It all started when I was 17 and looking for my first car. Victorian Father and I followed up an advert in the local paper for a Ford Escort for sale at an address way into the countryside. The address was an old fruit farm that had large outbuildings for wagons and tractors. When we got there, we found that the car had been used by a heavy smoker and the brown stains emanating from the ashtray in the centre of the dash and the pancake size and colour smoke stain on the roof really put us off.
 
However, there was a very good pump on the driveway. Needless to say it wasn’t for sale.
 
Many years later Mum moved in a few doors down the road and worked her way through the local community until she got to meet the owners to make another attempt. Unfortunately someone had got there before us and put an offer in, fortunately though the owners had not said yes and said they would be in touch before making a final decision. Six months later I get a call from the auctioneers selling off the land for development and asked if I still wanted the pump for a reasonable sum.
 
At the next available opportunity father and I were there with the old scrumping tool kit and were delighted to find that the pump was complete with even its own wasp nest as an added bonus. The lady who owned the house said that she remembered father trying to buy the pump 35 years ago and the reason why she wouldn’t sell it was that it was still in use at the time!
 
 After an hour of angle grinding, we drove to the local pub for lunch with the pump safely resting in the back of the van. In an amazing fluke of chance we passed the rest of my family walking to the same country pub. A beer or two later and some fine dining, father and I decided it would be quicker and easier to haul the pump out of the van ourselves. Following a brief touch and go struggle we managed to get the pump upright outside his garage.
 
Happy hunting.
 
Al