THE TALES OF THE LION QUEST

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[Peugeot 404]  Behind The Iron Curtain

John & Jeanette Grant - Auckland

In February 1967 John Grant sailed on the ARCADIA to go back to England to see his parents for the first time in twelve years. On board was a schoolteacher - Jeanette Clarke, going overseas for a year. They met, they got engaged, they married in England and at the end of the year came back to NZ together.

John had ordered a brand new Peugeot 404 and picked it up from the Peugeot agents in Croydon. At that time, they were the only agents for Peugeot in the whole country. The 404 was a super-lux model - i.e. it had fuel injection, leather seats and door trims, Michelin YAS radial tires, a sunroof, radio, map box armrest etc. It was very well fitted and finished in metallic bronze with full sized stainless steel wheel trims. In 1967 it cost one thousand English pounds without the English duty. That would have added another four hundred and fifty pounds to the price if the car was staying in the UK. As John's plans were uncertain, he did not pay the duty but insured the car for the full price just in case he did stay there over 12 months. Every time the car crossed the Channel on Q plates, co-operative customs officers re-stamped the carnet as being its first entry to England, without being asked.

The car was run in at 50-60 mph on the 200 mile drive up from London to Cheshire. This was the speed recommended by the manufacturer. We stopped a couple of times on the way to let it cool off and this treatment obviously suited it as it ran faultlessly from then on. In recent years the Japanese have tried to brainwash the NZ car buying public into believing that they invented fuel injection. Nonsense. Peugeot have been building fuel injected cars since 1962. Its official top speed was 100 mph but it was capable of doing 1 12 mph at least, once the engine was freed up. Its ride/handling was superb. In its time it set new standards against which the motoring journalists have judged cars for over twenty years since. We sat in it for hours and days on end without ever a thought of backache.

John's uncle - Frank Peake - bought a small caravan a couple of days later and the next month was spent touring the Continent. The car proved to be a superb tow car. The only problem was one of visibility when towing on the right-hand side of the road in a RHD car. The first evening we were in France, John approached a local engineering shop and asked if it were possible to have extension arms put on the wing mirrors. The proprietor not only did an excellent job, he refused to take any money for them. As far as we could understand, he felt that anyone with the discrimination to come all the way from NZ and buy a French car, deserved his assistance.

On this trip we drove through France, down the Riviera and around the coast as far as Rome. On the Italian Autostrada del Sol which was brand new at the time, there was no speed limit and we found ourselves regularly driving in at 80 mph, almost forgetting that the caravan was there behind. Apart from the big trucks, most of the rest of the traffic was leaving us for dead. One incident has been etched indelibly on my mind. We had parked the car and were exploring Carcassonne on foot. The centre of the city was a maze of ancient, narrow, one way, no parking streets. Someone had illegally parked a Citroen DS19. A big truck came up to it and had no room to pass. The entire traffic flow of the city centre ground to a frustrated halt. Traffic cops on bikes with loudspeakers broadcast a plea for the owner to remove his car but he was probably too scared to appear. No tow truck could reach it because of the jam. Attempts to lift it clear were frustrated by the long travel suspension which left the wheels obstinately on the ground no matter how high the willing passersby strove to lift it. Finally, a senior traffic cop just beckoned the truck on-on and over.

On our return to England, I was asked to find a suitable Peugeot for my uncle to use. We located a high mileage 403 in London and he bought it for two hundred pounds. Jeanette was surprised but co-operative when asked to drive him in his newly purchased car back down the Edgeware Road on a Saturday morning to the bed and breakfast place they were staying at. It was only her second experience of driving in England and her first 'in a 403 but she managed to successfully navigate the one way street section. My later explanation of why it was not advisable for Frank to drive it himself did not really strike home until we were in Ireland. A few weeks later we joined Frank and Mary in the caravan for a tour of Ireland in the caravan towed by the 403. John did the driving. On our first day he noticed that the oil pressure light was coming on. Frank said it often did that so John found the local Peugeot agent where they checked and found the pickup in the sump was blocked so the oil was not circulating. He dropped the sump and cleaned it out but unfortunately some damage had been done to the bearings while they were being starved. We spent the next three weeks in gorgeous fine weather touring Ireland and visiting relatives. One fine afternoon, we had reached the camp early and Frank suggested that he drove us round the Ring of Kerry in the evening, so John could enjoy the scenery. Unfortunately, Frank was also enjoying the scenery. One particularly fraught moment occurred when we were fast approaching a sharp left-hand bend with no sign of slowing down. Mary yelled, "Frank there's a corner" and he braked hard - and we made it safely. Mary said "What on earth were you thinking about?" and his reply was that he was watching that fellow cutting the hedge back there" - watching him in the rear vision mirror. Jeanette no longer wondered why everyone had tacitly agreed it was better for her to drive in London.

After we returned to England, Frank continued to take parties of relatives around Ireland and made 3 or 4 more complete circuits before putting car and caravan on the boat to Scotland. Unfortunately, as they were coming south over Shap, the 403 scuffed one piston. Despite the loss of power and the smoke pouring out of the breather, they continued on south. It was smoking so much by the time they reached the Mersey Tunnel that they were not allowed to drive through but had to go the long way round through Runcorn. A second piston went on the last lap but the amazing old car got them safely home - caravan and all.

John was asked to overhaul the engine but there were a few problems involved. Firstly the car was in the Wirral and the only agents were way down in Croydon. We had to drive all the way down there, take over their parts book which they could not understand, and point out exactly what we needed.

However before that could happen, we had to get the engine out. None of the local garages had lifting gear available so we were reduced to driving round the local streets looking for a tree with a suitable strong branch. We eventually decided that the one right outside John's parents' house was as good as any, so we bought a little Haltrac hoist, loosened everything off and pulled. Unfortunately we could not get a straight upward pull, but the postman came along at the right moment to give a hand and the engine was pulled out at an angle.

When the engine was apart, it was amazing that it had gone at all. Two pistons had seized onto the bore and the other two were badly scuffed. John put in a piston and liner kit as well as big ends, mains and a new timing chain. After grinding the valves, we put the engine in the boot of the 403 and towed it round the block to the postman's home where he let us use his garage with a strong overhead beam to swing the engine back into place. That old 403 had been round the clock several times and continued afterwards to do a high reliable mileage till the rust started by the salt on the roads caused Frank to replace it for towing with a later model.

While they were driving round and round Ireland, we were touring Europe with a tent in the boot of the 404. We saw the Low Countries before moving into Scandinavia. That was just before Sweden made the change from left-hand driving and all the new signs were ready under black Polythene. When we drove over the border into Norway it was on a small back road and there were signs in three languages for a few miles reminding you which side of the road you were supposed to be driving on. Sweden had no speed limit and excellent motorways. It was here that Peugeot 404 showed it could do 112 mph without sounding or feeling any different from driving at 70 mph. This was in fact its most economical speed but the roads and the car combined were such a smooth package, that it was hard to keep below 90mph. The standard of driving was superb. A car seeing you coming up behind would move out of your way so the overtaking car had a straight run through. In Nor-way, we kept commenting on the cars with the number plates from flat countries who had obviously never driven on hilly road before. It was only when we were putting the maps away as we crossed the border that we discovered that Norway had a 50 mph speed limit!

The ferry from Sweden to Finland was a new experience. The cars were parked with only 3-4 inches clearance. You then got out and locked the car and the next one came alongside. We wondered how the driver of the last car was to get out. Not an inch was wasted. We arrived in daylight at 2 am and drove for a couple of hours before sleeping in the car. (That was one of the great things about the 404. The front seats fully reclined so that you could sleep very comfortably' n them.) We had to be at the Russian frontier that day so had to drive straight across the country. As we approached the frontier, the amount of traffic on the motorway declined markedly. The Finnish official stamped our papers and waved us on but the car ahead of us got a thorough going over. They even took the tires off.

On the Russian side was a little wooden and glass office and two armed soldiers who took our passports and the car's number and had a long talk on the phone before waving us on. Half a mile down a narrow winding road among pine trees, we came to a clearing and the customs buildings proper - with dramatic watchtower and more armed soldiers. Our papers were checked again, the car was searched in a most inconsistent manner and we had to sign a bond promising to take everything out of the country that we had brought in.

The first night was spent in the camping ground just north of Leningrad. The next morning we gave one of the camp officials a ride into the city and asked him a few questions such as the meaning of the road signs. His answer was a revelation. "It is not my job to know what they mean!' After we dropped him off, we came to a huge roundabout - Marble Arch size. There were no signposts and about six exit roads. We drove around three times before we decided to navigate by the sun and hopefully head south. We drove for nearly miles, becoming less and less sure that we were on the right road. The road north of the city had had mileposts showing the distances to Moscow and to the frontier. This had none. It also had almost no traffic. At the first cross-roads, a traffic cop was waiting for us, flagged us down and told off in very fluent Russian. We had obviously left the officially approved route. He took out a small pad and drew a U turn. We smiled and nodded. He then drew the roundabout, put a cross by the road we had chosen and a tick by the one next to it. We were only one road out. He then escorted us back and made sure we took the right road.

That night, 380 miles to the south, John was told off by the camp officials when he signed in. Big Brother was indeed watching.

Driving through Russia was an odd experience. Intourist had provided us with maps which only showed the one road that foreigners were allowed to use. The road was shocking. Concrete slabs suffered from the intensely cold winters so there were hard edged potholes at all the corners. We were very conspicuous on the road as nearly all the other cars were local Moscovitch or Ziz models painted a dull green and very sluggish. So unprepared were they for overtaking, that none of them seemed to have rear vision mirrors. They were all owned by the state and before any individual could get a driving license he or she had to pass a mechanical exam. Repair facilities were so few that cars and trucks were fixed right there on the side of the road where they broke down.

We nearly joined them. The 404 was intended to run on 93 octane fuel, higher than was commonly available in Russia. We could not buy petrol for money. We had to calculate our mileage and consumption (33 mpg) and buy coupons from Intourist. This entitled us to the highest octane available. If there was a pump, it was tucked away out of sight of the usual customers, but most of the time we were filled up out of Jerry cans. The inevitable happened. We got dirty petrol and a blockage in the fuel system between the tank and the lift pump. Fortunately John always carries a basic toolkit with him and he was able to clear it by cleaning out the filter and poking a wire down the fuel pipe.

We had another fuel problem. On the road west from Moscow to Poland, we realized we were running out of coupons and after much puzzlement we worked out that in Russia they calculated on the basis of the American gallon not the Imperial, so we had only received 3/4 as much fuel as we needed. The map showed an Intourist office in Smolensk but we had problems finding the road there as signposts were rare. We finally spotted a small one behind a tree and in fear and trepidation, left the road we were officially using and detoured into forbidden territory. We saw a sign "HOTEL" on top of the tram wires and followed it in the hope that it would lead to an English speaker we could explain our problem to. It did better. The Intourist office had recently moved into the Hotel so our fuel problem was solved.

We drove out of Russia, across Poland and into Czechoslovkia. There disaster struck. We were following a bus through a small township on the outskirts of Bratislava. There was a queue of people at a bus stop and the bus was slowing. We assumed it was going to pull into the bus stop and pulled out to overtake. Instead, the bus pulled the opposite way into the middle of the road and stopped dead. No signals, no brake lights, nothing! John had to change from accelerating to overtake to heavy braking on the instant. If we had had three feet more clearance we would have made it, but, as it was under the heavy braking, the nose of the car went down and the bus's bumper hit the car at headlight level. Those headlights were the only glass broken. The windscreen was intact. All the doors opened and shut normally. The reinforced cab remained intact. The engine did what it was designed to do and dropped down instead of coming straight back into the cab.

We were unharmed but the car was a write-off. Behind the Iron Curtain of 1967, there were no spares and no prospects of getting any. We contacted our insurance company and had our visas extended while we awaited a reply. None came.

The visas expired and we prepared to leave - without the car. This posed a problem as we had signed documents at the border promising to take out everything we had brought into the country. At the motel, we were just finishing packing when one of the helpful locals we had got to know entered the room and indicated that John had to come with him.

His interpreter granddaughter was not with him so we did not know why he was needed. I sat there, alone in a strange country behind the Iron Curtain while John was taken to court. The Court closed at 12 noon and by then it was 11:40. Our friend was a retired major-general who had been in his time, head of the Czech air force. He was well known. He umpid the queue and got the 'udge to sign the necessary document to authorize our departure from Czechoslovakia without the 404. Carrying our camping gear etc, we traveled down the brown Danube on a hovercraft and then returned to the LJK by train.

The insurance company proved to be at a complete loss as they had never had to deal with a nearly new car in an accident behind the Iron Curtain before. The 404 was at the time of the accident, only four months old but had already covered 14,000 trouble free miles. Despite our giving them the exact address where the car was left, they said they could not find it. Eventually, just a matter of days before we flew home, they paid out on it as a complete loss. What is more they paid out on the basis of splitting the difference between the price paid and the full insured value. This just about covered the complete cost of our European trip. However, we would far rather have been able to bring the car home as originally intended. It left us with such a good impression, that within days of returning to NZ, we had invested in another 404 - not fuel injection this time - but one which gave us many reliable miles of happy motoring.

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