The Rover returns – A one shot story

As an impressionable thirteen year old, the new Rover P6 3500 S driven by Dave, one of my snorkelling instructors, had me transfixed. The smart Rover ferried a few of us to a location in North Wales for our open water test. Dave had surreptitiously added a few air cylinders in the boot. He and two other instructors unofficially treated us to our first ‘bottle dive’ when everyone else had gone. A flooded slate quarry with deep crystal clear water, tinged with a beautiful blue. The experience was unforgettable, but so was the Rover and even at that age, I knew I wanted one.

Of course the P6 Rover 3500 had long gone out of production by the time I was old enough and those still on the road, weren’t yet sought after. I still wanted one. Then, there it was, on a driveway with a small hand written sign; For sale £200. It wasn’t the S version with it’s manual transmission, but it was a 1974 V8 P6, close enough to what I wanted. It needed a lot of work. Despite a lack of a suitable space and any kind of car restoration skills, the cash was handed over.

Over several years my lovely Rover had an engine transplant, welding work, a respray, powder coated wheels etc. I did get to drive it, in fact it drove very well with that lovely sounding V8. Sadly though, it also suffered from fuel vapour lock and would leave me stranded in heavy traffic when the fancy took it.  Not exactly a mundane car and I loved it for that.

Around this time an inexplicable notion came into my foolish young head. What was to stop me becoming a commercial pilot? Driving my lovely old V8 to and from the flying school, whilst money was draining out of the bank account like water; Florida seemed to hold the answer. Flying costs there would be very much lower. I could go there for weeks at a time and save myself a fortune…easy. In fact a fortune was spent, but what times I had.

On a side road near a little Floridian airstrip called Rockledge, the unexpected. A white Rover P6 3500 V8, in lovely condition. The unmistakable US specification air scoops on the bonnet.  Well, Americans had always seemed so welcoming in most places I had been. So, very much out of character, I walked up the driveway and rang the doorbell. A finger pointing back to the car as I mumbled something along the lines of, I have one of these back in England.  The mildly surprised resident couldn’t have been more friendly. An invitation to come in, became an invitation for dinner.  Dan, it transpired, was a NASA launch technician and his wife was also perfectly relaxed about some stranger who just rang the doorbell.

The commercial pilot project became mired in debt, then dropped. Failing to read the signs and generally braking too late, as I navigated the twists and turns that life began to present. As months turned into years, my forlorn and sidelined Rover stood awaiting work. It moved from one storage location to another and eventually the poor car had to go. Future regret was inevitable, the car had been a part of the good times. Fifteen years or so later and ever changing circumstances saw a move to the Isle Of Man, as another twenty year chapter began.

The Jurby Motorcycle festival can be a fertile event for some nice monochromes, so, this year, the Mamiya C220 came along, with a roll of Ilford Ortho. In addition to so many lovely bikes, there were also some classic cars on display. Oh my word; a superb Rover P6 3500 S, gleaming in the hazy sun. I had to speak to the owner about this beautifully kept machine. An engineer by trade, he had purchased the car new in 1974 and immediately applied Ziebart treatment anywhere it might rust. After the first two years, the Rover had been kept off the road in winter and mainly used for summer holidays. A car 51 years old and genuinely one owner from new. You would have to see merit in a vehicle to cherish it for that long.

The owner too had eventually retired to the Isle Of Man and now the car has period looking Manx registration plates (license plates). I asked about the infamous vapour lock issues. ‘Never had a problem with it’ he said, opening the bonnet and pointing out one particular breather tube. He explained the likely cause, in some detail and how it could avoided with the right care.

Turning to go, a strange feeling gripped me; all sorts of memories turning over in my head.  Regret for some of the mistakes, accompanied smile inducing recollections. Feeling strangely bowled over, I fumbled with the Mamiya where I normally feel totally at ease with it; the shot wasn’t set up well, but I took a front end view. The car was finished in a deep orange and the Ilford Ortho, being red insensitive, shows a dark looking finish. Was it that I really want one of those cars again now? Perhaps a desire to be transported back to some ‘reset’ point and do a couple of things differently? There would certainly be a few cameras I would have kept too.

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