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A Member's Story (part 2)
Tackling Britain and the Continent in a 20-25
by Arthur McComb
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| Jen and Arthur McComb with the 20-25 at the start of the 2004 Maurice Brockwell Run. | The 1935 20-25 Hooper bodied saloon UKT 897. A unique feature is the mechanical system for lowering the all-weather convertible top by means of a crank handle. |
In
Easter 1960 I made my first longish trip in the Rolls. With three other
postgraduate students we set out to see something of Scotland. We took in much
of the highlands and went as far afield as Ullapool. Lingering memories include
changing down to first halfway around a tight hairpin bend near the top of a
hill listed as a challenge in the RAC guide, improvising a patch for the muffler,
when it started to sound like a truck, driving around Skye on a beautiful day,
reaching 70 MPH on a long straight stretch of what had been a Roman road, and
running to Inverness at night, lights blazing, along the gently-curving road
beside Loch Ness.
Back to Cambridge for a period of intense work and then, during a summer long vacation, a few weeks driving on the Continent with three other Australians. With two tarpaulin-wrapped suitcases strapped on the normally hidden luggage rack that extends from the back of the car, we crossed by ferry to Calais and headed south to Paris, driving via Amiens, about which my father had reminisced on the rare occasions he could be induced to talk about his experiences during the First World War. It was quite an experience driving the Rolls in Paris, where I memorably followed the lead of French drivers in doing a U turn in the Champs Elysee during peak hour.
Then it was south across the plains of Lombardy to Spain. We crossed the border at the western edge of the Pyrenees, diverted from Spain into northern Portugal, swept south through Lisbon, re-entered Spain, and wended our way north to Madrid. It was blistering hot on the high, central plateau and driving over the shimmering, sometimes corrugated roads, radiator shutters and bonnet louvers gaping, I realised with a shock how very appropriate this car would be for Australian conditions.
As you can imagine, we visited many cathedrals and notable sites in Spain; the Altamira caves, the Alhambra Palace, Burgos, Toledo, the Prado Museum and you must visualise the Rolls parked at each of these sites. Memories of small events also crowd back; a group of gesticulating locals directing the car down a narrow back street in Lisbon, a garage man looking under the ear to see if petrol was escaping as he could not believe the tank held so much, a man walking over to pat the car in a Spanish town, and in a language not well suited to pronouncing the words Rolls-Royce saying "Roths Roythee, Roths Roythee. In Espagne, only Torreros Roths Roythee!" I made it clear that I understood, and we laughed together. But what made him think we were not torreros?
Then there was the time in Madrid when I followed the lead of others and parked by the side of the road near our apartment, only to find a parking ticket under the wipers next morning. The following night I therefore parked on the other side of the road, only to find another parking ticket the next morning. Fearing I might be clapped in irons I went to the nearest police station, where it emerged that one could park on either side of the road, but only on alternate days! Hard to unravel with little language in in common but the officer laughed and tore up the parking tickets. We drove north from Madrid towards the curtain of the Pyrenees, looming ever larger on the horizon, and wound up into the mountains to the isolated principality of Andorra. Then down into France and north, visiting Chateaux in the Loir Valley before entering Switzerland.
The Rolls carried us smoothly and quickly over high passes between patches of permanent snow on roads with far fewer tunnels than there are now. Altogether a trip to remember for a lifetime, and one which made us really appreciate the reliability of the Rolls - all we had to do was keep adding petrol, oil, and water, and there were no problems.
I settled back into Cambridge life, becoming accustomed to the turning of the very different seasons, though at times the days dragged, and I was nostalgic for clear sky and hot weather. The Rolls was my escape, and took me on many trips out of town during weekends. I used often to drive over the flat fenlands, calling at little villages of thatched cottages, indulging my interest in wetlands by visiting the Nature Conservancy’s Wicken Fen, and driving up to the Isle of Ely, dominated by the magnificent Ely cathedral to which I often took visitors. Near there, in Huntingdon, I had work done on the car by the firm (well known in Rolls-Royce circles) of Adams k Oliver. After a test drive, Mr Adams reassured me by saying that from his experience the mileage on the odometer was "about right", but disconcerted me when he lifted the bonnet and said "Well look at that! An absolutely typical 20/25, right down to the hairline crack in the head!"
Consistent with a Cambridge image, the Rolls took me and friends to May balls, and along side the river Cam/Granta to witness rowing eights compete in head of the river "bump races". It also took me to vintage car races at Silverstone, where expensive, beautiful old vehicles were hurled around the track with astonishing enthusiasm.
The car had always just had a plain "town cap"on the radiator, but by about 1961 I had decided to purchase a suitable "standing lady" mascot. Even doing that turned into a memorable occasion. I contacted a dealer in London who said he had a suitable mascot, which I could have for £25. As it happened, I took the opportunity to queue all day for the cheapest "seats" for the Royal Ballet - standing at the back of the auditorium at Covent Garden. We left at the crack of dawn and secured a place near the head of the line. As would only happen in England, one of those in the queue maintained a list of those present, so that anyone who wished to could slip away for a time. (The person next to me, a barrister, kept doing so, to keep track of a court case he was involved in at the Old Bailey). I slipped away to the dealer, who opened a filing cabinet drawer crowded with a jumble of mascots of various sizes, which he rummaged through and picked out one suitable for my car. I paid up and found my way back to the lengthening queue, by now under a gentle fall of snow. But it was all worthwhile, and I watched a mesmerising performance of The Sleeping Beauty, danced by Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev, one of the earliest perfomances by Nureyev after his defection from the Soviet Union. And I leaned against the wall; the pocket of my duffel coat weighed down by radiator mascot.
In 1962 the car took its place among other 20/25s at the first combined meeting of the various UK clubs concerned with Rolls-Royce and Bentley motor cars. Held in the landscaped grounds of Blenheim Palace near Oxford, the vehicles twinkled among the trees under a rare, clear sky. Slowly the years passed until, with a PhD approved and several papers published, I was delighted to learn that an application I had lodged for a lectureship in Australia had been successful. It was to be in the Botany Department of the University of Western Australia, and was accompanied by a boat passage and a grant to transport effects. When I pointed out that I already had my return passage to Australia paid for under the terms of my scholarship, and that I had few personal effects, it was readily agreed that I could instead bring a car. And so it was that I drove the Rolls to London and abandoned it into the care of stevedores at Tilbury Docks for loading onto the P&O liner Orsova. Thus began another phase of this three-part saga about the 20/25