Letters from readers, May 1941




As an incurable motor-cyclist I was particularly interested in “More Mark V, or a Study in Average Speed” in the March issue.

If a motor-cyclist chooses the wrong line on a bend when travelling fast or if he fails to observe a slippery patch of road or a change in road-surface he will probably perform an involuntary act which is picturesquely described as buying a box of tacks. Such a performance is invariably humiliating and occasionally painful and expensive. Your car-driver, on the other hand, committing the same faults, may experience a bit of a slide and a moment’s uneasiness perhaps, but more often than not he gets away with it. Indeed, it is distressingly noticeable that many young would-be dicers, who have been brought up from the start on four wheels instead of two, often fail completely to realise the risks which they are continually running until it is too late.

I do not suggest for a moment that any machine can safely be driven about the countryside, at an average of 50, by an incompetent, but it does appear that the Mark V Bentley, being a rather remarkable machine, would be safe in comparatively inexpert hands, whereas on a reasonably long run only a very competent motor-cyclist mounted on, for instance, a 500 c.c. Vincent H.R.D. “Meteor,” would stand a chance of defeating it in normal conditions.

In this sense the Bentley is “better,” because it gets from here to there as quickly as the bike with less effort on the part of the driver, in normal conditions, and with very much less effort and danger in icy conditions. Nobody who has ever tried to drive a car or a motor-cycle at all fast can fail to experience some sense of excitement at the realisation, in part at least, of what it means to get an Auto-Union round the Nurburg Circuit at 70 m.p.h. or a Norton round the T.T. Course at 90. Since I read the March “Rumblings,” and pondered a bit on its implications, the thought of Mr. Day’s ride to Cheltenham gives me the same sense of excitement magnified, at a conservative estimate, about a thousand times.

Mr. Day appears, from the data given, to have covered 92 miles from London to Cheltenham in rather less than 108 minutes—at an average speed of over 51 m.p.h. His actual running-time was reduced by the fact that he fell off twice. Speed in built-up areas was limited to 30 m.p.h., even to the extent of “braking hard” when entering them—on two wheels on “a skating-rink” surface! Fifty-one is a more than respectable average for a not ultra-fast motor-cycle under ordinary road conditions. In “really icy conditions” it is terrific—an appalling thought! I cannot imagine any experienced motor-cyclist predicting that two wheels would defeat four in the circumstances described.

I have never driven a Mark V Bentley or an H.R.D. “Meteor,” but the Mark V is obviously a remarkably fast car and the “Meteor” is not a remarkably fast motor-cycle. I have been fortunate enough to be allowed to drive a 3½-litre Bentley, both in this country and on the Continent, and very nice too, but if that car were substituted for the Mark V the motor-cycle would win hands down—and almost “hands off “—if the roads were not icy!

My own tastes are shamelessly vintage, and it seems that the further one goes back the more pronounced does the superiority of the motor-cycle become. My 1926 3-litre Bentley (ex-Birkin Essex six-hour-race car and altogether an excellent example of the marque) is the pride and joy of my life, but it would be defeated with enormous ease by my 1928 Model 90 Sunbeam (493 c.c.) over a hundred miles on the road.

I have also got a 1,000 c.c. J.A.P. engined motor-cycle—mostly Coventry-Eagle and mostly 1926. To ride it behind a very good 1927 “30/98” is worrying, because one has the feeling that the back plug will oil up at any moment unless the car gets a move on!

I do not know what the true maximum of this velocipede is. (Practically the last time I used it, in the Brighton Speed Trials, 1938, stripped of mud-guards and silencers and with slightly lowered gear ratio, it accelerated from 0-111 m.p.h. in 25 seconds in the wet.) Certainly it had not very good brakes but, in spite of diligent search, I never found anything on the road to extend it except a 38/250 Mercedes, which it defeated.

This was, and is, a fast motor-cycle, and was driven as fast as my limited skill allowed while retaining some margin of safety, I am bound to say that I cannot ever remember actually averaging over 50 m.p.h. on a longish run, though I rode it constantly between 1933 and 1936. Nevertheless, I would dearly love to have a crack at the Mark V on it—but the more I think of “Rumblings” the higher I raise my hat—or rather, the more smartly I salute the heroic Mr. Day.

Or have I gone wrong in my calculations?

I am, Yours etc.,


Sevenoaks, Kent.

[Although we timed the car accurately to do 100 miles in 116 mins., at over 51 m.p.h., the motor-cyclist did not, himself, work a watch. The Bentley did 100 miles in under two hours, which included eight very slow miles in Cheltenham itself. Quite how much time elapsed before the H.R.D. entered the town will never be known. We gave it 8 mins. over our time, but it may have been 15 mins., or, in other words, 92 miles in about 115 mins., or 43 m.p.h.—still a very fine show, however. Naturally, ice was experienced in two bad patches only, not for the full distance.—Ed.]

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I much resent the note following the publication of my letter to you in your March issue. In view of the fact that you represent your paper to be the official journal of the B.R.D.C., such editorial comment should be unnecessary, as reference to the B.R.D.C. membership lists would show you that I have now been a member of that club for about six years.

To make pretence of membership to a club to which I do not belong I would not dream of doing, and in view of the unfortunate terms in which your editorial note is couched I feel I am entitled to an apology from you, or alternatively a publication of this letter of protest.

I am, Yours etc.,


Coldstream Guards.

[We willingly apologise and can only offer the excuse that the B.R.D.C. went so flat when war came as to leave us without a list of members, and we did not recall Mr. Kenyon’s name.—Ed.]

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I have recently secured an Amilcar of 1926 vintage, and as I have not the original log book wondered if readers could supply information regarding this car? The engine number is C.9.S.6420, chassis number 7233 and the registration number YP 8847; the car is a “9/50” Grand Sports model.

The tyres on this car are of the beaded-edge type and all my attempts to obtain replacements have failed. The size is 720 x 120. Is there any way of overcoming this difficulty, or would it be advisable to rebuild the wheels with wire-edge rims to take 5.00 in. x 19 in. tyres?

I am, Yours etc.,


“White Hart,”



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I wish to enquire if any reader has any data as regards the Spurrier-Railton or Arab.

The car was built in 1929 for sand racing at Southport, the idea being sponsored by Mr. Spurrier, then general manager of Leyland Motors Ltd. Mr. Reid Railton designed the chassis, but I do not know where it was actually assembled.

The engine is a four-cylinder modified version of the Leyland Eight. Originally it was rated at 12.1 h.p., although the present engine was fitted in 1936 and is rated at 12.8 h.p., with a bore of 72 mm., but I do not know the stroke.

The chassis number is 5, and I believe it was the last to be built; as the body is a 4-seater tourer I presume it was built for the road only.

As regards performance, I can find nothing definite, and would be very grateful for any further details.

I am, Yours etc.,


Leyland, Lancs.

[Can anyone help? There was an Arab in the Hampstead district some years ago.—Ed.]

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I was most interested to read the article re the D.F.P. in your March issue.

In 1921 I was in the employ of Bentley & Bentley Ltd. and worked in the service department at Phipps’ Mews, Victoria. Well do I remember the rides I had on bare chassis, sitting on wooden boxes, along the Embankment, the works foreman, Bert Smith, big and jovial, at the wheel.

Although quite a lad, I was very proud when I had a small part in preparing the racing cars driven by the late Capt. Sir H. R. S. Birkin and Capt. R. C. Gallop.

The car driven by Capt. Gallop was a fine-looking job, the body from the scuttle to tail made in leather, stitched like a football over a light framework, a narrow radiator, lower than the top line of the bonnet, the latter sweeping down to the rad. filler cap, wire wheels and a huge external exhaust, finished off a car which would look quite modern beside our present-day racers.

I remember one amusing incident which happened whilst we were lowering a block on to a very obstinate set of pistons. This job had been going on for over an hour, the mechanics getting very bad-tempered, my job being to raise and lower the block and pulley tackle. Being very weary of it all I rested my head against the chain (I never wore a hat) and the order was given to lower away.

There was a gasp of relief from the chaps as the pistons entered, but alas, my hair got caught between the chain and wheel.

The foreman told the mechanics on no account to lift the block or to touch the chain but to cut my ruddy head off, so accordingly a pair of scissors were produced and I arrived home that night minus a flowing coif. They were grand old days; I was in lodgings over the works, and was supposed to finish work at 5 o’clock, but used to carry on until I was more or less thrown out.

I have been in business on my own account now for just over three years and have handled some fine cars, the outstanding among these being Rolls Bentley, 3-litre Bentley, Alvis Speed Twenty, supercharged Aero Minx, blown Austin Seven, Rover Sports, etc.

In 1935 I purchased a 2-litre Marendaz Special, and ran it for three years, covering 17,000 miles; it proved very reliable, quite fast, and was really a wonderful looking job; it is still in this district and in fine order.

In 1938 I acquired a genuine unblown “Ulster” Austin, which I still have, although I do not run it on the road. As a matter of fact, it has not run since June 1939, when it collected two pots for me in speed trials.

I spent nearly all my money on this car, and it really is fast.

In 1930 Capt. Eyston broke the 750 class with 87 m.p.h. for 50 miles with an unblown M.G.

Is this the fastest 750 c.c. unblown car? I should be interested to know, as my Austin gets along mighty near these figures, but I should not like to chance it for 50 miles. Had it not been for the war I should have been running at Brighton, Shelsley, Prescott, Dancer’s End, and several others.

Since the outbreak of war, instead of tuning sports and racing cars we have switched over to tuning Fordson, Alvis, Chalmers, and Case tractors, A.R.P. ambulances, and the fire engines of the local fire brigade, of which I am a member.

My wartime hacks are an Austin Seven and a 150 James motor-cycle, and my friend who works here with me runs a B.M.W. motor-cycle (which incidentally has gained many a premier award, and has also run in the 1939 international six days’ trial) a Velocette and a Standard Nine, so we still do a spot of motoring. I must take this opportunity to thank you for continuing MOTOR SPORT. I read each copy through so many times that I can almost repeat it like poetry. Wishing you all the best of luck and again thanking you,

I am, Yours etc.,



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In the April issue of MOTOR SPORT Mr. Strachan raises the question of the possible fate of the sports car in the coming “great peace,” and suggests that the species is likely to become extinct. While agreeing with much of what he says concerning the shortcomings of recent sports models, I must disagree very strongly with the dismal conclusion he reaches.

I think that certain effects of the present war (a general shortage of cash apart) will be very important to the sports car, and should be borne in mind when planning for its future. In the first place, a great many folk are getting their first taste of open car motoring in the army, and judging from casual passengers I have carried lately, a fair proportion of them likes a quick open car. And there is little doubt that the most sought-after vehicle at the present time is a single-seater coupe, propelled by upwards of a thousand horse-power; after the war the present pilots of these machines will probably still want a vehicle capable of beating up all comers. There is one more relevant fact; the pre-war sports car suffered from the fact that, owing to lack of suitable tracks, mud-wallowing was almost the only form of competition open to the private owner. At the end of this war it is probable that, scattered about the country there will be an excess of aerodromes complete with runways and ring roads. Some of these, located near towns will be needed for civil aviation, but many will be available as ideal sites for minor sprints and road races. If these are well organised they can do a lot to develop real sports cars once more.

As regards the type of vehicle which is likely to emerge as a result of the war, if the Editor ever gets really short of “copy” he may be reduced to printing some of my queer ideas in more detail, but for the present I do not intend to express more than a few general opinions.

I suppose that as soon as the war is over, to meet the inevitable shortage of cars, a lot of very simple machines, basically of pre-war design, will be rushed into production. Something on the lines of the H.R.G. is about the best that can be expected in the first year or two of peace and I fear few will be so sound in conception.

When the initial rush for “a car at any price” is over, I hope and expect that we shall see a real break-away from the dismal orthodoxy of most recent British cars. The Cross and Aspin types of rotary valve should give high power output without serious snags, and I expect the single sleeve-valve will reappear on the road after its development for Bristol aero engines. My personal favourite is the Aspin rotary combustion chamber, partly because it should enable a sparking-plug to stand up to life in a supercharged two-stroke. I never saw the racing D.K.W. motor-cycles in action, but in their way they showed the sort of power output a blown two-stroke is capable of; I think that reliability and reasonable economy could be obtained by good design.

As regards chassis design, I think that a few years spent building aircraft of stressed-skin construction will lead to further experiments in the construction of cars on these lines. It is probable that even for small outputs, light alloy monocoque construction is a practical proposition. The open car is not really suited to this system, owing to weakening of the structure at the doors, and this factor may well combine with questions of wind-resistance to make the coupe the standard type of high-speed vehicle.

While on the subject of air-resistance, I will express the opinion that our present cars use wheels that are about twice as large as they need be. I suppose I shall be accused of trying to make real cars look like “doodle bugs,” but when you try to plan out a really clean body without too much overhang, you realise how much the present high wheels restrict design. I don’t know what Mr. Dunlop would say about tyre wear, but I have an idea that handling would be improved by a reduction in wheel diameter. The small wheel would be at a disadvantage for trials conditions, I suppose, but it seems inevitable that the racing and “tank” types of sports machine will become more and more distinct types. I certainly think that the high-speed type should be suitable for other than main road motoring, but pre-war trials put undue emphasis on cross-country types of vehicle. The latter species will presumably adopt four-wheel drive to cope with our recent ideas on the subject of what surfaces a motor-vehicle should be able to traverse.

I will not say much about suspension or transmission because there are so many alternatives, all equally effective, and the question of which system to use is largely decided by what fits in with the general layout of a particular model. I have a secret longing for a gearbox with at least six ratios (don’t ask me what it would cost!) of which the driver would use three or four for normal acceleration from rest, and the others for gradients and for passing, for in contrast to present conditions the roads will often be terribly crowded when “the great peace” comes. As regards suspension, I think the layout used is almost entirely a matter of convenience, even the rigid axle being by no means “impossible,” but our sports car designers (how many of our pre-war sports cars really were designed, and how many “just happened”?) will have to take to heart the lessons taught by recent continental G.P. cars.

Well, I have given you a few ideas and opinions on the post-war sports car. I don’t suppose you will agree with me (if you do I shall have to go into the motor business and become a millionaire), but if you have any forcible opinions to express I feel sure Mr. Boddy will be only too glad to let you fill the correspondence columns for him. I am not likely to sue you for libel!

I am, Yours etc.,


S. Farnborough.

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I cannot with any truth lay claim to be classed as a veteran, though I am told that I first handled a car at the tender age of three years, sitting on my father’s knee to conduct a 1914 “T” Model Ford; what bearing this had on my future interest in motors I should not like to say. My experience extends back a mere twelve years, and in that time I have owned some, to me, quite interesting cars, and anyway, it is very pleasant to be able to recall those piping days.

Motoring of a serious nature started with my learning to drive on my father’s 14-h.p. four-cylinder Armstrong Siddeley of about 1925 vintage. This was an astonishing motor in that it was so solidly built that it was quite impossible to break anything, no matter what one did. Coupled with this was a practically non-existent performance—the car just moved away—and a very noisy 3-speed gearbox. Changing down from top to second was a joy, provided one wasn’t in a hurry. Drop down to 30 m.p.h. in top, put out clutch, depress accelerator-pedal for a minute or two till maximum revs, were reached, engage second—result, a perfect cog engagement.

Soon after this I acquired my first personal mount, a 500 c.c. s.v. B.S.A., which was chiefly remarkable in that during the four years I owned it I sustained no serious injury, though the thing savaged me on several occasions. On wet roads the whereabouts of the rear-wheel was a matter of guesswork, due to a long wheelbase and a rear brake of the on-or-off only variety. The front brake was merely decorative, as my grip was never strong enough to operate it.

On starting my apprenticeship with Alvis in 1934 in Coventry, a motor-car of some sort was deemed essential, so I purchased a 1921 Talbot Ten, largely for the sake of cheapness. This machine had a top speed of 45 m.p.h., I should judge, the speedometer being permanently inactive, a large open 4-seater body, and boiled perpetually. This car served me well for a few months until, on my way home to Lancaster one week-end, loud expensive in noises of the crashing variety gave notice of some internal disorder. Subsequent investigation revealed a lack of piston in No. 1 pot and a couple of neat grooves, made by the gudgeon-pin, through the cylinder wall. This may possibly have been due to a push-rod cup having been dropped in the works during a previous decoke. Repairs having been effected, ensued an epidemic of run big ends, which entailed removing engine and gearbox from the frame on each occasion, as these components were in unit construction, including their respective sumps, and there was no detachable plate. On the third failure, having been run for a week or two on three cylinders, the remains were sold to scrap-dealer for £1.

Then came a second-hand 1932 “M” type M.G. Midget fitted with sundry extras, including Marchal headlamps and remote control gear-lever. Anchorage was definitely inadequate and performance nothing startling, though the car had the satisfactory feature of being able to cruise indefinitely at 50-55 m.p.h., its maximum being about 60. Though apparently in good fettle to start with, after a month or so it transpired that the garage, of good repute locally, from whom I had purchased the motor, were past-masters in the art of doctoring. A rebore soon became essential and, owing to some misguided efforts in carburetter tuning by the previous owner, a new S.U. had to be obtained. These matters having been attended to, a cut away carved in the offside door, hood scrapped and aero screens fitted, the motor went very decently until in March 1935 I had a serious argument with a lorry, the whys and wherefores of which will never be known, which just about wrote the motor off and me with it.

After three months in hospital, and having in no wise lost the motoring urge, the ways and means committee was consulted, with the result that I obtained in September 1935 a Riley Imp with pre-selector box, a fitment required by the driving-test authorities in view of the loss of my right arm in the crash. I kept this car for four years and about 65,000 miles and had a great deal of enjoyment out of it, though it nearly drove me frantic at times, witness the start of a trip to Donington when it took us over an hour to get the motor running. It was with this car that I joined up with the Scuderia Impecuniosa, a short history of which has already appeared in MOTOR SPORT, having met John Cooper at the Alvis.

I had a good deal of trouble with this car one way and another, which may in some part have been due to an urge for motoring as rapidly as possible, but which was more certainly largely caused, indirectly, by the E.N.V. preselector box. This was the great snag in an otherwise good motor, as, though I had no trouble with the box itself, it was far too heavy for the 9-h.p. engine, reputedly developing 40 b.h.p. at 3,500-4,000 r.p.m., and subsequent engine failures were, I have no doubt, principally due to this, coupled with my endeavours to get more power through to the road-wheels. It must have been this drag in the box which necessitated the standard axle-ratio of 5.25:1 (4.50 x 19.00 tyres) which gave a maximum of 71.4 m.p.h. at 4,500 r.p.m. Another snag was the two-bearing crankshaft, as I discovered at 12,000 miles when, probably due to strain imposed by the gear-box drag, this came in half, fortunately without any incidental damage, and was replaced by the works without argument.

I soon began a search for more power, starting with the twin Zenith carburetters, which I found, after much experiment with jets and consultation with the makers, could be tuned for either maximum speed or acceleration but not for both together. Application was therefore made to the Scuderia Intelligence Department, with the result that a pair of S.U. carburetters from a J2 M.G. were unearthed. These were too small, but, with the valuable aid of the Alvis experimental test shop in discovering adequate needles, D2s, a definite improvement in performance resulted.

At about 45,000 miles sundry evidence of wear became manifest, and, this happily coinciding with a sufficiency of shekels, a thorough overhaul was decreed. The car was therefore stripped down to the frame and rebuilt, some more or less experimental modifications being in incorporated. These included a higher

axle ratio of 5.00:1, an exhaust camshaft in place of the inlet, giving more overlap and power, lamps wired up to separate switches and cycle-type wings of J2 M.G. pattern. In this guise the motor had 76.1 m.p.h. as a theoretical maximum, though I never managed to get more than about 74, and a bad engine period between 3,500 and 4,000 r.p.m., which 500 revs. needed careful negotiation, but as there was a comfortable cruising speed of just under 60 m.p.h. at 3,500 r.p.m., the modifications were considered successful.

The Riley was sold just before the outbreak of war for financial reasons, and I have neither seen nor heard of her since, and if anyone can give me any news of the car, registered number AKV443, I shall be very pleased to hear it. I am now reduced to the role of pedestrian, but with the finish of the present unpleasantness and an adequate supply of the necessary wherewithal I have every intention of taking to the road once more.

I am, Yours etc.,


58, Portland St.,


[Please write direct—Ed.]

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“Sedan Fairy’s” complaints about sports cars in general and Morgans in particular sound like one of those sad little romances which run like this :—

Girl-friend likes boy-friend but hates boy-friend’s Morgan, but boy-friend likes Morgan better than girl-friend.

This time the Morgan evidently won, but of course, flat windscreens are very shaming to any but the most permanent complexions.

A Ford V.8 Coupe is ideal for wallowing along to the local hog-trough, but, if one may venture a friendly hint, what “Sedan Fairy” really wants is a boy-friend who does his motoring by Daimler hire.

I am, Yours etc.,



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You stated that Miss Worthington has a Nash with four-cylinder twin o.h.c. Anzani R-type engine, as per Squire. This motor was, I think, fitted by Semmence, of Progress Motors, Littlehampton; I happened to see the car being rebuilt. I myself have a Squire with this type of engine (the valve gear was modified by Squires). Originally this motor put out 120 b.h.p. at 4,500 r.p.m., blown. I would be very much obliged for any information about these motors, and has anybody spares or replacements? Anzanis have only a few bits and pieces.

I am, Yours etc.,



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Si r,

My first reaction on reading the letter signed  “Sedan Fairy” in the March MOTOR SPORT was to hurl my copy across the garage With a cry of mortal agony, my second tenderly to retrieve it from dangerous proximity to a can of sump-drainings. Having somewhat recovered my mental equilibrium I decided that the letter was obviously a leg-pull, designed to arouse the female enthusiasts. For why should anyone of “Sedan Fairy’s” views read MOTOR SPORT? However, taking the letter at its face value I find it hard to understand why, in order to “advocate the American car as distinct from the English sports-car,” “Sedan Fairy” considers it necessary to describe her various boy-friends and their treatment of her.

The only remarks worth comment bearing on the relative merits of the cars are (a) that the V8 was as quick over given journeys as the sports cars—not surprising with four times the engine-capacity, and (b) an ability to climb a hill which the Singer owner was “terribly bucked” at climbing. As “Sedan Fairy” is so bored by technicalities it is obviously a waste of time to talk about power-to-weight ratio and its bearing on performance, but surely she can see that it is more meritorious for a comparatively small car to make a clean climb of a difficult hill due to skill on the part of the driver in getting the last ounce out of a highly-tuned engine than for a powerful vehicle to do so by sheer brute force?

Dealing with the complaints made, I can see no inherent reason why sports cars should run out of petrol more frequently than the American -coupe.

Being one of those “fast young ladies who seek to attract attention to themselves” by indulging in real motoring, I feel I must seize this opportunity to attract still further attention by such blatant self-advertisement as relating some of my motoring experiences in print.

My first “very own” motor was a “Brooklands” Riley Nine which, regretfully, had to be sold for financial reasons. I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of my brief ownership. My chief memory is the first occasion on which I had her really wound up, on the then newly-opened Crawley Bypass; coming upon an unexpected island I clapped on anchors with full force . . . the antics of the shocker less front end were highly diverting. She now belongs to friends, fortunately, so I can still (or could, for she is now undergoing a complete overhaul) be her passenger. My last and grandest run was with three up in the snow. We had been “towbogganing,” which, for the benefit of the uninitiated, I should explain is the art of remaining on a toboggan towed behind a car, which becomes quite interesting at over 30 m.p.h.

Refreshment was indicated; we set off in a miniature sleet-storm with aero-screens flat for a fifteen mile cross-country run. I can still feel the grand and glorious stinging of the sleet as it whipped my face, and the gradual numbness creeping down my left arm as it became drenched in icy slush sprayed up by the front wheel. On arrival at our destination we found friends, who had arrived in a family fug-box, huddled shivering over the fire, while we unpeeled layer after layer of clothing and wiped dripping mud from our faces, to emerge warm and glowing. Having refuelled with hot scones, butter, jam, cake and tea, it was now nearly dark; the Riley burst into life with a brief push-start and off we went . . . a musical whine from the indirects . . . a yellow glow from the masked headlight reflected off the crisp new snow and up into the silent trees, making an unforgettable picture with the foreground of low bonnet and stark wings of a real thoroughbred.

The homeward run was chiefly remarkable for a somewhat over-enthusiastic exhibition of cornering, culminating in a series of ninety-degree four-wheel slides and temporary running out of road; mutual agreement being reached on the inadvisability of arguing with London Transport, we then proceeded with the front end pointing approximately in the mean direction of travel. Happy memories. . . .

I am at present running a 1938 Fiat “1100,” a grand little motor for handle ability, which has, incidentally, nearly completed its 30,000 miles and stood a considerable amount of hard driving; Mr. Tubbs must certainly have caned his. It’s one great disadvantage is that it is a saloon, and as in my opinion real motoring can only be experienced in a stark open, built-for-business vehicle, I hope soon to acquire a Type 37 Bugatti—and then. . . .

I am, Yours etc.,