RichardGee
2nd July 2007, 09:33
I thought this would make an interssting first post. I've been gradually getting some material for a new New Zealand motorsports and motoring web site (www.petrolheads.co.nz (http://www.petrolheads.co.nz/)) (Still looking for budding authors by the way) and I was thinking of an interesting forum topic for the site. I had been back to the UK a little while back (I live in NZ now) and had been chatting with my Dad about his first motor racing experience. I casually asked him if he wouldn't mind writing something for me, something that I could put on the web site and get people thinking about their first motor racing experience. I was a little taken aback when he sent the essay below for me to use. It struck so many chords with me and my first experience and I was fascinated to know whether we all share this intiial golden moment. My dad's was at a circuit in the UK called Charterhall. Hope it;s the right kind of thing for here. Please feel free to have a look at the site too and as mentioned, I'm deffo on the look out for interesting articles...
I wanted to put it all on here, but the site has a limit of characters. I've put as much as I can below, the full version with pics is here...
http://www.petrolheads.co.nz/content/view/302/1/
Sorry about that!!
One small boy in the company of gods
David Gee
At the time, I was a little lad of around 12 summers. Motor racing was my idea of Heaven, and motor racing drivers my own special gods – dwelling atop their high-powered, ear shattering Mount Olympus. I thought about little else, and much to his great delight, spent my free time cutting out motor racing pictures and motor racing articles from my father’s large collection of motor car magazines. This was before pasting them into a scrap book of truly gross proportions.
I lived on Tyneside in those days, and still do for that matter. Even then it was an area much more at home with Saturday afternoon football than the rich man’s sport of motor racing. Real enthusiasts for the sport were relatively few and far between. Motor racing circuits were as rare as those proverbial hen’s teeth we are always hearing about, and yet, for all that, our local Thompson Newspaper Group decided to sponsor a full international meeting at a remote circuit on the English/Scottish border called Charterhall. Everyone who was anyone would be there. The old man, God forever bless him, agreed that I should be there also.
My life was now complete for all I was still a wet behind the ears sprog with the smoothest face you could ever imagine. During the weeks leading up to the most important day of my life so far, I walked on air in daylight and at night dreamed of wondrous things mechanical.
The Newcastle Journal International Trophy meeting at Chartehall was on a Saturday, as were all such sporting events in those days, with Sundays set aside for more Godly pursuits. That particular Saturday the sun seemed to shine as it never had before and the sky was a perfect faultless blue. Never had there been such a Saturday. We drove from Newcastle to Charterhall in a Ford V-Eight Pilot at something like ten miles to the gallon. For all that, there had never been such a perfect Ford V-Eight Pilot. It positively flew, heading north, over the hills and far away to the land of the Border Rievers.
I wanted to put it all on here, but the site has a limit of characters. I've put as much as I can below, the full version with pics is here...
http://www.petrolheads.co.nz/content/view/302/1/
Sorry about that!!
One small boy in the company of gods
David Gee
At the time, I was a little lad of around 12 summers. Motor racing was my idea of Heaven, and motor racing drivers my own special gods – dwelling atop their high-powered, ear shattering Mount Olympus. I thought about little else, and much to his great delight, spent my free time cutting out motor racing pictures and motor racing articles from my father’s large collection of motor car magazines. This was before pasting them into a scrap book of truly gross proportions.
I lived on Tyneside in those days, and still do for that matter. Even then it was an area much more at home with Saturday afternoon football than the rich man’s sport of motor racing. Real enthusiasts for the sport were relatively few and far between. Motor racing circuits were as rare as those proverbial hen’s teeth we are always hearing about, and yet, for all that, our local Thompson Newspaper Group decided to sponsor a full international meeting at a remote circuit on the English/Scottish border called Charterhall. Everyone who was anyone would be there. The old man, God forever bless him, agreed that I should be there also.
My life was now complete for all I was still a wet behind the ears sprog with the smoothest face you could ever imagine. During the weeks leading up to the most important day of my life so far, I walked on air in daylight and at night dreamed of wondrous things mechanical.
The Newcastle Journal International Trophy meeting at Chartehall was on a Saturday, as were all such sporting events in those days, with Sundays set aside for more Godly pursuits. That particular Saturday the sun seemed to shine as it never had before and the sky was a perfect faultless blue. Never had there been such a Saturday. We drove from Newcastle to Charterhall in a Ford V-Eight Pilot at something like ten miles to the gallon. For all that, there had never been such a perfect Ford V-Eight Pilot. It positively flew, heading north, over the hills and far away to the land of the Border Rievers.