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Me and my TR
Many years ago, back in the 70s, I was a Mum, looking after two kids, trying to make ends meet. My first car was a little mini, which suffered tinworm
ventilation, you could see the ground through the floor! This was in the days BEFORE MoTs. All the kids loved it, and when there was a choice of cars they all chose the mini. Sadly I have no photo of it.
Around this time, I saw an ad for a car, pointing up to the sky like a rocket. That was the moment I fell in love and decided that one day I would have one.
“You don’t want one of them”, I was told.
With only two seats, it was totally impracticable, and outside our price range anyway. Through the years, I had to ferry kids, my parents, neighbours, and
there was no way a two-seater would be practicable. I still reported any sightings, with the same response: “You don’t want one . . .
Gradually, the family grew up, responsibilities to others diminished, and I found myself driving around in a four-door, five seater, all alone.
At that time, I was working in an office overlooking a busy main road, and would go home and detail any TR7s that had passed by. “You don’t want . . .”
Driving away on holiday once, I saw a TR7, nose just outside its garage, with a for sale sign on it. “Stop”, I yelled, “there’s a TR7 for sale. Let’s have a look.” Yes, you guessed the response!
When we moved to a much bigger house, and my husband was in the process of buying himself a new Peugeot estate, it never entered my head to ask for another
car. However, driving into the garage forecourt to choose John’s new car, parked up in front of the office, was – an SS1, and a TR7. What a dilemma! Anyway, John arranged for me to drive the Scimitar, which looked
quite similar to a TR7. I loved it, but the TR7 was still drawing me towards it. “You don’t want of them!, the salesman said, “full of rust and lots of problems, much better buy the SS1!. So my lovely husband did,
and for about a year, we posed around in it, hood down in summer, hard top in winter. Sadly, the car which had an Escort engine, was always developing faults, which were quite costly – the local Ford dealer came to
look on us as regulars, as we were visiting him almost weekly! Finally, having spent a good few quid on it, John decreed it had to go.
So when yet another fault developed, I changed garages, and took the car over to a Scimitar dealer, about fifteen miles away. I was told to sit in the
showroom, while they did the necessary fiddling, and that was where I found Poppy.
Right up at the back, beyond all the brand new cars, in a lounge area, between two large sofas, sat an immaculate (to my eyes) TR7. Carnelian red, though I
didn’t know that at the time, looking a bit like the naughty child told to stand in the corner.
I couldn’t resist the temptation to have a really good look around; she was eight years old, had done just over 8K, and so was not yet run in. I asked a
passing mechanic why she was there, and it seems she had just been bought by a chap who had had one of the early fixed-heads. He had enjoyed driving it, and so he bought this one, without even sitting in it! When he
did, he found a problem, he was 6’7”, and either he had grown, or the car had slightly less leg room, and he couldn’t get behind the wheel! So it had to go. His friend owned the garage, and said “Put it in the
showroom, and we will see if there is any interest!” So she sat there, all alone and lonely, till I came by.
When I got home, I told John about this beautiful red machine I had seen. You guessed it “You don’t want one of them”, I was told. A week later, however,
when the SS1 sneezed again, he said, “OK, let’s see if the TR7 is still there!” Not knowing anything about cars, he took a knowledgeable friend along, without me, because I didn’t want to pressurise him into buying
it. An hour later, he phone home, and said “I have bought the TR7 for you!”
A week later, we went to collect her, battery charged, tyres inflated, tank topped up. And I sat in her for the first time! Can you believe that; I got in,
and was home! Started her up, drove away, carefully at first, as with any new car, and then with more confidence, as she responded. She was built for me; it took a while to find her, but she is with me to stay!
On the way back, that first time, I stopped to do some shopping. As I hopped out of the car, a chap jumped out of a Jaguar, and ran over to me. “Look, I
have just picked up this Jaguar, but I love your car, will you swop?” My response is obvious.
At first, it was my everyday car, using it all the time, and going away on holiday with it. Everyone wanted a ride, and it wasn’t until a friend who is a
Dolomite fan had a look at it said “Do you know what you have got here?”, that I realised I maybe had something special. “You should join a club”, he said, and gave me a list.
One night, after being out late, I got back to my car, to find a stranger looking all round, inside the cabin, round the arches and sills. My first thought
was ‘Panic’, and friends I was with came over to the car with me. After about 30 seconds, I realised this was someone who like me loves TR7s, so I told the girls they could go. They were doubtful, but hey, there is
an affinity between TRers, isn’t there?
One day there was a postcard under the windscreen wiper, from the TR Drivers Club. So, I gave Rex Holford a ring, and the rest, most of you already
know.
I immediately made an enormous saving on insurance by being a Club member, and gradually was enticed to go to meetings and shows. I still don’t know very
much about the mechanics of the car, so long as the engine starts when I turn the key, what more do I need, when I have Ian Tinsey on call? But I do know that she is, to my mind, the most beautiful car ever built,
way way ahead in styling. All those pundits who told me “You don’t . . . ” are surprised to see me still driving her, after seventeen years! OK, she has still only travelled 32,000 miles, and like me, she is getting
to be an old lady, but she has never seriously let me down, and has always carried me safely. She is tucked up in a garage, with a Poppy painted on the door, and yes, I talk to her. “Hello Poppy” when I open the
door, and “Thank you Poppy” when we get home!
Over the years, I have had to contend with disparaging remarks, from garages, and finding a sympathetic one has not been easy. Now I have a mechanic who
knows the marque inside out, so I think Poppy and I will be together forever.
They used to bury Roman soldiers with their horses didn’t they . . . . .?
Val McMillan
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