The sublime to the ridiculous

This last episode could be subtitled 'the sublime to the ridiculous'. Lets start with the weirdos like the AJS which came with an equally troublesome 1927 Salmson. Motorcycle maker AJS had a brief fling with cars and motorcycles after the Wall Street Crash and, having seen examples of both in the 1960s, and with fond memories of the Beaulieu lost causes rallies, I ended up with a Nine saloon. Sadly its fabric body was falling to bits and though it went well I was afraid that it might collapse. It later returned to Ireland where it had started life with the AJS motorcycle representative. The Salmson had a long and fascinating history, having been supplied new to a North Devon customer and been found by a local schoolmaster, Mr Squires, in a barn after the War. He rescued it and took two years to drive it back to London (it spent a year in a scrapyard on the way but no one wanted it). The hilarious tale was told in Motor Sport soon after which I had to have it! High spot of years of ownership was taking it back to Mr and Mrs Squires' golden wedding which was just about the only time it did what was asked of it.

An unfortunate law of old car ownership seems to be that they came in pairs and an equally fragile 1936 British Salmson soon joined the stable. I came to know a lot about Salmson's specialty of complicated valve layouts and paper thin blocks. The British Samson's greatest achievement was a visit to the site of the French factory near Renault at Billancourt. The model was not fitted with a fan or water pump so Paris traffic presented quite a few problems which I'd prefer to gloss over.

Another car to leave unfortunate memories was the Lancia Gamma Coupe. I wondered why it was so cheap and soon discovered on full lock the power steering, driven off the cambelt, caused the belt to derail and destroy the valve timing. The car had striking appearance if one overlooked the blue velour interior, and its big flat four 2.5 litre motor occasionally provided impressive performance. I don't know if the Lancia Flavia Vignale cabriolet that I acquired half way through its restoration was any good or not because I swapped it for a 1950 Tickford bodied Land-Rover estate car which proved to be worth its weight in gold. This turned out to be the last built out of a rare production run and after years of faithful service, it paid for my nice new Disco (which has the advantage of speed electronic traction control and hopefully plenty of years ahead of it).

I don't have space to go into all the other Series I, II and III Land-Rovers that I've enjoyed and will pass swiftly onto the sublime part of the story, the Bentleys.

The first was a 1935 3.5 that had arrived at a Coys auction from the States. It had garish paintwork and whitewall tyres but underneath seemed to be a genuine machine. I paid about £10,000 and drove it 150 miles home with no problems apart from the wiper motor. An epic tour of the West Country for Supercar Classics produced no surprises and it even managed to sail up Porlock Hill in third gear. The snag as ever was that the bodywork was about to need expensive attention. Just as I decided to let someone else have the problem, I had a fresh one of my own. As part of my many job changes involving cars I found myself becoming the Phillips advisor. Like an idiot I advised a dear old widow what her Mark VI was worth (or was it an R-type – I can't remember! Actually the chassis was B185 HP but I can't find my code-book). When it failed to sell I felt compelled to put my money where my mouth was. I remember driving it a few times but deciding that these great silent beasts were not really my cup of tea. They were too complicated and too expensive in the unlikely event that anything went fundamentally wrong and they didn't fit down the Somerset lanes where I lived.

So why did I use the proceeds of my house sale to buy the most original untouched Bugatti Brescia that anyone had ever seen? After a few frenetic trips I realised that 2000 revs to get going and impossible juggling with fuel pressure pump and clutchless changes (because the clutch was so fierce) not to mention the ultra direct steering were too much for me. The next choice was equally daft but it was so beautiful that I had to have it. It was a 1926/7 3 litre Twin Cam Sunbeam with the longest bonnet and most impressive six cylinder motor that I had ever seen. Everyone who experienced it said that it was on a par with a 30/98 Vauxhall or 4.5 Bentley but, to tell you the truth, I was scared of it. It was too powerful for its road holding or brakes and it lacked those classic vintage features of luggability and simplicity. I use it for many an epic trip but in the end was rather relieved to get my money back – by then wear in its enormous Claudel carburettors and Kigass priming system had made starting when hot extremely difficult.

So now I've gone back to first steps with a delightfully agricultural 1927 Crossley 15/30 tourer for my UK pottering and more or less the same thing from Rolland-Pilain for my Continental forays. How long will it be before the need for power and speed start the whole collecting bug once more?

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