Author: Paul Cowland
Photography: Paul Cowland
Delivering the classic car you promised your 4 year-old self is the greatest flex of all, reckons Cowland. Especially when it’s cheap.
For many of us, now aged, car enthusiasts, our passion began often before we could even walk and talk. According to my lovingly compiled ‘Baby Book’, a hand-written Mothercare tome, penned by my dear Mother, of my understandably epic early achievements, the word ‘car’ was apparently the second utterance from my infant lips. After her title, but before my Dads. Awkward…
As you might imagine for a snotty kid whose syllabic sequel was an expression of automotive appreciation, much of my childhood was spent exposed to motoring. Whether it was saving my pocket money or begging in Woolworths for Matchbox 75s, poring over the pages of my Dad’s car magazines, or grabbing short, sweet moments of grainy rallying or racing during ‘World of Sport’ (ask your Dad) every day was a chance to learn something new about my chosen obsession. And here, over 50 years later, not much has changed, really. Apart from these days, I have to pay for my own toy cars, sadly.
Although I looked longingly at Porsches, Ferraris, Lamborghinis and other unreachable exotica on the pages of my Dad’s magazines, these were cars that were totally alien to me. In the rural farming village of my childhood, the chances of seeing an example of this poster fodder on the road was about likely as spotting a celebrity in the local chippie. Such rare sightings were reserved for media appearances only. A different, glossy world that we’d never dream of seeing from our Wimpey 3-bedroomed semi.
But then one day, around about late 1976, aged 3-odd years old, I joined my Grandad on one of his many trips to our local BL dealer, bizarrely, in the village in which I now live. Although he was there to sign on the dotted line for his first Allegro, I was utterly captivated by the car that sat in the window; the recently launched TR7. To tiny me, and yes, believe it or not, there was once such a thing, it may as well have been a polished spaceship…
Although Grandad was clearly enamoured with the lines of Harris Mann’s other BL marvel, I couldn’t believe that a car which had entered my orbit, that I could touch and SIT IN, could look like this. Cleary a formative memory, seeing my first ever pop-up headlight up-close, was pure revelation. And the poor salesman, understandably keen to keep Grandad on the hook for the extra Ziebarting, mats and HP payments, must have put them up and down at least a hundred times. If you bought that particular car, and doubtless had a warranty claim for headlight actuators, sometime in 1977, let me apologise to you now.
Despite my infantile pleading with Grandad to switch the order, it was never going to happen. His brand new Allegro arrived a few weeks later, and naturally I joined him to grab just one more look at what I now knew to be the most exotic car I had ever seen. Better yet, over the following years, and unlike the 911s and Corvettes that existed only in 1:64 form on my bedroom playmat, a TR7 would be a regular sighting on our local roads – and each and every time I saw one, it was just as exciting as that first meeting. To a now 4 year old me, the styling was just as impressive as anything from Maranello – and somehow, just that little bit more attainable.
Just when my love for the TR7 couldn’t have been any greater, Scalextric launched the ‘300’ set in 1978, complete with two funkily liveried 1:32 models, and then to top it all off, Tony Pond, a man that could seemingly get a pushbike to go sideways, managed to pedal his V8-equipped example to outright victory in the Manx Rally of the same year, beating rally royalty like Roger Clark, Hannu Mikkola and Penti Airikkala in the process. His bright red coupe, complete with iconic blue slashes and legions of spotlamps, left a lasting impression on schoolboy Cowland. One day, I’d definitely own of these magnificent machines. One day…
As you may have spotted, in between that day and this, I have managed to acquire one or two cars, but fate had never quite put a TR7 in my path. That all changed during a recent Manor Park Classics auction, when the US-imported example you see here, an early 1976 Speke-built car, came up for bidding. To my mind, it had an awful lot going for it. The LHD spec and canoe-sized bumpers would doubtless deter many bidders, making it cheaper, while the immaculate interior and rust-free factory panels and paint made it something of a Unicorn. Throw in the launch spec wheels, complete with US-order beauty rings, and I could easily overlook the dozens of dents that sat in every panel. The best bit? After a steady bout of bidding, the hammer fell at just £2300. A couple of grand to deliver a promise that I made almost 50 years ago? Seemed like a bargain to me, and it was even the RIGHT COLOUR!
A week or two later it arrived at the house, and as I squinted through the blinds, it may as well been 1978 again. Any day that a new car arrives is always an exciting one, but somehow, this one was different. Despite needing work, despite being inexpensive and despite being a lowly 4 speed, my 5 year old brain equated what rolled onto my drive as the spitting image of Tony Pond’s trophy winning machine. It had finally arrived…
The test drive didn’t disappoint, either. While the reality is a pair of roughly running carbs, a notchy gearchange and tracking that acts merely in an advisory capacity, every turn of my favourite ‘B’ road was, in my childhood head at least, part of those gruelling Manx stages. And although the currently asthmatic 2-litre wouldn’t pull a greasy man out of bed, it’s making enough fun noises to fulfil the dream. This was everything I’d hoped for, for the cost of a major service on a modern exotic.
Posting the car up on my socials, it’s clear that Harris Mann’s brave lines still split the audience. As ’twas ever thus, the wedge profile, stubby wheelbase and 70s aura aren’t everyone’s pint of Watneys – but they’re definitely mine. So if you want me, I’ll either be prepping my pace notes, adjusting my SUs, or up in the loft, trying to find where I put that Scalextric…
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