Triumph -- A Living Memorial

by Melvin S. "Roadster" Merzon

Day II - Interlude

(continuing remembrance of our weekend visit to Gaydon, England to help celebrate the 75th anniversary of the Triumph motor car)

The next morning (the day after our arrival) I "slept in" (i.e., any time after 4:30 a.m., which is the usual beginning of my normal workday), not having bothered to set the alarm. The morning’s sunlight streaming through the windows gently awakened me. It was stunningly quiet; absent were the familiar noises of Chicago suburbia - no birds chirping, cooing, or cawing, no morning paper thumping on the front stoop, no sound of freeway traffic in the distance - just the luxurious quiet of an ideal vacation: but there were things to do today. We didn’t travel thousands of miles simply to lollygag the day away in bed.

Showering and dressing and then awakening Jean helped set our pace. In a short time, we headed downstairs to breakfast out on the sun-filled patio overlooking the Hardy's beautiful garden. Normally, a light breakfast eater (most of the time at my office desk with the morning paper) I knew of no reason to eat heavily: toast and tea were quite enough for me. Jean, who doesn’t usually bother with breakfast, indulged herself.

At a leisurely pace on this warm morning, we walked the several blocks (in Chicago, with our street pattern in the form of a uniform grid, distances between intersections are called "blocks") into the village’s shopping neighborhood, looking for the post office. I had brought with me some "car stuff" for fellow club member Robin Jordan but didn’t know whether we’d get to see him on this trip (we didn’t). Not wanting to take any chances, we posted the package on to him and returned to the Hardy's.

It was time to set out for Gaydon, the raison d’être of our weekend visit. It hadn’t been necessary to leave any earlier, for the anniversary observance itself was not scheduled to commence until evening with the dinner.

It was decided, of course, that I would go with John in his two-seater Roadster, while Jean would travel with Sylvia in the family station wagon. (The ladies were disinclined to sit in the Roadster’s "dickey seat". Besides, they had other plans. While we all intended to end up at the same place hours later, the ladies took the shop-for-antiques route, while John and I took an alternate route along the Motorway. There being plenty of time, we stopped first at Ron Cromar’s place, where we had a nice visit with Ron and his wife Ann over mid-morning tea and cake in their sunlit garden. At the same time, we had a good look at his "under restoration" roadster. I had previously been in touch with Ron, who was the Club Newsletter editor, but this was our first in-person meeting. To my great surprise and indeed, much pleasure, Ron presented me with a gift from the Club, a splendid little volume on servicing the Roadster. Where he’d found this treasure, I know not, but the slim paperback he presented me has become a collector’s prize. Our brief stop had pleasurably extended itself to over an hour, and before we realized it was nearly noon. It was time to leave.

We’d talk further, we agreed, next day at Gaydon. We said our good-byes, climbed aboard (or is it "into") the Green Roadster. (I don’t think John has given his car a name. For some reason, I have always given names to the English cars I’ve owned - a ‘67 Hillman Minx Convertible, a 1970 Austin Healey Sprite, a ‘63 TR4, and now, my Roadster.) We had intended to stop for lunch on the way but well sated with Ann’s elevenses (translation for my countrymen: tea and sweets; i.e., cakes, cookies and the like, along with tea, taken at around 11 a.m.) - we simply headed back to the Motorway. It would have been interesting to see how fast - irrespective of what the speedometer said - the car would go on the Motorway, but this was not the occasion. John had had an overheating problem a week or so before and wasn’t about to test the car’s mettle. The weather being splendid, the sun brightly beaming, we aimed for the Heritage Center at a steady 47mph clip, a smooth journey onward, arriving at the Museum by early afternoon.

The outdoor displays of Triumphs were beginning to take shape, but many more cars were to come throughout the afternoon. Those which had already arrived, had taken their assigned places to be "primped/coifed" by their owners. John’s was not among the display cars but on this preliminary day when no one seemed concerned, he stood his vehicle in the exhibit areas, rather than the parking lot.

The Heritage Motor Centre, opened in 1993, at Gaydon, lies at the heart of Warwickshire in the Midlands. It is, according to the Centre catalogue, "the largest purpose-designed road transport museum in the UK, boasting ... "a collection of more than 200 historic British vehicles".

Not knowing if I’d have enough time on show day, I grabbed the opportunity to spend the next several hours within the museum building (the anniversary celebration, but for the dinner, that evening, was to take place outdoors) gazing wide-eyed at the hundreds of English cars spanning generations, cars I’d seen pictured, but not in the flesh. The Museum is presently owned by Rover (though operated in the interest of the British car industry), the only remaining descendant of an illustrious multitude of British cars, now virtually all gone, yet fondly and actively celebrated on festive occasions like this. While I walked about enthralled by the hundreds of beautifully restored and/or well kept cars, I was dismayed by the lack of space. While many cars were placed within the most scenic of displays, the Museum had run out of room: numerous cars were simply set side by side, row after row, in the exhibition hall, vaguely and sadly reminiscent of a used car lot, sans glaring lights and window stickers. The cars were not very well displayed and there simply wasn’t enough room to properly show off the collection.

I must have spent at least a couple of pleasant hours wandering through the living history of the British car, admiringly peering at cars, gazing intently at decades-old vehicles I’d never seen before, enjoying my visual feast and experiencing a visceral response. (I had wanted to take so many photographs, but with the sardine-car position of these gems, picture taking had its limitations. I’d have to rely on those wonderful images now reposing in the eye of my memory). It was time, I concluded, to look at the other exhibits of the Museum. There were numerous displays on the other floors of the three-story building (not to mention restaurants and gift shops packed with automobilia ... books, prints, and models of course; shirts, jackets, and caps; and of course, ash trays, coasters and key chains.) The exhibits were interesting as I recall, but hardly memorable. Indeed, as I write, the only thing which sticks out in my mind was an all-wood car.

I was anxious now to see how the setting up of the outdoor booths and exhibition areas was coming along. Leaving the Museum building, once again in the bright sun (while England is famous for its inclement weather, there is nothing so soul restoring and life enlivening as a warm, sunny day - and this was certainly one of those days).

I decided to visit the various booths - membership booths they were - surrounding the Museum’s exhibit area. Not really interested in joining any more car clubs - ISOA (Illinois Sports Owners Assn.) and the Triumph Roadster Club being quite enough, thank you - but more out of curiosity, simply wanting to "talk shop" with other Triumph folks, I paid some visits. I also wanted to do some trading. Having brought with me multiple copies of our ISOA Club’s publication and calendar with "pin-up" cars for each month (mine was the July beauty), I wanted to trade our magazine for a copy of that club’s publication and - why not - at the same time extend an American hand of friendship and, most of all, make car conversation. The so-called English reserve, the reticence to engage in conversation with a stranger, particularly an American who, it is alleged, has taken the mother tongue to the linguistic lower depths (a feeling about which I cannot but soundly and roundly take exception) was nowhere in evidence, I’m pleased to say. The camaraderie was abundant. Any stranger-to-stranger aloofness vanished in seconds as we got to talking about our mutually favorite topic. Indeed, friendships sprang up all over the place.

Wandering from booth to booth, I had a number of very pleasant chats with the amiable folks at each of the different club stands, talking Triumph and what not. Trading magazines gave me the chance to talk about our group, and the kinds of fun things and instructive get-togethers we have throughout the year at our many activities.

At one booth, a particularly memorable visit, that of the Triumph 2000 Club, which I was told, sports about 1500 members, I met and chatted with a member, Andy Roberts, and his wife Maggie, a most engaging and friendly couple. While talking with Andy, I learned he was shortly to be visiting Chicago. I had hoped that his visit would coincide with the ISOA meeting so I could introduce him to our 2000 owners (Jeff Rust and Billy Pyle according to our membership list), but his business would not coincide with our monthly meeting. Somewhat dismayed he could not witness the ISOA meeting merriment, I nonetheless offered him some sane and sober - though very pleasant I anticipated - Jean and Mel hospitality should he find a work break. (Ultimately he did, and we were able to spend a grand Sunday morning with him at our home.)

I must have visited a half-dozen booths, chatting with Triumph folks, exchanging publications, and extending invitations of hospitality should there be any visits to Chicagoland.

As I continued to meander about the exhibit area, numerous additional cars had now taken their place, particularly the very early Triumphs which, I gathered, were either part of the museum collection or which had been brought in and set up by their owners in the exhibit areas surrounding the circular museum building.

Late afternoon was descending, and it was time to rejoin John. We had promised to meet our ladies at the hotel around 6pm and so had to take our leave. Tomorrow would be the day; hopefully after all this preliminary viewing and ogling, it would not be repetitive. We left the Museum grounds, arriving at the hotel some minutes later, its being only a few miles away. As we checked in, we saw Sylvia and Jean just walking in the front door. We went to our rooms for a rest and to freshen up and change for the great Anniversary dinner that evening.

Several hours later, now in the darkness of evening, we drove back to the Museum. The celebration and the opening ceremony for the 75th Anniversary was soon to begin. Everyone there clearly realized they were about to participate in a singularly important, the likes of which they would see for many years, possibly during their lifetime. Dinner was preceded by a cocktail, we wandered about the hall eavesdropping among the multitude. We didn’t hear too many American accents (which was all right, since we didn’t travel thousands of miles to chat with our countrymen). Rather than being with the Hardys, we were seated at a nearby table for ten among - who else - other owners of Triumphs. It was a table of varying ages (of both people and car) models, an interesting potpourri of folks from different parts of Britain, some from the Continent, the U.S., and even a couple from Down Under (they won the prize for having traveled the greatest distance to Gaydon.) The most interesting person at our table in a rather unusual way was a judge from nearby Birmingham (no, we didn’t discuss the Law that evening; it would not have been appropriate; moreover, Jean was seated between us) who had put together a kit car. So proud was he of his endeavors, he insisted we have a look later that evening (it was interesting, but it wasn’t a Triumph, to be sure).

The hall was crowded as we sat down to eat. The meal itself, basically English cuisine (with apologies to my English friends) was not particularly memorable (what catered affair for hundreds of people ever is) but the conversations we shared with our mates were both stimulating and diverse. What a potpourri of backgrounds, ages, and experiences all joined together this evening as kindred spirits in worship at the altar of Triumph (if you will forgive the metaphor). Dinner completed, the evenings divertissement began.

The Master of Ceremonies for these festivities was none other than Graham Robson, Triumph enthusiast, historian, columnist, and writer - a man who needed no introduction to any knowledgeable reader of sportscar and/or Triumph-related publications. An able and clever speaker (not unexpectedly), he most effectively sustained the magic of the day carrying along the evening’s proceedings. After some introductory words, he introduced the table of Triumph dignitaries, including Henry Webster, Engineering Director, Standard-Triumph, 1957-1968; Brian Culcheth, Roy Fidler, Paddy Hapkirk, Tiny Lewis, Tony Pond, and Jean-Jacques Thunder, all "works" rally drivers at times between 1958 and 1980; Jim Parkinson, Mick Bunker, and Howard Grubb, Senior Design Engineers at Standard-Triumph, 1940’s to 1970’s (these gentlemen were totally unfamiliar to me even by name alone, but I am sure, judging by the applause, they were well known and honored by many of those in attendance).

The main speaker of the evening was Stuart Turner, a "Works" co-driver, 1958-1960. Far more than a driver, he offered up in the nearly 30 minutes of captivating all who heard him a truly hilarious collection of anecdotes, bon mots, recollections, comments, brief stories, and character sketches, delivered, I thought, Henny Youngman style, but tied to the lives of Triumph owners, English politicians, and car enthusiasts like me. Some of his humor - very typically British (i.e., dry and clever) went over our heads, but the rapid fire ribaldry and the tumbling forth riposte’s were universally funny (indeed, I hastily scribbled down a few of the punch lines to some of his stories for later use.) All too quickly the time passed, as he concluded his seemingly off-the-cuff, but well prepared, offerings. This was an extremely tough "act to follow." Graham made no attempt to do so.

Dinner and "entertainment" completed, time was given over for celebrity autographs and photo taking. I wasn’t much interested in signatures on my program. Frankly, perhaps sadly, but for Graham, whose picture I did take, my interest had waned. Nonetheless, Jean and I had had a most pleasant evening mixing, mingling, and chatting with our British brethren.

As we wandered from the hall, car talking with others whom we’d struck up conversations with throughout the evening, we joined up with the Hardys and had a leisurely after dinner drink before heading back to the hotel for the night, with great anticipation for the morrow. After the long day, sleep came most easily.

To be continued...