Wherever you may be, greetings from England. I’m Neil Osborn, known among my friends as Owl, and I am happy to be known as such by my fellow curbivores. As I am an Englishman, I shall speak and spell in English; as such you will have to carry out your own translations should you wish. If you have got this far, it seems to me as I begin this odyssey that to understand my COAL series you ought to understand the influences on my automotive choices. The starting point is my grandfather, George Brown.
George left school at age 12 to work as a fish porter in London’s Billingsgate Market. It was 1911. Orville and Wilbur Wright made their first flight at the end of 1903 and Samuel Cody is credited as the first pilot to fly on Britain in 1908. The newspapers would have been full of this new technology and George was certainly inspired. By 1911 there we were 8700 cars on the roads of London but even driving one might have seemed to be beyond the dreams of a 12 year old fish porter.
George, as an avid follower of transport tech, signed up to join the Royal Flying Corps on his 18th birthday in September 1917. He spent the next seven months learning everything about the workings of the internal combustion engine and the construction and operation of an aircraft, graduating from the classroom to practical tuition on 1st April 1918, the day the RFC became the Royal Air Force. After a few little bumps along the way George was posted to the front.
They called them the ‘40 minuters’ because that was as long as you were expected to live. George managed two and a half hours of operational flight before being shot down. He was two weeks short of his 19th birthday. Right to the end of his motoring days Grandpa would never wear a seatbelt. He told me if he had worn one in the plane he would have gone down with it rather than falling into a tree, which saved his life. I digress.
After five years of convalescence George found work in the drawing office of Ransome and Rapier who built everything from farm equipment to railway engines. He supplemented his income by driving cars for owners who either could not or chose not to drive for themselves but the first car he owned was a 1934 Singer 9 Sport.
George imparted his interest to his only daughter and having a petrol ration throughout the Second World War he regularly clocked several hundred miles a week as an inspector for an engineering insurance company. The Singer needing a service and decoke regularly and Mum, despite being just a girl, was enlisted to help. The Singer lasted well into the 1950s but this is the point where we leave George Brown but perhaps you might now understand why my mother knew all about cars.
My father did not know all about cars. That is not to say that he didn’t like them and didn’t enjoy driving. Just that he preferred his history books, opera and gardening. A mechanic he was not. Once married, Mum’s interest in mechanics faded with other responsibilities, me mainly. But she still knew exactly what was on the road and could identify any car at 100 paces. At 95 she is still keen to watch the cars at the traffic lights outside her nursing home.
Thus my first memory was being wheeled in my pushchair to the end of the road to watch the competitors in the 1962 Monte Carlo Rally who had started in Glasgow. She told me about every car we saw. By the following year, I was telling her. She reminds me we once rushed to the local shopping centre where a then famous pop star was alleged to have parked his E-Type Jaguar. We simply had to go and have a look at it. So it was that she passed her knowledge and interest in the world’s car fleet to me and I’ve run with it since.
That is the context in which I was brought up. Now if you will indulge me a little more, I’ll provide you with a flavour of the influences on my own personal automotive choices, which can be a little contrarian.
Every 11 year old had a poster of the new Lamborghini Countach on their bedroom walls; not me, I preferred a Maserati Ghibli or a Jensen Interceptor. At the end of our road lived the local Jensen dealer. I would regularly cycle up the street to spot what car he’d come home in and was especially excited if it was an FF with the twin side vents. 30 years later a colleague had one. Been in it, didn’t need to drive it, don’t need to own one. But I’ve always liked the look of them. It’s the Italian styling I think. I’ve always liked Italian cars.
Dad eventually moved away from Fords and bought a Lancia Beta which was the car I learned to drive in. He really fancied an Alfa Romeo Alfetta but it was slightly too expensive and there wasn’t a dealer for miles.
I followed Sandro Munari in his World Rally Championship exploits with the Lancia Stratos and was more than miffed when Fiat switched to the Fiat 131 Abarth. Spoiler Alert. I’ve never actually owned a Lancia. I certainly couldn’t afford a Stratos these days but my slate of Italians is not completely bare.
My other early teenage passion, which my mother happily encouraged, was BMW. When I wasn’t wearing my Lancia World Rally Champions jacket I was clad in the blue and white of Bavaria. I absorbed every word written about the 3.0CSL (E9) coupe and 2800 (E3) saloon. Then they brought out the E12 5 series in 1972 and 13 year old me was allowed by our local dealer to crawl all over the showroom demonstrator – the salesman at least sold me another jacket even if there was no prospect of selling the actual car. Another Spoiler Alert. To this day I haven’t ever driven any of these cars. I probably never will but there is a small corner for BMW in the COALshed – possibly not the ones you might think.
The years progressed towards my 17th birthday and obtaining a licence. Looking across the school playground towards the teachers’ car park they had a disproportionate tendency towards imported cars. By 1974 although the proportion of imports had risen to almost 28%, my teachers liked their Renaults, Volkswagens, Simcas and Fiats to go with a few Austin 1100s, a Hillman Avenger and a Morris 1000. That year two new maths teachers started. One alternated between her VW bay window camper and a maroon 1968 SII E-Type Jaguar; the other had a white ’72 Citroën D Super 5. My mates swooned over the E-Type but I was so over that more than 10 years previously. I decided there and then a Citroën was definitely the sort of car I wanted – engineering led and something that my Grandpa would appreciate. Plus, it wasn’t German. Grandpa had no good opinion of Germans perhaps for obvious reasons.
Despite her father’s opinion of foreigners in general, Mum had excelled at languages in school and had life-long German pen-friends. One was an architect resident in Munich. His summer letters would often include a photo of him and family with what was clearly a Citroën DS in the background. In the summer of ‘75 they came to stay, travelling courtesy of a white Citroën D Super 5. Josef told me it wasn’t as good as his previous DS23 and to ignore the wind whistle from the roof rack as we swooped, windows down, through the South Shropshire Hills. Dad gave chase in his Ford Consul GT which seemed to struggle to keep up. My thoughts? I am definitely, definitely having one of these Citroëns when I grow up…
In 1979, after my first year at University I went to stay for several weeks with Josef and his family in Munich. Of course my first port of call was the BMW Museum but by then the E23 and E24 series cars had grown fat and ugly compared to their E3 and E9 predecessors. They had grown much more like Mercedes in the opinionated view of a 19 year old and held no interest: I would not be hankering after a German car any time soon. That was merely reinforced by the fact that my host had just taken delivery of a Citroën CX 2400GTi.
Although I was training to become a Town Planner I was pretty keen on architecture and Josef took me with him on several of his client visits. He distrusted Austrians (apologies to Herr Niedermayer) but was happy to work in German speaking Northern Italy. We hit the Autobahn heading east out of Munich, one finger on the horn button the corresponding one on the other hand quick with the headlight flasher. Few were the times we hit V-Max somewhere beyond 120mph but we rarely dropped below 100mph. My thoughts? I am definitely, definitely, definitely getting a CX GTi – one day.
Is that a first for CC, that someone inherited their love of cars from their Mum? I certainly didn’t.
A fine start, and we’ll see if those definitely, definitely cars are going to shop up in future chapers.
Probably not for the love of cars but for the joy of driving. Back in the 80s, when I was 4 or 5 years old, my mum had a orange VW Polo 1. On our way visiting her parents, there was a bump behind a bridge on a small country road. Hitting that bump with sufficient speed which was 40-50 mph, the lightweight subcompact would go airborne for a short distance. Mum, otherwise a very responsible no-nonsense woman, would do that only to my cheer. Fast forward to year 2000, i found another bump on another backroad which would make my first car, a Golf 3, take off. Thanks Mum for that bad and joyful influence!
Absolutely fascinating start to a COAL series!
As a fellow Brit with a bit of an obsession for Citroen I am most interested to see what your car choices turn out to have been. I shall be most disappointed if a GS or CX is not one of them!
Having a parent who liked cars and encouraged your interest in them must be great – glad to hear that your Mum is still keen.
Now some questions: your Grandpa was in convalescence for 5 years – he must have been seriously injured! We forget how young people who fight wars are and what sacrifices they made. And that 20 years later it all kicked off again.
The Beta – did it suffer from the famous scuttle area rust and have to be repurchased by Lancia? In Britain this was the death knell for the marque – a shame as they were otherwise great cars.
The Consul GT – your Dad must have been a bit of a car guy to buy one of those – did he order it in that copper gold color and get in touch with his inner Jack Regan, hooning around, hitting the odd pile of empty cardboard boxes and shouting “You’re Nicked!”?
I wondered about grandfather’s injuries too: 5 years is a hell of a long time.
Grandpa would never talk about the war, nor would Grandma out of respect for her husband. His ribs were shattered and a lung was punctured, which never recovered. It took him a long time to get back to civilian life. The first record in the family archive of him working at Ransome and Rapier is in 1923. A collapsed lung didn’t stop him smoking 40 a day but he lived until 1983.
The first Beta was an ex-demo ’75 in silver. The issue was the paint wouldn’t stay attached to the metal, it would come off on the back of sticky tape or even a vigorous wash. I don’t think it was structurally rusty but Dad kept it 3 years. I don’t know what if any deal was struck but it was swapped for a white T reg Beta 1600 in ’78. That had much better paint but was visibly corroding after 18 months. After that Dad had a succession of Montegos and a Triumph Acclaim so he slept more easily at night.
The Consul GT preceded the Betas and was a ’72 K Reg in flat red with automatic. It was a year old having been the Ford Dealer’s Service Manager’s car. I think it had two replacement gearboxes in the 3 years we had it. There weren’t too many empty cardboard boxes in our part of the world but there was a fallen tree which Dad managed to stop for but the car behind didn’t. Then they spilled paint stripper on the roof when repairing the rear end damage. Nice car but it had a troubled life
Some interesting tales to come, I think.
My mum, who’d be about your mum’s age if alive, had no mechanical sympathy for, or interest in, cars, and yet her dad loved them, so it was always disconcerting when I’d spy some old ’30’ or ’40’s banger as a kid, and she could instantly identify it: you see, she loved her dad, and had been to car shows and even racing when she was young.
Your grandad bought the only car ever to win an Olympic gold medal – in Germany! Oh dear. I think those Singers had a good name, though I can’t imagine a de-coke was a quick job on an overhead cam engine.
My car-loving grandad, who was Aussie of Irish Catholic descent, had a similar prejudice as yours, only the other way – he refused to buy British cars. My other grandad, who was badly injured in WW1 fighting for his country Germany, was never licenced, and I suspect had no prejudices. He was of such a nature that, just after WW2, the local RSL (Returned Services League) would invite him to speak at the annual ANZAC day breakfast (think Remembrance Day/ Memorial Day).
I didn’t have a Countach on the wall (and still wouldn’t, really), but I’ve never been able to warm to the Interceptor either (and there were few nearby for me to ogle). Looks best as a convertible, roof down, perhaps.
Look forward to more.
Thanks for a wonderful first chapter; I’m very much looking forward to the rest. It’s fascinating what we do (or don’t) “inherit” from our parents and grandparents.
I resonate with your love for those still taut and clean E9s, E3s,and E12s. I was especially taken by the E3 3.0Si. My ultimate sedan.
As to your friend in Munich not trusting Austrians, there’s always been tension between the Bavarians and Austrians, despite the great similarities actually as well as lots of shared history. That’s probably why. I heard lots of similar stuff as a little kid in Innsbruck, but their real enmity was directed at the Northern Germans. 🙂
What a great start to a COAL series and I am keen to read more. A wide variety makes are represented as influences but I suspect we will see a Citroen in your future.
I love the Jensen Interceptor. Perhaps I am a bit odd but I think the regular car looks better than the slightly square in strange places FF.
Great fun to read a COAL from a Brit perspective, I share a love of the CX and GS. Both so hard to find here that of the 220+ cars we’ve had those were not among (amongst?) them. Looking forward to the continuation.
Wonderful skills as a raconteur! I also am looking forward to the continuation. I never thought about who fostered my love for automobiles, yet I now realize (at 83 years of age) that it was my mother. My father never drove an automobile. We lived in New York City, but Mom’s family started with a new 1936 Plymouth two-door sedan, stripper. I loved motoring and watching Mom change gears in our 1950 Dodge and making a 101-horsepower six-cylinder engine work. As for my collection of sexy iron, I have pictures of trucks because I spent many years selling motor trucks and Cummins Diesels. As for British cars in the U.S., other than the most expensive models, they would fall apart by 40,000 miles. This does not bode well because many of us drive between 10,000 and 30,000 miles each year. Many of us have open spaces where we “floor it” which means that unless the engine is durable, it dies. The German products did not die, and the Japanese soon caught on to the need for durability plus accommodating our (excuse me) larger behinds and weights. I do enjoy seeing British makes. One interest that I sated was to understand the semiautomatic mechanism featured as an option on the 1929 Armstrong-Sidley. Let us not forget Mr. Lanchester whose 1902 cars featured disc brakes, or the fine leather and wood interiors on some models. Keep us happy with your writings and thanks so much!
Thanks for sharing these stories! Your parents and grandfather sound like terrific people.
I love your story about heading out to look at a pop star’s E-Type – not the pop star himself. That’s very much something I would have done.
One of my strongest teenage automotive obsessions was also the Jensen Interceptor. I had only seen pictures of them, but I was infatuated – had a picture of a Jensen hanging in my bedroom for several years. At some point in my early 20s, I mail-ordered a book about Jensen Motors – if I remember it cost something like $30, which was a lot of money back then, but I figured I’d splurge on something for myself. The day the book arrived, I got laid off from my job – and out of some odd kind of superstition, I never opened the book, and for years just associated Jensens with bad luck. I’ve since gotten over that, fortunately.
Out of curiosity, did you eventually become a town planner? That’s my profession, as well. After working in the field for 25 years or so, I definitely have mixed feelings about it.
I look forward to reading more – thanks again!
It was Bruce Welch of the Shadows – who I believe was a serial E-Type buyer. Mum was a Beatles fan and saw them at The Cavern Club so the man wasn’t especially relevant but the car was really interesting!
I understand the Shadows were an instrumental group–maybe the British equivalent of the Ventures. Beatles drummer Ringo Starr once quipped, “The Shads do sing, of course, but I wouldn’t have thought they made a regular thing of it.”
For a while in college I thought I might want to go into town planning, but in the end, I didn’t. Am I correct, you’re in the Washington, DC, area? You’d be aware of the new towns of Reston, VA, and Columbia, MD. I read a fair amount about them and thought the concept was interesting.
In 1991 I visited a pen pal in London. One day I was looking at a transit map and realized that I could take public transit to Welwyn Garden City, a British new town, so I went out and had a look. I hadn’t thought about Welwyn Garden City in years.
My mum used to plead with me to stop talking about cars, as I tried to explain the basic principles of internal combustion, or how disc brakes worked and so on.
I too love the Jenson Interceptor, not so much for its looks, but for what’s underneath, and even just the name of it alone makes it worthy of respect.
Loved this introduction, and I am looking forward to additional essays.
My dad’s older cousin, a Canadian, volunteered and completed his training at Royal School of Artillery in May 1916. In October 1916, he transferred to the Royal Flying Corps for service in France and after training at Reading in early 1917 he was posted to Arras in France. During the battle of Cambrai on November 23, flying a Bristol 2-seater aircraft they did not return. Although the bodies were not recovered they were later declared “Missing, Presumed Killed”. He was 22 years old.
On a more positive note, a classmate in my father’s engineering class in the 1930s at University of Toronto drove a Singer. It must have been notable for my father to mention it to me. My dad was a mechanical engineer with a specialization in automotive engineering, so I think my he was the main source of my interest in autos, although my my mother got her licence when she turned 16 and was the main driver in her family.