12 November 2002

tt memories
Or
I think ill go just one more time
Or
Mom whets a Manx kipper
Or
He’s gone to that bloody island again.

January 23 rd 2oo2.
“I’m sorry Mr. Trotter the results are positive, you have cancer of the throat and the tongue.”
Almost together jean and I told the doctor we had both come expecting this. Although we had not really mentioned it to one another over the previous few weeks.
funny how your mind works at the time of what seems like earth shaking news, and being told to prepare for several months of unpleasant surgery and radiotherapy. “Doctor I have been a keen motorcyclist for 41yrs and have attended the Isle of Man “tt” races every year since 1967 and this year will be my 36th visit. Will I be able to go again!!!
That’s how the “tt” drug gets to you, oh yes it's like a drug, when it gets hold it can take over your life. That’s only as a spectator I’ve no idea what it must be like for the lads who race. Two wives and three daughters no doubt have tales of being abandoned for “that bloody island”
We have all heard people say how they will be glad when Christmas is over well so do I but for a different reason, I love Christmas being with the family and then as the last present is opened and the last mince pie disappears it means its time to start wrestling with the “isle of man steam packet company”. This is the only way to get to the island with your motorcycle. But more on “steam racket company (as they have become known over the years) in another chapter!!!
oh yes I nearly forgot the doctor said” you will feel pretty bad by “tt week” when the radiotherapy takes hold” read on if you can stand any more of this because you can be sure I will be there whatever my condition!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My first visit.
I suppose two people were responsible for that first trip to the island.
1. Whoever the police inspector was that put p.c.167 trotter on no.6 beat that day in late 1966.
2. Ken holden. Plumber—also velocette and “tt” fan.

I suppose it must have been a 2pm 10pm shift that day and I had given 6 beat to protect, well protect as well as any 23yr old could protect anything.
This involved patrolling up Hopwood lane towards queens road then towards Hanson lane, and then down towards Halifax town centre.
During the first 4hrs the idea was to vary your movements so as to throw any burglars, dead legs, irate husbands, inspectors or sets off balance, as to my movements i.e. where I might call for a cup of tea, or perhaps a pint of the local brew. Don’t believe all that Dixon of dock green rubbish “not while I'm on duty sir” well not with the bunch I worked with. But I digress this is not “how the Halifax boro police tried to drink Whitakers, ramsdens, or Webster’s brewers dry, though it would make a good story!!!!!
Back to 6 beat. whilst patrolling along walnut st. you’re worships between gibbet street(yes the gibbet is still there ) picture here --and Hopwood lane I heard the unmistakable sound of a velocette being warmed through. The sound was coming from a group of timber and asbestos garages and there with a bright red “velocette v line stood ken holden – the key to my IOM future.
Disregarding the fact that no tax disc was showing, the bike was in beautiful condition so did it matter? The machine was on private land and would be obviously returned to the garage after a thorough warming. Never to see the queen’s highway --- well not until pc trotter was out of sight again.
Pc trotter:” nice bike, what’s your name, young man?”
Motorcyclist: (the phrase biker had not been invented yet) “ken holden – don’t you remember me? We were at Haugh Shaw School together, Jim”
“Never mind Jim, ------ pc trotter to you”. Said tongue in cheek.
To tell the truth I don’t remember ken from school days at all but the more we talked bikes I could see we had a lot in common – poor schooling, both tradesmen sorry, I was a tradesman ken was a plumber!! Oh yes and we both ran un-taxed bikes but he didn’t know about mine.
Anyway the conversation eventually came round to the IOM and had I ever been - - and if not – why not – and let’s do it this coming June.
That was the easy bit---- time to re-build the bsa that had leaned against the garage wall since another policeman; Geoff Wilson and I had fallen off it one night, returning very late from the Acapulco nightclub!!!!!!!! it was a combination - no not that sort of combination (motorcycle & sidecar) -- of too fast, a knackered rear chain , poor maintenance and a large helping of driver error(plus some beer no doubt) the bsa had been bought in the autumn of 1966 as a bit of a rough old dog but a nice quiet running old dog. Another policeman jock Andrews had found it leaning against an engineering shop wall whilst on patrol, it was under a corrugated sheet and it looked abandoned. But no, the owner used-- 926 um-- every day for work and yes I could buy it. Winter was approaching and he preferred his land rover in the bad weather.
£45 was agreed “but let’s hear it running first”. It was standing in a pool of oil so I was expecting a long kicking session. hell fire – first kick and so quiet, even though the gold flash was well known for a sweet engine this one was exceptional – so the deal was done .but he did admit just before I drove off that the engineering shop where he worked, donated (unknown to the management), a full tank of fresh oil each night, which just did the 10 mile round trip from work to home, and then back to work the following day-- and then another fresh tank of oil and so on. The lads on their Jap bikes think they are spoiling their fireblades etc with 1,000 mile oil changes. This beeza had had fresh oil every 10 miles for the last three to four years so no wonder it was sweet even though it looked well used.
the first job when I got the beeza home was to cure all the oil leaks and make it look tidy so I could park it at work in the police station yard.
The chief constable was in the habit of admiring and even sitting on my bike at times; in fact the traffic department used the BSA a10 gold flash for patrol work during the 1960s and early 1970s. I used to submit what was called a “short white” (application to be considered for motor cycle patrol cop) at least once a month. But no luck. Was it the way I rode my own a10 or the fact I was reluctant to persecute the motoring public??
The main oil leak was inside the primary chain case, two bolts which hold the inner half onto the crank cases had fallen out as the locking wire was missing (.picture here) but also the rocker box gaskets were just about non existent. A morning’s work and our BSA was oil tight again.
All was well until the fateful ride on the Acapulco nightclub night. Geoff and I were pretty heavy lads in those days --- too much pie and peas or perhaps pie chips and peas plus plenty of local ale, I suppose our average weight would be 15 to 16 stone.
as I cranked the ‘flash’ over and into Huddersfield road the rear chain broke or came off the sprockets, I’m not sure which but it ends with the same result and arse over tit we went.
as we slid along the pavement the bike was fortunately in front of us and hit the concrete lamp post first with the usual damage – bent forks, front wheel, headlamp, petrol tank and mirrors all badly damaged--.but worse was to follow, as Geoff and I got to our feet the bike ignited. Luckily not the petrol tank just the wiring harness which we quickly disconnected and the fire went out.
As the closest friends house was jock Andrews (another copper) we pushed –pulled—and half carried the bike, and left it in his mother’s garden.
After knocking jock up, although he’d only just got to bed as he’d also been to the “acker” (nightclub) with Geoff and I. ---- “come on jock we need a lift home, bikes buggered”
On the way to Geoff’s house we decided that perhaps I should keep a low profile when we got there. the previous week Geoff and I had been out for a few beers and no doubt some pie and chips and while we were in the Ovenden way hotel there was an incident in the bar and somehow we ended up in a brawl outside with a group of what turned out to be body builders and boxers . one of which would you believe was the great Yorkshire horizontal heavyweight-- Richard Dunn--- who went on a few years later to fight Mohammed Ali (was this my 15 minute’s of fame they talk about?) poor Geoff’s face looked a bit second hand so I felt after he had helped me bend my “gold flash” --- damage his leg and ruin some new clothes he had just bought that day I had better keep away from his wife for a while!!!!
The bike was left in jock Andrew’s mother’s garden and after it had been there about four to six weeks she turned nasty. - I wonder why? - And she threatened me with the police. time to move the bike to 57 Higgin lane, southowram, a little bungalow on the hillside overlooking Halifax where I lived with my first wife Joan, and our only child Gail who was born on February 10, 1964
Time for a re-build
It was still winter time and my garage was one of those cold, concrete and metal jobs. It had a dirt floor, no lights or heating in fact bloody awful, not much better than working in the street.

Brain wave number 1
pull the sorry heap to bits in the garage … paint it …plate it … re-build it somewhere nice and warm

Brain wave number 2
Re-build it at home in the bungalow. Simple isn’t it? Keeps me out of the pub (well it did for a while) no steps so no need to worry about the back or the dreaded hernia when trying to get the finished masterpiece back onto the streets again.

Problem one solved
My first wife and daughter agreed to the re-build in Gail’s bedroom, poor Gail with a dad like me it would become inevitable she would become a ‘tt’ fan.

Problem two
What sort of re-build to do------. Whilst out patrolling number four beat, your worships, ----- in an area called booth town, close to another tea shop ….yes that’s right, more tea …. In fact to this day I need regular injections of tea. anyway I came across a group of lads re-building bikes in an under dwelling (one room cottage) Melvin Blundell who became a friend to this day was just about to complete what I can only describe as a must stunning re-build of a 500 cc bsa gold star. It was better than factory finish but the thing that caught my eye most was the colour scheme off set by the chrome.
So that was it my B.S.A. had to be---- polychromatic purple and chrome. --- don’t cringe it looks great in “the metal” as can be seen from the picture!

Gradualy the bike was pulled apart in the garage taken for the necessary whatever and moved slowly piece by piece onto a table at the bottom of Gail's bed. All went well until Joan came home one day to find the best oven baking tin on the oven top boiling away not with Yorkshire pudding or apple pie but “linklife and a rusty chain”.
“I think its time that machine went outside now Jim and I would like a new baking tin”.
to be fair Joan had put up with a lot over the winter and all our married life… what with painting the cylinder barrels black and popping them in the oven ‘just for half an hour love on gas mark 3’ or ‘can you lower these barrels slowly while I feed the piston rings into place love?’ or ‘hold that cylinder head still Joan while I knock these old valve guides out’--- a very understanding wife-- I wonder where she is now? (Bridlington actually – re-married and not to a biker)
Of course we had to wait for a sunshiny day ….can’t risk rain on the polychromatic purple paint and chrome.
“My god doesn’t it look good Jim” this from a female neighbour who had no interest in bikes at all. “Can I have a ride with you?” well it looked bloody good but would it start, would it hell!! it seems that in my rush to strip all the alloy covers off the engine to polish to a mirror finish I had disturbed the timing gears ….so sparks in wrong place i.e.-- timing all wrong ….the story of my life on occasions.


About a week before my first IOM visit I thought I should change the oil and spark plugs to prepare for our first thrash on our flash over the 37.73 miles of the island course.
So Gail and I jumped into our reliant regal 3/25 super van bought new in 1966 for £396, (3 wheel van –1 wheel at the front and 2 at the rear very exciting -- or dangerous –or both)
However passenger seat and paint were extras. In future years this vehicle would become famous as Del boy trotter’s transport in----“only fools and horses” (British TV prog) – how appropriate.
Where are you now dcp 526d?
I paid the extra for the passenger seat---- as I felt that Joan would refuse to lie down and stare at the fibre glass roof of the van while in motion. But I was unwilling to pay the extra £10 for a coat of paint so the super van arrived in grey primer and stayed that colour until seven days before I sold it a few years later. Now dear reader I know what you are thinking £10 he’s as bad as Del boy. Well in 1966 a week’s wages for a Yorkshire copper weren’t much more – (picture of wage slip here)
So sod the paint I bought my wife a passenger seat and very grateful she was too. They always refer to Del boy’s reliant robin but it never was a robin that came later, our vans were always super vans.
we collected the oil etc from the motor mecca in Horton street, Halifax, which had been kings of oxford up until the early 60s and was owned by Stan hailwood father of the great mike hailwood who I was about to see in the island for my first “tt”
. On the way home, I was traveling towards North Bridge when a car came out of a street on my left and the driver obviously believed he could pass in front of me easily. But just then another car appeared from his left causing him to swerve and almost hit me head on. as I stopped so quickly poor Gail shot out of the back of the van (no seat belts in those days) hit her head on the dashboard and fell in the passenger foot well crying.
Without slackening his speed the other car shot off into the town centre with our ‘super van’ in hot pursuit!! He chose a great spot to park his car--- George’s square full of people and school children going home. He only got one leg out of his car as I arrived with all three wheels locked solid and pouring smoke from bonnet, exhaust and my ears, nose and throat.
as I stretched him over the bonnet I could hear poor Gail still crying and the bloody fool said’ ‘it wasn’t my fault’ at great volume and to the shouts from children in the bus queue--- ‘go on give him one mate,-- I said ‘just one more remark like that and I’ll fill your bloody face you stupid sod. I’ve a good mind to bring a copper to you ‘. ‘Well go on.’ he said. ‘there’s one over there’.-- as I looked across the road standing at the bus stop was in fact a pc with his badges gleaming in the sunlight – knife edge creases in his uniform.. And the shiniest boots I had seen since police training school. Our pc looked as though he had been in the force at least eight hours and was looking anywhere but at the disturbance unfolding before him.
“Never mind him. I am a copper and can you hear my daughter crying because of you? I’m off to hospital now and if she is injured I will come looking for you and don’t worry I will find you”.
it was about three years later at about 4am while passing the time and swapping stories in a police car when pc Ned garner suddenly told the story of the mad reliant driver on his first day as a bobby. oh yes our other car driver was called Trevor Simpson who I was to come across often over the next 36 years---- in fact very shortly after my first IOM visit --.while I’m writing this I am becoming quite angry while re-living it all again. As you can see I don’t believe in turning the other cheek at all.
Thursday, may -- 2pm
“What are doing on your long weekend off Jim” said pc Stuart west as we sat bleary eyed in the
parade room at Harrison road police station. We had just finished some terrible shifts over the last 5 days with very little in the way of sleep, and probable yes you have guessed it------ too much beer!! Hence the bleary eyes. This would include the odd night at “the Acapulco nightclub” till 3or 4am and back on shift at 6am. I suppose we were lucky to have our eyes open at all. I must admit I did pass out behind the bathroom door on the odd occasion!!
“Well Stuart I'm off to the I.O.M for the “tt” races till Tuesday” “I've rebuilt the bike and we are off tomorrow morning”. Little realizing how this would affect the rest of my life and those around me in the years to come!!!!!!!!!!!
The bikes ready – I’m ready---kens ready---and the suns ready its bloody hot but sadly this would not always be the case over the next 36yrs. we had just time for a picture of Gail in dad’s crash helmet.
Before heading for the east lancs road to Liverpool, no m62 motorway yet. It was almost time for first taste of the Isle of Man steam packet and their luxury liners and unique services
I think we had just about joined the east lancs road when the beeza cut out at the first set of traffic lights. It refused to start in spite of some spirited kicking, no electric start on the b.s.a. Within no time at all I had really worked up a full head of steam be cause of the rubber type of jackets we wore in 1967. Due to our advanced mechanical knowledge and we also had only 45mins to catch the boat the problem was soon found.
During the winter rebuild a doner bike plus box sidecar with a dustbin fairing had been found (whilst patrolling 3 beat your worships) at ovenden where it had stood unloved for who knows how long. I had found it at the back of the railway hotel with flat tires no tax disc etc.
I don’t suppose I realized till now how the young lad must have felt when this copper knocked on his door and said “is this your bike lad” and then the feeling of relief when pc 167 trotter said “do you want to sell it to me”. I’ve no doubt the agreed sum whatever it was probably should have paid the lads gas or electricity bill, but more than likely went straight behind the bar of the railway hotel.
Whatever another B.S.A. joined my collection!!!
anyway back to the breakdown--- it was rust from the doner bikes petrol tank, in the float chamber—the main jet—pilot jet—filter etc. it stopped on us three times on the way to Liverpool and the bike fell over once when the side stand sank into some fresh tarmacadam due to the hot weather—and was it hot! Even more reason to take off at great speed to avoid those big strong council boys who had just laid the new tarmac!!!!!!
just outside of Liverpool we came across one of those superior people- well they liked to give that impression—he was riding a Vincent black knight 1000cc v twin but even the superior Vincent will not perform without petrol.
This guy must have been worked over by the steam packet company before and new full well to arrive dockside with an empty tank, but was 3miles short.
Anyway our superior rider was very happy to accept a couple of cups of petrol from these common B.S.A. riders to get him to the dockside.

“Princess Pier Liverpool for the first time.”

At last my first ever view of the famous river Mersey, and “the king orry”one of the steam packet fleet of luxury liners. What an atmosphere-100s of British bikes thundering up and down the cobbles towards –

“The man” with “the pump” in “the shed”

An unbelievable arrangement operated into the 1980s. What must our friends from the continent think of this arrangement as they arrive at “the pump” to be greeted with?
(Steam packet man) “Open your tank mate we need your petrol”
(Motorcyclist) “What the hell for”
(Or in German) “ vot za hell for”
(Steam packet man) “cos you’re not getting on that bloody boat till your tank’s pumped out mate!”
(Motorcyclist) “I just put 4 gallons in at the last petrol station; it’s cost me 19’6p how much are you going to give me?”
(Steam packet man) “Bugger all lads, and if you don’t frame yourself this copper will move you on- you’re holding up the boat!”
(Motorcyclist) “What do I get then for my petrol? It’s the best stuff- its 5 star!”
(Steam packet man) “You get this little sticker lad and you can stick it anywhere you want (with a knowing look!) But it should go on your headlamp or front mudguard”
(*picture of transfer on front mudguard*)

(Motorcyclist) “I’ll write to the steam packet about this”
(Steam packet man) “Yes you and hundreds of others mate!”
Customer care had not arrived at the steam packet company as yet!
the shed and the pump were to feature in our I.O.M trips into the early 1980’s it would be even more entertaining when heavy rain joined in the fun- more on this in future years.
Not only did the steam packet steal our petrol during these early years worse was to follow if the tide was out. The only way on to the boat is by a bike cradle which hoists the bikes up three at a time. Twenty five feet in the air swinging dangerously close to one another over the dock and onto the boat into the capable hands (or otherwise) of more steam packet personnel.

(* picture of cradle here)

the best time to watch this carry on is when bmw’s or Vincent machines are swinging about and their owners are sprinting for the boat to catch their beloved superior machines before a steam packet man drops it or worse still it disappears into the Mersey river… I’ve never seen this happen but I’m sure it must have done at some point.
The trauma doesn’t end there. The steam packet men have more appalling tricks up their sleeves. Before we head for the Irish Sea all machines had to be tied down securely. This means our splendid sea fairers with rough callous hands and rough callous ropes would attack (sorry secure) our bikes to the deck. once again it would become a game of seeing if we could arrange for our common bsa or triumph etc. to be maneuvered close to those superior bmw’s or vincents, so they were lashed together. Our splendid steam packet men would then run a rope from one machine’s foot rest over the seat or tank (whichever caused the most damage) down to the other foot rest then onto the next adjacent bike.
This action always produced plenty of swearing from angry motorcyclists who had spent all the previous winter on shiny metal and deep lustrous paint. Needless to say those superior bmw and Vincent men were the best with their expletives!
now the bikes were nicely damaged (sorry secured) it’s time to go on deck… what type of steam packet staff will be looking after our every need for the next four hour “cruise” to the island?!
I could see some nervous faces on the first time visitors to the road racing capital of the world. would we be thrown overboard midway across the Irish sea and our machines sold on… no surely this would only happen to you if you rode --- yes that’s right those superior bmw’s or vincents! To be fair I don’t remember the catering facilities in 1967 as ken and I spent the whole 4 hour “cruise” sunbathing on the top deck and finding out how very strong the sun is when mixed with a strong sea breeze! We were also studying the motorcycle news “tt” practice results.
However as we made our way below to release our polychromatic purple and chrome 650cc BSA from those terrible ropes, we did have a quick look through the window of the restaurant. Guess what? Sat behind all those china cups and silver teapots and having silver service lunch etc. yes, you’ve guessed it, was those bloody Vincent and bmw men again and they were looking magnificently superior!

Here at last the I.O.M just 60yrs, after the first tt in 1907.
Well it was time for the first of hundreds of laps over the next 36 and I hope a lot more years.
First mistake, and it could have been our last, whatever you do during tt fortnight never ride the 37-73mile course anti-clockwise-----always clockwise. It’s still dangerous –but not just as dangerous!!!!!
As we approached “hillberry” a downhill left hander (when doing the wrong way) -- round the corner came a “hero” flat out on something British (going too fast to tell what it was). Foot rests scraping, sparks flying, and weaving all over the road, like a good—un bloody hell that was close did we turn round quick. From there on it was a lot safer. Well comparatively.
That year we stayed at bucks road in Douglas about a mile from the sea front. Was it three or four floors up, whatever it felt like 44 floors in that heat. Poor ken this proved a bit too much for him—I didn’t know he suffered from asthma until he produced his inhaler which seemed to do the trick for the rest of the holiday.
but a definite plus with that room—I could see my polychromatic purple and chrome bike in the street below ------ a blinding flash(no pun intended) of chrome etc what more could a motorcyclist (no bikers in 1967) want –sunshine –dry roads, and a motorbike.

“I may not go home”

A phrase used many times over the coming years.
1967 and bucks road brought me into contact with my first real road racer “Carl ward” from Leeds. We didn’t see Carl too often what with 5am practice sessions and also his bikes seemed to like to call it a day around the Ramsey area .but to be fair he must have qualified to make the races.
Carls race transporter was an old funeral hearse in black (what else) .this guy must have loved the wind in his face at all times—I suppose that’s why the hearse had no windscreen!!
I remember we spent Saturday riding the course lap after lap with hundreds of others on British bikes and a good many outfits (bike plus sidecar for you non motorcyclists) I suppose there were plenty of small jap bikes about , but in those days we looked down on them something like those bmw and Vincent men looked down on us.
jap bikes had funny things like----indicaters, electric start, oil that stayed in the engine, overhead cam engines, mirrors all the things real motorcyclists(men !!!) didn’t want or need.
Now most garages have a jap bike waiting to go and see the world and even the smallest is capable of doing just that.
In those days I always said “ill never buy any jap crap” well there are two in the garage now and a jap car outside, and very good they are too!!
after some more exciting laps of the famous. course we had decided, well I don’t think we decided so much as were waved off the road by the marshal at “signpost corner”, the roads were closed for normal traffic. so that was it we would spectator here, a good spot particularly if like us you had no radio. one of the essentials after a bike and a boat ticket is a radio to keep track of whose doing what in the race.
in 1967 there was no housing at “signpost” or “bedstead” corners so after a short walk through the fields we sat on the banking about eight foot above the road., for what turned out to be a great spot to view the action. the roads which are the normal highway the rest of the year have to be closed by an act of tynwald (the Manx parliament) which is the oldest continuous parliament in the world dating back to ……
just before the start of the production race to celebrate the diamond jubilee tt we were aware of a brass band playing in the distance somewhere near the grandstand.
apparently the Douglas town band were marching from governors’ bridge towards the start and finish area, being followed by some of our star riders – mike hailwood, Phil read, Stuart graham, and Walter Jacobs, the last surviving competitor from the first tt in 1907.
I can only imagine how embarrassed hailwood and read must have felt and how traveling at 150 mph between stone walls would be more up their street – or should that be isle of man streets?
also while this was going on 500 pigeons were released heading towards Liverpool although this was a small flight compared to the 2,000 released at 10am the same day to mark the queen’s official birthday. would you believe this was called “the news of the world pigeon championship”?
it was a le mans start for the production race and after john hartle had gone past signpost corner where we were spectating (so fast and so smooth showing why he was a work’s rider in previous years) the next group came along Paul smart, griff Jenkins, lance weil (the only American in the race) weren’t as smooth but were very exciting to watch and even after 36 years I can still hear and see them approaching from cronk-ny-mona. the 250 class were ruled by the bultaco metrallas of bill smith, and Tommy Robb but they could be heard rounding Kate’s cottage three or four miles away!
the most vivid memory I have of this race was of--- lance weil--the American on a triumph Bonneville almost bringing down the front runners at signpost corner at the end of the race. even though the American finished fourth in the race there is no mention of him in the race report – could this be because he was in fact American and bloody fast!!!!! all this happened under a cloudless, warm, sunny evening and thoughts of

“I should have bought a bike and come here years ago” went through my mind.

just when you think all the racing is over some would say the best is yet to come. after the last official race bike gets back to the grandstand out comes the road opening car an mgb sports car this year. after the car passes by wherever you are spectating you can then get on your bike and thrash it to death in pursuit of the official car. out come all the heroes - coffee bar cowboys (how 60s) frustrated racers and downright dangerous buggars!! it pays to sit tight for another 30 minutes to watch and listen to the sights and sounds.
in more recent years the lads on fast jap bikes would overtake the road’s opening car and end up with a visit to court and a heavy fine.
this was still during the years before compulsory crash helmets and if you felt it might “spoil your hair or the girls couldn’t see your handsome face the helmet took its proper place on the carrier at the back of the bike”. This also gave any onlookers the chance to see the look of fear on the face of our “heroes” as they approached signpost corner travelling just a bit too fast with both wheels locked up and smoke pouring from the tyres.

“It’s no good ken, this looks dangerous. So let’s get out there with them”

It was only about one mile from signpost corner to the start but it’s another ever lasting memory from that first year. As you leave signpost it’s downhill to bedstead corner, a left hander then a short straight towards the nook, turn right down the hill again towards governor’s bridge. approaching governor’s bridge where you have to stop because of pc Kelly in his white helmet controlling traffic, we were very aware of being surrounded on all sides by hundreds of bikes all traveling as fast as possible ….. towards pc Kelly.
By now we are stationary in this great mass of machinery which fills both sides of the road and in my mirrors I can see more arriving each second. Because of the number of bikes it’s possible to be held up here for five minutes at least.
this is a great time to look around at the other bikes and riders as they-- twitch and rev,--then rev and twitch-- as they wait for the off again courtesy of pc Kelly.
Yes, they are all here, the lads I saw as we had waited to get off the boat. They were un-screwing the silencers of all their bikes and putting them in their backpacks. As they had left the sea terminal you can imagine the noise, it was like the red arrows had arrived although that would be a few years away yet. These lads were having a great time now with three foot flames shooting out of the open exhaust – pc Kelly seemed quite un-concerned as he had seen it all before.
If you took a bit more time to look around you would see crutches sticking out of backpacks (some with silencers also) belonging to the driver or pillion passengers. There would also be a pot leg or arm sticking out at some strange angle from the bike.

See what I mean about the tt drug – not even pot legs or arms stop a real tt fan (or cancer).

This is a sight that would be repeated over the next 36 years.
As soon as pc Kelly gave us the ok it was as if all hell had been let loose, the twitching stopped and serious revs were the order of the day as we headed full bore down glencrutchery road. Towards the traffic lights at the top of bray hill. Not as fast as the production race lads who had gone by about an hour earlier – hardly possibly seeing as there were 100s of us.
Left turn and time for a pint or two on the sea front and watch another quaint custom which would take place each race week. Douglas sea front is about one and a half miles long and the roadway is shared by two lanes of traffic in each direction plus two horse drawn trams pulling an open carriage called a toast rack, one running in each direction in the centre of the highway.
For those lads who hadn’t had enough of the mountain roads they would now see who could travel quickest from one end of the promenade to the other. This took place while they negotiated parked cars, moving cars, horse trams, pedestrians and anything else that strayed into the road as well as motor cyclists. the poor sods leaving the toast racks had to get from the tram to the comparative safety of the pavements 8 to 10 feet away whilst watching for the---- “promenade bullets” . Apparently the boys were clocked at over 100 mph one year in and out of all the street furniture!!! as for the horses pulling the trams never once in 36 years have I seen one so much as flinch in spite of open exhausts
Well it’s time for bed because tomorrow it’s
“Mad Sunday”
For the first time. Sunday of race week is officially called mad Sunday and it’s well named as everyone, and I mean everyone, turns out to lap the course and it really gets mad when you get to Ramsey hairpin, 13 miles from the grandstand. Up and over snaefell (snow mountain) and then down towards the grandstand its one way traffic. before ken and I set off that Sunday we had agreed that as were both married with a young family we should take it easy – well it works for so long but as you go over that mountain and the “hero’s” are passing you like the proverbial bullets the speed creeps up and the vibration gets worse so the old beeza starts to come apart i.e. nuts and bolts loosening and a fractured front number plate. I suppose a good 650 flash would be ok for just about 100 mph and as some of the fast lads would be passing us at 120 on their bonnevilles and of course those superior Vincent’s at 150 we didn’t seem to be going that fast.
But it takes a while before you get the bottle to go round the corners on the wrong side even though you know there should be nothing coming the other way. During these early years the course on mad Sunday by midday would be littered with seriously bent or broken down bikes. The police join in and circulate with us but of course on the mountain there are no speed limits so for some lads it’s full bore everywhere and ignore the police. It’s very exciting to watch but even better still to join in . Everyone is going for it(as they say) even the police. I chat to the coppers each year and they love “tt” week, even though all leave is cancelled for 2weeks. As pc Kelly said to me “I wouldn’t miss it, the island comes alive and you lads are no trouble at all---- apart from the odd speeder” (about 40,000 to 50,000 speeders at the last count)
It’s true , after 36yrs I can honestly say I have never seen any fights of any kind. Apparently it’s the locals who seem to get locked up race week. They can’t cope with all the excitement after 50 weeks of the sleepy 1950 lifestyle since the last “tt”.

On Sunday night we went to see “no limit” at the strand cinema, staring George Formby as “George shuttleworth speed demon tt rider. It’s very corny by today’s standards --- no effing and blinding or constant humping, so it’s possible to watch with the kids and not be embarrassed!
Amazing when you watch to see how little Douglas sea front has changed since the film was made in 1935.
The boat that takes George to the island is one I’m sure I have cruised on many many many times called “the Manxman”
80mins of black and white fun --- how do I know it’s an 80min film. Well my family bought it for me for those withdrawal moments in the winter, when “tt” week seems a long way off!!!
Poor old George paid £3-12-6d for a weeks board at Mrs. Horrocks “the vista superba” Douglas I.O.M
He even had trouble paying that until he won the big race. It doesn’t matter how often I watch “no limit” George shuttelworth speed demon always wins. I know it’s sad but it stops me interfering with women!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
After a few pints and pie and chips
and the promenade show it’s off
to bed, race day tomorrow.

Sidecars and 250cc. today.
well it cant get any better than this---sun is shining , a pint of castletowns finest ale, cornish pasties, a good spot on the wall, and any minute “mike hailwood” will blast past on the Honda 6.(heaven)
The only problem is wet feet. Very wet feet!!
This happened because we were late getting to our vantage point i.e. quarter bridge. We had forgotten about the early morning boats 4am and 6am bringing lots of day trippers for Monday’s race. A big percentage arrive without transport so walk to the q/bridge as it’s the closest part of the course to reach on foot.
As we arrived and had to park about 500yds away from the pub it began to dawn on us how difficult it would be to view where we had planned. I suppose it was because of the rumour that hailwood was appearing for the last time.(he returned in 1978 and 1979and it shows just how good he was, after 11yrs away he won again. even beating Phil read who had never stopped racing over those years)so even more people turned up.
there was only one way across now as the roads were closed ready for the racing---- under the bridge and try to cross the river whilst carrying 1 pint of ale—6 cornish pasties—2 pints of milk---6 bogey buns(eccles cakes)—program—newspaper—riding gear—radio and camera. Well we would be there for four hours and a Yorkshire lad has to eat!!
I think I was lucky to only get wet feet, after getting that lot across. I think it went wrong when I nearly lost my comb---in my rush to catch it before it floated away in I went. Well your comb is very important when you have a wonderful head of hair and you’re vain. No trouble nowadays no comb and not much hair!
But the wet feet were soon forgotten the minute I heard that Honda 6 screaming down bray hill about a mile away. its one of those sounds that make the hairs stand up on the back of you’re neck and that tingle of anticipation that you will soon experience something unique—mike hailwood—Honda 6 at 15,000revs—and the “tt” course all at once(see what I mean about a drug)
Suddenly there he is –---but just as suddenly he’s gone, screaming along from quarter bridge towards bradden bridge then onto union mills. Even though you can’t see hailwood anymore you can still hear that Honda as it heads out towards Ramsey. The revs rising and falling as the back wheel leaves the ground over the bumps in the road.
oh to be able to press a button on some magic machine and watch mike at---cregwillys hill---the 11th milestone---top and bottom of baggarow---through Kirk Michael village---over ballaugh bridge---sulby bridge---the gooseneck(on a sunny day without doubt the best spot on the course)—through the kink at guthries memorial and just about anywhere coming down the mountain.
I didn’t know even about these places in 1967 , in fact its taken 36yrs to visit them all and I haven’t scratched the surface yet!(so it looks like 36 more years---- jean are you coming?)
but until that magic machine comes along---look out ken here come some more stars on works machinery---Phil read and bill ivy on the Yamaha 4cyl 2 strokes to rattle you’re ear drums with that high pitched sound they make, Ralph Bryans on another Honda 6, john cooper on a Kawasaki,--mzs –bultacos---suzukis---ducatis---aermacchis---guzzis etc your head starts to spin about now.
All making great sounds but that Honda 6 had them all beat, both in the race and for its window rattling sounds. but just when you think the Honda 6 made the best sound ever get yourself a copy of Stanley schofield’s tt highlights and listen to the golden jubilee sounds especially the track where Bob McIntyre on the gilera 4 is being chased by John Surtees on the mv 4 in the senior race on 500 cc grand prix machinery. Turn the volume up “full bore” as they leave creg-na-baa heading down towards “the cutting” and onto brandish. Magic does not describe it. In fact the best way to listen to this is while wearing your helmet , turning the volume up full, turn the dining room chair round and assume the riding position.
About April – may each year when the withdrawal is at its worst, I copy this sound onto a tape for the car stereo. At the traffic lights any traffic lights – with the sun roof open and all the windows down play that sound track full bore and watch the other motorists looking round in fear as Bob Mac and John Surtees hurtle past. I know it’s sad but it stops me interfering with women.
Back to the race and here’s mike again. Loud and fast but oh so smooth. If I could be half as fast as him I would be twice as fast as I am. Just as suddenly it’s all over, five laps in 2 hours 11 minutes 47.6 seconds , so much has happened during that time you have to check your watch to see the time is correct.
Sidecars: in 1967 the machinery still looked like a bike with a sidecar (chair) attached but the thing that hasn’t changed – the passenger still needs a lobotomy. how else can a sane person hang out of the sidecar at speeds even in 1967 of 130 mph with his face inches away from the granit chippings and stone walls etc and even being thrown out of the outfit occasionally usually under heavy breaking and fierce acceleration. Something I have witnessed on quite a few occasions over the years. One incident at governor’s bridge looked very bad at the time but turned out quite funny – but that’s for another chapter.
in fact the winner Siegfried Schauzu (sideways Sid as he became know) lost or ejected his passenger horst schneider at governor’s bridge less than a mile from the finish but still won after collecting schneider with a cut chin and carrying on to the finish!!!!!!!!!!!!

Motor cycle news quote of the day.

Mick Farrant riding a500cc Vincent outfit had to call at the pits on lap 2.to adjust tappets, changed a jet, tighten his gear lever and announced he was going to retire but said “its no good stopping here to see the 250cc race I might as well break down at a decent part of the course” but the bike wouldn’t start.
So much for superior Vincent’s then.
Oh by the way a common BSA finished 6th behind 5 bloody b.m.ws.
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So that was it. My first year at the isle-of-man was nearly over. I had to catch a ferry home Tuesday morning as pc 167 James William Trotter had to protect the people of Halifax borough once more starting Tuesday at 22:00hrs.
But before that it was time to make our way back to our polychromatic purple and chrome BSA. But not via the river under quarter bridge.
Oh no----we decided to cross over the normal way after the roads opening car had flashed past. Big mistake the heroes and bullets were out again. Where the hell do they all come from. They are all coming and going in three different directions ,at varying speeds and varying standards of expertise. All very exciting but I think the river was less dangerous. To be fair the speed is not as obvious once we get back on the flash and become a couple of bullets ourselves!!!!!!!
It’s great to be out there with them even if we have to go home tomorrow---so its one last 37;73 lap then down to Douglas for tea. Whilst all this was going on unknown to me---- Neil Habergam was also watching his first “tt” at the grandstand. I didn’t know Neil until about 1984, he lived in Halifax, and we became motor cycling friends and have had some wonderful years in the island. Future years with Neil and many other friends will fill many more chapters, many,many,many more chapters.

Ken and I cruised home on Tuesday morning, once more in hot sunshine and a few things crossed my mind, such as------
How hard it was to leave before the “tt” was over, and it will never happen again. I will always have at least 1 week’s holiday.
If only the old man (my dad) had let me have a bike when I was 17. I could have been coming here since 1957. Now I have kids of my own I understand his fears, so I had to wait a bit longer than most lads. Still it was worth the wait!!!!!!!
I must get a better camera and radio for 1968.
Book the ferry as soon as I get home for next year.
finally if a job should ever look as though it will prevent my religious outing to the “tt” then ”sod it” have the holiday then find another job.(this actually happened in 1999 when someone turned difficult over holidays so “sod it” I had my “tt” trip and found a better job)

Just one tip. If this load of old rubbish should make you fancy a trip to the I. o. m. Keep your camera with you at all times---because the best picture will appear when you’re camera is in the hotel. If you borrow one run a film through it before you go.
There’s nothing worse than risking life and limb to catch those special pictures of the top men whilst

Hanging through the fence
,or up a tree.
Only to find two weeks later you’ve got bugger all----- except 7 yes 7 rolls of blank film.
its only happened once in 1968 when I borrowed my brother Andrew’s camera, after I had opened the third box of blank film my wife left me alone for three hours (or was it days) to calm down!!
Last tip always check there’s some toilet paper before you sit down in a strange toilet in the Isle of Man, if it’s a long way along the landing!!!!!


Altogether now

“”I think I’ll go just one more time.””