One man and his scooter

Editor: One of our readers, Chris Pownall, sent us this item.
Having had several scooters myself in the 1960’s, his story really struck a chord with me.
I’m hoping that some of the many people I rode around with at that time, will share the same happy memories that this story brings to mind.

Lambretta Li 150 1959
I was the proud owner of a brand new Lambretta Li 150, which I took delivery of on Christmas Eve 1959, just a few days prior to my sixteenth birthday.
I had been waiting for this day to arrive since we placed the order at Simister’s Garage in Hibel Road, on the corner of Station Street, Macclesfield. I wasn’t able to take it on the road until the 29th December 1959, which was my sixteenth birthday. It was very exciting when it was delivered to my home at 3 Penn Bridge Bosley, on the back of a trailer. It was Mr Simister himself making the delivery and he spent a few minutes familiarising me with the various controls.
I had spared no expense by going for a full windshield plus a rear carrier, containing a brand new spare wheel.
It looked magnificent in its bright red and cream colours and I couldn’t wait to try it out, riding it around the square in front of our house. In fact, I spent the most of that Christmas manoeuvring it around the tight corners of the square, never getting out of first gear. The neighbours must have thought I was crazy going round and round, making the occasional stop to go indoors for a cigarette.
I remember the scooter costing a total of £200, which I had on hire purchase, spread over a repayment period of 24 months. This made quite a hole in my apprenticeship wages from Wood Treatment in Bosley village, but that didn’t matter as it gave me mobility and it was great travelling to Macclesfield College of further Education several times per week, when I was studying to be a mechanical engineer.
I shall never forget the day I attended my driving test in Macclesfield, which turned out to be a bit of a nightmare. Unlike today, when taking a driving test on a motorcycle and the examiner follows behind on another motorbike, you were on your own with the examiner of foot, observing from a distance.
I remember coming out of the test centre and the examiner asked me to start up the scooter and then he asked me to take a route around a block of buildings and return back to the starting point. He then asked me to go round another route this time taking the opposite handed turns. Like most folks taking their test, I was a little nervous, but fear set in, when I realised I must have taken a wrong turn and I was completely lost. I rode around hoping to pick up my bearings, but all to no avail. Now beginning to panic, I spotted some workmen digging a hole in the road, so I stopped and asked them for directions to the test centre. They were very amused by my plight, but they were able to put me on the right track and I managed to find my way back.
Thinking I had blown it, I was amazed when the examiner informed me that I had passed my test. He told me he knew I was lost but he kept spotting me making a number of turns and I bet he was well amused at my dilemma.
I know it’s nothing to brag about, but I regularly gave my eldest nephew a ride from Penn Bridge to his home at 3 Higher Works, Bosley. Kevin is 12 years younger than me so he would have been no more than three years of age when this taxi service began. As his legs were too short to reach the foot panels from the rear seat, he used to stand up in front of me and hold on tight to the brackets supporting the windshield. Health and Safety had a different meaning in those days, and we were less aware of potential dangers.

The smart Lambretta was good for attracting the young ladies and not long after I began travelling to Macclesfield, I stopped one night on my way home from night school, for some fish and chips. The chip shop was along Mill Lane, not too far from Park Green and when I came out holding by fish and chips, there were two young ladies admiring my shiny scooter. One of them asked me if I would take her for a ride and I wasted no time arranging a date for the following night. I picked up this nice looking girl and I drove her out into the countryside before stopping for a quick kiss and a cuddle. I shall never forget standing by a telegraph pole with my arms wrapped around her, when a passing car slowed down, and the driver wound his window down and shouted, “Giver her some welly mate.”
Unfortunately, I fell off my scooter a couple of times, but luckily without sustaining any serious injuries. The worst crash occurred when I had a pillion passenger and we were traveling to a dance at Goostrey, in thick fog. I was approaching the major crossroads at Siddington and lost my bearings which resulted in the scooter leaving the road and crashing into a large signpost. I was thrown clear and apart from plenty of mud on my best suit, I was OK apart from being very shaken. My pillion passenger however was not as fortunate as me and he lay on the ground moaning, having badly bruised himself after colliding with the sign post. I managed to straighten the handle bars, and persuade my passenger to climb on board once more, and I drove the scooter back to our respective homes in Bosley.
I narrowly escaped serious injury when I was transporting my Sister home following a shopping trip to Congleton. We were travelling along the A54 and approaching the railway bridge in North Rode Village. I had the throttle fully open gathering substantial speed to cruise up the approaching hill, when my rear tyre burst without any warning whatsoever. The scooter went out of control and I struggled to avoid crashing into the brick walls of the railway bridge. The scooter careered almost out of control going from one side of the road to the other, before I managed to bring it to rest. We were very lucky that there was no other traffic around at the time otherwise the outcome could have been very different.
I shall never forget setting off on holiday to Conwy in North Wales. I had travelled as far as Congleton when the clutch cable broke leaving me in a bit of spot. It was very early morning and there was nowhere open from where I could obtain a replacement cable. I decided to keep going and despite some hairy moments along the way, I managed to drive all the way to Conwy without a clutch to change gear. As the journey unfolded, I became quite proficient at changing gear without a clutch to disengage the engine, and it was a matter of correctly gauging when the speed and revs were appropriate to attempt a change without the clutch. The main problems occurred each time I had to stop at lights or a road junction. I then had to push the scooter as fast as possible without the engine running, and then slip it into second gear, when the engine would fire up. It was then a matter of jumping on board, a bit like Roy Rogers leaping on to ‘Silvers’ saddle!!
Another story involving my Sister as a pillion rider occurred when we decided to visit my next door neighbour, who was receiving treatment at the Wythenshawe Hospital, in Greater Manchester, following a serious leg injury. It was a beautiful sunny morning circa 1960, when we left Bosley Village on our 20 mile journey. I was wearing a very light coloured rain coat and a recently purchased grey peak cap, as safety helmets were not a legal requirement for motor cyclists in those days.
As we were approaching Macclesfield, we ran into thick smog, the likes of which I have only ever seen on one other separate occasion. It was what we used to term a ‘pea souper’ and visibility was reduced to just a few yards. It took ages for me to find the hospital having made numerous wrong turns, including one into someone driveway as we approached the hospital.
Our return journey was just as bad and my eyes were aching with concentration and I was about to give up, when just the other side of Macclesfield we ran out of the smog, back into glorious sunshine. I was so relieved that I fully opened the throttle as I couldn’t get home quick enough.
Having reached maximum speed, my smart new hat blew off my head and I heard my Sister laughing when she shouted out loud that I had lost my hat. “Never mind my bl**by hat,” I replied, “I just need to get home!!” My smart light coloured rain coat was now a dingy yellow as a result of the dirty air pollution.
One final story about my amazing Lambretta scooter, which I have included in my memoirs, entitled ‘Funny How Things Work Out’.
It would have been the late 1950s and I was out on my scooter, attending a Saturday night dance at Alderley Edge.
It hadn’t been a successful evening as far as the girls were concerned so I decided to leave shortly before the dance finished at 11-45pm. I had travelled just a few miles on the Macclesfield Road when the engine cut out for no apparent reason. I had plenty of fuel in the tank, but there was no sign of life when I repeatedly used the kick start.
I decided to change the spark plug, but still the engine would not start up.
I had about made the decision to abandon the scooter for the night, and head off on foot, hoping that I might thumb a lift along the way, when a car pulled up and it was a farmer friend of mine from Bosley Village. He offered some assistance, but despite trying yet another spark plug, we were unable to coax any life into my pride and joy scooter. My friend was driving the family car, which was a large Wolseley saloon with a drop-down boot. He suggested that if we could remove the windshield, and stack the car rear seat on to the boot lid, we might be able to get the scooter in the back of the car. We found a suitable spanner in the car tool box and managed to remove the wind shield. It was then a case of manoeuvring the scooter, front wheel first, through the rear door of the car. Needless to say, it was a hell of a struggle, but in the end we managed it. However we still had a big problem, because the scooter was too long to fully fit inside the car and we were left with the carrier stick out, so we were unable to shut the rear door. We managed to rope the door and started heading for home with me standing outside the car on the running board holding on to the back of the scooter in case it was the slide out.
I thought we would never make it home, because the police were bound to spot us as we headed for home at 20 miles per hour.
Things were much different in those days, and most folks were tucked up in their beds by midnight, and by now it must have been getting on for 02-00 in the morning.
I don’t know how we got away with it, but we came into Macclesfield via Chestergate, then making a right hand turn in front of the Town Hall and the police station, before driving down Mill Street and off towards Bosley.
We made it, and I was naturally very grateful for my friend’s assistance that particular night.
What we did was incredible and something you would never get away with in this day and age!!
Chris R. Pownall – November 2015
You can discover more of Chris’s memoirs by visiting www.amazing-life-stories.webs.com