Swede saved
James revisits his childhood with a nostalgic purchase
The south of England was ill-equipped for the famous blizzards of 1981. There was just one operational snowplowing vehicle in my south Cotswolds homeland and it was that large, and very brightly coloured, machine that my father chose to crash into on the afternoon of December 7. At the family home, presumably as I was sprawled in front of an episiode of Mr Ben or Bod, my mother was on the telephone. Peering through the window at the snow outside, she had called my dad to suggest he might want to leave work early to avoid the worsening weather. Minutes later, he was galumphing down lanes, on the dicey rural route between Chippenham and Wottonunder-edge. Crossing the Wiltshire-gloucestershire border at speeds that would have made Eric Carlsson proud, my dad lost control on a bend and slid into the giant yellow plow. Had the car not been a Saab 96, with its sturdy structure wrapped in thick Swedish metal, the event would have most likely sent my father trudging the rest of the way home on foot, his briefcase flapping about in the blustery blizzard.
Instead, the tough old crate was able to continue through the snow packed lanes – albeit at a lesser pace and with front wheels wobbling and splayed outwards – and arrive home almost in one piece. An inspection by the local mechanic was followed promptly by the proclamation of a total write-off and just days later my father
arrived home again – once more in heavy snow – at the wheel of a brand new Citroën Dyane. A wholesome lifetime of Citroëning followed.
The Saab, however, was greatly missed. My own earliest memory of being in a car involves being strapped into a child seat in that early 96 V4. I don’t remember much, as I could have been aged only four or five – but I remember it leaving us and have always felt the urge to rescue one.
Chance encounter
A chance encounter at the Beaulieu Autojumble with stallholders Mark and Trudi Hodges led to a discussion about Saabs. The small talk soon turned into a fairly epic conversation about life and the universe and the significant role Saab – and in particular this Saab – had played in their lives. Mark then unleashed an unexpected bombshell. He had a project V4 – tarted up in the Nineties but discovered under a tarpaulin on the Isle of Wight in 2004 and bought to sit alongside the family 95 and 900.
With the car running again in the mid-2000s, his then 17-year old son Philip enjoyed it for a while but family circumstances saw the focus shifting to the restoration of their daughter’s Renault 4. The Saab has been nestled under a car port since 2012.
We shook hands and smiled. Weeks later, the car was being trailered through the Dorset countryside and north to the PC workshop. There, we discovered it to be – as Mark had promised – in very good order, with all the essential areas solid and corrosion-free. Only rotten footwells
and slightly flaky sills were in need of attention. The interior upholstery had dissolved – and mechanically, it would need a major engine overhaul. Having never owned a Saab, it’s all rather alien to me. I’m used to old Citroëns, which are designed and engineered beautifully… but let down by somewhat tinny metal and fragile electrics. This Saab might be all curves on the outside but it’s made of seriously tough stuff. Clever, too. It was designed by a team of aircraft engineers after all. All of this will of course reveal itself as the restoration process unfolds. For now, I need to get my bewildered head around the difference between the Saab Owners Club and the Saab Enthusiasts Club – both of whom seem very helpful and friendly. I look forward to entering this enchanting new world.