Open Road

The Open Road A Miscellany of Forgotten Motoring Peter Ashley

Introduction

spent on Dinky Toys I bought the Observer’s Books of Automobiles, impressing pals that my favourite car was a Facel Vega HK500. On the back pages

were lists of the two registration letters that meant you could see where a vehicle came from: FP for In my 1950’s childhood, motoring was a mysterious

Rutland, FL for the Soke of Peterborough. On the

father didn’t own a car until he drove an apple green

Vauxhall Crestas you could see where the occupants

empty garage, I watched all the steering and gear-

plastic pennants with legends like ‘Prestatyn’ and

Prefect steered with leather driving gloves, seeing

Shopping trips to Leicester meant catching a

and immense skill undertaken by others. As my

back windows of Austin Devons, Ford Zephyrs and

Ford Popular somewhat erratically into our hitherto

had been on holiday by noting vision-obscuring

changing as others gave us lifts. Variously a Ford

‘Ilfracombe’ on them.

the mirror carefully adjusted in a new Humber Hawk

Midland Red ’bus outside the Royal Oak, or if we

dexterously by long red-painted finger nails.

’bus that smelt mildly of disinfectant and had a sign

Jaguar with enormous headlamps reversing out of a

watched Albions arriving with sacks of potatoes in the

Panama we called Mr. Pastry going to see his friend

sides; cream Bedford ambulances with red blankets

ran behind shouting. Every Tuesday I pedalled to the

Waiting for the ’bus home I saw Wolseleys dash out

unload barrels of Hole’s Newark Ales from a yellow

lights on the roof. If the green one was flashing, there

Oak, as I traced a grubby finger over the picture of a

the red one there had been, and I sat nervously on the

and a duotone Hillman Minx’s column change moved So I stared obsessively at the traffic. The black SS

missed it a deep brown and cream City Corporation that said ‘No Spitting’. In ‘town’ as we called it I

drive down the lane, a white-mustachioed man in a

Market Place with words like ‘Lincolnshire’ on their

up the lane in a 1920s open-topped Rolls-Royce we

and red Dennis fire engines with chrome bells ringing.

end of the lane to watch men in thick leather aprons

from the neo-Georgian police station that had two big

Leyland brewery dray into the cellar of the Royal

had been no fatal road accidents in the city. If it was

castle on the door. When my pocket money wasn’t

’bus with my mum telling me not worry.

Introduction

spent on Dinky Toys I bought the Observer’s Books of Automobiles, impressing pals that my favourite car was a Facel Vega HK500. On the back pages

were lists of the two registration letters that meant you could see where a vehicle came from: FP for In my 1950’s childhood, motoring was a mysterious

Rutland, FL for the Soke of Peterborough. On the

father didn’t own a car until he drove an apple green

Vauxhall Crestas you could see where the occupants

empty garage, I watched all the steering and gear-

plastic pennants with legends like ‘Prestatyn’ and

Prefect steered with leather driving gloves, seeing

Shopping trips to Leicester meant catching a

and immense skill undertaken by others. As my

back windows of Austin Devons, Ford Zephyrs and

Ford Popular somewhat erratically into our hitherto

had been on holiday by noting vision-obscuring

changing as others gave us lifts. Variously a Ford

‘Ilfracombe’ on them.

the mirror carefully adjusted in a new Humber Hawk

Midland Red ’bus outside the Royal Oak, or if we

dexterously by long red-painted finger nails.

’bus that smelt mildly of disinfectant and had a sign

Jaguar with enormous headlamps reversing out of a

watched Albions arriving with sacks of potatoes in the

Panama we called Mr. Pastry going to see his friend

sides; cream Bedford ambulances with red blankets

ran behind shouting. Every Tuesday I pedalled to the

Waiting for the ’bus home I saw Wolseleys dash out

unload barrels of Hole’s Newark Ales from a yellow

lights on the roof. If the green one was flashing, there

Oak, as I traced a grubby finger over the picture of a

the red one there had been, and I sat nervously on the

and a duotone Hillman Minx’s column change moved So I stared obsessively at the traffic. The black SS

missed it a deep brown and cream City Corporation that said ‘No Spitting’. In ‘town’ as we called it I

drive down the lane, a white-mustachioed man in a

Market Place with words like ‘Lincolnshire’ on their

up the lane in a 1920s open-topped Rolls-Royce we

and red Dennis fire engines with chrome bells ringing.

end of the lane to watch men in thick leather aprons

from the neo-Georgian police station that had two big

Leyland brewery dray into the cellar of the Royal

had been no fatal road accidents in the city. If it was

castle on the door. When my pocket money wasn’t

’bus with my mum telling me not worry.

An austere family outing involving a c1928 Sunbeam, recorded on a stereoscopic camera like the one opposite.

The resultant pair of photographs, mounted on stiff card and placed in a viewer, meant that an image could eerily be seen in 3D

An austere family outing involving a c1928 Sunbeam, recorded on a stereoscopic camera like the one opposite.

The resultant pair of photographs, mounted on stiff card and placed in a viewer, meant that an image could eerily be seen in 3D

Churchman’s Cigarette Card Series: Holidays in Britain: No.1 St.Ives, Cornwall Holidays planned according to the cigarette cards you had collected, with 48 options if you had the full set

Will’s Cigarette Card Series: “Safety First” 1934 It is perhaps strange to think that we were once required to make hand signals to warn other motorists of our intentions. Although other gestures still appear to be utilised

Churchman’s Cigarette Card Series: Holidays in Britain: No.1 St.Ives, Cornwall Holidays planned according to the cigarette cards you had collected, with 48 options if you had the full set

Will’s Cigarette Card Series: “Safety First” 1934 It is perhaps strange to think that we were once required to make hand signals to warn other motorists of our intentions. Although other gestures still appear to be utilised

Petrol, batteries, oily fingerprints on invoices, sharp intakes of breath: the nervous delights of the local garage above A Christmas card by the author, based loosely on Bould’s Garage, once in King’s Cliffe, Northamptonshire right Splendor spare bulb in cadmium yellow opposite Garage at the Shuttleworth Collection, Old Warden, Bedfordshire

Petrol, batteries, oily fingerprints on invoices, sharp intakes of breath: the nervous delights of the local garage above A Christmas card by the author, based loosely on Bould’s Garage, once in King’s Cliffe, Northamptonshire right Splendor spare bulb in cadmium yellow opposite Garage at the Shuttleworth Collection, Old Warden, Bedfordshire

Moving Letters above Leyland Tiger Cub motor coach badge centre Maidstone & District bus side, Wrotham, Kent top Dennis badge on the radiator grille of a fire engine opposite Bleriot headlamp, Shuttleworth Collection

Moving Letters above Leyland Tiger Cub motor coach badge centre Maidstone & District bus side, Wrotham, Kent top Dennis badge on the radiator grille of a fire engine opposite Bleriot headlamp, Shuttleworth Collection

The Open Road takes us on a journey into a past when motoring in Britain was a particular if unpredictable pleasure. Roads filled with bulbous Austin Somersets, rakish Rileys and unique road signs. Together with beautifully-signed commercial vehicles, motoring guides, maps and roadside cafes, here is an inspirational collection with delightful images at every turn of the road. No Sat Navs here.