THIS YEAR is the 50th anniversary of the Mini. No, I don’t mean the mini-skirt. I mean the Mini-car, that little box on four wheels. Remember? I have many fond memories of the Mini. I owned one of them in the 1960s and thoughts of that car fill me with nostalgia. Yes, the good old days.
It’s many the adventure I had with my Mini, ranging from nearly killing Brendan Behan; seriously injuring our cat; having it stolen from outside the house; to appearing in court for not having a rear red light in working order.
The basic Mini, launched in August 1959, was the cheapest car on the market (£495), and was intended to appeal to the masses. Despite early favourable reviews, it was not until the 1960s that it really took off. Almost overnight, the Mini came to epitomise the spirit of the age. It became a celebrity must-have, driven by everyone from Christine Keeler to Princess Margaret . . . to me.
It was designed by Alec Issigonis, a Briton of Greek-German parentage. He favoured economic design and believed that discomfort was good because it kept you focused. Ridiculous things such as radios, heaters and seat-belts were simply distractions.
About five and a half million Minis were sold in the 41 years before production ceased under its British owners in 2000, long after it was effectively obsolete. A new version was afterwards produced by BMW.
The great thing about the Mini wasn’t just that it was cheap. No, it was a car that didn’t guzzle petrol, was easy to park and could get up to a fair speed. It was the only car that the poor people could afford, and was usually paid for on the HP (hire purchase). A huge chunk of my salary used to go into paying for my pride and joy. But what the hell, it was long ago and I was young and had no responsibilities. It also gave me status. When you are young status is important.
The only drawback was that it was so close to the ground you got a pain in your backside after a long journey. If you were tall you were constantly hitting your head of the door frame. In wet weather you needed wellington boots because the water seeped in through the floor. The water also resulted in damp spark plugs and you had to be a bit of an engineer to loosen them and dry them off. Same with the battery, the leads used to come loose and you never travelled without a screwdriver to tighten them. A girl in the office couldn’t get her Mini started. I got the screwdriver from my car and had her back on the road within minutes. She must have thought I was Einstein.
NOW, I WANT to tell you a true story. I nearly went down in history as the man who killed Brendan Behan. My Mini was slowing down at an intersection at Ballsbridge when the red-faced, highly inebriated Brendan decided to walk out in front of me. I was practically stopped at the time, so he just brushed against the side of the bonnet and plopped to the ground, like a sack of potatoes. He quickly picked himself up and proceeded to abuse me. His vocabulary of four-letter words was astounding. I could see why he was such an international literary genius and I was just an overworked journalist on a small Wicklow newspaper.
I quickly told him if it had been any other driver he would be stone dead. Walking out in front of cars, even little cars like the Mini, was a dangerous pastime. He called me a few other choice names and then staggered off down Anglesea Road, where he was living at the time. Anyway, I’m sure if Brendan was going to be killed by a car he would have preferred a Mercedes to my humble blue Mini.
Then there was the incident with our cat. Because the Mini is so low, the cat was able to get into the engine, where it was warm. She then did what all stupid cats do; she fell asleep. Unfortunately, when the engine was started she was badly injured. She lost an eye, had a badly injured leg and a lot of cuts and bruises. She suffered severe shock (as did I).
However, she made a wonderful recovery and, even with only one eye, continued to terrorise every mouse and bird in the area. She lived for another three years before heading
off to the great cat world in the sky.
Another drawback with the Mini was that it was an easy car to break into, so they were often stolen. Mine was stolen from outside my front door. I couldn’t believe it. I looked out the window during breakfast and, as the cliché goes, there it was . . . gone.
The first rule in these situations is to panic, which I did. I then calmed down and informed the gardaí of my great loss. Four days later a girl I knew saw it in Dublin car park, where it had been dumped. It was slightly damaged, but nothing serious.
Finally, there was the summons for having a broken rear red light. I had to take a day off work and go before the District Court like a common bloody criminal. Imagine that . . . all for a broken light. I threw myself at the mercy of the court. I told the judge I did not know it was broken, which was true, and anyway I didn’t have eyes in the back of my head. The judge was impressed and gave me the Probation Act.