Early
recollections by Geoff Harris
The
above photograph
is of Cyril Morgan’s motorcycle dealer shop in Caerphilly, with the
title
“Easter
Delivery 1932”. The photographer was F. W. Gatehouse, the long time
town
chemist. The shop, which was in Pontygwindy road was demolished when
the Carrefor Hyper market (now ASDA) was built on the ground behind the
buildings shown, around 1972. The above photograph has been copied a
number of times and posted on other internet sites, all with an
incorrect title as being at the Picadilly interchange in Caerphilly. In
fact Cyril moved his business to 4 buildings around the Picadilly
square interchange not long after the war. Only one of the Picadilly Square buildings is still standing and in use nowadays as a carpet retailer.
However, Cyril did retain ownership of the Pontygwindy road premises,
which was rented out until it was demolished. During the late 50's and
early 60's the "Caerphilly and District Motorcycle and Light car club"
used the upstairs as a club room.
Cyril's establishment to
us, as young motorcycle
enthusiasts in the early 1960`s, was the absolute Mecca.
I started
as
an apprentice electrician in 1961 in the Cardiff
steelworks commonly known as the “Dowlas Works” as it was moved from
Dowlas
near Merthyr Tydfil to Cardiff
in the latter part of the previous century.
My first
introduction to motorcycles was looking with envious eyes at the older
apprentices riding into work on their BSA Bantams as I sweated in with
my home
assembled pedal cycle. Those Bantams looked so large and powerful; I
was determined
to have one. This was a major problem, because as a first year
apprentice my
wages were £2. 17s 00d from which my mother, quite correctly, required
my
contribution to the family living costs. This left me with £1.10s,
still a
fortune for a 16 year old.
A chap in
our
street had just realised his life time ambition and bought a 600cc
Matchless
and side-car. His very used and battered 1952 D1 Bantam was for sale at
£7.
10s, just within reach. I saved like mad. When I had just enough for
the
purchase but not tax or insurance I approached my “Mam” and told her I
wanted
to buy a motorbike. The exact words of her reply are lost from my
memory,
this is an
example of the bodies self defence mechanism, in removing the most
dangerous
and unpleasant memories, limiting the long term psychological damage
such
trauma can have on one so young. Suffice to say the reply was most
certainly in
the negative.
What then
followed leaves me, to this day, filled with wonder at my own
foolishness and
courage, for the next day I went out and bought the bike. Never have I
carried
out a more dangerous or courageous act, and to my utter astonishment my
mother
let me continue breathing.
Within
the
month I had the bike taxed and insured and was mobile. The
wonder of
it all was soon brought to reality when it became clear that the Bantam
was
not
much faster than my push bike. But I proceeded to improve its speed by
cleaning
and polishing it and by applying lots of chrome tape.
I passed
my
test as soon as possible and looked around for a bigger bike. My
sister’s boy
friend, trying to keep in my good books, told me of a chap in Penarth
who had a
Norton for sale. (Have you noticed how useful your sister’s boy friends
were?
In order to stay sweet with her, they were forced to be nice to you)
the bike
turned out to be a 1956 Domi 99. The asking price £38. As I was now a
second
year apprentice earning £4. 5s. 00d a week with the opportunity for
some
overtime, the bike was as good as mine after some months saving. Please
note;
all this saving did me no harm; it taught me that abstinence and
celibacy have
their own reward, some thing I have never ever repeated.
The bike
was
in a pretty poor state with very rusty exhaust pipes and silencers and
a badly
scratched petrol tank. I later found out that the previous owner was a
display
rider when he was in the RAF and with a little encouragement would ride
up and
down Penarth Road standing on the tank. That explained the scratches.
Yet more
saving saw me with enough money to buy a set of new exhaust pipes. In
those days
we had to work a 48 hour week. This included a Saturday morning 8.00 to
12.00.
So at 12.00 still dirty from the rolling mills and in my apprentice
green
overalls I set off at speed for Cyril Morgan's to buy my exhaust pipes.
Remember, that most shops then, closed on Saturday afternoons, so I
needed to
be smart off the mark and not hang about.
When the
new
shiny pipes were laid on the counter I touched them with my finger tips
as you
would a holy relic. How to
get
them home was no problem. Tied around my waist with a bit of old string
and a
pipe slung back across each shoulder, I was away.
Eager to
fit
them and anticipating that with these shiny new pipes, I would be the
envy of
my friends and how they would further enhance my sex appeal to all the
girls, I
simply flew along on a cloud of dream like enthusiasm, long hair
blowing in the
wind. Travelling down North Road in Cardiff,
I came across a line of slow moving cars. Down a gear, I smartly
overtook the
lot in one graceful Hailwood like movement, only to discover a
policeman on his
Triumph in the middle. I
did what all
would do. I reduced my speed, pulled into line, looked straight ahead,
pretended to be innocent and prayed.
Within
seconds
the policeman was alongside signalling me to stop. With pounding heart
I pulled
in, stopped, cut the engine and hung my head. The policeman stopped his
Triumph
and put it on the stand. Slowly he walked up to me.
Picture
if you can, this pathetic
figure. Still grubby from the steel works, in dirty green overalls with
the
word “Apprentice” i.e. “Idiot” written in large yellow letters across
the
breast pocket, with
two exhaust pipes
sticking above my bowed and repentant head. He walked around me and the
bike
tutting all the time, but managing not to laugh. He then proceed to
give me the
“Mother and Father” of a rollicking, to which I nodded with acquiescent
agreement to each and every point he made. Finally after promising to
mend my
ways and never do it again, he sent me on my way. I left, thanking
heavens and all
my ancestors for their kindness in giving me a policeman with a heart
and a
sense of humour.
I have
never
forgotten him and although I must admit that I did not always comply
with his
instructions to keep the speed down. It’s only now many decades later
with the
wisdom of age and fear of speed cameras, that I obey the speed limits,
well
most of the time and, I still have the Norton.