Adventures with Mr. Hogg

     "Why is there a shovel under the bonnet?" Mrs. Hogg was clearly puzzled as to why her husband's latest automotive acquisition was held together by garden implements. Joe and I looked at each other while Mr. Hogg attempted to allay his wife's fears.

     The day before I'd picked up the phone to hear,"Rrrrrobert, could ya give us a hand tomorrow? M. Hogg's thick Scottish brogue was unmistakable and generally meant that I was going to spend a weekend helping haul yet another broken hulk out from behind some barn. The last time it had been an MGB so rusty we had to lash the two ends of the car together with wooden beams. He'd really only wanted the overdrive but the owner, sensing an opportunity to get some free yard clearing done, had insisted that the entire car go with it.
     This time, Mr. Hogg was silent about the car. As I waited with Joe Hines in Scott's Nursery's parking lot on a beautiful Saturday morning, Joe and I speculated on the nature of Mr. Hogg's find and why he would need the two of us. Clearly it was going to be a nasty one. I'd brought a box of aircraft grade tie downs, heavy boots and work gloves and had worn my worst clothes. Having exhausted our short list of possible cars, we switched to our favourite subject, Jaguar E-Types. Joe had been restoring one for the past year and often picked my brain. I'd spent twenty years fixing mine and was glad to help Joe with his.

     As the morning sun warmed the air, Mr. Hogg arrived at the wheel of a large diesel truck towing a tandem axle flatbed. I didn't bother with the usual pleasantries, instead demanding to know what in heck he needed such a large trailer and truck for--just what kind of monster were we rescuing THIS time. Mr. Hogg ignored my question, thanked us both for showing up, then headed towards the nearest Timmies. With our tea cups filled, we headed north chatting about everything except what sort of car we where going to find. It was a beautiful day and I didn't really mind.
     Finally we turned off near Woodstock and headed down some rural back road. I looked expectantly for signs of our destination and turning onto a side road, glimpsed that famous shape sitting in a driveway.
     "You didn't, Robbie!" exclaimed Joe as the truck pulled past the driveway and stopped on the side of the road. Mr. Hogg just grinned like a teenager and got out of the truck. Joe and I piled out of it behind him and headed for the car, unmistakable and beautiful despite a heavy coat of dust and grime. We stood there for just a moment admiring that sensuous shape then dived in. Doors and boot where pried open as we inspected what we assumed was Mr. Hogg's intended purchase. Despite the mud I got down on my knees and looked underneath the car. Things were pretty scary. Someone had done some amateurish body repairs that would need serious attention. Joe and I began an inventory of the panels needed.
     "New floors for sure." quoted Joe from the beside the drivers door.
     "The boot floor might need replacing too," I added from the back of the car.

     We persuaded the bonnet open, mindful of the fact that it was held on by nothing more than gravity and one rotted hinge. More dirt and grime greeted us but it looked remarkably original and un-screwed-around with. Mr. Hogg had found the original data plate inside the car and I peered into the depths of the engine compartment and scraped off some caked on oil from the block. The owner had come out from his house by this time and careful not to appear enthusiastic, I simply gave a slight nod to Mr. Hogg. It was a matching number car which increased it's value considerably. In hushed tones, Joe and I noted how much of the car WAS there and in decent shape. Large parts like sheet metal was readily available and quite reasonably priced. The interior, with it's collection of terrifyingly expensive chrome bits and knick-knacks, was complete albeit filthy. Nothing had been removed from the engine compartment and replaced with Canadian Tire grade hardware. It was literally a jewel in the rough. I chatted with the owner while Joe, out of our sight, gave Mr. Hogg the verdict: Buy it!

      They headed into the house as Joe and I stood back and admired that lovely shape. Even with it's warts, that most British of cars, the Jaguar E-Type was as beautiful now as it had been 49 years ago when unveiled at Earl's Court in the UK. Over the decades they'd taken on an almost holy status and were highly sought after. Prices had risen commensurately and now where commanding an outrageous sum. The mythical 'barn find' was almost unheard of yet here was a prime example. An owner lacking both an appreciation of what he had, and the skills to properly restore the car, was selling it far below the going rate. I'd seen a lot worse cars selling for a lot more money on E-bay.
     Mr. Hogg and the seller came out from the house and we proceeded to get the E-Type onto the trailer. I insisted that Mr. Hogg take the driver's seat as the three of us pushed the coupe over to the trailer. It rolled easily (a good sign) and I did my best to make the sound of that big six cylinder engine as we pushed it down the driveway. "Sspppplurt!, PppPppPP BbbPppp!" My attempt was unconvincing although much appreciated by the now elated Mr. Hogg as, with one good shove, we got the car onto the trailer.
     We spent extra time (and much rope) ensuring that the bonnet wouldn't become airborne on our trip home. Snugly fastened to the trailer, Mr. Hogg's Jaguar looked expectant, as if it knew it was headed home where it would be properly cared for and lovingly restored. We left the former owner and headed back to the city, stopping for a late lunch. As we nursed our tea we watched people's reaction to the car on it's trailer in the parking lot. Everyone stopped and went over for a look, one even going so far as to run his fingers over that gorgeous shape. Even in a state of obvious neglect, she commanded attention. She was an achingly beautiful thing that echoed the old Jaguar mantra of 'Grace, Pace and Space'. Mr. Hogg was gratified that his two 'experts' (*cough cough*) had given him an enthusiastic "Yes!" to his desire to buy the car. As someone who's been there I knew what Mr. Hogg was in for. I suspect that so did Mr. Hogg.
     Finally home, the Jag had to pass the big test. Mrs. Hogg was, despite a cold, coaxed outside to view her husbands latest project.
     "Ooh it's lovely" she cooed, smiling.
     Mr. Hogg grinned broadly and visibly relaxed. As we toured the car for her, Joe and I made a special point to showcase all the stuff (the really expensive stuff!) that was there and undamaged. The shovel, we explained, was necessary only because the car lacked the (inexpensive) strut to hold the bonnet open. She repeatedly nodded her approval and we all celebrated with tea and goodies. A battery was produced and the engine was persuaded to turn over evenly (a very good sign).
I suspect that Mr. Hogg has a few other cars for sale now. He needs the garage space.
- Robert Earl
(Many more fascinating photos of this adventure here.)