I recently did something I always talked about, but thought I’d always find a reason not to. Here’s the story, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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Part 1 – Genesis
As modellers and cranks we’re inherently nostalgic folk. We always talk about how great things were, rather than how good they’re going to be. Similarly, we rarely model what we think the future will look like. Personally, I love a good nostalgia fix. I think the way a sight, a smell or a piece of music can take you straight back to a time and place is amazing. One of the biggest icons of my childhood were the cars that my Dad drove. Here he is below on the far left, during work experience at Warfield Garage in his teens.
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Vauxhalls have long been part of the Nicholls family. It all began with my Dad’s blue Viva HB (PYM 439F) – whilst not his first car, it was certainly the first he took any pride in. For its inaugural run, he took it to The Leathern Bottle for a swift half. Evidently plans changed, and many pints of Directors later, he found himself staggering home in the early hours, forgetting his steed. He awoke next morning to apoplectic Dad and a barrage of questions, mostly, “Where’s your fucking car?!”
[img src=”http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f367/OOO563V/9553C9B6-62BB-4BD3-BDED-B659EF9732AC_zpsexvcnida.jpg~original” style=”max-width:100%;”]
The Viva was instrumental in Dad’s brief fling into pirate radio. Dad and Paul Lacey (or M Khan Eagle and Zhar Nicholas to use their respective handles) would drive deep into Swinley Forest and hook up the car’s battery to their homemade transmitter, broadcasting the best of 60’s psychedelia across Berkshire as Radio Andromeda. Well, across Bracknell at least. It was later found that Andromeda only had a range of a mile or so.
The blue Viva always was a bit iffy and eventually the head gasket gave way. Like all good siblings, Dad sold it to his brother Pete. Its replacement was another HB Viva (NUJ 169G). Dad took Mum out on their first date in this car and later they used it to move out of their respective parents and into their flat in Birch Hill. They even used it to run off to Brighton and get married too, just taking one witness each.
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Their next car was another Viva – this time a red Viva HC (BHK 798L). Sadly, I’ve not been able to find any photos of this one so far.
Enter DJB 181V. A 1980 Cavalier 1600L, in vibrant ‘Orange Tan’ with a beige plaid interior. The very best in 1970s styling and colour sense. Bought nearly-new with known serious engine issues, my Dad took a gamble that he could make it right. It burnt as much oil as it did petrol, requiring a full rebore and rebuild to put right. I think in hindsight he’d have done better to pay slightly more for a good’un. The Cavalier became a reliable runaround – it took Dad to Sperry’s every day for work, shopping trips to MFI for the latest in black ash furniture and, one afternoon in October ’88, a very weary trip back from Heatherwood Hospital with a new addition.
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I adored that car. Whilst rarely the focal point, the Cav was always there in the background.
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It was the choice mode of transport for every school run, summer holiday and, most importantly, summer evenings out watching the trains go by at ‘The Bridge’.
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It most certainly wasn’t ‘Dogger’s Bridge’ at this time, dogging hadn’t been invented in 1992. Besides, even if it had, my innocent mind wouldn’t have understood it – I was too busy pretending to take photographs.
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The Cav represents growing up to me: Big Break, Blind Date and The Generation Game were staple Saturday night telly. Every evening was sunny, John Kettley promised so. Creme Eggs were seasonal. Soul Limbo was the sound of BBC cricket. Happiness was a choc-ice in a blue and white paper wrapper. An Intercity 125 could go 125mph, so obviously Intercity 225 could go 225mph. Doom was the pinnacle of PC gaming. An evening out would involve chicken nuggets, ‘red’ flavour juice drinks and rub-on Charlie Chalk tattoos. An evening in would involve Monopoly and my dad passing me cash under the table. If they were feeling extravagant, a bottle of Hock would appear. The Toys’R’Us advert was a sure sign Christmas was coming. Pogs. The concept of stress hadn’t even registered – no KPIs, no deadlines, no desktop politics, no wankers trying to tell you what to do. The only real concern was where the next Secret bar was coming from.
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In reality, this was a tough time for Mum and Dad. Sperry’s left Bracknell in 1989, leaving Dad jobless in the middle of a recession. Mum had left work to raise me, but had to try and find something to bring the pennies in. Ultimately they were both out of work for almost 4 years. This was probably why DJB 181V lasted so long – patching the old girl up so she could scrape through another MoT was cheaper than finding something else. The fact I hold these days in such high regard, despite the situation, is testament to a job well done.
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Pete on the other hand was doing well in life – perhaps it was karma for that hooky Viva Dad sold him? He’d landed a job with DeRoy plastics that included a company car. Being a family of habit, he chose a Mk.3 Cavalier. Next to a Mk.1 it seemed absolutely space age – electric windows, power steering, FM radio and, heaven forbid, even a fifth gear.
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Pete’s Mk.3 soon took over the top-link workings to the West Country for summer holidays. I’m not sure where the below was taken, but you have to applaud my dad’s choice of double denim. It was the 90s – this was socially acceptable! Meanwhile I’m sat lamenting the loss of Secret chocolate bars.
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DJB 181V soldiered on with the more mundane tasks of daily life. But after 18 years of solid service, the inevitable death knell finally sounded. She’d never been garaged and it showed – the underside was like a patchwork quilt, there were various spots of patch painting and the interior was cracked and torn.
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DJB 181V was weighed in on the 1st May 1997 – the day of the General Election. It had the dubious honour of the first car my Dad owned to the end of its life. After carefully prising off the front crest, Dad and I took one last ride to the Wokingham scrapyard it’d die in. Several weeks later, my uncle Mark reported it was still there, sandwiched between a Maestro and a Sierra.
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Her replacement was another Cavalier. A lack-lustre Mk.2 hatchback (C281 NCF), bought from a family in Slough for £600. Mum hated this car as it took every opportunity to flood itself. I remember helping her unbolt the air filter housing in Princess Square car park to make the fuel to evaporate quicker. It’d evidently had a fairly big prang at the front too.
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C281 NCF only lasted 18 months until rust claimed another victim. It too was weighed in at the same Wokingham scrapyard as DJB 181V. I didn’t bother going with Dad this time, I was too miffed that the front badge was moulded on and I couldn’t keep it.
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Another Mk2 hatchback followed – it came from my friend Tommy’s mum, so I naturally claimed to have brokered the deal and asked for a finder’s fee. It was fine. Not great, just fine. At least it didn’t drown itself in petrol, which my mum no doubt appreciated. Personally, I appreciated its enormous bonnet for sketching out track plans.
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It was around this time that Pete changed jobs and his Mk.3 spaceship had to be returned. Following my parents’ lead, he went for Champagne Mk2 hatchback that was a previously a decorator’s runaround. The interior smelt of jam doughnuts.
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Both of the above suffered inglorious ends – Dad drove his into a Rover on icy morning and within days, a botched theft attempt also wrote off Pete’s Cavalier. Both parties abandoned Vauxhalls – Dad went for a Fiat Tipo (K245 DLS), allured by the promise of galvanised bodywork and a million miles to the gallon. Pete went for a Mazda 323F (P958 YCU) because a friend, who just happened to be selling one, drunkenly convinced him it’d be a good idea. After four decades of brand loyalty, the Nicholls clan was Vauxhall-less.
For me the subsequent years were a standard, adolescent-fuelled mixture of spots and shit haircuts. Going to ‘Big School’ lead to GCSEs, A-levels, University and the wonderful world of work. There was number firsts – first parties, first girlfriends, first time living away from home, first holidays, first nookie, and so on. All the time I hung onto the badge from DJB 181V, a momento of more innocent age.
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I joked with Dad that it’d form the basis of a new-build project, even giving it a new coat of paint and a good polish. He evidently thought it was a pipe dream, but was seemingly touched by the sentiment. It wasn’t a completely empty threat – I had the occasional trawl through eBay and would bore anyone near by about my grand plan.
[quote timestamp=”1360531833″ source=”/post/2436/thread” author=”@pixie”][img src=”http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8444/7932608204_1bebd2cabd_b.jpg” style=”max-width:100%;”]
WANT.
Evidently the people who bought this car had the same tastes as my parents. One day, I will own one of these. One day.[/quote]
But it was always something for the future. Something to think about in an idle moment.
To be continued…