Earls Court Motor Show
When I was a boy, one of the highlights of my year was the annual trip to the British Motor Show, at Earls Court, in central London.
None of that public transport travel nonsense for the likes of us. No, every year my Dad would make a small windscreen sticker denoting a well-known British motoring industry name. It would be Dunlop or Shell, usually cut from an ad in a car magazine; He would then stick it on his windscreen. So, off to the big show, we’d go, me, my brother and Dad, puffing away on his insufferable pipe (Mum would happily give this annual pilgrimage amiss, so she could watch what she wanted on the ‘box’ – for once).
We’d drive directly up to the grand front entrance, straight past the patient queues of patient show visitors, waiting in the cold and rain, and were greeted by a smart commissionaire in uniform who would salute my father upon our arrival. With a knowing nod at the windscreen sticker, he would indicate that we should drive into the underground car park, along with all the ‘other’ exhibitors. Just in case someone smelled a rat, my brother and I would hide under a blanket on the back seat, while Dad gave a friendly thumbs up to the commissionaire. It worked like a charm every year, and that’s how we’d enter the show, gaping in wonderment at the assembled exhibitor cars in the car park. I was agog with excitement even before we arrived upstairs to the actual show.
As many car brochures as I could carry
My routine always the same: pickup free goodie bags from of the show stands as soon as possible, so I could begin to fill them with the free brochures available from almost every show exhibitor. Not being especially discriminating in those early years, I’d grab a brochure from almost any car maker that took my fancy. The more upmarket car makers would only hand something over to a young schoolboy like me if Dad seemed like he might be a potential buyer, but the most obscure brands were desperate to hand over everything they had to almost anyone, even me in my school blazer. That’s how I now have so many oddball car brochures in my collection. Never having summoned the will power to actually throw any of them away, I can dip randomly into one of the dusty old boxes and discover brochures for cars only a few motoring fruitcakes care for, or still remember.
To name just a few: Pegaso, Volga, Lea Francis (Lynx, I think they sold maybe two in total), Piranha, NSU, Goggomobil, Pegaso and Rambler. Yes, if it moved, or even if it couldn’t, I’d want to have a catalogue to remember it by. I’d race around the show, desperate to collect as many brochures as I could before I left. By the time I was ready to leave. I’d have at least two or three very full ‘show’ bags.
The outcome
When I grew up (in years, if not maturity), I would attempt to obtain a brochure for the car that was closest to my heart at any given time. The British Motor Show moved away from London and eventually just faded away entirely. So, I would buy even more brochures at classic car meetings and motoring events around the world. Consequently, I have brochures of all kinds of Alpine (French, not Sunbeam), Lamborghini, countless US cars (useful reference for my model kit making phase), most weird French cars, older Lancia’s ( from my ‘Italian’ car period) and some makes and models from my, ‘what was I thinking?’ phase).
How car brochures have saved me a fortune
On reflection, I think it was preferable to get a certain car ‘out of my system’ by obtaining a car brochure rather than actually buy a real-life example. Thank goodness I didn’t purchase that 1966 Oldsmobile Toronado I rather admired years ago. Or the 850cc, flat-twin Panhard 24CT coupe that looked so alluring in the catalogue. If nothing else, the latter pair confirm I have very catholic taste in motor cars. Sometimes reading a brochure is as close to a car you need to go.
Archive, sell, or chuck them?
Which brings me to my current situation. What on earth am I going to do with wide collection of strange and rather random selection of old car catalogs? My collection runs from bewitching to the downright balmy. I suppose I could sell them, one by one, on eBay. But, is it really worth the time and bother? There appears to be no end of professionals selling ‘automobilia’ online and I’m not sure if anyone wants to buy mine as well. Every time I move home, I am tempted to just chuck the lot into the council tip. But deep down, something tells me to hang on to them, though I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s just nostalgia. Or perhaps I hate to think all those years of pestering salesmen at motor shows weren’t completely wasted. Honestly, I’m not sure anymore.
No, I think they will all just continue to clutter up some corner of my home gathering dust, not seen by me or anyone else for the forgoing future. In the meantime, if you are searching for a brochure for a Goggomobil Royale, I’m your man.
All coming to an eBay store your way soon, if I can be bothered.
