Uncanny Tales – (36) Car Rust Memories

I should start by saying that I am not the type of person who views cars as anything other than a tool to get me from A to B.

They do not have personalities, they do not have feelings and talking to them nicely has no effect whatsoever, neither are they sexy and I have not yet seen one that causes a tingling in my loins, they are just cars.

Having said all that, I do nonetheless have fond memories of most of the cars I have owned or loaned.

My first car, which I inherited from my Dad, was a 1969 Vauxhall Victor 101 1600cc.

It was a great big beast, well it was to me at the time, the colour was a dirty washed out pale green which today would probably be called sage, mint or avocado, well when I got it in 1977 it was a dirty washed out pale green.

The thing I remember most fondly about it was the bench seat in the front which was upholstered in a shiny PVC leatherette kind of stuff which made it quite slippery, the degrees of slipperiness being dependent upon the fabric you were wearing at the time and the ambient temperature.

The interesting consequence of this was that when cornering sharply the passenger was automatically deposited in the middle of the seat because no one wore seat belts back then.

So, if you had a girl in the passenger seat you could deliberately corner sharply and she would almost land in your lap.

The added bonus with the particular model that I had was that although it had a bench seat it also had a floor change gear stick as opposed to a column change.

This meant that the legs of anyone sitting in the middle were in direct conflict with the gear stick unless they put one leg either side of the gear lever which allowed the passenger to brace themselves against further disturbance while not impairing the drivers use of the gears but this could present the problem of proximity to an intimate area when changing gear.

So if you were to corner quickly and the female passenger moved to the center of the car adjusted her legs either side of the stick to brace herself and the driver then changed gear it left his hand intimately positioned.

Now the reaction of the said girl to the driver’s hand suddenly arriving between her thighs had a direct bearing on how the rest of the evening would go.

If she scurried back to her side of the car and fastened her seatbelt I knew it was going to be a very cold evening, if she made light of it and moved slowly to her side and didn’t fasten her seat belt then there was hope, but if she remained in the middle then I knew I didn’t need to buy her dinner.

The other bonus with a bench seat is that it was very comfortable for horizontal pleasures and it had its fair share of use in the short time I had it.

Unfortunately, the great green beast was more expensive to run than I could afford.

My next car couldn’t have been more different, talk about going from the sublime to the ridiculous, it was a two-door dark Blue and rust 1965 850cc Mini.

It was a very basic car indeed, for example the dashboard comprised of a Speedo, a fuel gauge (which was faulty) and a temperature gauge, then below that was the light switch, wipers, ignition, and choke.

Having said that it was fun owning that Mini, it cost me virtually nothing to buy and it was cheap to run.

The Mini had none of the benefits of the Vauxhall Victor and was not a car for engaging in complicated sexual activity, especially if you were 6 ft 2” and weighed sixteen stone, not even if you were on your own.

It did have its quirks though such as the caps on the terminal leads which connected to the battery, which was housed in the boot, the caps were made from lead which had worn to the point that they only fitted on to the terminals if you stuffed them with tin foil first.

However, this was only a temporary fix with limited effect, for example if the car hit a pothole or a bump in the road the caps popped off and the engine cut out.

So I had to stop the car get out and run round the back, open the boot, replace the leads, close the boot, run back, get in the car, start the car and continue the journey, until the next bump.
The other quirk was an electrical fault which meant the left hand indicator didn’t work when you had the wipers on, this was only a minor inconvenience in light rain as you could switch off the wipers until you made the turn and then put them on again, but in heavy rain when it was necessary to leave the wipers on in order for you to see were you were going, you just didn’t bother signaling.

I remember on a number of occasions when Miss Piggy, (her real name was Linda Gammon), was in the passenger seat she would wind down her window thrust out her left arm and make a clicking noise until I had completed the maneuver, she was a real giggle.

Its last quirk was more of a problem namely its tendency to overheat with monotonous regularity, I replaced all the radiator hoses but that still didn’t cure the problem, subsequently it was always necessary to allow plenty of time for any journey as the combination of the battery terminals, the overheating and a faulty fuel gauge tended to add on an hour or two.

In the end, when I was on my way to meet a friend who was buying the Mini from me in order to rebuild it for rallying, the head gasket blew on the A1M.

Bob had to come and tow me off the motorway, but he still bought it off me, he was a good man.

For a combination of reasons which I’m not going to go into at the moment it was to be three and a half years before I owned another car.

Nonetheless I had plenty of driving in that period, I spent twelve months acting as driver roadie/driving instructor to a mate who had a mobile disco and a car but couldn’t drive.

He bought this big Austin/Morris estate the exact make of which I cannot bring to mind the only thing I remember was it was one of the last models made with a hand crank as well as electronic ignition.

This was a boon on a cold night when the battery wasn’t up to the job you just cranked the engine into life by hand.

The problem with not owning a car and not always having the cash to hire one for special occasions is that it is sometimes necessary to borrow a vehicle.

This can be a very perilous practice especially if you have a dodgy brother in law.

He once loaned me a Mk II Ford Escort, brown in colour, loud on the ear due to the big end and temperamental of disposition as it would only start when it was good and ready, and with the rather dangerous tendency for the gear lever to come off in your hand when changing from second to third.

The next car he loaned me was a white Ford Cortina Mk 1 which lured you into a false sense of security by starting first time, every time it was quiet on the ear and in good all round condition the problem with it only became apparent when you were driving round sharp bends or roundabouts because the seat tipped violently sideways as it was only bolted down on one side.

So, it was after several near-death experiences that I decided to once more venture into car ownership and bought a 1974 Hillman Avenger bright yellow with a brown vinyl roof.

It was a very smart car low mileage one previous owner, a retired army major, and I loved it.

In all the years I had the car it only let me down once when it broke down when I had just picked up a girl called Sue for our first date.

She turned out to be a total bitch, so the car was obviously a far better judge of character than I was.

The only other problem was some interior damage when I was entertaining a young blond woman and she put her stiletto heel through the dashboard. (She was very blonde if you get my meaning and she hailed from Basildon in Essex).

My lovely Avenger was written off by a tourist in a hire car who tail ended me on the Denham roundabout and ruptured the fuel tank.

My next automotive venture was a Chrysler Alpine, metallic blue, electric windows, velour upholstery, a very nice-looking car.

Unfortunately, it died on a regular basis, and that’s what happens when you buy a car just because it looks good, I should have known better, after all I’ve made the same mistake with women often enough.

So, after that there was no more being dazzled by the bodywork and the upholstery, I always checked underneath after that.

I was car less for about four years before I invested my hard earned savings on a brand new Fiesta Popular Plus 1 litre, dark blue which I kept for 11 years due to the fact that I got married a year after buying it.

The plan, when I first bought it, was to trade it in after three or four years, but when it got to that point, it came down to either getting a new car or starting a family and I lost. 

I traded the Fiesta in on a used 1995 Proton Persona in metallic gold which I had for one day short of a month when I had a front tire blow out and I came to rest on the central reservation of the A3 after spreading metallic gold paint along fifty feet of barrier.

After writing off the Proton I decided to get another Fiesta this time light blue and 1.1 litre which I drove happily for ten years until some yob tried to force the driver’s door open with a crowbar.

At the first opportunity I got rid of it and bought another Fiesta this time 1.3 litre Orange which I still have.

I like the Fiesta’s very much but I do have one little complaint which has been common in all three models I have owned and that is that the heated rear window and rear wiper only work when they feel like it, the heated window only starts working after the sun has burnt off the last of the frost and the wiper galvanizes into action just as the last drop of rain falls.

But I still love Fiestas even given the fact that they have not in any sense been “love machines” or “passion wagons” but I’m sure they are for many but for me though it is purely down to the fact that I’m both middle-aged and married and nothing to do with the car.