I here present the second part in a series of Banjo Paterson's coverage of the Dunlop Motor Reliability Trial of 1905. Three articles keep us up to date with the race. The first appeared in 'City Edition' edition of The Evening News of 22 February 1905 [1]
SPECIAL CITY
"EVENING NEWS" OFFICE, 4.15 P.M.
THE BIG MOTOR CAR RIDE.
SECOND DAY'S JOURNEY.
(FROM OUR SPECIAL REPRESENTATIVE WITH THE CARS.)
GOULBURN, Wednesday. — The Mayor entertained the motorists last night at a successful function. If all the country towns treat them as well they will have a good trip. Interest in the contest is mainly confined to the trial between the French driver of the Brasier, and H. L. Stevens (Vic), who is driving the Darracq. Drivers say that the Frenchman opened their eyes coming down Razorback. He fairly flew down it. To-day will be a severer test than yesterday, the speed being greater.
YASS, Wednesday, 10.37 a.m. — The road from Goulburn to Yass is in splendid order. We got away badly, and ran over a calf. The animal was either purposely left there, or it wish- ed to commit suicide. The astonishing part of it was that the calf went away unhurt, while our car was delayed. We passed Freedman, in trouble, near Gunning. Harry Skinner, who Is in a Darracq car, hit a gully, and bent the axle like a hoop yesterday. He starts later to-day. We expect to reach Jugiong safely, unless we meet more calves.
The second article appeared on page 5 of the The Evening News of 23 February 1905 [2].
THE OVERLAND MOTOR CAR RIDE.
(FROM OUR SPECIAL REPRESENTATIVE WITH THE CARS.)
GUNDAGAI, Thursday.— Our army starts three short to-day. T. K. Rand took his car to the railway with a team of squatter's bullocks. A. B. Langford pulled his wheel off and threw himself and chaffeur yards in the air; but they were not hurt. The car was put on the truck at Coolac. G. Tye and his chaffeur were thrown out, and the back axle damaged. The car ran on for same distance without them There have been no casualties so far. All the small cars are safe; also the Sydney ears (two), Arnott's and Mark Foy.'s. The latter is enjoying himself. He is in no hurry. He lets the others start, then has breakfast, and follows up, picking up the dropped gear. He has got a tin of oil, a suit of pyjamas, and various other sundries. It is more pleasant than running against time, Nichol's big Darracq car, twenty- four horse power, made great pace yesterday. It was delayed two hours, with a bent axle, but made it up all but half a minute. Mr James (manager of the trials), had the axles of his car bent, though not competing.
The third article appeared on page 6 of the same paper [3].
MOTORING TO MELBOURNE
A RELIABILITY TRIAL
THE HISTORY OF THE HASTE WAGGONS II
(BY OUR SPECIAL REPRESENTATIVE WITH THE CARS.)
When a friend asked me to go in a motor-car trip to Melbourne, and said that over 20 cars were going, I had an idea that the whole commando would go together, and visions arose of a horde of motors flying along in clouds of dust, hooting like fiends in torment. But such expectations were agreeably disappointed. The cars were dispatched at intervals of three minutes or so — enough to put about a mile between each car — and there seemed to be little or no closing up in the running. The motor-cycles started first, and went spluttering and shaking their way along at a great pace, each rider's head nodding over the handles the like the head of a Chinese Mandarin. Every man to his taste, of course, but I am of opinion that the man who would ride a motor-cycle for pleasure, would go to the infernal regions for pastime. Anyhow these get away first each day, then the light cars, and then the heavy cars. After a few miles, one begins to come up with the motorcyclists — mostly camped by the roadside, mending something.
One such unfortunate hailed us with a frenzied appeal for petrol, and he was go pathetically anxious to get along that our driver stopped and gave him a lot, though he risked losing points by delay. This is written at Goulburn after the first day's run, and at time of writing only about half the motor cyclists have showed up. The rest are scattered far and wide, by mount, and stream, and gully. One of the first to get in was so elated with his success that he told us "it was dead easy; he had time to have stopped at every pub if he'd liked." The others who have not arrived, would probably have a different tale to tell.
PASSING EACH OTHER.
As a rule, one sees very little of the other cars. Sometimes on climbing a hill there appears far ahead a little doll-like vehicle climbing the next hill, flying for dear life, with two little bunched up figures sitting in it. Then after a hill or two the big horse-power begins to tell, and though all cars can go much the same pace down a hill, the up-hill grades bring back the low powered cars, and while, a twenty-four horse power will stride up a hill without turning a hair, the little cars have to use their lowest speed and go up slowly, clattering like thresh ing machines.
As one car overhauls another the leader is bound to give room to pass, and so far there has been nothing but the best of good-fellowship over it. The car that is leading, if it carries on to a bit of dangerous road, will signal to the car behind, the signal being given by a vigorous waving of arms. Whether this brotherly love will continue all the way remains to be seen. The amateurs who are competing do not particularly care whether they are in first or not, so long as they get in by the specified time, but the agents of various cars are anxious to get in first, and there may be a little more rivalry later on.
BEING OVERTAKEN.
Though it is all right overtaking a car, it is a different thing when you hear 'toot, toot' behind you, and you have to pull to one side to let a car go by. It was much more annoying to us than to the surprised swagman upon whom we came suddenly. We had to let the French (Brasier) car with the French driver go by, and he was letting her spin, too. He is said to have won a Grand National, or something equivalent to it, in France. But nothing could catch the Darracq that is driven by the Melbourne agent for those cars. He said he came through with his spark retarded (I think that is the right expression), but the other drivers don't altogether accept the statement. In fact, the motorist is just like the hunting man that always jumps the biggest fence. Each motorist, by his own account, has used less petrol and less spark, and has been in bigger ruts and his car has jumped higher and side-slipped more than, any other car. It is quite a new language that has to be learnt — something like golf language— when one goes motoring.
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| Illustration from focus article by Lionel Lindsay. |
THE LUCK OF THE GAME.
There is an awful bit of luck about it, too. The car that the writer was in, hit nothing, jumped nothing, and picked up nothing. Another car picked up two nails — punctures each time, and blew out a tube once by plunging into an unexpected washaway. Next day the luck may be reversed. At time of writing, it is said that the only car driven by a lady, is stuck in a river, about four miles from anywhere; but this, like many other rumours, may be disproved later on.
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| Illustration from focus article by Lionel Lindsay. |
THE SACREDNESS OF A RACE.
In a previous article, reference was made to the sacredness of a race in Australian eyes. We had abundant evidence of it in this run. Every where the people cheered the cars on, even though their children and poultry were snatched by hairsbreadths from untimely graves. Men ran to show us the turnings, and volunteered the information, "He's just ahead of you! Go at him! You've got him" as if they were cheering on a friend in a foot race. None of the cars did any racing — the road is too bad for that, but occasionally, in stretches of good road, one could "let her out" a bit, and then it really was enjoyable. Occasionally a horse will object to us, but nothing serious in this way has so far happened.
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| Illustration from focus article by Lionel Lindsay. |
THE JOY OF MOTORING.
It is only now and again that you get the fall advantages that motoring can offer. When you set a bit of really good road, clear away as far as you can see — smooth gravel for choice — and the car is at her best, the engine working with a rhythmic hum, but everything else as noiseless as the tomb, and you feel her answer to every least touch of acceleration, while the milestones slip past one after another in surprisingly rapid fashion, and you put the watch on her and find she is doing thirty miles an hour, and only sauntering along at that. Then one knows for a few brief minutes what motoring really is. But when the smooth-looking stretch of road is constantly crossed by the apparently harmless waterways, that rack and jolt the car two or three feet in the air, if you let her rush into them; or when the hills are long and steep, and dusty, and loose metal lies thickly, and she doesn't seem to answer properly when you liven her up a little, that is the depressing side of the sport. But one gets a glorious rush through fresh air, laden with scent of half dry gum leaves, and sees the homesteads flying past, and catches glimpses of far-off blue hills and deep gullies, that make the ride worth having, even if there were no race or trial at all. The car is like an untiring house, that breasts the hills gallantly and then flies away again as fresh as ever on each stretch of smooth road.
THE COMPETITORS.
There is not much intercolonial jealousy among the competitors, though three States are represented. Motorists are cosmopolitans and the only rivalry is as to the make of the car. American, German, English, and French workshops have turned out their best work to enable us to fly through Australia a little faster than we could otherwise do. And the various owners — Australian, English, or foreign, think only of their cars. It is a contest of foreigners. The chauffeur is more important than the driver. To compare it with horseracing, the driver is the jockey, while the chauffeur is the trainer. The driver must take the risk of sending her along, must save every bit of bad road, and let her out on the level, and a lot depends on his skill, nerve, and judgment. But the chauffeur has to know by the slightest sound if anything is wrong, and he must know what is wrong. If any stoppage occurs and he takes an hour to find out what is the matter, then the best driving in the world can't serve him. Anyone with a little skill in steering, or fair share of pluck, and a quick decision, can drive and perhaps drive well, but it takes years of training to make a man a really first-class chauffeur.
THE MOTOR RIG-OUT.
By common consent, breeches and gaiters similar to those used for riding, seem to be adopted as the correct motor costume. Add to these a high-peaked cap, a white macintosh, a pair of awful goggles, and possibly a mask with a false leather nose, and you have some idea of the visitors who were stirring up the City of Goulburn at the time of writing.
There is a famous expression used by Mark Twain in the 'Innocents Abroad' — 'We made Rome howl.' That is just what the motorists are doing here. They are making Goulburn howl. From 11.52, when H. L. Stevens' Dar racq car rushed into Goulburn ahead of the ruck, up till 4 p.m., the main street has been blocked by a singing, jabbering, mass of small boys, agriculturists, and local oracles all explaining to each other all about motor cars. As each fresh car comes in there is a wild rush, and the small boys push each other nearly under the wheels, and just as the throng is thickest a Yankee driver, with a face like granite, sends two thousand pounds' weight of priceless mechanism in amongst them, and the mob scatters and drifts up and down the street, fingering the cars that are waiting by the road side filling up and making adjustments before being handed over. Each fresh chauffeur is a thing of less beauty than the last, and Goulburn has not got reconciled to their peaked caps, their goggles, and their iron features.
One hears of bicycle face. Motor face is the same, but a good deal harder. Concentrated watchfulness is the essence of the motor face — the watchfulness of the man who may hit a drain, or take a side-slip and spin off the road at any moment and land in the ditch with a lot of nearly red-hot machinery on top of him. They say the crack drivers in the old country have to be in full training to do one of their long speed runs, and when one sees the wreck that can be made by the hundredth of a second's carelessness, one can easily believe it.
THE TRIAL.
So far everything has worked all right, and the officials are in high good humour. To-morrow we strike worse roads, deeper washaways, and steeper grades. We go through Gunning and Yass. At the former town the residents asked that the cars should be allowed to go through full speed, so that they might see a race. But the only Yass resident yet met with said cautiously, "Well, look out yer don't run over some of my crossbred ewes!" But, un- dismayed by bad roads, big hills, and crossbred ewes, we point her nose for Gundagai in the morning, and only hope that she will eat up the miles till we get there.
References
[1] SPECIAL CITY. (1905, February 22). Evening News (Sydney, NSW : 1869 - 1931), p. 5. Retrieved February 10, 2018, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article112748378
[2] THE OVERLAND MOTOR CAR RIDE. (1905, February 23). Evening News (Sydney, NSW : 1869 - 1931), p. 5. Retrieved February 10, 2018, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article112750894
[3] MOTORING TO MELBOURNE. (1905, February 23). Evening News (Sydney, NSW : 1869 - 1931), p. 6. Retrieved February 9, 2018, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article112750887
