I walked into our Conversion bungalow one
afternoon to find the "Mem" airborne -- well, sort of anyway! She was
actually on top of a step ladder, busily sticking some of our china
trinkets onto the top of the lounge window pelmet with the aid of some
Araldite. She was also trying to unstick three fingers which appeared
somewhat reluctant to be parted. I asked the obvious daft question of
course, and got blasted for my interest.
It seemed that as I couldn't summon up the
bottle to tell the chap next door but one (Stan Brown) to change gear
elsewhere before half the family heirlooms were smashed to smithereens,
then she was obliged to take some action herself by sticking them in
place.
I'd never actually been in the bungalow when
it happened, but apparently, every time he got to us, he double
de-clutched, and with a great burst of throttle that rose the local
sound well above the 120 decibel level momentarily,, would engage bottom
gear prior to negotiating the entrance to his garage. This same burst of
throttle also vibrated the window violently, moving the cherished china
on top quite alarmingly.
"What sort of a car was capable of this?"
you might ask. Well, no less a monster than Raymond May's old White
Walled Invicta -- a yellow, aluminium clad thoroughbred made in 1927
housing a brute of a Meadows engine that had all the "goodies" like 2
plugs per cylinder and magnetos and things.
Gleaming, chrome plated, spiral wound
exhaust pipes sprouted out of either side of it's enormous bonnet,
disappearing into cavernous silencers which terminated in pipes you
could just about stick your fists into and three spare tyres hung
precariously off the massive petrol tank at the rear..
The car had been a world beater in its day
-- holder of several coveted records -- and it was very, very special.
So much so, indeed, that we were led to understand that it could only be
bought and sold within the membership of the British Motor Racing Club!
Now, one could easily get uptight over
one's crockery being damaged by a Volkswagen who's silencer had fallen
off, or one of the huge Euclid trucks that seemed to go up and down our
road all day carrying earth and rocks for the shark bund at Bandar
Sheikh beach, but to get something shattered by a world famous motor car
-- well, the "Mem" was just too blinkered to realise that it was a sort
of honour!
Unfortunately, I voiced this opinion too
loudly and my frustrated missus could take no more. She flung her
grandmother's rare
Swansea china teapot in the general
direction of my head and missed, thus achieving something the Invicta
had failed to do up till now. The irreplaceable piece lay in bits on the
floor, and having committed the cardinal sin of not catching it, I
ceased to be popular.
One of Stan’s colleagues joked that he had
better not try to reverse into his garage as the structure would
probably fall down. They were not all that secure as my garage which I
shared with Keith Cox disappeared one night in a storm and landed in one
of the streets behind us but that’s another yarn.
Stan retired to
Australia shortly afterwards
and had the car flown back to
U.K.. for sale, courtesy of the
RAF who managed to cram it into one of their returning Argosys so we
were told.