Just a century ago, the first Model T Ford left an American assembly line, bringing affordable motoring to a vast number of people. Known affectionately as Tin Lizzie, it was soon poking its bonnet into the remoter parts of the Yorkshire Dales.

Mark Rand, of Settle, the proud owner of a Model T Ford manufactured in 1914, was recently visited by Tin Lizzie enthusiasts who live in Chesterfield. They drove two Model Ts to Settle, without trouble, at a steady 35 miles an hour.

Mark's veteran car was originally called Gladys, after a favourite aunt. The present name, Gladys Emmanuel, relates to the buxom nurse in the television comedy series, Open All Hours. The connection between car and lady is the car's big brass headlamps.

In 1912, when Fred Ellis was apprenticed to a garage proprietor at Settle, petrol was being delivered to the town in cans on a horse-drawn cart based in Kirkby Lonsdale. Fred observed that the petrol tank on a Model T Ford, being under the seat, meant that when you had done a good day's run and approached a hill like Stainforth Brow, the level
of the petrol was likely to
be getting below the level
of the engine.

"You used to do what they did in aeroplanes – and continued your journey 'with a wing and a prayer'."

Mark lifted the seat of his car to show me the capacious petrol tank. He mentioned the steep stretch of road known as Buckhaw Brow, north of Settle. It was the ultimate test for early motorists. If there was the prospect of the carburettor running dry, and if there was time to do something about it, the car might be turned round and put into reverse.

When Fred Ellis drove up Sawley Brow, a fearsome hill route on what became known as the A59, the engine cut.

"The footbrake was all right, but the handbrake quickly wore out. So I was stuck, holding the car with the footbrake but not being able to get out to refill the petrol tank."

His solution was to grab a jack he kept in the back. Deftly slipping out of the car, he placed the jack under a back wheel before the car could run backwards. Fred re-filled the petrol tank, drove the car to some level ground, then walked back to pick up the jack.

Motoring tales about negotiating Buckhaw Brow, beyond Settle, were usually chilling. The top of the Brow was a popular resting place for motorists. They waited for the engines to cool down and watched other motorists struggling up a steep gradient. I mentioned this to Fred, who thought that most of the tales were made up. "Personally, I never had to drive up backwards."

Mr Ford's Model T – which remained in production until 1927 – was not the first type of car to raise dust on the unmetalled roads of the Yorkshire Dales. A car made in Manchester and known as The Marshall Dog-Cart, was powered by a single-cylinder engine of 6hp with three gears. The lowest gear was an exceedingly noisy affair called the Crypto, which – a devotee observed wryly – was guaranteed to take the car up the proverbial house-side. There was also a reverse gear.

Herbert L Atkinson, recalling a Whit Monday run with his brother from a West Riding town to Morecambe, said the Dog-Cart worked well until Buckhaw Brow was reached. A gear was dropped for the long drag up the hill. After a peculiar clank was heard, a casting was seen lying on the road. One or two cog-wheels were attached and smoking with hot oil. Surprisingly, the performance of the car was not affected. But no chances were taken. The trip to Morecambe was aborted. After leaving the car in the barn of a friendly farmer, the brothers returned home by train.

In the 1890s, a Dog-Cart owned by a Mr Tuke, a Bradford provision merchant, headed from Settle market place towards Buckhaw Brow with the waves and cheers of bystanders. When the car returned, an hour or so later, it was being towed by a farmer's horse.

I recently heard two appealing stories of old-time motoring. When a Craven farming family were taken to Morecambe in a large Humber car, it was driven by a friend. The farmer said he was too busy to take a day off. His wife and other adults occupied the spare seats. Their three small children sat on milking stools.

A farmer who lived frugally, removed the car seats on his return home. He took them into the house to sit on.

I enjoyed hearing the story of a Dales farmer who took a new car back to the garage with the remark: "It's not rattlin' reight."

This cannot be said of the well-cared-for Tin Lizzies of today.