I MARRIED A CAR (And it ended in tears) (by AK from "Wheels Within" No 346, August 2008)
This story is about one day in February, about a car we had at the time and my frustrated endeavours to get a better one. In fact the year was 1967 and the date was the 7th. A couple of years prior to this I had married and as the finance company owned more of my car than I did it had to be sold. So in effect I married a car, the one my beloved already owned and what's more was paid for. I married a 1955 Austin A50, a good car for their time, I suppose, but not as I watched HR Holdens and XR Falcons whizzing around. Besides in this A50 the quality British engineering allowed the head to crack on any journey over one hour's duration in temperatures exceeding 70 F ( that’s 27C for the youngish) or at a very minimum a blown head gasket.
Really this car had to go, but how? We had just bought a house. So we used the A50 and repaired it until that fateful day 7th February 1967 which many will recall as the deadly bushfires in Southern Tasmania. Now this is not really a story about the fires that day but this bit needs to be told. We both worked in the City and as that day dawned there was no hint of the chaos and drama that was to unfold for everyone. Heading home to protect our property, as we drove through the City it appeared that the fire was approaching Hobart from what seemed like all directions and the journey to Lauderdale was a painting of purple, black and red as the sun tried to pierce the wind driven clouds of smoke, a most eerie sight. As we neared the Tasman Bridge in the A50 all approaching traffic had headlights on because it seemed day had become night and the headlights showed as a purple /mauve colour. Apart from the weird sensations of a coloured atmosphere and a journey into the unknown all went well until we approached the quarry near the top of the hill from Howrah to Rokeby. Here a small convoy of cars, whose occupants had a similar goal to ours, that is to get home to protect their property, was halted at a police roadblock. A police officer advised that Rokeby village was already on fire and that we could not proceed and if we did so it would be at our own risk. He added that Margaret could not proceed past this point as women were not allowed to go any further. Well! Red rag to a bull - that officer got a quick female view on equal rights thinking and we sped off. Many houses in Rokeby were indeed on fire, including a two storey heritage building housing the post office at the roadside on the inside of the left hand bend in the centre of the village. As we slowly went past the building its flames, driven by high winds, licked towards the car and I recall feeling the searing heat from it as I accelerated past. I had my first inkling that the A50 may not survive the drive and as a result nor may we.
As we, in a small convoy of other cars, perhaps five, moved out of Rokeby toward where the Police Academy now stands there was general fire chaos around and we saw a power pole crash across the road just in front of us, having burnt through at the base. We saw that a series of other poles were on fire, but the one that fell across the road was being supported a metre (i.e. three feet in 1967) above the roadway by wires, blocking our access. At this point I was having a lot of trouble keeping our A50’s engine going, a possible disaster in the making. I was aware that with the extreme temperatures the petrol in the fuel lines was evaporating before it could reach the engine. The engine temperature was also off the gauge by now. The only remedy was to keep moving, and therefore stopping was not a great idea. Whilst I was preoccupied keeping the engine reving hard, someone in the confusion yelled out that if we all got under the power pole we could work it off the road sufficiently high to enable us all to drive under the lines.
Someone else yelled that it would be okay as the power would have been cut by now. Getting Margaret to slide across the bench seat to keep the accelerator depressed in an attempt to keep the engine alive, I joined the others to execute to pole propping plan. The trick was to grab the pole where it was not burning and stand it up like an old clothes prop, which we successfully accomplished in order to get the cars under the now taut wires. The first vehicle to try this maneuver was immediately in front of us and was higher then our Austin, so touched the wires as it went under, giving off a shower of sparks from its roof. This sent a shiver through us as, only moments before we had all been walking around the area where live broken wires had been on the ground. Nevertheless we took our turn to go under without touching the wires, Margaret having kept the engine going successfully. By then the motor was so hot it amazed me it would run at all and we had to speed as fast as possible to avoid being trapped in the fire as further poles burned and fell.
As we approached Lauderdale we could see that whilst there was lots of smoke, no fire had approached as yet, which luckily gave us the time to get home and grab valuables for evacuation to somewhere. As we grabbed things I kept an eye through the smoke for any sign of flames and eventually spotted them in the form of the tops of eucalypt trees bursting into fireballs and racing on to the next at incredible speed. From our teaching we were aware that the main fire storm was at ground level and not far behind. The air was now full of showers of sparks and burning brands starting spot fires near us, faster than we could comprehend as the wind increased and the noise level was that of a hundred jet engines it became difficult to think straight. The heat was searing us and the noise assaulted us. Well at this point the Austin decided it had done its job in getting us home and at this most crucial juncture refused to start. British crap. The English obviously had never had an extreme temperature day or indeed a catastrophic bush fire. With the main fire right upon us it was a save yourself situation. So with possessions wrapped in our new blankets we headed for the beach only 50 metres away.
At this point, amid the absolute chaos I executed a devilish plan to find the money to get a new car. Brilliant! I thought. As the windows of the A50 were already wound down, I left them down and fled. We figured both house and car were in imminent danger as dwellings were already burning close by, so some firm forgetfulness toward the Austin’s demise would not go astray. Now I have never had criminal tendencies but at the time it seemed like a perfectly good idea and that whichever insurance company I was with would never know about. Besides, I was just forgetful and left the windows down, didn’t I ?
Well how did this story get its name? No, as you might be thinking the house survived much to our delight, where some around it went. We were ecstatic. However what is that old saying? “Cheats never prosper”, the A50 also survived the inferno, damn! To make matters even worse the paintwork was seared to a shabby state and where I had left the windows open hoping for more from the fire, some burning brands had scorched and burnt holes in the upholstery etc. Whilst examining the damage to the car and thinking of what might have been if my fiendish plan had worked, tears started streaming down my face. Perhaps the disappointment had gotten to me. Or was it the smoke?
Copyright AK 2008
