March/April 2010 Area Secretary’s report

A blank canvas

Like many before me, my journey into the world of military vehicle ownership began with Airfix kits. And although I always took great care actually building the models, that wasn’t the most exciting part for me. The bit I always enjoyed most was applying all the markings to the finished article and then painstakingly dirtying and weathering the whole thing to within an inch of its life.

As the years passed, I was able to devote less and less time to model-making, and eventually I gave it up altogether. But there’s something about those of us brought up on the heady scent of polystyrene cement and Humbrol enamels; we of the Airfix generation somehow never quite seem to get the smell of thinners out of our nostrils, however long it may be since we last built a model.

So now fast forward three decades to the delivery of a new toy to my front door – this time a fully roadworthy, 1944, mostly-Ford GPW, in deliciously ‘as-found’ condition, sporting a weathered coat of matt olive green with – crucially – no markings whatsoever. Nothing. Just the licence number, crudely stencilled on the front bumper.  

Instantly I was transported back to my boyhood. It was like taking possession of the biggest Airfix kit ever, ready-made and simply begging for me to set about it with stencils, spray-cans, and all my old dry-brush weathering techniques. I could hardly wait to start embellishing.

The standard wartime jeep was blessed with more markings per square foot of bodywork than practically any other vehicle in the history of man. When the things were new there was hardly a flat surface anywhere that wasn’t enhanced with stars, unit markings or cryptic white stencilling. Add in the artwork and nicknames provided by their service crews, and the overall effect was not unlike some sort of mad utility version of a cornflakes packet on wheels.

Which is at once both a problem and a challenge for ex-kit building owners like me.

Setting aside the authenticity of individual unit or vehicle markings, the issue here is entirely a matter of practicality; nothing stands out on old, weathered paintwork like new white markings. It just looks so unrealistic. And to us old model-makers, getting the finished product to look realistic is everything, isn’t it? Well, sort of. Actually, I guess a big part of what we really want is for the results to look cool. After all, we’re going to be seen driving about in the thing, aren’t we?

When it comes to presentation, there are two distinct camps in the military vehicle world. Some, thank goodness, take enormous trouble to restore their vehicles to pristine condition – the way they would have actually looked when they were new – and to preserve them like that for posterity. After all, let’s face it, they were all new when they first came into service, and even the most abused and worn-out Jeep was less than three years old when the war ended.

For others, though, like me, who came up through the modelling route, the more muck, bullet holes and dents, the better. It just looks more – well – authentic somehow. So you can probably guess how my Jeep looks now.

Long story short, practically every panel of my Jeep now has the appropriate markings dutifully applied, with the whole lot lovingly dulled, faded, scuffed and aged in ways that only fellow former Airfix-kitters would fully appreciate. After all, which is the more exciting find; a serial number painted in crisp white numbers, or the mere hint of an old number you have to trace with a finger to read? The impression I’m aiming for here is of a decades-old barn-find, discreetly hinting at services rendered but now carelessly pressed back into civilian service without so much as a proper wash and brush-up; a sort of miniature Diamond T in the rough if you will.

The finished product is a masterpiece of carefully contrived indifference, full of potential and begging to be taken home, polished, and restored to its former glory. Suddenly all those years of building, painting and weathering Airfix kits has paid off. After all, who among us can resist the puppy-like appeal of unrealised potential?

As for the authenticity of the markings, the honest truth is that after 65 years of continuous use, my Jeep is such a mongrel I suspect it’d be nigh-on impossible to pin down it’s actual service history. So, since I live in Exeter and my first love is aircraft, I’ve given ‘Tinker’s Cuss’ markings appropriate to an American 9^th AAF Jeep serving at Exeter airport around D-day. And I defy anyone to prove that it’s not true...............