FAREWELL OLD MATE
MY FIRST, distant Falcon experiences stem not from my publican father, but his burly shearer brother. Uncle Dud only knew one speed – flat out – and I still smile at the memories of driving like the wind in his grey XY across shimmering north-west Queensland plains, windows down, hair troubled by the hot western wind. The destination was usually a shearing shed, or a rugby league game on a baked, grassless paddock in a distant, dusty town. I still recall the vicarious thrill of craning my neck to check the thin orange exclamation mark of the speedo, hovering relentlessly between 80 and 90MPH.
Those early memories are of six-cylinder Falcons with plush suspension, column shifts and slippery bench seats. It took a couple of good wool seasons for Dad and Uncle Dud to scratch their V8 itch.
The ‘big car for a big country’ ethos came to life for me in these Falcons, which felt like they could run all day at 80mph, and often did. They weren’t flash, but they were tough. The Y-U-M-P of hitting a cattle grid at 70mph and becoming momentarily airborne was better than any Gold Coast amusement park ride.
By the time I Ieft school the family had moved to the big smoke, Townsville, where dad took up taxi driving and there began a long and unbroken line of Falcons. From the XA through XB, XC, XD, XE and XF, my mum, sisters and I learnt intimately every crease, curve and angle in the bodywork through our nightly cleansing ritual involving chamois and sponge. I drove most of them, too.
After half a million kays, the XC became mine, dressed up a bit from its taxi austerity with pinstripes, a set of wheels and a radio cassette. It looked sharp and drove well, but the hard miles and pollution gear robbed it of the urge I’d felt in Uncle Dud’s XY.
I sold it a couple of years later and bought an XB panel van with a mate for a round-australia dash. It came complete with bubble windows, a GT dash and an unfinished exterior patchwork of primer and paint. Under the dented bonnet was a set of extractors feeding a twin system, a mild cam and a Holley four-barrel that made it drink like a sailor on shore leave.
The XB van was toey and made all the right noises, but was memorable mostly for repeated attempts to kill us, thanks to a dodgy throttle linkage that would jam wide open without warning at inopportune moments.
By the time I made it into motoring journalism, after cutting my teeth in the 4x4 equivalent, Ford was launching the infamous AU Falcon and the rest, as they say, is history.
I was at the helm of Wheels when we awarded the BA Falcon Car of the Year in 2002 (below), and a couple of years later when the excellent Ba-based Territory took the gong. There, too, when we sent a BA XR6 Turbo to Europe with Peter Robinson to showcase Aussie expertise to some of the Continent’s harshest critics.
Like many people, I’m sad that it’s the end of the road for the Falcon. I took pride in the fact that we could build cars like that, which seemed so uniquely, honestly Australian; cars that are woven so inextricably through our collective memory.
We’re going to miss the big old bird.