With the current Land Rover Defender's time on this Earth now at a close, we remember one of our epic road trips - taking an original Land Rover all the way from Calcutta to Calais.
Land-Roving from India
This article first appeared in Autocar on 14 September 1951, words by W.P. Mitchell
Our trip took 26 days overland from Calcutta to Calais in a Land Rover lent by a Calcutta garage. With Jimmy Mandle, the co-driver, and myself, the outfit left for Delhi on April 21 this year.
There had been next to no planning, and our only map was one to a scale of one in five million, of U.S. Air Corp origin. Equipment included a heater and an extra fuel tank - total capacity with some Jerricans 38 gallons.
The extra range proved necessary! By way of the Grand Trunk road, we got to Delhi on April 24 by a route including Benares, Allahabad and Kanpur. The first real stop was at Lorelai, in Pakistan, after 1,000 miles.
No water or fuel was available on the desert road to Iran, and at night warm flying jackets were required, after the midday 106 deg F.
Even inhabitants were scarce, and the half-dozen we did see seemed to have come from nowhere. High spots on the route to Teheran, which we made by May 2, were a 16-hour wait for a police permit at Duzdap, and 80 miles of road crossed by foot-deep watercourses on the way to Meshed. On the whole, Persia have the dampers and springs about as bad a time as can be imagined.
In a Persian Black Market
Anything can happen in this region, and when we needed money the bank at Teheran advised us to try the black market. "A much better rate", it was explained to us. In fact, the black market was installed in the bank's main hall. There was a charming Englishman who dealt in opium, too... "Men are unwise, and curiously planned," in the words of Hassan, and with the polite but awkward police we did not leave until May 3.
After Tabriz, an unplanned detour took us almost into the arms of Mother Russia, for Julfa - and we were within three miles of it - is on the border. Hill roads, at night, and with thunderstorms for full measure, conducted us to Khoi, on the Turkish border.
Military posts in Persia had delayed us; usually the officer was lonely and we took tea with him, but in Turkey everyone was friendly, and the roads were good. We enjoyed a glimpse of the first real green vegetation since India; 6,273 miles were on the clock by Istanbul, and 1½ pints of oil had consumed. We had crossed the Bosphorus by ferry and enjoyed a Turkish bath.
Then Greece; and the route from the frontier at Orestias was memorably rough. We were nearly arrested on a mountain by a Greek corporal (he borrowed a rifle for the purpose) en route for the Yugoslav border town of Idomenhe.