Simon Taylor Full throttle
‘The wipers failed, so Miss Goff said, “We’d better try to beat the rain,” and the following 85 miles were completed in 55 minutes’
We all know that, when valuing a car, history matters. A class winner at Le Mans is worth far more than its teammate that retired during the fourth hour, and both are hugely more valuable than the same model that has led a quiet life in the hands of a string of unremarkable owners. But part of the fun of owning any classic is finding out how it spent its life before it ended up with you. Tracking down past owners can produce lots of good anecdotes, explain mysterious dents or departures from standard spec, and maybe score some forgotten spares.
Dealers devote a lot of effort to researching a classic’s history before deciding on the asking price, which is how Dan Cogger, who works with Eagle E-types supremo Henry Pearman, stumbled on the delightful tale of Miss Moyra Goff and her AC Cobra.
This aristocratic lady, great-granddaughter of King William IV and descended from William the Conqueror, was born in 1897. Her 17th-birthday present was a La Ponette, a French sporting light car that her father had seen at the 1913 Motor Show. In 1923 she started her love affair with AC cars, owning several different models until the 1950s, when she bought a Bristol-engined Aceca. She also owned a Big Healey, a Jensen 541 and, of all things, a TVR 350i – not to mention lesser stuff such as a Ford XR3 and a Capri 2.8i.
The announcement of the Cobra rekindled her passion for ACS, and in December 1964, when she was 67, she found a new one for sale. It was red, which she thought very vulgar, so she immediately had it sprayed in her favourite colour of metallic black. She was meticulous about its condition, checking the levels and pressures before each trip, and only using soft rainwater in the radiator. The car was returned for regular servicing to the Thames Ditton factory, and when that closed she got one of the redundant AC workshop staff to look after it. Small in stature, she had a smaller steering wheel fitted because she could barely see over the standard one, and although she used the car all year round she deemed the heater unnecessary and had it removed: “Cars didn’t bother with things like heaters when I was a gel.”
The Cobra was her regular transport for 25 years, and into her 90s she was still using it on her weekly run from her London house in
Brompton Square to her country estate. A friend remembers a ride to Wiltshire when, on leaving the M4 services at Heston, the windscreen wipers failed: “The weather looked threatening, so Miss Goff said, ‘We’d better try to beat the rain,’ and the next 85 miles to her junction were completed in 55 minutes, an average of 92mph.” She did admit to being stopped for speeding on one occasion, but the traffic cop was so astonished to find a tiny elderly lady in the cockpit that he let her talk her way out of it.
She never married. In London she was looked after by her butler, Norbury, and in the country by a loyal staff who kept up the magnificent gardens. She would wear dark blue in town, tweeds in the country, and grey and maroon when travelling. She increased her substantial inheritance by skilfully playing the markets, consuming the Financial Times each morning and then issuing stern orders to her stockbroker in a daily phone call.
She continued to drive the Cobra regularly past her 92nd birthday. Then in 1989 she suddenly consigned it to a Christie’s auction, where it sold for what was then a record price for the model. Four weeks later, with a lifetime of fast motoring behind her, she died.
A few weeks ago the Cobra left Pearman’s collection in the hands of a new owner. Let’s hope he uses it with the same enthusiasm and vigour as did Miss Moyra Goff.