It was in the mid 1960s that my dream of owning an MG sports car began. I had a cousin who around that time became the proud owner of a brand new MG Midget. Amidst a very busy schedule of posing round the countryside with various girls he managed to fit in a brief visit to take me for a run in the Midget. Boys, was that a treat, I savoured every second of it.
In my eyes a 21-year-old with a sports car was a man who had everything. MG to me meant More Girls. My only saving grace at that time was that I had recently purchased a brand new open top Triumph with many extras: Stormey Archer 3-speed, cable brakes, 38” wheels, front wheel dynamo, front and rear lights and a saddlebag – MG (Many Gadgets); mind you it’s hard to pose on a bicycle.
I thought marrying MG (My Goodness) might have put the notion out of my head but it was a case of ‘dream on’. My two sons as they grew older became interested in my dream so my family could be referred to as Máire and the Dreamers. The boys grew up and did what many young people do – they went to England to complete their education then settled ‘across the water’. We were sad but MG (Mustn’t Grumble).
On a Saturday morning in February 2005 I answered the phone. It was my son John and the conversation went as follows:
“Guess where I am, Da.”
“I don’t know, John.”
“I’m outside a garage in Bristol and your car’s here; it’s a red MGB 1968 with chrome bumpers and wire wheels.”
“I’ll be over next week-end, John.”
MG (Maire Gasped). We flew to Bristol and it was love at first sight – I purchased the car. Now it’s MG (Money Gone). While I was thinking how to transport the car to Northern Ireland John decided we would drive it. I gave a MG (Mighty Gulp) and asked “Do you think that’s wise?”
Two weeks later my second journey to the Bristol garage began. Máire and I left Dublin airport very early on Saturday morning and by midnight John and I had arrived home in the MGB safe and well after MG (Many Gallons) and exactly 365 miles. By the time we reached the toll bridge at Dublin we were a bit weary and my feeble attempt at throwing the cents into the toll machine failed miserably.
I had to climb out of the car MG (Moans and Groans) to retrieve the money and I discovered there was MG (Money Galore) lying on the ground. I’ll swear if I had taken the time I could have gathered up the price of the fuel thanks to the many other weary drivers who had gone before, but I just threw money into the machine until the barrier lifted and we were again on our way.
The same week-end I collected the car our first grandchild was born in Bristol, MG (My Girl). While Máire spent time with her baby, I drove my baby home and realised I was now MG (Married to a Granny).
Why did I dream so long, because now it’s MG (Mature Girls, Memory Going and More Greys)? However, it was all worth it, but apologies for not yet joining the MG Club on any of their runs. One day I will – so watch out for the poser from The Moy; meantime good wishes to the Club from Ian Coalter, MGB (Member Grinning Broadly).