For those of you who might be needing some filler for your local newsletters
due out yesterday, here's some stuff I've seen around. These were first
published in Road & Track about a zillion years ago, actually quite close
to the year I was born.
mjb.
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Little Car of Abingdon
Men:
Oh, Little car of Abingdon,
I love you - that's no lie!
More than my wife, you are my life
I'll love you 'til I die.
And when I go to meeting
Outside you'll wait for me.
Tho' full of beer, I have no fear
Safe home you'll carry me!
Women:
Oh, ugly cart of Abingdon
I hate you - that's no lie!
Your style is old, you're wet and cold
And roomy as a sty.
And when we leave the meeting
And hubby's loaded up,
A "hero driver" he becomes
And, frightened, I throw up.
Hark, The Parts Supplier
Hark the parts supplier sings,
"I can't get your piston rings!
They're on order 'cross the water
We don't stock them kind of things."
"And we can't get your magneto
Better you should buy a GTO.
Take away your old MG -
It is mostly made of tree!"
Hark the parts supplier's call
As he hides behind his wall.
Hark the hardened owner cries
"I'll make my own, you ain't so wise.
File my oil rings out of coil springs
Just like all the other guys."
"Gears I'll grind from day-old cheeses,
Tops I'll sew from B.V.D.ses.
Yes, I'll fix my own MG -
Though it is mainly made of tree!"
Hark the hardened owner cries
and into the night he flies.
[From TSO (The Sacred Octagon), 1969]
The Night Before Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the valley
Not a sports car was stirring, not even a Ferrari.
The stockings were hung on the garage door with care,
In hopes that "Hot Nick" soon would be there.
The kiddies were nestled all snug in their beds,
While Alfas and Jaguars raced in their heads;
And Mom in her goggles and I in beret,
Had just tucked in the Allard, then hit the hay.
When out on the road there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter:
Expecting to see a Mercedes roar by,
We raced to the window, my dear wife and I.
The moon on the chrome of her "baby Lago",
Gave the brightness of noonday to objects below.
When what should my wondering eyes betray,
But eight tiny MGs pulling a sleigh.
With a small "hero driver" so steady and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be "Hot Nick!"
More rapid than Grand Prix his little fleet came,
And he poured on the coal as he called them by name:
"Now KA, now PB, now KN and TD,
On VA, on TF, on NA and TC;
To the top of the turn, keep away from the wall,
Now dash away, dig out, change cogs all!"
Like Ascari and Fangio fighting a duel,
They broadslid the driveway and turned on the fuel;
Up to the garage where they braked to a stop,
The sleigh full of goodies with Santa on top.
The sleigh was aluminum - Ghia design;
In "British Racing Green" it really looked fine.
The badge bar up front stood out clear and bold,
The collection of badges a sight to behold.
He was dressed up in Italian "Race Red",
>From the tip of his toes to top of his head;
A bundle of speed parts he had on his back,
And he chuckled with glee as he opened his pack.
His eyes, how they sparkled, like a spinning Rudge wheel,
His beard was the silver of machine-tooled steel;
With a little round face and a chubby waist line
That shook when he laughed like that Bugatti of mine.
He started his task without saying a word,
The idling exhausts were all that was heard.
Wire wheels for junior, to fit his TD,
Hood strap and windscreens for Allard and me.
A can of paint, marked "French Racing Bleu",
Castrol, a blower, and dual carbs, too;
The last thing he left was the best that could be,
A year's "Road and Track" for the family and me.
He jumped to the sleigh and gave his commands,
Then away they all flew like the start as Le Mans,
And I heard him exclaim as he quickened the pace,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good race!"
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