My first motoring passion – classic Lancia’s.
A long time ago, in the seventies, I remember that I’d become fascinated by classic Lancia’s after reading ecstatic reports about them in the car magazines of the day. So I set out to try one for myself. In truth, I couldn’t have managed without having a car-mad father who would fix things that would go wrong, because I was never handy with the spanners.
I started with a 1966 1.2 Fulvia Coupe, paying about 500 pounds, which was cheap even then. Needless to say, it needed some work. Then onto a Fulvia Zagato 1.3 Sport which I somehow scraped enough cash together to buy for 900 pounds. Naturally, some rust repairs were required like most old Italian cars.
Again, Dad came to the rescue and found a local car repair mate who fixed it up – pretty badly it turned out later when rust bubbles re-appeared! Although in fairness, I don’t think I could afford a proper restoration – it was a cheap and cheerful job. Even so, the Fulvia Zagato was surprisingly reliable and proved to be a very effective long-distance machine on my regular trips on the M4 from London to Swindon, the HQ of one of ‘my’ advertising clients, the Castrol Oil company.
Exotic motoring on the cheap.
With the mechanical assistance of my father and cheap parts from the legendary Harry Manning – the man who helped keep countless old Lancia’s on the road back in those days – I undoubtedly drove cars I couldn’t really afford. As we all know, buying is one thing, having enough money to keep an old car on the road is quite another. It took me a long time to factor such considerations into my buying plans and the lure of the next Lancia ensured that about 90% of my wages went towards my lust for beautiful, Lancia’s.
Sometimes, it’s who you know…
At this point in my career, I wasn’t earning enough to live the life (or drive the cars) I aspired to. However, a little piece of luck fell my way:
At the time I’d somehow lucked into a relationship with a girl called Linda, the daughter of a very wealthy businessman. He had recently separated from his wife and moved into a fancy apartment overlooking Regent’s Park with his secretary and, the aforementioned daughter.
Somehow, I ended up moving in them which proved to be incredibly fortuitous for me in a number of ways. The wealthy father paid most of the bills, it was rent-free and incredibly, the flat was 5 minutes from my place of work. I should add that the daughter was also very attractive. Sometimes you just fall on your feet!
Mind you, Linda wasn’t easily impressed, what with Dad’s ready cash, his chauffeur-driven Mercedes-Benz and brand new Jaguar XJ6 – for trips to the weekend cottage in Devon. She also didn’t want Dad to realise I was still relatively poor, so I decided I needed to buy a car both my girlfriend and father would think might be suitable wheels for an up and coming young man in advertising.
The dream car I found at the baker’s
Even now, I find it hard to believe that in 1975, a baker in the backstreets of West Norwood, South London, owned a stunning-looking 1960 Lancia Flaminia Zagato 3C Coupe. Even more absurd was the fact he was in need of cash and was happy to sell it to me for 550 pounds! Even in those days, that was an awful lot of car for the money.
I should add that was about as much money I had available thanks to the unforeseen (by me) high running costs of my pretty girlfriend. Nevertheless, the lovely lines of the Flaminia impressed everyone who saw it, even the rich Dad (‘the lad must be doing well for himself’) and his rather spoilt daughter.
The reality of ownership
I loved driving the Flaminia, of course. It was a real head-turner and sounded glorious, the 2.5 litre V6 engine breathed through three dual-choke Weber ‘carbs’ and produced about 140 bhp. What was there not to like? Well, a few little things weren’t quite up to scratch, mainly because I simply couldn’t afford to remedy them.
The oil cooler didn’t work too well and the car ran a bit hot at high speed. I found a secondhand one that failed to fix the problem entirely and a new replacement was beyond my budget. And then there were the tyres – dodgy, old Pirelli Cinturato’s beyond their use-by date. It was also Left-Hand Drive, although that never bothered me, even driving in the UK.
Even Dudley Moore was a fan.
The Flaminia did catch the eye though of discerning people though. I recall that I would be driving home in the early hours on the same route as the famous, late comedian, TV/film star and jazz piano player, Dudley Moore. We never spoke, but he would give me a ‘hoot’ from his Mini Cooper S whenever he saw me. And when we stopped at the traffic lights alongside each other, he’d give me a ‘thumb’s up’ and his renowned cheeky grin. Curiously, this happened at least three or four times and I’m sure he’d never notice me if I was driving an ordinary car.
Overall though, my driving experience was somewhat compromised. I could only drive it quickly on cool, dry days (those Pirelli’s turned into banana skins in the wet) for very limited periods of time, and yet I loved every minute. It made my day every time I looked at that lovely Zagato bodywork and it remains to this day one of the cars I wish I could have kept.
The slow goodbye
Alas, it was never going to last. My relationship with both my lovely car and my girlfriend was destined to be short but sweet. After a couple of years, her father, secretary/girlfriend and daughter moved to a big house in Hampstead, and I bought myself a new flat in Croydon. I think my parents were keen that I bought my own place, so their driveway wasn’t littered with my old Lancia’s. Something had to give, and to my everlasting regret, I realised it was time to say goodbye to my beloved Italian classic.
I still recall the sad night I hand over to the wife of the Sea Captain who had bought the car. He was away at sea and, so, she met me at a railway station at night, somewhere in Buckinghamshire. She handed over 500 quid (yes, I ‘lost’ 50 pounds on the deal) and tentatively drove off. As she disappeared into the night I heard a horrible crunching sound from the car as she wrestled with the gearbox and, horrified, I literally ran after her, determined to buy the car back.
But she was gone, and so was my lovely car. I often wonder where ‘my’ Flaminia is now. Or, come to that, my ex-girlfriend, Linda.
