This courtesy of our Club List.
Here ya go a poem for the Season!!!!
Best Wishes & Safety Fast !!!!!!!
The Proudfeet & the 77B
Visit from Racer Nicholas (author unknown)
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the valley,
Not a sports car was stirring, not even 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;
Mom in her goggles and I in beret,
Had tucked in the Allard, and 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, and 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 all 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.
Some paint for the Bug, marked "French Racing Bleu",
Castrol, a blower, and dual carbies, 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 at Le Mans,
And I heard him exclaim as he quickened the pace,
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good race!
This poem's so old, you must understand,
"Road & Track" had not yet started their ampersand.
To patch up the meter for the jolly old elf,
I tweaked it a bit, in spite of myself.
Merry Christmas
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