Chapter Eighteen

The Three Litre Thunderbolt is here at last! by Barry Kitchen

After many months of frustrating delays, today will prove to be a red letter day for the car industry as a brand new petrol-driven car, the Thunderbolt, finally arrived at the office for its trial.

I know many still believe cars should only run on steam, and the failure of past petrol-fuelled cars would seem to support that. But hold! I drove some of those old petrol monsters and they were wretched, underpowered, unreliable beasts. The Thunderbolt, in contrast, is a huge leap forward not just for petrol, but for car technology in general.

Warm the engine and tickle the plugs with the starter, then turn the ignition key, and immediately the engine blasts into pulsating life! A steady and exhilarating roar of power and promise, a promise delivered upon as I engaged the first gear and pressed the accelerator. With the sound of the exhaust singing behind, I left the office and made my way through the London streets. I was, I confess, a little worried on how such a thoroughbred would react to being kept on a tight rein, yet I need not have feared; the beast was tame and docile, a smooth and well-behaved carriage that would not be out of place carrying your maiden aunt to her friend’s for tea.

Yet, once on the black tar road leading to the infinite countryside, the nature of the beast changed and the lithe hunter was revealed! Down on the accelerator, up through the gears and listen to the beating heart of the three litre engine growling in pleasure as the huge silver radiator rushes forward to the eternal horizon, wanting nothing more than to run fast and free forever!

Soon I was doing 60 without even realising and still the car had more, yet never once did it fail to hold the road perfectly, each wheel seemingly glued to the ground apart from the odd cheeky shower of stones being thrown up behind in disdain at those who try – and fail – to keep up.

True, there is an occasional grind from somewhere down below, and the breathing port has the habit of releasing a minor spray of oil over the engine when over-excited, but these are but teeming difficulties which in no way affect the pure pleasure of driving this car.

In fact, the message is clear; this is a car you can trust!

‘Poppy!’ hooted Garrin over the noise of the busy works as Poppy strode toward her office a few days later. ‘I think we have a sale!’

‘What? When? Who?’

‘Someone called Hector Meredith,’ replied Garrin, who was almost jumping up and down. They took shelter under a staircase, where they could watch the door to Peter’s office.

‘Hector?’ repeated Poppy. ‘Excellent! He’s always out on the tracks and he loves anything fast. A good word from him and we could be finally on our way.’

‘It was the good review by Barry Kitchen in the Auto Magazine that brought him in; I heard him tell Peter so. In fact, he wants the very car Barry drove for the article.’

‘Have we taken off the makeshift panels we fitted for the review?’

‘Don’t worry; they came off as soon as the car was back. In fact they’re already fixed to EXP2.’

‘Is he still here?’

‘Yes; Peter took him to lunch after the test drive. They’re in the office now and the cheque book is out!’

‘Look,’ exclaimed Yousef, pointing melodramatically from his hiding place by the canteen door. Peter and Hector had appeared and were heading toward the rear yard.

‘Don’t forget, you have a five year warranty on the car,’ Peter was saying with a satisfied smile.

‘I hope to God he never calls on it,’ muttered Poppy. ‘We’ll be making a loss on all the first few vehicles as it is.’

‘Would you like us to deliver it to your coachbuilder?’ continued Peter as they approached EXP1.

‘No, I’ll take it as is,’ replied Hector. ‘I’ve already got it booked in later today.’ Hector started the car with a grin of pleasure at the sound of the petrol engine firing lustily into life before driving the exposed chassis and engine out of the works.

‘Congratulations, Peter,’ yelled Poppy as soon as Hector was out of sight. ‘Our first sale!’

‘The first of many, I trust,’ beamed Garrin.

‘Yes,’ grinned Poppy, looking proudly at her factory. ‘We are finally on our way. Make sure you all keep Friday evening free.’

‘Friday? Why?’

‘We’re all off to the Horse and Trumpet to celebrate,’ announced Poppy, referencing the local pub and restaurant which served as the company’s second, unofficial headquarters. ‘My treat!’

Having had one major triumph that day, Poppy wondered if she could be due another. Her thoughts turned briefly to Amy before jumping firmly to Thunderbus and Victor Foulis...

‘Ah, Poppy, I’m glad you phoned,’ exclaimed Victor. ‘Thunderbus is ready for collection.’

‘Marvellous,’ yelped Poppy, before coughing in embarrassment at her enthusiasm. ‘How did the job go?’

‘No major issues at all, really. Funny thing,’ mused Victor, ‘but I’ve rarely known an engine drop into a frame with so few problems; it was as though it wanted to go straight in and settle.’

‘It probably did,’ smiled Poppy. ‘I think Thunderbus has missed racing and wants to get back onto the track. How is the new gear box?’

‘Fitted and meshing perfectly with the engine. Of course, the Lingford company does have an excellent reputation.’

‘And the bodywork?’

‘I’ll leave it for you to judge,’ chuckled Victor. ‘I think it looks stunning, but no doubt you will be here soon enough to see for yourself.’

‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’

Poppy parked on the front courtyard of English Racing Cars, where several ERC models stood on show to the public; they were small but popular sports cars with a sound racing pedigree from their fourteen years of production. Poppy breathed in the smell of polish, wood and leather as she hurried to the office, enjoying the rich odours.

‘Good lord, that was quick,’ exclaimed Victor. ‘I thought you were starting from Cricklewood?’

‘I did, but I was eager to get here so I used every short cut and back street I know to get across London.’

‘What are you driving?’ asked Victor, leading Poppy through the factory and toward the rear of the works.

‘A Ruffold; last year’s model. I brought someone over from my office to drive it back, so it won’t be in your way for too long. Just as soon as he’s finished being sick.’

‘Hm, not too dissimilar from our own basic ERC chassis,’ mused Victor, wondering how hard and fast Poppy must have driven to make her passenger vomit.

‘It’s not a bad little runabout,’ said Poppy, diplomatically. ‘It’s reasonably quick into the corners.’

‘It must be, for you to have got here so quickly.’

‘Thank you for liaising with Lingford,’ said Poppy, eagerly scanning the yard for her first sign of Thunderbus. ‘That made life a lot easier for me.’

‘I’ve done it often for other clients,’ replied Victor, lost in thought as they strolled toward the far end of the yard to where something large and car-shaped was hidden under a white sheet. ‘Tell me, have you considered racing in the Isle of Man RRC?’

‘The Road Racing Cup?’ asked Poppy in surprise. ‘No, not really; we’ve been concentrating on large race tracks only. Mind you, now Thunderbus has been rebuilt, he may be suitable for road racing.’

‘He may still be a little too large for that, I fear. But I only ask as I’m suddenly a driver short for next month’s RRC; would you be interested in taking the spare place?’

‘Racing in a team? I’ve never done that before.’

‘It would be good experience if you do decide to tackle road racing, and good publicity for me and my company if you took the spare car.’

‘It may not be the right sort of publicity,’ cautioned Poppy. ‘Have you seen the number of attacks made on me by the press?’

‘I have – and I know how much talk there is about you as a result. Your fledging car company has got as high a profile as any established brand, and you haven’t even sold a car yet. If I could announce you’re racing in one of my cars as part of my team, the publicity would be immense. After that, it’s up to canny hard work – for both of us – to turn the publicity to good account.’

‘I think we could do a deal; the track season will be over by then. I’ll get Simeon to call you and you can thrash out the details. Is this Thunderbus?’ she asked as they drew level with the covered vehicle. ‘Come on, don’t keep me in suspense!’

Grinning widely, Victor whipped the sheet away, revealing the new design. The original had been huge and ungainly, adapted by Poppy’s father from an old charabanc in his workshop, and had been as aerodynamic as a brick. The new version echoed the original shape but was streamlined and responsive, designed for grace and speed. The long bonnet now flowed smoothly into the running boards which swept gracefully along each side before curving up and around to create the rounded rear end which was unhampered by the dickey seat of the original. Even the long exhausts were altered, creeping out from each side like long chrome fingers reaching along the length of the car, gleaming against the shining black paintwork.

‘What do you think?’ asked Victor.

‘He’s beautiful,’ breathed Poppy, lust showing in her green eyes.

‘With the reduction in weight and the superior handling, you should see a noticeable improvement in your performance. It says something for the power of the engine that the car ran so quickly in the old body.’

‘Speaking of which, where is the original chassis? And the panels?’ asked Poppy, tearing her eyes away. She looked to the far corner of the yard, guided by Victor’s pointing finger, to where the original Thunderbus stood, the sagging running boards and dipping headlights making the car look sad and forlorn. The bodywork had been wrenched apart to get the engine out and had then simply been shoved back into place, while the old, scuffed seats had been thrown carelessly inside like rubbish hurled into a skip.

‘What do you want us to do with it?’ asked Victor. ‘There’s probably a bit of money for scrap in there.’

Poppy walked down the side of the original Thunderbus,⁷⁰ running her hand along the bodywork, feeling it quivering under the pressure from her fingers. ‘I’ll send a truck to pick it up and take it to the factory. It can stay there for now.’ She looked affectionately at the old chassis, feeling a lump in her throat despite her awareness of the unskilled and irregular bodywork. ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not getting rid of you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.’ Her words conjured up an image of her father, sad and broken in his room at the sanatorium, mirroring the state of his creation. She would have to visit again soon.

Victor coughed politely as he handed over the keys. ‘Make sure Simeon calls as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘We can get the contract signed by next week, if agreeable, and then you’ll have time to practice in one of our cars,’

‘I look forward to it,’ smiled Poppy. ‘Thank you, Victor. You have been a real friend over all this.’

Victor nodded, a blush appearing on his face as he gave a cheery goodbye wave. ‘Take care; I’ll send the bills to your office, and do remember the new car won’t handle like the original.’

Poppy settled into Thunderbus’ new sculpted driving seat while gazing lovingly at the dashboard. The layout, as she had requested, was based on the original, so she immediately felt at home. The steering wheel was a little smaller and padded with leather, giving her much better grip, especially for her metal hand, while the gear stick – also smaller – rested at an improved angle and slipped very smoothly into first.

A mewling noise erupted from her throat as Poppy inserted the key and turned it, activating the electrical system. The needles on each display leapt up, showing every part of the vehicle was working perfectly. The usual snickering whine of the engine filled the air and after a slight pause to savour the moment, Poppy pressed the starter button. With a tremendous roar of angry power, and several blasts of flame from the side ports, Thunderbus was reborn.

⁷⁰ There is some argument over how many cars can truly be called Thunderbus; some follow the designation and therefore claim three, while others say the engine is the beating heart of the car and hence only two vehicles are worthy of the name. Many more claim there was only ever one – the original.