Origin Story

Every Superhero comes with an origin story, and every Superhero confronts a villainous opponent. My ’79 Series III ambulance has a noble backstory but has also proven to be a diabolical opponent to my wallet over the last decade. Digging through the documentation I’ve amassed on my beloved Land Rover, let me recount its early history.

My Series III, named Leyland, serves as the protagonist of this story. Fate sent it from Solihull to Marshalls of Cambridge for conversion into an ambulance for the Royal Air Force. Many ambulances wound up in far-flung bases, never to return to England. However, Leyland enjoyed a stint at RAF Leeming, near Yorkshire. By 1984, during Leyland’s service Leeming had become the home of several RAF training wings. 

Leyland’s kit fit its role well. As a crash rescue ambulance, it had a heavily reinforced front guard and came with a large rear power plug for operation of an ambient cabin temperature heater, oil sump heater and battery trickle charger; this assured that the Land Rover would start immediately and have the requisite warmth for rescuing downed airmen.  

While a leaf-sprung Marshall Ambulance could carry four patients, its rough, bouncy ride could create a fifth patient from one of the crew; the medic jump seat had almost no head room and no seatbelt of any kind. Redesign of both the Land Rover and the ambulance body led to the gradual replacement of the Series III service vehicles with the introduction of the Defender. Despite being only about ten years old and with low mileage, Leyland headed to surplus in September 1990. 

Changing its livery to a gleaming white, Leyland entered service for St. John’s Ambulance, stationed in Lytham – St. Anne on the west coast. From the MOT logbook, I determined that Leyland’s first formal registration came in February 1991. At its seaside retreat, Leyland provided medical support for the many sailing regattas and sporting events in the region. The crews that worked with the Rover affectionately named it “John,” as stenciled onto the front. (This proved to be extremely helpful when tracking down the history of Leyland as it can also be seen in the old picture of the ambulance parked in the garage). Leyland’s last V5 registration reads June 1998; sometime the following year it became surplus from St. John’s Ambulance and made its way across the ocean and to the coast of Maine. 

Happily, Leyland earned a Maine state safety inspection sticker for the ‘02 – ‘03 calendar year. During that time, the ambulance participated in Maine Winter Romps, as evidenced by the battle scars and bullet hole shaped punctures in the aluminum skin. At some point the oil pump in the engine failed and the motor wound up in a Belfast, ME, machine shop for an overhaul. 

While in high school, trolling Craigslist one evening, I happened upon an advertisement for a non-driving, non-running Land Rover ambulance sitting on a farm in Downeast Maine. This is where my story with Leyland begins. 

Ever since childhood, the boxy shape of the Land Rover infatuated me. Like so many enthusiasts, I dreamt about owning a Series IIA 5-door 109” Station Wagon. I would search online, proudly presenting my findings to my parents. Reciting the best sales pitch a 15-year-old could create of how an old, glorified tractor would make his ideal first car. Why they agreed to Leyland, I don’t know. Perhaps I had worn them down; maybe it was the fact I had already called the owner twice, allowing me to make an ill-informed game plan for its revival. Perhaps it was the fact that I selected a vehicle that didn’t run and had very little hope of running before I graduated high school. This meant I would have to continue to ask to borrow a car. Whatever the reason, this journey took its first steps. 

On a November weekend my father and I drove downeast to Pembroke, ME to see the Land Rover. Instantly I fell in love with it, and while staring at the gaping hole once occupied by the engine and radiator, I knew that I would adopt this lovey, dopey rescue pet. Ignoring the obvious work required, the engine sitting on the ground wrapped in a tarp, and the rear tub filled to the roof with everything imaginable. Despite all this, I know Leyland was the Land Rover I’d been seeking. 

Collecting a vehicle in Maine at the end of November can be a daunting task. You run the gamble of winter weather moving in quickly, changing what should be a straightforward job into a frigid, slick nightmare. We thought we had lucked out, but the loaded U-Haul trailer had a lot of weight behind the rear axles. Barely a mile out of town the poorly distributed cargo almost sent our Chevy 2500 pickup rolling into a ravine. My dad warned me not to look in the side mirror as I felt the rear end yanked backwards and to the right. Unable to help myself, I looked back and saw the entire front end of Leyland peering – teetering – around the back corner of the pickup. It was as if it was peeking around going, ‘Hey, remember me?’ before thudding back to the left, tires screeching, the pickup now dragged in the other direction. Coming to a stop with everything still upright, we tightened the straps, moved the motor to the back end of the pickup bed, and relocated all the heavy things that we could see in Leyland into the truck. Once completed, we carried on at a leisurely pace of 45 mph the remaining 285 miles to Eliot, ME.

Like many project vehicles, the cleaned-out Leyland sat for the better part of a year while I slowly figured out what I had gotten myself into. At that time, I knew hardly anything about Land Rovers, knew nobody knowledgeable within the Rover community, and occasionally bought random parts from Rovers North to fix arguably insignificant issues. Eventually the engine, of which I knew very little, wound up with Sam Smith of Brit Bits, in nearby Rye, NH [now sadly closed]. Sam took the time to explain the various nuances of British engineering. We set the engine up on a test bed and discovered low compression on one cylinder. Once the engine warmed up enough to reseat the piston rings the compression came right up and the motor ran like a top! Sam took an afternoon, in trade for lunch, to assess the Land Rover and to create a game plan that would avoid the rabbit hole of a frame-off rebuild. 

Flash forward and Leyland finally moved from the yard and into the garage of Tim Hutchisen of Penn Ridge Motors, Norway, ME. A specialist and wizard with all manners of Triumph and MG, he confronted the challenge of this first Land Rover in his small shop. Tim also served as my high school ski coach, so after long hours of training, we would continue tinkering in his garage. I would go from flying through slalom gates to carefully bending brake and clutch lines. Hours of single ski agility tests turned into holding wrenches to fit bell housing bolts back into place. The triumph of getting podium positions at state meets morphed into the glee of watching a vehicle you’d spent hours learning how to fix back out of a garage under its own power. 

Tim took the time to explain not only how to do things, but why you do them. In addition to lessons in skiing, Tim gave lessons in fixing old automobiles and lessons in life. He imparted an underlying wisdom for which I’ll always remain grateful as it has served me well over the past decade and will continue to do so well into the future. 

Owning a Land Rover has proven to be a learning experience in analogue mechanics, life in slow lanes and on back roads. At its most impactful, it has immersed me in the Land Rover community and the new friends I’ve met along the journey, experiencing how each enthusiast appreciates these clunky vehicles in their unique way. Leyland provided my door into meeting and interacting with the Land Rover community. While this past decade has seen several different Land Rovers come and go in my driveway, Leyland continues on as an honored member of the family. He performs every duty a Land Rover should, from clearing trails to chauffeuring weddings, in his own quirky way. With proper stewardship, he will continue well into the future.