I have been asked when my interest in cars began, and thinking about it the only true answer is that I was born to it. My father (John) operated a mechanical repair business from home, and I found the workshop to be a natural magnet. A tempting lure that I couldn’t resist. My mother (Margret) will relate stories of engine oil stained nappies (diapers) and a very dirty oil stained Rob. From the time I could hold spanners Dad would loosen bolts for me to undo and upon reassembly he would start the bolts by a few turns so that I could wind them back in, and he would tighten them. As the years progressed I was trusted to bigger and bigger mechanical repair jobs. A couple of highlights come to mind. The first time was when I was about 10 or 11 years old, Dad was sick in bed and a neighbour’s tractor had broken down. With a head full of instructions, a new water pump and a handful of tools strapped to the luggage carrier of my bicycle I set off to the neighbour’s farm. I replaced his water pump on the Massey Ferguson tractor, allowing the grateful farmer to complete his harvest. By the time I was in high school I was tackling jobs like engines, clutched, gear boxes, brakes. Etc. I liked repairing cars, While Dad preferred trucks and farm machinery, so I took over the cars that came through the shop, and still helped Dad with the bigger machines.

From the time I was very small I had always wanted to save derelict vehicles. The term I’ve always used is to make old cars into new cars.