Vehicle of Change

Grey with nice chrome work and red leather seats

Unspectacular as it may seem, my all time favourite car has to be a grey Morris Oxford Series III with red leather seats. It was our first family car which Dad turned up with one evening after work shortly before we moved house in the summer of 1964. I was 7 years old and very impressed by the size of the car, and the chrome work on the front bumpers with the headlights and foglamps which seemed to form a friendly face.

The number plate was MCL 689. That was the car’s identity – I knew that. What does MCL stand for? Dad couldn’t tell me more than I already knew, that it was like a name. I was into car registrations as I had been copying number plates for a while, whole lists which I jotted down on a note pad in a fairly random way. What could I have been looking for? It was linked to a fascination for letters and numbers in combination.

That first day we went for a spin, which was the expression Dad always used for a recreational drive in the car. There would be many more, especially on Sundays. I remember the feeling as we set off for that first spin, watching the world move past, even though I’d taken buses and trains before – this was different, we were in charge. It only lasted a few minutes, yet it left Mum and Dad beaming, and all five of us kids must have been pretty excited too.

It was a great car. We left in it to go to a new life away from the smoke and fog of the city to a new town in the country, with parks, lawns and roundabouts in abundance. This car was our vehicle of change as a family.

The 20-mile drive out of London to our new home can’t have taken more than an hour, if we take into account Saturday traffic conditions on the day we moved, together with the state of the roads, but it seemed like an adventure. We had never driven anywhere before that, and here we were, changing towns. Leaving home and going home, all in the same journey, in our shiny grey Morris Oxford with the red leather seats.

Dad worked in the sales department in his new job in our new town. The day he qualified for a company car, the Morris Oxford went into the garage where it sat unused for ages. It was replaced in the driveway by a brand new dark green Ford Zephyr Mark IV. At this point, it hit home that MCL 689, our trusted family car, was second-hand which, back in the boom years, had negative connotations.

The Ford was supposed to be better. It certainly seemed longer, sleeker sitting out there. But was it as roomy? As comfy? As chromey? How could it be any of those things? Okay, Ford Zephyr was a better name, and it was brand new, but what else was good?

One day, Mum’s brother, our Uncle John, came to stay. He was in the Merchant Navy, and a bit of a character who was always up to something. He worked with ships’ engines, so a car engine was like Lego to him. Could he have a look at the engine of that Morris Oxford that was sleeping in our garage? Sure, he could. Could he go for a spin? No problem.

When John ultimately bought the car from Dad, everyone seemed happy. John had a car to go back to his home port, and we had a garage to use for something else. We all waved him off the day he drove away.

I missed Bessie, as Dad now affectionately called our Morris Oxford, but it was good that she’d gone to John, I decided, because he was family.

However, the next time Uncle John came to stay, he was driving another car. It was probably much later, and he’d been away at sea. Where’s Bessie? He laughed at my dismay. He’d sold her. Sold her?! Sold our Bessie? Yes, and for a good price. I couldn’t believe it. He tried to console me. You’ve got a Ford Zephyr. That’s a lovely car.

Maybe it was a lovely car. But I can’t even remember the number plate.