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 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 a 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. He 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  never 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.

Royal Enfield flirts with 4 valves in 1930s

Royal Enfield shocked show-goers with its four-valve motorcycle.

 Royal Enfield's line-up for 1931 made headlines at the Olympia Motor Cycle Exhibition. 

"Many New Models," The Motor Cycle magazine reported, "including a four-valve single." 

This was big news. Everyone recognized that a four-valve motor was the epitome of performance,  prestige and, usually, price. On price, Royal Enfield had pleasant news to announce. 

"A last-minute surprise was the introduction of a four-valve model of 488cc," The Motorcycle wrote. Besides the exciting four-valve motor, it had a chrome tank, and then fashionable dual exhaust ports (which gave it a fat, gleaming silencer on both sides, making it look like a twin). 

"It is remarkable value for 50 pounds with a three-speed gearbox, while for an extra two pounds a four-speed box can be supplied." 

Royal Enfield wasn't afraid to put its hot new machine into the hands of the motoring press. A Motor Cycling magazine correspondent who signed himself STAXTON wrote this, in April, 1931:

"I have never had a machine in the Isle of Man that would tackle the Mountain climb from Ramsey so fast as would the four-valve 488 Enfield that I rode this year. That is the chief memory that the machine left with me.

"It would bring me up to the Gooseneck... and then it would roar all the way up to the telephone box at East Snaefell Gate in a manner that no ordinary 'same as you can buy' production model would have done some little while ago....

"The Royal Enfield JF31, as this model is designated, is definitely a fast man's motor. And 50 pounds is not a lot to have to pay for it."

Royal Enfield was enthusiastic enough about its 1931 four-valve motorcycle to continue developing it in the years to follow. But development would follow a wayward road. Royal Enfield struggled to keep its muscular motorcycle affordable. This would prove difficult as the Depression deepened, and sales of all new motorcycles plummeted.

An improved four-valve for 1932.
(From The Motorcycle)

FOR 1932: The Model JF was replaced by the Model LF, with "Many Detail Improvements," The Motor Cycle reported on Sept. 17, 1931. The press liked that the push-rod tubes were now cast with the cylinder.

The cylinder head was modified to add "much more metal round the central sparking-plug hole, and the ports have been altered so as to obtain a rather better shape," Motor Cycling reported. The unstated reason for this would have been to reduce cracking between ports.

Prices actually went down for 1932, to just over 47 pounds. But available power was worth boasting about. Royal Enfield didn't usually release horsepower charts, but this 1932 chart was an exception.

Four-valve horsepower, rpm soar in 1932 chart.
(From Peter Miller's book "Royal Enfield, The Early History."

For 1933: The four-valve motorcycle was now called the "Bullet" with its 488cc motor frequently referred to as a "500." Motor Cycling got an example of it up to 78 mph in a road test. Good news, but with the economy sinking the motoring press gave most attention to Royal Enfield's less expensive  models, including two-valve Bullets of 350 and 250cc.

Again, the press noted that this year's four valve "has a much strengthened head." That cracking problem still?

Why would Royal Enfield offer an "extra" spark plug hole?
(From Motor Cycling)

And this is very odd: The article noted that the four-valve's centrally located spark plug is a 14mm, but "provision is also made for a 19mm plug to be screwed into the side of the cylinder head in the more orthodox position, which would prove useful if the 14mm plug were to fail and another of that size be unavailable." Who ever heard of such a thing?

The 1934 four-valve motor featured elaborate fins.
(From The Motorcycle)

For 1934: The four-valve motor got a redesigned cylinder head with increased finning and a dramatically finned crank case. It looked great. But was the increased cooling effect of the finning yet another effort to stave off disaster?

For 1935: A real switch. The Motorcycle reported that the 488cc motor would have only three valves for 1935 -- two inlet, one exhaust. Improved lubrication, thanks to fully enclosed valves, was given as the reason.

"Justification for this head-form is provided by the performance, which is almost identical with that of the earlier four-valve engine, and by the increase in silence, reliability and neatness of the new engine," the magazine advised, on Sept. 17, 1934.

It would be called the Model LO.

Three-valve motor eliminated the open valves of the four-valve layout.
(From The Motorcycle)

Price was now close to 60 pounds. But not for long. The price was about to drop radically, at the cost of some performance.

By March, 1935, the three-valve had become the awkwardly named "Model LO2." The Motorcycle and Cycle Trader reported that it came with a "not so highly tuned" three-valve motor and a new price -- just under 40 pounds. Maybe performance wasn't worth paying for?

Or was it? The bargain three-valve was a one-year wonder, dropped for 1936.

The hot four-valve was back for 1936, with a straight-up motor.
(From The Motorcycle)

For 1936: Incredibly, the "highly tuned" four-valve was back for 1936, once again dubbed the "JF" (its original name way back in 1931). The price was back up to just under 60 pounds.

Anyone confused yet?

Previous multi-valve motors had all been "slopers," but the new JF four-valve motor sat straight up.

What about those fully enclosed valves, whose lubrication was so  approved of in the LO2? Never mind. The four valves of the JF were exposed, as they always had been, and thus needed to be lubed with a grease gun.

The 1937 four-valve in its final form; the head would be an option in 1938.
(From Motor Cycling)

Onward: The four-valve motorcycle would continue in 1937.

For 1938 The four-valve head became an option on the standard two valve Bullet 500. The two-valve cost 64 pounds and was good for 75 mph, The Motorcycle reported. The four-valve cost 66 pounds and went 85 mph.

That was the end: Royal Enfield and the rest of the British motorcycle industry would soon turn to building simpler motorcycles, for soldiers.

In his informative article in The Gun magazine of the Royal Enfield Owners Club, Mick Lemon notes that examples of Royal Enfield's four-valve road burners of the 1930s still exist, and are appreciated by collectors.

When Britain 'gave' India the Bullet

It's the kind of memo you never want to get from your boss. 

 V.T. Mountford was in no mood for excuses on Feb. 5, 1963. As Royal Enfield's Joint Managing Director in Britain, he wanted answers, and fast. 

"During my visit to India serious complaints were made that drawings of component parts, which we have supplied, were either incomplete or not accurate in that they do not agree with the actual components to which they refer," he wrote. 

India was manufacturing more and more of the parts to make the Royal Enfield Bullet. That partly India-made motorcycle became the long-lived and beloved Bullet that ultimately would save the Royal Enfield brand after the company went out of business in Britain. 

But, in 1963, Mountford was demanding to know why the parts then still being made in Britain and shipped to India didn't resemble the Bullet plans drawn up by the British themselves. 

India had given him a long, and woeful, list of discrepancies. A few examples:

No finish specified. No heat treatment specified. Two holes in bottom of the casquette not shown on drawing. 

"When was the spindle cap altered from a flat side to a radius and why were Enfield India not informed of this modification?" Mountford wanted to know.

"The biggest (fork) diameter has been increased... when was this done and why was Enfield India not advised?

"When was relief added to the brake pedal and why was Enfield India not advised?

"Similarly when was the off set of the crank increased... and why was Enfield India not advised?

"We are supplying two different brake shoes neither of which is to the... drawing.

"On the drawing the tappet cover stud holes are shown drilled through whereas in fact on the component they are blind.

"When was the material changed... and why was Enfield India not advised?

The list went on and on. And so did the scolding. Mountford finished with this:

"You will appreciate from the above that Enfield India are finding tremendous difficulty when they come to manufacture parts according to our drawings, as they then find that they do not agree with the actual components.

"It is essential that we immediately check all drawings for components which we are still supplying to them to ensure that these are up-to-date and agree in all respects with the actual components and give all the information required."

The remarkable catalog of misfit bits is part of the Reg Thomas Archive of internal company memos, correspondence with dealers, and other letters now available on the website of the Royal Enfield Owners Club (UK).

They make interesting reading. Of course, you have to join the club to access the archive.

In the Reg Thomas Archive you can find the reply Mountford received Feb. 12, 1963 from Reg Thomas himself.

Reg Thomas was Royal Enfield's chief designer, head of the Drawing Office, and he described himself as "very perturbed by the list of complaints."

In fact, Reg Thomas was good and steamed.

After all, only recently had his Drawing Office even been asked to notify India of alterations in drawings. In several instances no one at the factory had told the Drawing Office of changes; how could it have told Enfield India?

Royal Enfield in Britain had no "schedule" of the Bullet as it was being made in India (it was a version obsolete in Britain), Reg Thomas complained. All he had to go on was a list of the parts Britain supplied. Who knew what drawings India had, or still needed?

And, besides, Thomas noted, many of the drawings were so old they were made before it was the practice to specify particulars of heat treatment or finish.

With a little hunting around you can find the memo Mountford wrote in answer to S.V. Raghavan of Enfield India on Feb. 15, 1963. Mountford supplied Reg Thomas's corrected drawings, where needed, and provided Thomas's explanations in cases where they were not.

Some of the discrepancies were immaterial. Perhaps a shape was slightly changed for the convenience of the foundry, or a bore varied slightly as the punch tool wore.

Fork tubes that showed up in India with increased width were made for Royal Enfield's 250cc Crusaders (not the 350cc Bullet) and must have been sent to India in error.

In other instances the drawings were in fact correct to the parts as supplied. In another case India had, in fact, been notified of a change. 

The two mysterious, but innocent, holes that appeared in the bottom of the casquette were to accommodate a steering lock made available in Britain, but not in India.

Mountford ended the memo to India with the suggestion that Enfield India advise in what order it intended to begin manufacturing additional bits of the Bullet. He could then have the relevant drawings checked to make sure they were up to date.

S.V. Raghavan of Enfield India replied, thanking Mountford for the suggestion.

"I have asked Sri Muralikrishna to prepare a list of the work numbers for which we have got manufacturing plans and as soon as it is ready, I shall arrange to forward the same to you," he wrote.

The process of transplanting Royal Enfield's Bullet in India was not seamless. Lovers of today's Royal Enfields are lucky they stuck to it.

Barn-find Enfield car clean and running

Enfield runabout runs, but not much is known about it. 

 More than a century old, an Enfield car found dusty but rust-free in a barn in Australia is now in running condition (see video).  But its exact age (is it a 1909?), model and history remain mysteries. 

It's a snappy looking green two-seater, with full accessories and a powerful (for the time) four-cylinder motor. It normally sports a round, monocle-style windscreen, but that was not mounted for the photos shown here. 

The car is for sale, but the sellers, in Australia, have questions about how much to ask and where to market it. Do you recognize this car? Have advice to offer? Contact information and the video of the car running are at the end of this article. 

Two-seater Enfield car has many accessories.

Here's what Chris Dean wrote me about the Enfield car: 

"You will recall my writing to you some time ago regarding an Enfield barn find that we came across many months ago. At that time the car was not running and you encouraged us to get it running. 

"We have had difficulty in finding not only someone who was interested to repair it but also someone who had the ability to repair it and lastly the time to repair it. We finally found a Vintage and Veteran specialist who was keen to assist.

"The problem emerged that a broken gear on the magneto shaft had jammed. Could have been worse.

"A new gear has been machined and fitted and the car is now running and driving as it should.

"All of the brass work has been polished and the car really is looking beautiful. 

Acetylene generator for lights.

"The acetylene generator has also been polished and refitted to the car to power the gas lights. 

"Unfortunately the granule used to go into the generator to mix with water and to make the acetylene is no longer available for 'domestic' use in Australia. If it was, the gas lights would be operating.

"You will see that it is powered by the original Enfield engine, which as you can see has 'Enfield' cast into the block...

"When I last wrote we had not had much luck finding out too much about the history of the car and still haven't really. As you would appreciate many of the people who would have had some knowledge of the car have fallen off the perch.

Word "Enfield" cast into engine block.

"We have established however, that it was last sold to a gentleman in Western New South Wales around 1997 -- which is now 27 years ago. He has since deceased. His family say that the car was built in 1908 or 1909 from the information which they have.

"We have conducted a worldwide search spanning many months and nobody can shed any light onto the history of this Enfield nor has another one surfaced -- so this is a rare car."

It sure is. In a previous article I reported the little I was able to learn.

Radiator proudly displays the Enfield's cannon and motto.

The Enfield Cycle Co. of Redditch, Britain, distant forerunner of today's Royal Enfield of India, ventured into automobile production not long after it began making motorcycles in the early days of the 20th Century. 

Its cars were substantial and handsome, but timing was poor as competition intensified, and sales suffered.

Ultimately the automobile business was sold to the Birmingham firm Alldays & Onions, which already had its own line of cars. Alldays eventually moved production of Enfield cars to Birmingham, but it continued to use the Enfield name, the Made Like A Gun motto, and the cannon logo.

(They would not be called "Royal Enfields," however, as they sometimes had been under the Enfield Cycle Co.)

Of course production was gradually rationalized, and Enfield cars became up-scale editions of Alldays models. The motor in the Enfield car appears similar to motors used in period Alldays & Onions cars.

Control pedals let you know this is an Enfield car.

The Australian mystery car is prominently labelled "Enfield," on its motor and even on its foot pedals.  The Enfield logo on its radiator does not include the word "Birmingham," as it eventually would under Alldays.

Possibly this car dates from the very transition of Enfield cars to Alldays & Onions management?

Can you help? Do you own or know of a similar Enfield or its history?

Chris Dean gave his contact email as japanesequality@yahoo.com.au or phone (61)410630261. Or write Chris Dean at 4 Maid Street, Southport Queensland 4215, Australia.

Oval shape of grille may be a clue to date; to me it looks like the style Enfield cars used in 1909.