A web log, an æthereal scrap-book if you will, with a somewhat vintage flavour. News items, occurrences, experiences, thoughts and opinions related to Victoriana through to Fifties Americana can all be found here.
Well, as I sit out in the dappled sunshine gracing my garden it seems I've just about kept my promise from the last post to come back in April (this being the last day)! That pesky thing called life conspired to get in the way again, although there were some pleasant interludes along the way - not least an enjoyable week away in Scotland (more perhaps on that another time). Anyway, here we are again and back to it with this latest article that has been languishing in my Drafts folder for the last four months(!).
The market for retro-inspired cars is a remarkably (but perhaps unsurprisingly) popular one - one only has to look at the success of Fiat's 500 range, BMW's MINI brand or Porsche's 911 (not to mention the wonderful anachronism that is Morgan) to see the draw nostalgia still has on the motoring public. However the desire for producing cars designed to look like machines from a previous age has been around for longer than most people might think, dating back at least as far as the early 1970s. In Britain companies such as Panther, NG and Dutton rode the wave of popularity that kit cars enjoyed throughout the '70s, '80s and '90s with their models resembling prewar Jaguar SS100s, postwar MGs and Caterhams respectively, all using easily obtainable and maintainable parts usually from Fords or Triumphs. More recently international manufacturers such as Japan's Mitsuoka, Germany's Wiesmann and Australian concerns Bufori and Devaux (among many others) have produced beautiful pre- and postwar-inspired vehicles (in Mitsuoka's case based on Nissan platforms; the others relying on bespoke designs) and even more "mainstream" companies like Bentley can't resist dipping into their back-catalogue for the super-rich vintagista.
Hurtan Albaycín T2 source - Wikimedia Commons/ Berthold Werner
However, until now I must admit I had never heard of Spanish-based business Hurtan - despite the fact that they have been producing vintage-styled sports cars since 1991. Their Albacyin range has, to this author's eyes, a very definite prewar BMW or Mercedes look about it and looks all the better for it (their forthcoming Grand Albaycín has an equally attractive '60s MG vibe, I'd say). Thanks to this news story I am now fully aware of this little Spanish sports car maker and its latest model - the Vintage. Based on the already retro-inspired Jeep Wrangler 4x4, the Vintage lives up to its name and goes for the full Thirties aesthetic - with mixed results, it has to be said.
One problem with attempting to graft older designs on to modern underpinnings is overcoming the differences between the base mechanicals and the bodystyle shape. In short vintage cars tend to be smaller than more modern ones, with the result that a vintage bodystyle, when placed over a modern chassis, can look somewhat stretched and misshapen. The track (width) can look too wide, the bonnet/grille can seem a little exaggerated and very often the wheels are (admittedly sometimes by necessity) modern reproductions that tend to be too small and fitted with wider tyres, which only helps to spoil the overall look.
While the Vintage does fall into this trap somewhat, as with so many "modern vintage" reproductions it is something that cannot be avoided and while to the trained eye its Jeep origins are still obvious the aesthetic remains pleasing enough to make me glad that Hurtan created it. Very much a niche market of one it is perhaps the answer to the question "what if off-roaders had existed in the 1930s?" and enjoys the advantage that all modern reproductions have of combining vintage aesthetics with modern comfort.
Even more pleasingly I have discovered in the writing of this post that a Hurtan Vintage is plying the streets of Madrid, Toledo and Segovia as a tourist bus, taking visitors around the sights and sounds of those historic cities in suitably old-fashioned and luxurious style. I congratulate Vintage City Tours on their business idea and choice of vehicle -something that could easily be adapted for other [capital] cities around Europe (and beyond) - and if I ever visit Spain I will be sure to seek both them and Hurtan out.
We resume normal service now on Eclectic Ephemera with this heart-warming story from Washington state in America and which initially appeared in June 2023. Proof, if proof were needed, that age is no barrier to friendship - especially if interests are shared as in the case of the two gentlemen who form the subject of the article.
Serendipitous events like the one which brought this pair of enthusiasts together are the sort of thing that make the world seem a little bit of a brighter place, where two people at the opposite ends of the age spectrum can meet by chance and hit it off in such a splendid manner beneficial to them both. Quite apart from the obvious rapport that they enjoy Mr Sage gets to pass on his extensive knowledge on the subject of Model A Fords (see below for an example) to the younger generation and so ensure its ongoing perpetuation while Mr Mpare learns valuable skills - both of the life and the mechanical variety - that he has already put to good use building his very own Model A from parts sourced by the Model A Ford Club of America no less! It is simply joyous to read of how an unexpected meeting has led to this firm friendship, the passing of the torch of experience, the obvious enthusiasm shown by both men for their common interest. It goes to show that one never knows what Fate has in store for us and that unlooked-for opportunities should be embraced whenever possible - who can tell where they might lead? Once again it is also splendid to read of another "old soul" - one with a nonetheless very mature outlook on past, present and future, who understands and appreciates the importance of traditional know-how such as this and the rewards he has gained as a result - the companionship of a responsible and grounded gentleman with a lifetime of experience, which in and of itself can be of great benefit to a teenager just starting out in life (a fact that young Mr Mpare and his family clearly appreciates) and, if that wasn't enough, his own antique motor car built with his own hands! Well done and congratulations to Messrs Sage and Mpare, indeed! May their friendship continue to blossom and may many more Model A's ultimately get back on the road as a result.
A nice little article now, the last of my 2020 drafts and a pleasing showcase of a fellow vintage aficionado from Brooklyn who lives a full 1930s life with her partner.
As the accompanying video also explains, Rose Callahan has not only embraced the Thirties lifestyle and fashions but has also incorporated it into her work as a professional photographer and author. One can clearly see both her enthusiasm for the era and its fashions and the way in which her photography is imbued with the same degree of passion. That she as found in her husband Kelly Bray someone so in tune with her own interests and way of life is really lovely to see and much of what she says regarding the appeal of the interwar years, including the clothing and general style of the period, once again strikes a chord with this blogger (and I suspect, a good many other vintagistas). Their books on the subject of dandies sound most intriguing and I have a feeling I must look them up with a view to adding them to my library! In the meantime I wish Rose and Kelly continued success with their way of life and journalistic endeavours, both of which I think it safe to say are a welcome addition to the international vintage scene.
When I blogged back in July about the restoration of some traditional finger post road signs in the village of Glanton, Northumberland, I ended that post with an expression of gladness that such work was still being carried out, that it was inspiring other communities to do the same and that I hoped another eight years would not elapse before a similar news item came up again for me to mention on here (having previously posted about an antique 1904 road sign in Overstrand, Norfolk, in 2012). Well I'm happy to say that a mere four months separate the Glanton article from this next, comparable story from the charming Cumbrian village of Cartmel, which lies just north of Morecambe Bay between the towns of Barrow-in-Furness and Kendal.
In this instance the signs are of the "bladed" village name variety as opposed to the directional finger post designs featured in the previous post. Dating back even further to the Victorian era, some are even as old as 1837. In other respects though they are largely identical to the later types as seen in Glanton, being of cast iron construction and painted in contrasting black and white to stand out clearly on the rural highway for the weary traveller to see - a role they performed admirably for over a century and which they continue to do today despite the advent of the newer Warboys designs in the 1960s.
As with the Glanton fingerposts the Cartmel signs - four of them dotted around and on the outskirts of the village - have been afforded a new lease of life, ensuring their continued survival well into the future, thanks again to the efforts of the parish council and in this case the services of local lengthsman Archie Workman (surely one of the best examples of nominative determinism I've seen in a long while) and a fellow unnamed road sign enthusiast with a passion for restoring these few remaining links to past travel. (As an aside this article has been a welcome source of education for your author as it is the first time I've come across the term "lengthsman", which I've discovered is a traditional old English term dating back to beyond the 18th century used to describe anyone employed by parish councils or local landowners to keep a "length" of road clear and passable and which I'm delighted to learn is a job still being carried out today by the likes of Mr Workman.)
This sterling work is just one part of Mr Workman's aim to restore all such remaining signposts in the Furness area - 26 in all (including another seven around Cartmel), featuring the age-old Lancastrian blade and nipple-top design and originally produced by local steelworkers Thomas Graham & Sons of Preston (who I'm pleased to see are still operating). It is again wonderful to see these vintage road signs appreciated by locals and visitors alike; that there are still people out there with the interest and more importantly the skills to ensure that they can continue to be both enjoyed and made use of in their original function. I hope and believe that other local parish councils will be equally as keen as Allithwaite and Cartmel to see their Victorian-era village signs restored to their former glory by Mr Workman and his colleagues and I wish them every success in their time-honoured work.
News from Bedfordshire now of the revival of a sports car company you've probably never heard of, which is a shame as Berkeley Cars had the potential to be one of the foremost lightweight sports car manufacturers to have emerged from the fashion for microcars as a result of the Suez oil crisis of the late 1950s, and could have been a real competitor to the likes of Lotus and Austin-Healey going into the 1960s.
Berkeley Cars began life as a between British automotive engineer and designer Lawrence "Lawrie" Bond, who is best known in the U.K. for the three-wheeled microcars that bore his name - the Bond Minicars of the '50s and early '60s, the Model 875 from the late '60s and the quirky Bug that was the company's last bizarre hurrah following its acquisition by rivals Reliant in the 1970s - and Charles Panter, owner of Berkeley Coachworks, then one of the largest manufacturers of caravans in Britain. Panter has been enjoying much success with the use of glass-reinforced fibre - otherwise known as fibreglass - in the construction of his caravans and was keen to employ it in sports cars, as a supplement the seasonal caravan market. His collaboration with Bond began in 1956 with the creation of the Berkeley Sports (officially designated the Type SA322, in reference to the engine capacity), a pretty little two-seat roadster that debuted at the London Motor Show in September of that year - 12 months before the similarly-conceived Lotus Elite.
A 1956 Berkeley SA322 Sports (with a Bond Minicar of similar vintage in the background. source - Wikipædia
As with all microcars of the period the Berkeley was powered by a motorcycle engine - in the case of the SA322 a two-cylinder, two-stroke, air-cooled British Anzani motor of 322cc that put out all of 15bhp. While this may sound laughably low for any car even of that time and especially for something purporting to be a sporty roadster, the benefit of the fibreglass used in the three-piece monocoque bodyshell (which did away with the need for a conventional chassis) meant that the Sports weighed in at an incredibly light 274kg - barely ¼ of a ton - with the result of impressive acceleration and a top speed of 70mph (which I'm sure would have felt substantially faster in a little thing like that!).
The Berkeley Sports was gradually refined over the course of the following three years mainly through the use of more powerful engines, from the 18hp 3-cylinder Excelsior found in the 1957 SE328 model to the heady 30hp version of the same motor that powered the Twosome and Foursome (SE492) of 1958 - the latter a stretched four-seat variant of the original Sports model. Top speeds rose progressively to over 80mph while fuel consumption still hovered around the 50-60mpg mark - a useful and welcome performance balance as fuel restrictions continued to bite. Berkeleys even enjoyed some achievements in international rallies, with Stirling Moss’s sister Pat racing a SE328 in the 1958 Liège-Brescia-Liège Rally. The brand proved popular in the U.S. export market too, with many examples finding their way across the Pond to America where the small British sportscar was also experiencing much success and where several still survive to this day as the accompanying video (top) shows.
March 1959 saw the biggest departure from the traditional Berkeley formula to date with the introduction of a new design - the B95 (above) and B105 - at the Geneva Motor Show. This was the first to use a series of four-stroke 2-cylinder engines again borrowed from a motorcycle manufacturer, this time Royal Enfield's 40bhp Super Meteor for the B95 and their 50bhp Constellation in the B105 (allowing the latter to exceed 100mph for the first time - both cars' names deriving from their official top speeds).
Later in 1959 Berkeley launched perhaps its quirkiest vehicle but one that so successfully tapped into the prevailing motoring conditions of the time that it became the marque's single most popular model (discounting the combined production of the various Sports versions) with over 1800 built - the quaint little three-wheeled T60. With the effects of the Suez Crisis still biting and with British motoring law classing any three-wheeled vehicle under a certain weight and engine size as a motorcycle & sidecar, the fact that cars like the T60 could be driven on a motorcycle licence and taxed more cheaply than its four-wheeled competitors made it the sports car of choice for the enthusiast on a budget. A year on and the T60 was joined by the T60/4 which, like the Foursome, was a stretched version with two occasional seats in the back
The sole surviving 1960 Berkeley Bandit source - Wikipædia
Unfortunately by the end of 1960 Berkeley Coachworks' fortunes were on the wane, the victim of a downturn in the caravan market that year (combined with the cars' complex engineering and the false perception of the two-stroke engines' unreliability - particularly in the States) which eventually saw the company cease manufacturing entirely and enter administration in December. Just before the axe fell Berkeley was working on its most mainstream project yet - the Bandit (above), a smart-looking 2-seat roadster that would have used the 1-litre four-cylinder Ford engine also found in the Anglia. Another advanced fibreglass design the Bandit also had the direct input of Ford's industrial might but this was not enough to save the company from liquidation and only two prototypes were produced (one of which still survives today) before the business collapsed. Attempts to sell Berkeley as a going concern to Bond Cars' owners Sharps' Commercials Ltd came to naught and although replicas and "continuation models" were produced by various different companies in both Britain and New Zealand into the 1990s the marque has languished in relative obscurity.
Until now, that is, with the welcome news that Berkeley Cars has returned to its original home base of Biggleswade in Bedfordshire amid plans to produce a limited number of handsome-looking new sports cars that look to pay homage to the original racy microcars of the '50s both in performance and design. The company appears to be aware of the limitations inherent in the niche sportscar market with its aim to make no more than sixty examples of the new Bandit and although £40-60k may sound a lot for a relatively unknown start-up it is about right for the market particularly given the advanced nature of the construction and powertrains. I'm especially interested to note the proposed use of plant-based substances in place of more common modern lightweight materials such as carbon-fibre, which should give the new Bandit a very competitive kerb weight and thus excellent performance. On that front there are more exciting-sounding forward-looking plans, with the suggestion of electric, fuel cell and even hydrogen power being offered alongside more conventional petrol options.
All in all it looks to be a very interesting proposal and one that I hope succeeds and then some. An advanced, lightweight roadster which uses modern, sustainable technology while still nodding to its past would be a welcome addition to the British sportscar ranks and I wish the new Berkeley Coachworks business well, with better fortunes than its innovative and inspirational predecessor.
On the face of it the headline of this article appears to be somewhat convoluted so let's begin by putting any confusion to bed and solving this apparent geographical jigsaw puzzle.
What we have here then is an 1890s-vintage elevator (or lift, as we call it on this side of the Pond) made by the Warner Elevator Company of Cincinnati, Ohio and which has recently been unearthed during the refurbishment of the Detroit Hotel - located not in Illinois but rather in St Petersburg. Not the Russian city of St Petersburg though, but the town of St Petersburg in Florida. All this confusion can be laid squarely at the door of the town's founders Peter Demens and John C. Williams, who as the article explains reached an agreement in 1888 to build the hotel as part of an important railway deal for the then new town. Russian-born Demens, who was instrumental in bringing the railway to St Petersburg, gave the town its name in honour of his birthplace. Williams, meanwhile, hailed from Detroit City and in exchange for buying the land from Demens decided to name the subsequent hotel after his home town. I'm sure it all makes perfect sense to the native Floridans but, my word, they could have made it easier by just coming up with some original names!
Anyway, with the hope that that's at least partially cleared up any lingering misunderstanding (and not added to it) let's move on to the main discovery detailed in this article - and what a discovery it is! It is nothing less than a fantastic find - a near 120-year old electrically-operated lift that has lain undisturbed for decades, boarded up and hidden behind some later remodelling work. Now as part of some extensive works being carried out to turn the building into a steampunk-themed pub restaurant - an excellent and by the sounds of it welcome idea for the town - the original compartment, doors, motor and even cables (albeit long-since cut) have been uncovered by workmen brought in to gut the interior. In addition many more early features were revealed during the renovations including an old staircase, fireplace, telephone switchboard complete with handwritten room numbers and even some sections of hand-painted wallpaper!
These revelations alone are remarkable for - as local historians have said - there is little left in St Petersburg of its early history, so a discovery such as this is especially significant and rightly of great importance to the town. The unearthing of something on this scale is arguably of even greater scope than mere regional interest, for there cannot be that many buildings left in the world of such an age that are still hiding such wonderful gems and in America especially where something of this age is considered practically ancient it is a particularly noteworthy find.
I'm therefore delighted to see that not only have these incredible vestiges of the hotel's early years been found but that everyone involved in their rediscovery, from the owners to the contractors, recognise the importance of them and what is more are keen to incorporate them into the building's redesign. Everything looks likely to be inventively saved in one form or another - the lift to be converted either into a private dining table or photo booth, the stairs kept on show as a centrepiece and even the wallpaper framed. That the theme of the new venue is to be a steampunk one is indeed a splendidly fitting coincidence and has assured these valuable relics will be preserved for the people of St Petersburg to enjoy for years to come. The whole project sounds most impressive and I look forward to seeing the end result; should I ever find myself in St Petersburg, Florida I would certainly make a point of visiting the finished eatery.
Back when we were still going through the first wave of Covid, but still pertinent today, come these two strikingly similar news items from either side of the Atlantic featuring the use of antique machinery in the fight against the spread of coronavirus. In each case this involves the manufacture of homemade face masks - albeit with a vintage twist (of course!) in the form of traditional sewing machines being pressed into service to make them. The stories are almost identical in fact, the only real differences being the geography and the fact that the second effort also benefits a local charity, with both even including the same machine - the ubiquitous 1920s-30s Singer.
To begin with the first article we head over the Pond to the town of Arvada in Colorado where Giselle Williams, the owner of a local business hit like so many by the pandemic, has taken advantage of a long-forgotten family heirloom and her husband's technical restoration abilities - not to mention his own sewing skills! - to produce face masks for not only the local community but for people around the world. This previously dormant piece of equipment is nothing other than her great-great-grandmother's 1922 Singer Model 66 sewing machine, which until Covid struck had been languishing in the Williams' loft. Now thanks to Mr Williams it has been given a new lease of life; dusted down, re-oiled and even fitted with an electric motor as so many old Singers subsequently were (like much old technology they were designed to be repaired and upgraded rather than thrown away and replaced) it is performing sterling service helping to make upwards of thirty masks a day alongside a more modern Juki machine.
This is truly a heart-warming story in every respect - from the rediscovery of the century-old machine and its refurbishment by the husband, to his imparting the sewing skills he learnt from his own grandmother to his wife and the opportunity it has given both of them to provide a much-appreciated service to those near and far who have need of it, not to mention the chance to reconnect to their ancestors through a machine both of them would have used. I'm very pleased to see them make such a success of the project and so be able to continue their business in an important new direction and I wish them well in their vintage-inspired endeavour!
Back over in England now for the second equally heart-warming and remarkably parallel article, this time featuring two retired friends in Shropshire working together to provide face masks to local general stores in Wolverhampton, Bridgnorth and Telford with all proceeds from sales going to the Midlands Air Ambulance charity. And just as with the Colorado business it is all being done with the aid of a near 100-year-old Singer sewing machine, in this case a 1934 Singer Model 127(?) that belonged to the mother of one of the ladies and which far from supplementing a more modern model actually ended up replacing the newer machine after it was unable to cope with the pace of production! Now having far exceeded their original target of both face masks and charitable donations these two indomitable ladies are well on their way to continuing to churn out handmade masks for the local community, with the local air ambulance still standing to benefit. Their sewing machine shows no signs of stopping either and with plans for Hallowe'en- and Christmas-inspired designs literally on the table this is another pop-up concern that seems destined for ongoing success and rightly so.
Both these stories are a welcome reminder that old technology can still have its uses - sometimes over newer advancements and sometimes in partnership with them - especially in trying times such as these when it behoves us to all pull together and make good use of what equipment we have at our disposal. I know for a fact that these two accounts are not rare occurrences, as my own mother has also been hard at work at her machine making masks for friends and family. Until several years ago she also had a Singer of similar vintage to the Mmes. Harrison and Warrilow, which Dad had converted to electric pedal power, but alas it became to heavy and bulky for her to use comfortably so it was sent on to pastures new and replaced with a modern machine. Judging by these two stories, however, I wouldn't be the least surprised if it is still out there somewhere working away happily - perhaps even helping to make a face mask or two!
The service in this instance is a twice-daily run from Gateshead in Tyne & Wear to Chester-le-Street in County Durham, North Yorkshire, as part of a regular scheduled route operated by local bus company Go North East. With the social distancing rules currently in place giving public transport operators major headaches (most bus companies at the moment being forced to run at barely 25% of their normal capacity) Go North East have hit on a wizard wheeze to try and maximise capacity and minimise passenger contact on its busy Number 21 route by wheeling out a 1960s Routemaster from its local heritage fleet in order to help take some of the pressure off the rest of its buses.
The result looks to be a wonderful trip back in time married to a [hopefully] safer method of public travel for the people of Tyneside, who I hope will be able to enjoy and appreciate this little bit of vintage effort to combat the social effects of Covid-19. Whether Go North East will be able to continue with it in light of the direction things seem to be taking again remains to be seen - we can only hope that another lock-down can be averted and that demand for the service continues to be high enough to warrant the ongoing use of this splendid old Routemaster. In any event it is great to see yet another vintage bus being brought back to its original role, especially to aid people in these particularly difficult times, and I am sure it will not be the last time such a story features on here. In the meantime a jolly well done to Go North East and the North-East Bus Preservation Trust and here's wishing many more happy miles for their service 21 Routemaster.
This is another blog post I've been keeping back for a while with a view to publishing it when I would be incommunicado in hospital but with things on that front still uncertain and the subject in question of particular interest to the likes of us I feel that now is the time to share it with the rest of the vintage blogosphere.
The two articles featured in this post are equally gratifyingly in-depth studies of an area of our lives that we are all very familiar with - the vintage lifestyles that we all wholeheartedly embrace to one degree or another. I use the word "gratifyingly" as so very often pieces such as these incline at best towards the gently mocking and tend to make my blood boil with their inherent misunderstandings - often implying that we're all a bunch of rabid right-wing leaning Conservatives longing after the return of an imperialist yoke, of women "knowing their place" in the home, of a strict social order and a world that was generally far more hidebound than the one we live in today. It is for this reason that I rarely feature such critiques on here and why the one in the Guardian was an especially pleasant surprise to read, as in my experience they have a habit of scorning anything old-fashioned - with the traditional being an anathema to that particular organ, which is more often keen to try and point out - however tenuously - the negative aspects of the past (as in this recent, rather meandering and largely specious piece on men's suits in [spy] films).
Indeed this frequently pervading attitude that I'm sure we've all encountered - that we're wearing rose-tinted spectacles and desperately trying to live warts-and-all in a past that never truly existed - is something that I have blogged about a couple of times previously (once in 2010 and again in 2011); both of which obviously struck a chord with my readers judging by the number and type of comments I received. I don't intend to repeat everything I said in those posts here again as they remain as valid today as they were ten years ago, although in light of these two recent commentaries I do think it worth revisiting some of the overarching views I expressed at the time.
Both editorials (but the Guardian's in particular), whilst being largely positive about the subject, do touch upon the idea that by engaging in nostalgia and living a vintage lifestyle we are somehow embracing every aspect of our preferred era both good and bad. This is a view that for the life of me I have never been able to understand - a myopic, one-dimensional perspective that insults us by suggesting that we are unable to recognise the reprehensible aspects of our favoured time or are more than happy to include them in our lives. Within this is also the view that we should be grateful for all the changes - both social and technological - that have occurred in the modern age and that by supposedly turning our backs on the present we are somehow denigrating the achievements we have made in the last century or so. (Which we're not, as I've said before - many of us, myself included, just want to take the best of our chosen era and marry it to the best the 21st century has to offer.) This belief has always struck me as a something of a double standard - to accuse us of liking all aspects of a previous era while at the same time insisting that it is in some way unnatural of us not to look forward and embrace all that the present has to offer is in many ways just as deprecating to the memory of the past. I made the case in my 2011 post that in many respects we do appear to have thrown the baby out with the bathwater over the last fifty years or so - a view echoed by at least one of the Guardian interviewees and one that I still stand by. To use a further analogy, how is it seen as "weird" for those of us with a penchant for a certain era to dress in the fashions of that time - fashions that can be æsthetically pleasing, sustainable and sympathetic to all body types - yet perfectly acceptable for middle-aged, overweight men (for example) to wear the artificial, ill-fitting football strip of their favourite team? Where is the difference? Why is one seen as "normal" and the other not?
This attitude is also reflected in the somewhat negative terminology used by these commentators to describe us, both in the Guardian article and elsewhere. "Retromania[cs]" is a particularly derogatory phrase in my book, once again tacitly ascribing the characteristics of a mental illness to our choice of lifestyle. "Refuseniks" is another term that seems to be gaining currency, which continues to suggest that we are being actively obdurate and vehemently opposed to certain aspects of modern life. Here again we see the use of injurious language to describe a group whose perfectly harmless way of living is in some way incomprehensible to those keen to pass judgement. What's wrong with a more unbiased term like "vintagista" - or why not just use existing nonpartisan words such as "vintage enthusiast"?
From my own perspective I am reminded of an ethos that is very appropriate in respect of the above; one I have always striven to live by, given to me by a most unlikely of sources but which has always stood me in good stead and should really be the credo of all right-thinking people:
"While men are decent to me I try to be decent to them, regardless of race, colour, politics, creed or anything else. I've travelled a bit, and taking the world by and large, it's my experience that with a few exceptions there's nothing wrong with the people on it, if only they were left alone to live how they wanted to live." Biggles, from "Biggles Delivers The Goods", 1946
However I am pleased to see that - in line with my own encounters with fellow "living historians" - every single one of the interviewees in each column come across as intelligent, educated individuals who are as keen as we all are to put these misconceptions to bed. I was particularly pleased to see more than one respondent explain - as I did back in 2010 - that many of us like to take the best facets from both worlds and how there is nothing wrong with that.
Indeed let's focus more now on the positive bits of these two news items - and they are many - from the pleasure of a dozen vintage enthusiasts happily discussing their lifestyles and fashion choices to the interesting and in some cases insightful socially scientific theories expounded by the scholars. Although we may not entirely agree with all of the latter it is nevertheless thought-provoking to see them laid out in a largely unbiased fashion for a change and as hypotheses more than as accusations.
Then of course there is the pure enjoyment in seeing well-dressed individuals taking pride in their appearance and embracing the eras of their choice, one or more of which we can appreciate ourselves. Unsurprisingly what especially comes across is the feeling of camaraderie and community that the entire vintage movement fosters - the support, encouragement and almost familial sense of togetherness that often results when a group of like-minded people share a common interest and which is thrown into even starker relief in the face of some of the more negative remarks we have to put up with. It's good to see the benefits of modern technology also highlighted, particularly the positive aspects of social media which allow us to engage with other vintagistas maybe half a world away whom we might never actually meet - something that I have blogged about previously and which I'm sure we're all grateful for. The irony in this is of course that it pours further cold water on the idea that we are all technophobes who use nothing more advanced than a Bakelite telephone (well, sometimes we do I suppose!). And we haven't even touched upon the æsthetic and ecological properties of the clothing, accessories and furnishings that can be intrinsic to the vintage lifestyle, as mentioned in both papers.
To finish on that last point, as this is rapidly turning into another essay and I'm alive to the fact that it links to two other long-read stories, I will just add my own view to those espoused by several of the vintagistas on the subject of "mixing things up" and going for your own style over attempting a specific period-accurate look.
I consider myself to have been a vintage aficionado since my early twenties, so we're talking nearly 15 years now (yikes!), but my wardrobe actually contains precious few items that one would consider properly "vintage" (and in relation to clothing that is quite an elastic term, as we know - I mean some people are calling stuff from the 1990s "vintage" for goodness' sake! - but for the purposes of this discussion let's say anything that's over 50 years old, i.e. pre-1970). Taking that as a basis I in fact have only one piece of clothing that I can definitively date to within that period and that is my 1940s Kaufmann wool overcoat (above) gifted to me by an aunt a few years ago. I have a few jackets, such as a Harris Tweed job from Dunn & Co, that were picked up from vintage fairs over the years but of course that is no guarantee of age these days and I suspect they were probably made after my self-imposed 1970 cut-off.
The truth is most of my wardrobe is sourced from modern clothes shops - those found on the high street like Marks & Spencer and Debenhams as well as the various online emporia listed on the top left of this blog. I realise I am fortunate, as a chap, that men's fashion has in essence changed little over the decades (and certainly since my specific era of interest, the interwar years of the 1920s & '30s) so I am able to approximate the period look I crave to my satisfaction without having to resort to purely vintage garments. In other words, just like with so many vintagistas such as those in these articles, I mix and match modern - sometimes "vintage-style" - clothes with the few more valued retro items I own. As an example (and at the risk of frightening the horses), this more recent photo (right) has me sporting what is perhaps my favourite look - a 1930s chappist vibe that is achieved using only one truly "vintage" item. That is the jacket, which is a St Michael (M&S) job - an '80s-does-'30s type, I'd say - that I picked up in a charity shop in Canterbury a couple of years ago. Everything else is modern - the trilby from Village Hats, the bow tie from Tieroom, the shirt from Charles Tyrwhitt, the trousers from BHS (sadly missed) and the shoes (brown Oxfords, unseen) from Clarks. I hope this goes to show that one doesn't need deep pockets, nor have to spend hours trawling the likes of eBay (unless that's your sort of thing, of course, and I own it can be fun and rewarding sometimes), to get a look that will pass muster on the vintage scene. This particular outfit has garnered many a positive comment at various events, if I do say so myself (as well as admiring glances from little old ladies, much to my fiancée's chagrin!) and I hope this positive reaction is encouraging to anyone just starting out on the path to vintage enlightenment; you don't have to go all-out for vintage items straightaway - everything is attainable if you know where to look and how to put various items together. As the Auld Holyrood girls say - there are no rules and nothing wrong with throwing different things together to get a successful look as you work your way towards a fully vintage wardrobe, however long that might take.
The only difficulty in sourcing vintage-style clothing currently is the lamentable state of both high street clothes shops and some online stores - all of which are understandably struggling in these covid times but in the case of some like M&S and Debenhams are not helping themselves by making it unclear what market they're in, trying to go after the youth department in a misguided attempt to appear "relevant" only to alienate their existing [older] customer base and lose sales from both camps. Interestingly there was an article in the Daily Telegraphrecently that suggested M&S should reintroduce the St Michael label (defunct since the late '90s/ early 2000s ) in light of its popularity among the vintage set. It is sadly rare now that I find anything suitable from either of these stores. Unfortunately, as a result of covid hitting sales by encouraging people to work at home in their pyjamas (I mean why, for God's sake?! If only more people would realise the [mental] health benefits of dressing smartly, especially in the middle of a pandemic - something that has also been highlighted in both stories and which has previously been commented on here and elsewhere) we are also seeing the demise or decline of several once-great men's outfitters. Already T.M. Lewin have permanently closed all their physical stores and moved to online only, with Moss Bros. looking to follow suit (no pun intended!), while in America the likes of Brooks Brothers and Jos A. Bank have been teetering on the verge of bankruptcy for the last few months. This kind of thing doesn't bode well for the future of more traditional menswear but I'm still optimistic that there will remain a decent selection of gentlemen's outfitters where one can find the sort of vintage-style clothes that we can employ in achieving the look we desire - it's just that many more of them will be online-only (which brings with it its own set of difficulties - getting the right fit, for example - none of which cannot be overcome however).
That's enough to be going on with for the moment, though, I think. I'm not normally in the habit of doing that many massive posts but something about these articles has again clearly had an effect on me and I hope they have made an impression with you too. If you've made it this far - well done! - and I'd be delighted to read your comments, whether you agree or disagree with what I've written or not, and what you think of both commentaries.
By far and away the most popular post ever published on Eclectic Ephemera was my study of the cars driven by two of our favourite fictional (alas!) chaps - Bertie Wooster and Captain Hastings. Originally composed in June 2014 it has to date racked up a frankly astonishing 19,516 views and continues to attract comments more than six years after publication. Clearly it has proved popular with both Wodehouse and Hastings fans the world over and it has been some recent comments from a few of the former that has inspired me to revisit the topic once again.
In my original post I focussed on the shared automotive tastes of Messrs. Wooster and Hastings in the form of the two interconnected marques of Aston Martin (Bertie) and Lagonda (Hastings). At the time I mentioned that neither character's motor was specified in the books and while that may be true in the case of Captain Hastings ("The Cases of Captain Hastings" - now there's an idea for some fanfic!) it was subsequently pointed out to me that Wodehouse did name-check two makes of car in a couple of his Jeeves books so it struck me as the perfect opportunity to make another post out of the fact and to set the record straight. (I was also corrected in the matter of the car Plum was pictured in outside a friend's home in Norfolk in 1928, which I had initially [mis]identified as a Morris Oxford Bullnose but which in fact was an AC 12hp Tourer.)
Wodehouse in his AC 12hp Tourer (NOT a Morris Bullnose), outside Hunstanton
Hall, Norfolk in 1928.
Bertie Wooster's Sunbeam
I did say in my initial post that "to my certain knowledge" P. G. Wodehouse never referenced the car Bertie drives and only has him allude to "the old two-seater" or "sports model"; this was I admit based on a brief and slightly hazy recollection of all the Jeeves stories I had read over the years and even then there was a nagging doubt in the back of my mind that somewhere there was a reference to a specific model but short of going back through the whole collected works - a not unpleasant undertaking to be sure but rather a big job for a simple blog post! - I wasn't sure how I was going to go about identifying it.
Thanks however to a comment on the original post from an anonymous Wodehousian a couple of months ago my information was updated and memory jogged so that I was reminded that in the short story "Bertie Changes His Mind" (from the book Carry On, Jeeves) the character of Peggy Mainwairing, a schoolgirl Bertie and Jeeves give a lift to, asks of our hero "What's your car? A Sunbeam, isn't it?". While no further detail is given either in this or later stories Wodehouse scholars have alighted on the 1925 Sunbeam 20/60 Sports as being the most likely candidate and I can certainly understand why (1925 being the year of Carry On, Jeeves' publication for one thing).
One could easily see Bertie and Jeeves pootling along in such a car as this - the 20/60 being marketed against the equivalent 20hp Rolls-Royce of the period; available in a number of different bodystyles built by either Sunbeam or various coachbuilders on a standard chassis (as was the practice of the time), the Sports model was offered as a two-seater (with a separate dickey seat in the back) and looks every inch the spiffy vehicle that would have appealed to a chap like Wooster.
The history of the Sunbeam cars is a rather convoluted one and would easily fill an entire blog post alone. Suffice to say that, like so many early 20th century car companies, Sunbeams roots can be found in late 19th century bicycle manufacture - in this case the creation of Wolverhampton businessman and engineer John Marston. A keen cyclist, in the 1870s he branched out from manufacturing tinplate into making his own bicycles with the name "Sunbeam" being suggested by his wife Ellen. As with many Victorian entrepreneurs Marston wanted his machines to of the highest quality and Sunbeam Cycles were soon widely regarded as among the best available, a reputation it held on to until bicycle production ceased in 1936. The company began making motorcars around 1901-1902 but then in 1905 the business was split up, with the newly-formed Sunbeam Motor Car Company Ltd taking over car production while Sunbeam Cycles continued in the ownership of Marston (with motorcycle production lasting until 1956).
Louis Coatalen in his Sunbeam Nautilus, Brooklands 1910
source - Wikimedia Commons
In the years prior to the Great War the Sunbeam Motor Company grew to become a serious contender in the luxury car market, rivalling the likes of Rolls-Royce, Bentley and Daimler. Under the auspices of French automotive engineer Louis Coatalen, who joined the company in 1909 as chief designer, Sunbeam branched out into motor racing and Land Speed Record cars; during the First World War it also produced aero engines and commercial vehicles (the latter continuing until the mid-1960s and encompassing buses, trams, trolleybuses and even milk floats!). Following the war's end Sunbeam merged with two competitors, Darracq and Talbot but each would continue as separate entities. The 1920s were Sunbeam's heyday with its luxury limousines and sports models like the 20/60 proving popular with the well-heeled set of the time. The 20/60 was produced from 1924 to 1932 in various bodystyles ranging from large 6-seater limousines, through 4-seater open tourers to rarer examples like this drophead coupe - only three of which still exist, including this one currently for sale (and you know what they say - if you have to ask the price...).
Sunbeam struggled to survive the Depression of the Thirties; in 1934 after a string of financial losses the company was sold to the Rootes Group, one of the first massive automotive conglomerates which already counted Hillman, Humber and Singer among its brands. Seeing the way the market was going Rootes repositioned Sunbeam as more of an everyman's car, combining it with the Talbot nameplate to create Sunbeam-Talbot, a situation that lasted until the mid-1950s when the Talbot name was dropped and Sunbeam began making sports cars such as the Alpine and Tiger.
Sadly the decline of Sunbeam began shortly thereafter in the 1960s; over the following 20 years the company was sold to Chrysler Europe (who reintroduced the Talbot sub-brand), before being passed on to Peugeot who eventually pulled the plug on both brands in 1981. But it is Sunbeam's glory days of the 1920s that we are concerned with here and this 20/60 Super Sports DHC from the middle of that decade is fully deserving of Bertie's attention.
Bertie Wooster's "Widgeon" The only other car to get a name check in the Jeeves books is in Thank You, Jeeves, where Bertie is noted as driving a "Widgeon Seven". This is definitely a fictitious vehicle (and nothing to do with his friend and fellow Drones Club member Freddie Widgeon) but is most likely to be based on the Austin 7, that brand's ubiquitous small runabout. I won't go into the history of the Austin brand here (I've already gone on long enough about Sunbeam) and it is unclear why Plum felt it necessary to change the name (if indeed that's what he did) unless he thought - as has been suggested by Wodehouse scholars - that an Austin was somewhat beneath the likes of the moneyed Bertie. While this may be true of the standard saloon and convertible models, again - like many cars of its time - the Seven was available in a multitude of bodystyles and its cheap asking price and simple, lightweight mechanicals made it popular as an everyday racer with a number being produced in quite sporty designs. It's entirely possible that one of these could have appealed to Bertie and this may be what Wodehouse was thinking of when he was writing Thank You, Jeeves.
The most sporting of the Sevens were the two-seater Sports models with such wonderful pre-war names like Nippy (Brum, anyone?), Speedy, Brooklands and Ulster - the latter two taken from those models' many successes at the Ards racing circuit in Northern Ireland and at Brooklands in Surrey - and once again one can readily imagine Bertie and Jeeves whizzing along the country roads of England or around the back roads of Mayfair in just such a car.
Surviving examples of Austin 7 Sports variants are also thin on the ground these days; although perhaps not quite so rare as the Sunbeam, with prices starting at around £25,000 for a decent rebuild replica (a modern-build body on an original chassis) rising to £40k for an original Brooklands. Definitely the best way into owning a set of Wooster wheels considering the prices of Sunbeams and Aston Martins!
Right, on to Captain Hastings and his "other" car now (don't worry, we're nearly at the end!). Our hero had always been very faithful to his beloved Lagonda so it came as something of a surprise to learn that in The Adventure of the Italian Nobleman he was seriously considering exchanging it for an "Elisio Freccia"! "Considering" is the right term, too, seeing as he seemed to spend the first half of the episode vacillating over writing the cheque ("I've got it marked in my diary. It says 'decide about car.'").
Once again the "Elisio Freccia" is a made-up vehicle and not a real make or model, but the car it is based on is certainly one of the most beautiful and rarefied Italian sports cars of the interwar period - the 1935 Alfa Romeo 8C 2900.
The 8C traces its lineage back to the 2300 model of 1931, which was a pure-bred racing car designed for the famous Italian road race the Mille Miglia. A few two-seaters were produced for sale to the public, as well as single seater Grand Prix types (known as P3 Monopostos) which were entered in the 1932 Italian GP. In the following years the model was refined as the 2600 in 1933 and subsequently the 2900 in 1935, which is precisely when Captain Hastings comes in as the 8C 2900A was first shown and advertised for sale at the 1935 London Motor Show. I can just see the good Captain being in attendance and having his eye drawn by this racy Italian beauty, albeit as the fictional "Elisio Freccia". I can understand his reluctance to part with the cheque, though, seeing as the asking price for an Alfa Romeo 2300 in 1931 was over £1,000 (£70k in today's money). Having said that he'd be even less likely to spend out on one today - a 1937 8C 2900B selling for a breathtaking $4 million back in 1999, the result of only 33 such models ever having been produced.
In the event, though, our favourite chap ends up keeping his trusty Lagonda after stuffing "his" Elisio Freccia into the villain's Vauxhall (have no fear, though - no priceless classic cars were injured in the making of this film, a jerry-built mock-up being used for the final crash scene) following what has to be the greatest chase scene in the history of film. Never mind Bullitt, Ronin and all the rest, Hastings' heroics has everything - a flock of geese, broken crockery, a charabanc full of old ladies, not to mention his fantastic finishing move!
"You SWINE! That's for Miss Lemon!"
source - Pinterest
So there we have it, then - our two top chaps and three more of their favourite voitures. I hope you've enjoyed reading this post as much as I have writing it (if you've made it this far); it's even given me an idea for a series of blog posts based around the cars of fictional detectives and literary characters (bearing in mind how well - or not! - I get on with series posts), continuing with Margery Allingham's Albert Campion and Dorothy L. Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey. Until then we can carry on delighting in the supreme Thirties motoring that these two splendid coves continue to afford us.
