The Gas Strut Saga

In the elder days, camping car voyagers lifted the locker doors and they stayed not open but crashed shut. For the nine gas struts had lost their magic, holding not the doors in their open temporal position. The living gas was not with them. It had left them. Some evil work had been done them, possibly by politically motivated strangers from foreign lands.
As time passed into an age the nine struts were powerless against the cruel forces of nature to shut doors with a mighty slam that sounded across the sundering seas and the ice-wedged fiords of the northern parts of the northern hemisphere. Camping car voyagers bewailed their fate: "Wherefrom cometh a hero who can put back the magic?"

Then up and spake an eldern knight: "SGS Engineering is the finest re-gasser in all the lands of Britain". And the people asked "Where is this place of magic?" Sir Patrick Spens spake in a loud voice, for he was that very knight of ancient lineage "Derby".
Now the Queen of the camping cars spake in clear tones as of water from an enchanted crystal fountain: "Go forth and send our nine struts for re-magicking. Spare no gold, nor any treasure whatsoever against success in this great quest."
Straightway Sir Patrick Spens parcelled with greatest care the struts and entrusted them in common carriage to the Royal Mail. As with the speed of winged Mercury flew the sacred parcel via Royton transhipment concentration depot and on to proud Crewe (home of the oath-breakers of 1923), thence to the heart of Midland Railway engineering, Derby of blessed memory.

In  the SGS halls at Derby dwelt a goblin of low cunning who took the commission to make the struts do magic again. He re-gassed the nine sacred struts of the camping car. Through long years a great evil filled his mind. He followed the accursed code of the twisted strut, a dark art he had learnt in Swindon way and waggon office.
Seven of the nine were twisted beyond all usage. The goblin, who was in truth the feared boggart Mortegg of Weekday Cross laughed at his handiwork. "That pays in full the Double-dealers of the Northern Coalfields for all their witchcraft during the Dark Times."

In the halls of the Queen of the Camping Cars there was great lamentations at the calamity. "We had straight struts with no magic. Now we have seven twisted struts with magic. Surely if we re-fit them in their rightful places great evil will befall our people".

All the knights of camping cars pondered this mystery through long weary days of dark winter. Then spake out in a barely intelligible Northern accent Master Make-Do of Walsden. "Just put each one in turn into the great steel jaws of the Vice of Cohen, whose grip is stronger than Death. Then bend them with the mighty strength of Northern Soul."

And thus it was done. All nine re-magicked struts were straight as the permanent way through Peterborough. The halls of the Queen were filled with rejoicing, merry singing (even descant recorders were permitted) and carousing for three days and nights. Now all the lockers of the van opened and stayed open without aid of Man.
Such magic is powerful indeed.

 There is a different story of these things that came to pass, but you must await the Lady Christine to write that.
Although, curiously, there are manufactured pictures of the sacred nine struts of magic gas.

That's what they looked like before they were sent to SGS Engineering.

Below is what the nine looked like after re-gassing and before return to us. Only two of the gas struts had the end attachment housing not bent very much.

That's what seven of them looked like on return.

 And above is one just before being bent straight in the Great Vice of Cohen, which really does exist, and cost me £1 in 1975.