Oxford Blues and Red-Bellied Black Snakes

I was a little nervous about seeing my first Marathonier for this trip because I really hadn’t even looked at the book project since seeing David Dunnell in deepest, darkest Wales back in mid-December.

I needn’t have worried.

I set off early from Katoomba via Cassiopeia, the neighbourhood coffee shop further down the street.  A beautiful morning, blue skies and shrieking cockatoos darting from tree to tree above my head.  Allowed plenty of time for the drive back into the city, so set up the faithful sat nav, cursed the car rental folks for giving me car without any screen wash, and set off for the 90 minute drive back down the mountain to Sydney.  The mostly two-lane highway twists its way downwards, dominated by vast tracts of road works and speed restrictions.  The roads were busy with folks who obviously had the same plan as me – traffic was heavy all the way into Sydney.  

I discovered that the little Hyundai has a 6^th gear, which seems excessive for such a little engine, but the car effortlessly transported me down the Parramatta Road and on into Redfern, my final destination.  Good job the car is so small as said Road is three-lane, each extremely narrow.  Lined with an endless stream of car dealerships and little else, the route towards town eventually took me into what is fast becoming a very trendy part of the city.  Found a tiny alley in which to park and made my way along a street thronged with people sitting in the sun outside deli’s and coffee shops towards my appointment.

A rather lovely late 19^th century house, chock full of packing cases and cardboard boxes awaited me – the door opened by a dramatically thin, smiling woman and very excited dog, barking a frantic welcome.  I told the woman that barking canines at the door was home-from-home for me, and was led down a hall into a bright and beautifully laid out conservatory kitchen, where my subject sat smiling at a bench table.

Duncan.

I only tracked Duncan down late last year, via his co-driver Peter who lives in England, and I only stumbled across Peter via a Google search.  Now I knew that Duncan, Peter and their third crew-member Simon had driven a privately entered Lotus Cortina in 1968, and particularly that a collision with a bus in Teheran has nearly put paid to their ambitions (and Simon’s freedom!).  Other than a few fragments of fact, I knew very little.

Duncan apologised for not getting up, gesturing his stick which leant against the bench - at 70, he has severe peripheral neuropathy so mobility is a challenge, a cruel fate for a man passionate about fast cars and driving.  So, sitting down to a pot of tea, a plate of biscuits and an apology for the chaotic state of the house (they move to southern NSW on Tuesday, so lock, stock and barrel were all packed up), I set up my voice recorder and once again immersed myself in the, for me, thrilling world of driving in competition from London to Sydney 45 years ago.

I think the thing I love the most about meeting and talking with these men and women is watching and listening to how memories rise to the surface, snippets and anecdotes not thought of for decades.  Duncan mixed Marathon stories with his life in England as an Oxford grad’ (and former Oxford Blue!), his love of fast cars and how the Marathon led to a new life in Sydney – he stayed in 1968 and never returned home other than to visit. My plan is to meet Simon and Peter upon my return, and Duncan was excited to know what they will recall.  All three remained good friends, and I think he was sad to realise his poor mobility means he will never again be able to take the 24 hour flight back to Britain.

Three hours and many anecdotes later, with a few myths dispelled, I made my thanks and farewells and departed into the sunlight.

Having now met or communicated in writing with 40 plus folks from the Marathon, I remain in awe of the determination, spirit of adventure (and not insignificant amounts of money) these men and women had in 1968.  From professional racing or rally drivers to excited amateurs, whether cars or motorsport remained a part of their lives or not, time and time again I sense how the 10,000 mile dash across continents changed lives and forged life-long friendships, and it continues to be a genuine pleasure to know these people, if only for a few hours.

So, one down, three to go… a 4.5 hour drive awaits me tomorrow, not to mention one of those hilarious Aussie motels in the back of beyond.  Had forgotten how much I enjoyed hurtling around on my own when I was here last year.

Now, apparently, on top of the arachnid-eco-horror here in Katoomba, I also have to be mindful of the red-bellied black snake – a friend of my host had to emergency dash to the local veterinary hospital recently when her dog was bitten while mooching in a garden.  How on earth do people manage pets and gardens here?  It’s like having to dice with death every time you pop out to prune your roses or plant spring bulbs, if you ask me!