I grew up in the seat of a Morgan -- the Roadster, 4x4 and Super 8. My father's second love, after my Mom, was the English Morgan, its speed and simplicity. And one of my delights was to slump down on the leather passenger seat with him behind the wheel. The engine would ignite with thunder and the exhaust pipes tremble. And we'd be off. It might be merely a trip to the hardware store or an excursion along winding mountain roads, but it was always an adventure. My long hair would whip across my face adding thrill to the escapade.
One of my father's hobbies was making car trades and getting a good deal on a second hand British car. Following our annual trips to Vancouver, Canada, we'd often return home with new wheels. We had Triumphs, a Lotus Cortina, Morris Minors, even a Sunbeam--
the first British car to win the Grand Prix! (though our Sunbeam was a tiny coupe). And then there were the Morgans -- green, white, yellow, 2 seaters, a 4 seater, left-hand and right-hand drive.
I remember...squeezing into the front passenger seat with my good friend Kathy for a weekend excursion accompanying my father on a student retreat in the mountains of California. That was before the days of compulsory seatbelts...were there even seatbelts?! The sun set, the shadows lengthened and darkness descended upon us, the world, and the Morgan. The top was up. The headlamps shot beams out piercing through the trees lining the road -- we sat too low to see the road ahead; even the bonnet was above our view. Out the side window, only inches, it seemed, above the ground, road surface whizzed past and disappeared into a trail of darkness. Then...the lights on the dashboard cut out! Kathy and I gasped. Now my dad, unencumbered by dials, could speed through the night. The simplicity of raw power bursting through the night -- exhilarating to an eleven year old. How lucky I was to have such a cool Dad! (43 years later when I mentioned this memory to my father he explained that he turned off the dashboard lights to minimize glare on the windscreen! Funny thing about a Morgan, you can be going the speed limit and feel like you're about to break the sound barrier!)
I remember... heading out with the family (five of us and a dog) for a holiday, loaded to the gills. The food cooler in front of my mother's feet in the long deep space stretching out in front of the passenger seat. A large military canvas bag bulging with shoes tied to the wing (front fender), and bags piled on a roof luggage rack. I sat between my two big brothers in the back seat, sunken deep down into the black leather. Mitty, our dachshund, sat on my lap. I think the top was down for my long hair flew uncontrolled around my face blocking any view of the surely dramatic California coastline. Finally realizing my predicament, my father pulled over and we organized a rubber band for my hair.
I'm thinking of my father this week, and his transition a year ago into eternal simplicity.
I remember...when my brothers and I were teenagers my father brought us to Great Britain for a whirlwind holiday. Two hightlights of the trip for me were a visit to the Methodist Hall standing proudly opposite Westminster Abbey (proud of my Methodist roots) and visiting the Morgan factory in Malvern. This visit to the factory of his beloved Morgan was, I think, the highlight for my father. He wanted us to witness the craftmanship, the love, the tradition, the art, the care.
I’d seen an
Aero Coupe on the street recently, but wasn’t sure what it was, no
recognizable logo – quite sleek and James-Bond-looking – beautiful – simplicity
at its finest.
http://londonmorgan.co.uk
To top off the Morgan-memory- lane, here’s a video of the factory, still cutting the bonnet
with a pair of shears! I so well remember the factory visit with Al.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p4c9i250pc4
Never knew the fenders are called “wings” – so now my story can be that we tied
a bag of shoes to one of the wings for our family road trip. And so we flew through the night with my Dad at the helm!
