The mid-sixties. Austin 18hp; 1936. An old "banger". Bought from a chap who owned a fine old Manor House called Trender's Hall, (Rayleigh, Essex). Thirty-five pounds. No exhaust system to speak of. Spare engine and gearbox on the rear floor. The steady drive back home to Manchester took ten hours. My hearing took two days to recover. I would have preferred the earlier model with chromed radiator, and 18 inch wire wheels;...nonetheless "Dingbat" soon became a trusted friend.
It was parked on the drive one day, when a tweedy matron rang the front door bell. "Good afternoon!...Could you take me to High Street at nine o'clock on Tuesday morning?" Regardless of the dear old soul's impeccable manners and obvious refinement, I felt obliged to explain that "Dingbat's" days as a private hire car had ceased some fifteen years earlier. With a redenning face, and a reverse walk, the unfortunate lady bade farewell. How many times, I wondered, had she travelled in the stately comfort of similar Austins. Appointments met with unfailing reliability. Drivers, no doubt handsomely tipped.
The right-hand rear tyre had a two-inch split in its sidewall which had been expertly stiched-up with what looked like the lace from a football boot. Having just cleaned the dust off the paintwork, I stood back to admire my handywork. The bootlace had reached the end of its service life, and the inner-tube started to thrust its way towards daylight. The sound of the explosion sent at least three cats and one dog scampering for safer regions. "Dingbat" lowered his rear quarter to the ground. A new layer of dust landed on the paintwork;...and it seemed to be an appropriate time to go and buy a better tyre...........
