A thank you to Wilf Gathercole
After reading Richard Curtis’s memories in last month’s editorial of his brother Ray and I making the clip-ons fit snugly to the forks of his A7 at North Anglian Autos, I pondered on to whom I owe a ‘thank you’.
Alas, I can’t thank him personally as he is no longer with us, but I do owe a great deal to Wilf Gathercole who many motorcyclists will remember. Wilf was a stalwart member of the Swaffham motorcycle gang. However, the word ‘gang’ then simply meant a group of friends. Their activities were never criminal but often bordered on lunatic. For instance, Ted Dack decided it would cheer up the populace on market day by climbing the buttercross dome in order to attach an item of female attire to the weather vane. It was a simple act done purely to bring a smile to the faces of the people of Swaffham. It also gave the fire brigade reason to test its equipment as they unsportingly removed the offending article. The brigade lads were treated to a rousing cheer and applause by the assembled crowd. Unsurprisingly the item was never claimed by the owner!
Long before I could ride a bike I would be entertained at weekends when the gang would meet up at Barton Hills between Castle Acre and Swaffham. The area had been a quarry and the members had set out a scrambles circuit (it was before Motocross had been invented). The most popular tools were Bantam D1s but the most exciting bike to watch was a completely standard
BSA Gold Flash piloted by one George Ward. Little did I realise that I would eventually become race mechanic to George when he took up road racing. For some time I was puzzled by the loud ‘ker-chunk’ when George flung the big Beeza at the jumps. So I asked him what made the racket. It turned out to be the contents of the toolbox!
From before leaving school I had been ‘tinkering’ and eventually I got myself a job in a garage at Gayton. But bikes were what I wanted to work on so I started working evenings and weekends servicing and repairing bikes for the local lads. I started dealing in a few bikes from my home workshop and this is where Wilf stepped in.
He managed the King’s Lynn branch of Pat Dooley motorcycles which eventually became North Anglian Autos. He offered me a job. It turned out to be the best job I ever had – that is, if you rate a job for its entertainment potential. We got the work done but it was a laugh a minute with the nicest bunch of loonies I ever met.
So I fondly remember Wilf for rescuing me from what might have become a lifetime of working on cars – heaven forbid – and I thank him for the faith he put in me when he took me on to join the ‘crazy gang’ at North Anglian Autos to work on bikes. I owe Wilf a great deal and I will never forget his kindness.