The Ugly Ducklings Spread their Wings

It is amazing how when the timing is right, things just fall into place.

My dad loved old cars, so it probably all his fault. One day when visiting him in Cape Town, in the days when I used to live far away in Johannesburg, we passed a car rental lot on the way to his place. In the lot was an old Jaguar from the fifties. It was beautiful, stately, black, and elegant. It had been completely refurbished, and now sported new leather, gleaming wood finishes, electric windows, and air conditioning. Certainly not something a purist would appreciate but it made an impression on me. The car had been sold to a buyer in the UK for the then princely sum of 10,000 pounds.

That day, was the beginning of the end for me. I started to believe I could drive around in a beautiful old car and it would be wonderful. A young man’s dream with no possible hope for success! 

The thing about dreams, is that if you want them badly enough, they can come true.

My dream went seriously awry when I got stuck into the refurbishment of a 1956 Ford pickup truck. Hardly a classic beauty, more pure American muscle. If you have seen the movie, ‘The Expendables’, then you will have have seen Stallone driving a copy of my truck, except mine has far less bullet holes and road rage damage.

About a year ago, I saw a Jaguar I fancied from the sixties. It was parked at a garage I had just started to use for my truck. I asked the garage owner about it and he told me the owner was interested in selling. I started to day dream. The emigrating owner would only sell this beautiful jaguar together with two other sixties Jaguars he had. A package deal, beauty and the two ugly ducklings! After not agonising too long over the decision, I bought all three of them.

The beautiful one is still in the garage, but that is another long story. Any day now, and she will spread her wings...

As for the rusting hulks, they have lived in the open for the last year. I have on occasion kicked their tyres to make them feel loved. They were parked at the back of my mind too, well out of conscious thought.  I knew I would have to deal with them one day.

Then last week, I responded to an advert on Gumtree where somebody was looking for old Jaguar project cars. Lo and behold after some negotiation, the advertiser agreed to buy the worst of the two cars, in order to break it down for spares. Being inspired I posted an advert on Gumtree for the other one. The amount of calls I received for this stationary 45 year old car has been staggering. Yesterday it was sold!

This week, I hope to have them removed from the garage to their new owners. And of course to collect some bonanza cash! Now was just the right time. I would never have believed I could sell these two derelict cars in the space of a week. I am thoroughly amazed though, by the peace of mind the sales have brought me. Obviously these old ladies have been occupying some valuable brain space. With them moving on, I can find something more important to park up there!

Right now my dream is still alive, and you can be sure Donna is very happy to see the car count reduce by two!

Oh Guinevere

Life is full of sneaky twists and turns. My 1950’s sex kitten found herself ensnared in a dark, hot, rail car carrier, with no intention of leaving. Much to my bitter disappointment! Although brute force and a little ingenuity dissolved that disappointment into some barely disguised joy.

My mechanic, Kevin, and I set off good and early for the Cape Town Station. I call Kevin the mechanic, but he owns a garage in my town that specialises in Jaguars, so he is way more than that. We arrived early and as luck would have it, the train arrived two hours late! A chance encounter with my mom broke the tedium of waiting on platform 24 for transport that seemed determined not to arrive. She offered to stay with us but luckily we packed her off on a different train home.


It did arrive in its own sweet time, disgorging its multitudes of passengers, and heaps of dirty bed linen, before beginning the process of shunting its two car carriers. That took a little longer! The car carriers spewed forth car after car, none of which resembled my precious Guinevere. I was a little apprehensive, unsure if she was there, or even if I had made a good decision to acquire her.

And then we saw her. Parked at the back of the top level of the car carrier; grey and forlorn. She had spent the whole trip sulking and so refused to start. That posed a little problem considering it was pitch dark and more than a tight squeeze. Her handbrake had been wrenched up so high that her brakes were locked in place and so pushing her out was out of the question.

The railway staff lost interest and abandoned us to our tinkering. I am not sure how much we fixed, but we sweated buckets. We were still trying to figure her out when the last of the Shoshaloza Meyl staff saluted us on his way home. There we were, abandoned in hot box on a siding in the busy Cape Town Station, trying to entice an old two ton beauty queen to leave the darkness. It was a little surreal.

So, the engine would not start, the brakes were locked, and we were dripping with sweat. And then we discovered something even worse! We had known that the air had been let out of the tyres to get her into the carrier, but we did not realise she was standing on her rims. With only two centimetres between her roof and the carrier roof, there was no way we could jack her up and inflate them.

Without a word, we downed tools and went in search of chocolate. We discovered chicken burgers instead, and fantasized about Guinevere, the grey phantom, that prowls the railway lines between Johannesburg and Cape Town, stuck deep in a car carrier.

Revived, we got busy thinking! Kevin called in a family favour, and a flat bed was soon on its way. A massive rope was found on a track and hooked up to the back of Kevin’s bakkie. With barely 10 metres of space between the end of the ramp and a beautiful glass wall, and a high voltage cable above our heads, much was at stake.

Slowly and with agonising noise, we hauled her out of her hole, a couple of meters at a time. She inched down the ramp and stopped at the bottom, wedged on her rims and exhaust. Some clever jacking, reseating of the tyres, and inflation, saw her sitting proud once again. Then she had to be towed in reverse along the platform and out into the star lit world.

Her tyres and rims are probably history, but I was delighted to have her close to home. I am looking forward to courting her, and the world of adventure that we will tackle together!

Calling Guinevere

Yesterday Guinevere started her trip to her new home.


Unfortunately, she did not want to leave Johannesburg. She refused to pick up her skirts and make her way to the train station under her own steam. My uncle, who has been looking after her, had her forcibly hitched onto a flat bed and delivered with her ticket to ride to platform 14.

The fun did not stop there. She had an upper berth and was hardly interested in getting comfortable up there. A tractor and chain changed all of that. And then she played her trump card, standing too tall to squeeze into the available space. The problem was solved by the quick thinking flat bed driver, who deflated her ego somewhat, by letting the air out of her tyres. Cosseted safely in her cocoon, her new journey in life was began.

Right now she is chugging her way to Cape Town. I meet her this afternoon at platform 24. I am not sure what to expect, but it sure is going to be a mission getting her home Luckily, my mechanic has agreed to accompany me to our reunion. He will be bringing his bag of tricks and a heap of hot air. With any luck, she will fall in love with me, purr like a kitten, and whisk me home in 1950’s style!

We shall see...