4 minute read
THE PHANTOM TRW A RIDE THROUGH MEMORY LANE
From notes by Derek Upton aka Big End Knocks
As I reflect on the journey that has been my life, one memory stands out vividly against the backdrop of time: the encounter with the TRW Triumph during my national service days. It was 1952 when I received what one might ironically call an “invitation” from the King for my two years of national service. It was less of an invite and more of a mandatory summons. Fresh out of an apprenticeship and enjoying a decent wage, the prospect of a reduced income in the service was anything but appealing. Yet, the alternative – a run-in with the military police – was far less desirable.
After enduring five months of rigorous training, I found myself in Germany, a fully trained anti-aircraft gunner with the 22 LAA Squadron RAF Regiment. It was here that my path crossed with the TRW Triumphs, the first of their kind issued to the military, and serendipitously, I had a civilian motorcycle license. I quickly maneuvered myself into the position of caretaker for B Flight’s four gleaming new machines.
The TRW was a marvel – a 500cc side valve twin, designed to a unique Ministry of Supply specification. Its aesthetic was striking, with a nacelle headlamp and a charming blue/grey paint job, a nod to its Trophy competition model lineage, albeit with an unusual engine. These motorcycles, replacing the wartime models with girder forks, were a joy on and off the road, able to navigate any terrain with the ease and grace of a ballerina – a perfect match for any adventurous soul.
One of my most memorable rides on the TRW was also nearly my last. During a convoy run on the autobahn, I was relishing a high-speed run along the length of the convoy when disaster struck – the chain broke, wrapping around the sprocket and locking the wheel in a solid, unyielding grip. The resulting slide was a spectacle, they said, and by some stroke of luck or perhaps sheer determination, I managed to ride it out, coming to a stop in an upright position. It was a heart-pounding reminder of both the thrill and danger that came with riding.
Over the years, my fascination with the TRW never waned. I entertained the idea of importing one to New Zealand, where I had seen only one TRW in six decades. The rarity of this machine turned it into a legend among motorcycle enthusiasts, a phantom that we’d all heard about but seldom seen. Rumours swirled about a mysterious Triumph with a peculiar engine, said to be hidden in the depths of a southern barn or smuggled into the country on a fishing boat. These stories fueled my curiosity and kept the legend of the TRW alive in my heart.
A Glimmer Of Hope
About 15 years ago, a new lead emerged – a TRW being restored by a military machine enthusiast. I visited the restorer, only to find the bike painted in khaki, destined for a private museum. However, the original navy blue paint on the petrol tank, complete with a service number, sparked a new chapter in the mystery. I was also able to locate and donate a new cylinder head, the original being battered with missing fins. My wife, adept with computers, discovered that the number was a Royal Navy registration, shedding light on the bike’s unique colour and possibly its clandestine journey to a farm down south.
The story took another turn when I learned that some fishing boats brought back from England might have carried this phantom Triumph. The thought that this TRW might have been a ‘reverse press gang’ loot, smuggled aboard a fishing boat from Portsmouth and then clandestinely brought ashore in New Zealand, was thrilling. It painted a picture of a daring midnight escapade, a trophy brought home but hidden away due to the lack of proper paperwork.
This motorcycle, a symbol of my youth and a testament to the adventurous spirit, remains an enigma. Its whereabouts are unknown, but its legend lives on, a phantom that rode through my life, leaving a trail of excitement, mystery, and a touch of nostalgia. In the company of fellow motorcyclists, the tale of the TRW is often revisited, a shared bond over the love for these machines that have, in many ways, defined parts of our lives. As I muse over these memories, I am transported back to those days, feeling the thrill of the ride, the wind against my face, and the indomitable spirit of the Phantom TRW.
