Not just any vintage car
A Morris Minor
The radical new Morris Minor was unveiled at the 1948 British Motor Show, and was like a dose of adrenaline for a tired and jaded post war Britain. The Moggy’s journey was to become a long and respected one, as quintessentially British as a Victoria sponge, a village fete and moaning about the weather. And I loved them.
Softly coloured with their friendly curves, roomy interior and huge steering wheel, the Morris was the nostlgia I was drawn to from the start.
You either get it or you don’t!
Why do we love the classics? The simple, unadorned designs of vintage cars are in stark contrast to the modern, often complex, styling of contemporary vehicles. Vintage cars often feature elegant and classic styling, often with soft-top models. Classic cars create a feeling of nostlagia for a time when things were simpler, when time was slower and life less complicated.
In 1990 on my 18th birthday, Marmalade the moggy became my first beloved car. After too many lessons to mention, I was gifted the freedom of the open road in a fabulous 1970 blue Morris 1000; which just also happened to be an ex police car with a zip in the roof.
I had previously coveted my neighbour’s Morris Traveller and various vintage cars I saw in the big garages of parent’s homes at 6th form parties. And now my neighbour and I were two moggies side by side in the street where I grew up, our joint adventures all still ahead. My trusty little Morris drove back and forth from Ashford and Canterbury to Edinburgh for years between Art college and my parent’s home, making good use of its souped up cop-car engine! And only sometimes making use of its vintage A.A badge ! Passengers even signed the visitors book while Bob Dylan, the Stones and Free crooned away on the tape player, courtesy of my favourite ever playlist. Thanks G! I loved Marmalade. She was cool before they were cool. She even had a giant flower on the boot and striped cushions inside. And she smelt delicious.
She probably once looked like this!
Breaking down was unfortunately part of the fun of a classic car, and one memorable journey saw me towed back from Scotch corner with a busted crankshaft . The epic recovery ended with my vehicle plonked by a huge flatbed lorry round the corner from my flat, the day before a college trip to Paris.
A week later, on my return, that fateful day in 1991, I received a phone call. The police Wanted me to me to check if my car was still where the recovery lorry had towed it to . Of course it was, I said.
Only it wasn’t there.
It was apparently under surveillance near an armed robbery in Carlisle.
I had so many questions!!!
I would be contacted I was told by the police , with an update soon.
However, when the update arrived, it was to tell me that the car had been stolen again . From the police. -You couldn’t make it up!
Add to the mix that my late father had neglected to update the insurance premiums in time; and the result was a never to be seen again little blue morris minor.
Since then, so many cars have come into my life, a free one ( albeit with mushrooms growing inside!) fancy, eight seater family cars, sporty ones, and latterly a lot of automatic cars , far easier to manoeuvre with dodgy joints.
But in my heart, my moggy was always alive. Classic car shows had me asking if I could smell the interior of the beautiful old morris with the tartan picnic blanket. If you know the smell, you’ll understand ! Old engine and leather and something unique . I knew one day I would drive one again . But all I had was the model of my original car that my father had made.
Fast forward thirty four years. To a road in Devon. Next week, my knee surgery will mean no driving or jaunts for a while. So Allan took me for a drive to Bridport . I shall be the first to admit, it was getting boring in the car. The jelly babies and Radio Two weren’t holding my attention. I didn’t know where we were going or why. After an hour and a half driving I was anticipating having to be very polite in a dull museum, before being driven back home again .
Finally, we pulled into a private drive and everything seemed to turn into a slow motion movie.
There in the drive was a friendly man waving. And next to his pretty garden was a soft topped blue Morris Minor.
I had no idea what was going on, just stood there looking dazed while introductions were made and I realised we were there to view the car. Then asking us to hop in, Peter took the wheel and drove us into Bridport, all the while accompanied by the familiar noises and smells of a moggy on the road. It was marvellous. When we stopped at West Bay, despite not having driven a manual in ten years! It was my turn. Tentatively starting out like the 17 year old It felt like I was again , we set off, Peter repeating gear change instructions (a lot!) while I am sure I would have seen (if I wasn’t concentrating so hard )- onlookers smiling at the wonderful little car I was driving!
Peter, graciously giving up the wheel
A heady mix of overwhelm, fear and thrill!
Next time, I’ll prepare my hair a little more! How wonderful to be behind the wheel of a Morris again after so long
After a lovely tour of the owner and his wife’s beautiful garden and wonderful kinetic sculptures; and over a cup of tea, an exciting plan was hatched. As Manuals were sourced and bits of car were twiddled with, it began to sink in that this was actually happening.
This wasn’t any colour of Moggy, it was soft blue, and the Devon seaside version of the car I had lost so long ago. Spotless and so pretty, with a soft top and oozing curb appeal. Allan had found the car I didn’t know how much I had been missing.
Today I found this hanging in the garage. It was on my wall in St Abbs for years. Keeping the dream alive and I’d stop noticing.
And these cards were in my stationary drawer and fell out of a book
Soon, our new addition will be lined up on a seafront packed with a picnic where she belongs. I am naming her Elsie. Mopsie, my grandmother’s given name. I think she suits it perfectly. I hope Millie doesn’t mind being re-named. I’d like to think they are the same spirit.
I have been just too excited to eat today, the garage has been cleared and prepared. And now she is here. This will be just the motivation to get my knee exercises done! And plan our trundles around the Devon countryside.
Ok just one turn..
Yes!!
The only song we could have played
Even the teen was happy
Elsie seems right at home already
I have no words to say how overwhelmingly grateful and happy this has made me! Thank you dearest Allan and thank you to Peter for choosing us as her new parents! Thank you too to Peter for the new replica model. A cycle complete, and a package which made me cry!
Mopsie would have most certainly approved of the entire marvellous adventure xx
With love, Liz (and Elsie) at The Beach Hut)
xxxxx
