Newcomer’s guide to a wet hill climb

Pre-War Prescott exhibitd some measure of the spirit of the blitz on Saturday (19th July) as rain lashed down to the accompaniment of thunder and lightning. I arrived on site at around 9.00 with Chattie strapped onto the back of the carrier, thinking that pre-war cars would be a bit short on the ground with the monsoon conditions, but they came pouring in – literally – through the gate, many driven some miles without all-weather hoods.   By the time I had unloaded Chattie, with the help of my cousin Alan, I was soaked through to my skin through my rain coat and trousers, and if he hadn’t lent me another one of his, the top half of me would have been drenched as well. Thank you so much, Alan! 

We watched through the murk and downpour as the cars swished their way up the hill, their occupants obviously enjoying themselves. But by the afternoon, they were going up dry, and I have a picture etched in my mind of a couple zooming past, the lady passenger laughing in delight, and her white-blonde hair streaming out behind with the speed.

These cars have a special throaty sound, each one with its own voice. No car is just like another; they are individuals with modifications inside and out that have changed them subtly over the years, and each is a character on its own. Many of the owners have kept the same car lovingly over decades, and they have become part of the family, and connected indelibly with family memories. One couple wondered who would look after the car when they themselves were gone, and hoped that one of their children would take on the guardianship. This is a hobby with a lot of love.