Manx memories
It’s spring 1966 and, having saved hard all winter, I have just purchased a second-hand 1962 Norton 650SS (pride!). It is all I could wish for but, unfortunately, coming back from the Whit Sunday Brands Hatch races we get stuck in a London traffic jam and I manage to seize the engine (not happy).
However, although sounding a little rough, when the engine cools down it continues to run and gets me home. June is exam time at college so it has to wait a bit before it can be repaired (new bearings, re-bore, pistons, etc.).
Now, due to those nice sailors, there is a seamen’s strike on and the TT has been moved to the end of August 1966 (which means no college). With my case strapped on to the back of the motorcycle, at the appropriate time I am off to the TT, through Stone, Staffordshire, M6, East Lancashire Road and down on to the docks to join a long winding queue of fellow supporters. Halfway along the queue some gentleman starts to relieve our bikes of what fuel is left in the tanks. Follow the queue further round and there we are, next to the ship which is due to depart at 1am on the Saturday morning. It appears to be rather a large vessel, especially when you are suddenly presented with a single gangplank that you must ride up to get onboard. Sitting at the bottom, the gangplank just keeps going up and up and up…
You start off at the bottom, trying to keep your balance, and, in a series of lurches, you make it on to the deck in one piece. The motorcycle is then wheeled around to an appropriate point next to the cabins and lashed down tight. You have arrived: next stop Douglas, Isle of Man.
It is dawn when you arrive but this time the machines are taken on to the quayside by crane where you collect them as soon as you can and follow the other riders to the nearest petrol station and out to Quarter Bridge to watch the last of the practice. Then back to Douglas to see if you can get into your digs for the week.
After breakfast it’s out on the bike to do a tour of the Island and see what the TT course is all about. Yikes. Over there, if they put up right or left tight bend chevrons, they mean it! (Glad I had had the brakes relined.) The climb out of Ramsey hairpin makes even a 650 puff and then the Verandah with its sheer drop and wire and concrete post barriers (since modified) is terrifying. I am forever in awe of the riders who compete on this course, both in the TT and the Manx.
Back at the digs you quickly pal out with like-minded riders and during the week, between races, you all ride out exploring the island’s many delights and small towns.
The week’s racing results in wins for Fritz Scheidegger (sidecar),
Ralph Bryans (50cc), Bill Ivy (125cc), Mike Hailwood (on both 250 and 500cc) and Giacomo Agostini (350cc).
These are just facts but do not portray the excitement of listening to the race commentary over the tannoys or on your own radio. In the Junior race, Hailwood’s engine fails within 10 minutes of starting, allowing Agostini to become the first foreigner to win a Junior TT. Hailwood blasts the Honda 6 around in the 250cc race to win with a race average of over 100mph and Peter Inchley comes in third on a Villiers ‘Starmaker’ Special, lapping at over 90mph. The Senior TT sees Hailwood’s second lap of 107.07mph, putting him nicely ahead of Agostini who cannot keep up with the old maestro although riding brilliantly himself (Hailwood riding that evil 500cc four-cylinder Honda).
All too soon Saturday arrives and it’s time to pack up and get ready for the return journey home which, for me, is the 1am Sunday morning boat. So there we all are at midnight, watching the bikes being craned back aboard the boat and lashed tightly to the cabin areas.
Once we set sail we understand why the bikes were lashed so tightly, we are in a force 9/10 gale on the Irish Sea and very soon calling for someone called Hugh. The trip takes more than five hours but finally we arrive back at the dockside in Liverpool, only to find that the tide was once again in and that plank was back in place to enable us to get off the boat. This time you are looking down and can clearly see the water below. However, with careful use of the brakes, you plunge down until, with a jarring shock, you arrive at the bottom and roll on to the quay, eager to get out of the way of the bikes following you.
Check and straighten your kit and, with fingers crossed, kick the bike into life which it does first time (little beauty). You now follow the other riders out to a local petrol station where everyone is filling their tanks for the ride home. The early morning air makes you feel a lot better after the boat trip so forget motorway food, Mother’s breakfast is far better, so, pinning the throttle back, I go for it.
Down through the Midlands and soon I arrive home to Birstall, Leicestershire, Mother starts getting me some breakfast and, with the case removed from the bike, Father starts reading the ‘TT Specials’ that I have brought home.
This was what it was like at my first TT. Great racing, great friends, great island, all thanks to the seamen’s strike – thank you gentlemen.