditch, but the Royal Enfield factory it once served is gone. B.W. Smith's memos also remain, preserved in the archives of the Royal Enfield Owners Club (UK). They are part of the Reg Thomas Archive club members can access on line.

In other words, if you want to see them, you have to join the club.

Reg Thomas was Chief Designer for Royal Enfield before the company went out of business in Britain. Many of the papers he collected were engineering tables and drawings, beyond my understanding.

I find the more human matters more interesting. Real people built these motorcycles; and they needed to eat.

Royal Enfield's worst idea: the prop stand

An "ingenious prop stand" was headline news for Royal Enfield.
(From The Motor Cycle)

 Was this the worst idea Royal Enfield ever had? See what you think. 

For the 1932 model year, Royal Enfield introduced on a few top-line models a folding center stand that doubled as a kickstand. 

My guess is that this was a little bit too clever. 

It was an appealing idea, though. To park, the rider, still mounted, could use his foot to press the center stand down so that it touched the ground. A pawl on the rear brake arm would catch the stand in this position. 

The rider could then dismount, with the partly extended center stand keeping the motorcycle stable enough to stand by itself. The rider wouldn't have to huff the motorcycle fully up onto the its center stand, or even stretch out a leg to use a conventional kickstand. 

To depart, the rider could simply mount, touch the brake pedal with his foot, thus disengaging the pawl, and the center stand would spring up.

The motoring press was impressed. Motor Cycling Magazine reported that "The Enfield Company seems to have evolved something both new and efficient."

Keep in mind that the brake pedal is on the right-hand side of the motorcycle in this era.
(From The Motor Cycle)

The Motor Cycle for Sept. 17, 1931 described it this way:

"A point which will appeal to all practical motorcyclists is the inclusion of a double prop-stand with unusually wide base legs. There are three positions for this stand: (1) raised, (2) in normal use as a central stand, and (3) an intermediate position in which the stand is lowered sufficiently to prop up the machine on either side. In this position it is locked by a rearward extension of the brake pedal.

"There is no need to touch the stand by hand, for pressure of the toe while the rider straddles the machine will bring the prop-stand into action and, to release it, it is only necessary to touch the brake pedal."

Another view of the new stand in "propping" position.
(From Exporter Trader)

You see the problem, of course.

That partially extended center stand seems just a-slip-of-the-brake-pedal away from springing up and leaving the motorcycle to fall on its side.

This appears to be the sort of happy new feature that "demos" well in the showroom, but no one would ever deliberately trust in the field.

In use, the partly extended stand gives the motorcycle the look of a wounded goose, or an airplane with its landing gear jammed.

My guess is that users soon tired of passersby warning that, "hey, your stand isn't all the way down!"

In use the prop stand looks insecure, even though it is extra wide.
(From The Motor Cycle)

Hitchcocks Motorcycles is the expert on Royal Enfield bits. It has a large collection of original factory drawings, and has put many official parts books on line.

Still, "this is a new one on me and didn’t know it existed," Allan Hitchcock replied when I asked him about the multi-function prop stand.

"I think we are on the same wavelength with its usefulness," he added.

"I have checked the 1933 and 1934 LF parts book, and they both list part 17314 as the stand, and this is the normal fixed one."

Hitchcocks Motorcycles actually has a well preserved 1934 Model LF Bullet 488 for sale at this time. If period press accounts were correct, it should have the unusual prop stand. It doesn't. Allan confirmed that it has an ordinary center stand fitted.

"I also have the 1935 L and LO parts book and the 1932 L32 and LF32 book which also lists the same number," he wrote.

"If someone has a different parts book which has a different part number, I can search to see if we have a drawing and can confirm the style," Allan wrote.

So, was the three-position prop stand a unicorn, rarely fitted? I wonder if buyers might have shied away, requesting a standard stand instead.

And maybe this is the reason: the normal exercise of rolling the machine forward to get it off the extended center stand might also have required a push on the brake pedal to bring it all the way up.

Here's a video that examines a Royal Enfield 1934 Model L side valve motorcycle, partly demonstrating the release mechanism. Note that simply pushing forward doesn't bring the stand all the way up, as most riders then and now would expect.

The video indicates that it would have been possible to motor away with the stand near scraping the pavement. That might have struck buyers as unsafe.

Granted, it probably did work as designed. The stand itself looks extra wide and extra sturdy. The weight of the motorcycle probably did keep the stand against the pawl until it was deliberately freed.

Instead of a light touch, it might have taken a firm push on the pedal to free the stand.

In fact, to me, this suggests that, on the wrong piece of ground, the motorcycle could get caught with the stand stuck in propping position. One imagines the rider appealing to buddies to help lift the motorcycle enough to allow the center stand to escape the pawl.

Introduced for 1932 on the Model L and the sporting Model LF four-valve, the perhaps all-too-clever prop stand was released by a touch on the foot brake pedal, which was on the right side of the motorcycle (facing forward) in this era.

But foot gear shifting was introduced for these models in 1933; so the brake pedal had to move to the left side of the machine to make room for the gearshift lever.

Since the drum brake itself remained on the right side of the rear wheel, the foot brake worked via a cable that crossed over to the other side.

Did this force a redesign of the "ingenious" prop stand? By 1934 The Motor Cycle was referring to the mechanism as being activated by a "trigger on the brake pedal."

Had the pawl been replaced by some more secure catch on the brake pedal itself? At least the "trigger" sounds more likely to disengage when wanted than the pawl, no matter what ground the machine is on.

Brake pedal moved to left of the motorcycle. It looked like this for 1934.
(From The Motorcycle)

Whatever its form, the "very practical Royal Enfield prop stand" would continue for 1935 on the top sporting machine, now with a three-valve motor and called the Model LO. That model quickly became the slightly detuned Model LO2, with a cut in price, but the "very good" prop stand was retained.

It remained again in 1936 when the LO2 was replaced by the four-valve JF.

Prop stand shown fully down, left, and as "propped," above.

Motor Cycling magazine tested the two-valve 500cc Royal Enfield J2 in March, 1937, and lavished praise on its prop stand:

"Equipped not only with a particularly sensible sort of spring-up rear stand, the Royal Enfield also has a prop stand, which can be dropped or lifted by the touch of a toe. The usefulness of a stout prop stand, as apart from a central stand, has to be tried to be appreciated and few riders, once having had such a fitting, would willingly relinquish it."

But relinquish it, they would. The press, ever eager to mention a new feature, doesn't seem to report the discontinuation of the prop stand. Press clippings in the archives of the Royal Enfield Owners Club UK don't seem to include a mention of it being dropped, as far as I could find.

And so disappeared a clever convenience, of doubtful use but still much-praised by the always enthusiastic motoring press. Royal Enfield riders would go back to huffing their machines up onto the fully extended center stand.

Cable operation of the rear brake would go away, too, and a solid brake rod would soon return on Royal Enfields. But the three-position prop stand hasn't come back, to my knowledge.

Anyway, I suspect such a device probably could only have worked on the hard-tail motorcycles of its day. With a modern sprung rear suspension the partly extended stand would have come clear of the ground the moment the rider stepped off his mount, leaving the motorcycle to topple.

Anyone familiar with the old prop stand willing to spring to its defense? Please leave a comment.