British Broadcaster, Mike Prince, Recalls his Motoring Memories

Dad’s business was the Birmingham Dairies and I loved the days when he took me to the bottling plant and head office where I’d spend hours in the garage sitting in the big lorries and smaller electric milk floats mind-driving along my fantasy inspired roads. To this day I can smell the organic mix of oil, petrol, rubber and spilt sour milk. My obsession with the games I played when sitting in the dairy vehicles led to my big brother building me a toy milk truck complete with the company’s logo and colours. I was also the proud owner of a pedal car that had echoes of a 1930s MG sports car. Well before my seventeenth birthday my father taught me to drive; we’d go to the disused airfields left over from the war where I’d take the wheel of his Austin of the day. Back at the dairy I’d start up and shunt around the lorries and electric floats when they weren’t being charged, a big performance in those days.

At 17 I became the lucky owner of a 1935 Austin 7 Ruby saloon. For a 26-year-old car it looked good and the mechanics were fair although the breaks were hopeless. I’ve tried to tally up the motors and company cars I’ve owned or used over the past 59 years. It’s about 35 so I’ll just list the cars that have been special in one way or another: a 50’s Vauxhall Wyvern with a column shift, with 2 pals I co-owned a 30’s Jaguar SS which we bought for £30 and nearly died of exhaust fumes on a scary drive to Devon (three 20 year old lads pushing a poorly Jag to its limit), a Mini Cooper, a couple of Morris Minors (I enjoyed the distinctive tone of the engine and exhaust), an MGB GT (I loved that car), a mature Mark 2 Jaguar 3.8 automatic (Inspector Morse must have had deep pockets), a 70’s Rover V8 Coupe (luxurious with a beautiful cockpit and perfect for the long distances I was commuting), a Chrysler 7 seater Voyager (wonderfully comfortable with 5 children and regular trips to Germany), a bright red Daimler Dart V8 (an eyecatcher but I bought this classic when it had past its sell-by date) and as we’re an English/German family we’ve owned five Mercedes over the years – always dependable. I didn’t follow my Dad into the dairy business; for more than 50 years I’ve worked in broadcast TV. I started off at ATV where my first boss was the producer and Monte Carlo Rally driver Raymond Joss. He allowed me to drive two of his rally cars in the mid-60s – a Mini Cooper S and a Rover V8 Coupe – I was in seventh heaven.

Birmingham and the neighbouring cities of Coventry and Wolverhampton made up the Capitol of the British Motor Industry with several iconic manufacturers based in the region. Dad and many family friends were loyal to Austin. Dad is on the left, I’m wearing white socks and the car is a 1950 Austin A90 Atlantic – made at the giant Austin plant at Longbridge in Birmingham. It was a model that was designed for the export market, especially the US. Of the 7981 Atlantic’s’ produced, only a few made it to the States. Had the A90 Atlantic been powered with a V8, the numbers might have been different.

At around the same time, ATV in Birmingham was planning a motoring programme hosted by the legendry TV presenter McDonald Hobley – a fascinating man to meet, in his wartime service he’d been involved in a plot to abduct Hitler and bring him to Britain, a 007 type idea that didn’t come off. I was a researcher on the show and had the treat of a lifetime when I was allowed to drive the James Bond Aston-Martin DB5 from the Goldfinger movie. This beautiful car complete with gadgets like a water cannon and jet-pack was on a publicity tour of the UK; incredible that the publicist let me have 10 minutes behind the wheel without checking my driving credentials. He calmly sat in the passenger seat whilst I pointed out smelly landmarks like Ansells Brewery and Nechells Gas Works which were close to the studio – quite different to the roads of the Cote D’Azur where you’d expect to see a 007 Aston in action.

So, what would be my vehicle of choice and route plan be for a nostalgic ONE LAST DRIVE in a petrol fuelled car. An imaginary journey to drive past or visit landmarks from my past.

No hesitation – I’d choose a late 70’s MGB GT with a Webasto sunroof. I had a GT at a time when I was freelancing for several ITV companies with weekly journeys from Birmingham to London, Southampton, Cardiff and other cities. With the sunroof open most of the year and the Carpenters singing away I have such happy memories of that time. The fresh air could have helped prep me for my work as a newsreader and announcer. I can still imagine my thumb on the gear shift in readiness to flick-in the overdrive.

Now in 2021, for a nostalgic one-day MGB experience (Covid restrictions allowing) I’d start off with breakfast at a fast-food outlet in Edmund Street Birmingham in sight of the offices which ATV used to rent – the start of my TV career. I’ve always enjoyed fast-food stops and fondly remember the bacon sandwiches and mugs of tea from the roadside stops before every long-distance journey took you on motorways. I get into the driving seat and head off to Sutton Coldfield and drive past three houses owned by my parents.

I’d linger for a while in Blackroot Road, scene of my pedal car days and my favourite house. Then off to visit my old school in Staffordshire. I’d stop in Lichfield for a comfort stop (I’m 76) and buy a take-away coffee just by the house where the 18^th century writer Doctor Johnson was born. Back in the ‘B’ for a picturesque drive through the countryside and to my next stop – Uttoxeter – where my parents came from. It’s a fine traditional market town and, as a youngster, it was a regular destination to visit relatives and to satisfy my parent’s love of love of horse racing. The racecourse is famous and still very popular, a here lies a story.

My grandfather ran the White Hart Hotel – flash back to the days before WWI when my Dad was just old enough to collect dirty glasses. On race days the hotel would be packed with the racing community. My Dad told me about one jockey staying at the hotel who bragged that he would most likely win a race on that day. “Just watch my crop and if I’m holding it this way, I’ll definitely be the winner”. True or false? That’s what my Dad told me and he wasn’t one to exaggerate. This anecdote does resonate with the Peaky Blinders who were well known for their racecourse antics – Uttoxeter is close to Birmingham where the Peaky Blinders came from so there’s a possible family connection to a gang that’s now been featured in an internationally successful TV series.

I jump in or carefully wriggle into the MG for the short journey of a few miles from Uttoxeter to Denstone College which is a boarding school perched remotely on the top of a hill. “So God can keep a closer eye on what you sprogs are up to” ; on my first day of starting a three-year-stretch, that’s how a scary prefect described the location to me.

In this dream-trip I park the MG right by the main entrance – a place a first-year boy couldn’t even look at in the 50’s. I pad along the cloisters not wanting to make a noise or get in the way – I’m a new sprog again – and then as my imagination mixes through to reality, I note that the College smells the same. It’s not unpleasant, in fact it could be bottled as an after shave even though Denstone is now co-ed. Getting on for two centuries of school life with polished stone floors and, in my day, common rooms with old text books, the room where we kept our tuck boxes – fresh with cakes, biscuits and jams at the beginning of term but often mouldy by the end of term – the outside bogs (latrines) that were disgusting, forty boys to each dormitory and the big schoolroom where I had my first taste of show-business.

I’d been entertaining my close chums by singing a well-known song that I’d adapted with my own rude lyrics. Thirteen-year-old humour and not worthy of publishing here. Anyway, a prefect heard about it and I was ordered to sing in a senior’s common room. Instead of being punished, I was applauded. The following Saturday the whole school including masters and five or more ladies (a few masters did have wives) were assembled in the Big Hall for some boring recital; after it was over, a chant started – “We want Prince”. I knew what it was all about and with expulsion looming I launched into my very naughty song. There was great applause and shouts of encore. I was more relaxed now and saw masters and some ladies laughing. I wasn’t expelled and now I recognize that this was a defining moment that steered me to drama school in London, a TV production course run by the BBC and then my long career in the media.

Looking back, I did enjoy many aspects of Denstone. I experienced the last years of a spartan boys-only boarding school; now I’m actually glad that I had my time there and went through the survival obstacle course of that era. Nowadays, the College is a happy, relaxed and successful school with boys and girls.

Returning to my ‘imaginary’ visit I watch some pupils in the cricket nets and enjoy that wonderful sound of leather on willow. A few of the current Denstonians watch as I slowly motor away down the long school drive. The MGB takes me homeward and driving through Rocester there’s a Morris Minor Traveller coming the other way. A lady of a similar age to myself salutes me and I salute back; two fellow travellers indulging in memories of a golden age of motoring.

This fantasy MGB GT excursion has transported me to places that shaped my life. The transport heritage we’ve witnessed and used in our lifetime is nestled away in the day-to-day experiences logged in our brains. A gateway to our memories of the 20^thcentury.

Places, people, events, dining out, holidays, commuting, school, romantic moments and, of course, the vehicles that moved us around.

British Broadcaster, Mike Prince, Recalls his Motoring Memories

My first set of wheels. Built by my big brother, it’s a pretend milk float. you can just see traces of the stencilled badging for The Birmingham Dairy Co. Ltd. I spent hours ‘delivering’ bottles of milk.

Not my Dad’s car but the model I remember from 1947 when I watched him sliding down a hill in the big freeze.

The Birmingham Dairy Co. in James Watt St. The picture was taken in 1953, the year of the Queen’s Coronation. The first powered vehicle I drove was the small Pony Electric parked on the left. Later, I was allowed to shunt around the Austin lorries.

I still have the huge driving gloves my dad bought during the winter months of 1946/7 when Britain almost came to a standstill. In the middle is the size of glove I wear today.

With my brother riding shotgun, I was so proud of this sports car. Echoes of the MG’s from the 30’s and 40’s.

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