I have happy memories of the Startix fitted to a Humber Snipe 80 that my father once ran. One fine day, after he left it ticking over for a few minutes with yours truly sitting in it, a pimply young man came nosing about, admiring the dashing open bodywork an 1 the rather nobby registration “H3”. The motor petered out, the Startix functioned, and the youth turned enquiringly and anaemically towards me with jaw agape.
I beamed at him, explaining in the most casual tones that a five-year-old could muster: “It’s magic”. By the time daddy came back, the earnest young man was just a speck in the distance.
Crickhowell David Filsell