Don Loffler's Page

I find it fascinating that as a nine-year-old, country boy I was star-struck by the new Australian car even before its unveiling by Prime Minister Ben Chifley on 29 November 1948. Three months earlier, on 1 September, General Motors-Holden’s (GMH) had announced that the new car would be called Holden, a name that appealed to me immediately – nice and balanced, two syllables of three letters each, and easy to pronounce.

Dad was the head (and only) teacher of the tiny primary school in Wanbi, an isolated town in the Murray Mallee, lying between Karoonda and Loxton. He always read The Advertiser and listened religiously to the morning and evening news on the wireless, so it was through him that I lapped up every detail I could get about this new car.

And the details were few and far between. GMH steadfastly refused to release any details about the car at all, which had the desired effect, of course. The Australian public went half-crazy, trying to find out anything they could about the car. Speculation was rife, with accurate details thoroughly mixed up with wild guesses.

A week before the unveiling of the car, The Advertiser published a picture of the grille badge of the new car. I thought the badge was absolutely beautiful (I still do!), and I cut the picture out of the paper. On 30 November 1948, the day after the car was launched in Melbourne by Chifley, The Advertiser published on its front page a picture of two Holden prototype cars, one coming and one going. It is one of the most attractive of the many announcement photos of the Holden that GMH released. I loved every styling line of the cars, front, side and rear (and I still do!). I cut the picture out of the paper, and shortly afterwards I mounted this picture and the picture of the grille badge onto cardboard. They became my most prized possessions, and I pored over them frequently. My love affair with the Holden had begun!

It became apparent immediately, however, that this would be a love affair at a distance. The high price of the car came as a shock to everyone. It was not going to be the working man’s car after all. At £734, it represented a staggering 122 weeks of the basic wage. Even Dad’s salary was only about £650, which meant that, although our 1928 Chevrolet tourer needed replacement, moving up to a new Holden was completely out of the question. For me, this served to increase the magical attraction of the Holden. It was something unattainable to dream about, to yearn for, almost to die for!

My first sighting of a Holden close-up took place on 1 February 1949, when Dad had to take the old Chev to Loxton for repairs at the General Motors dealership of Hameister Brothers. While Dad was in the workshop, speaking with the mechanic, I was in the showroom, taking in every line and detail of a dark Convoy Grey car with red leather interior. The car’s new Duco paint lacquer filled the air with an intoxicating fragrance, which I can still evoke. I loved the grille, the shapely body panels, the hubcaps, the tail light assembly, the dashboard, the horn button, the seats – in short, every single detail of the car seemed to be perfect.

Either one of the Hameister brothers or an assistant must have seen me walking around this car adoringly. When he brought me a colour sales brochure for the car, my joy knew no bounds. Back at home, I read the brochure from cover to cover, over and over again, absorbing every detail of the beautiful illustrations.

Soon afterwards, the time came for me to give a brief talk, called a lecturette, to the “upper grades” (years 4 to 7) at school on a topic of my choosing. I seized the chance to talk about my beloved Holden. I relate this episode in the introduction to my first book, She’s a beauty! The story of the first Holdens:

“Brimming with enthusiasm, with my hair carefully plastered down with 1808 Brilliantine and wearing little glasses and very large trousers held up by sturdy braces, I set out for school. I had memorised large slabs of the brochure and was tingling with anticipation at the thrill of telling the Holden story.

“There were only twenty or so pupils in the school and my captive audience would have consisted of around a dozen of the children in the upper grades. Totally unaware of the boredom that soon set in, I launched into a technical description of the car. I had covered the ‘modern all-steel turret-top Aerobilt’ design, the independent front wheel springing and the semi-elliptic springs, and was just proclaiming the merits of the hypoid rear axle when my the teacher – my father – thanked me very much and sent me back to my seat. This setback, while serious, was only temporary and the fire of my enthusiasm for the Holden grew daily.”

Meanwhile, the old Chev limped on through 1949, 1950, 1951 and 1952, but at the beginning of 1953, its condition became terminal, and Dad and Mum realised that, like it or not, they had to somehow scrape the money together for a replacement. I recall the drama that ensued in the introduction to my second book, Still Holden together. Here is an updated version of it:

“‘They look like jolly bullfrogs’, said my mother. ‘I wouldn’t be seen dead in one.’ With statements like these, Mum used to infuriate my brother, Keith, and me when we tried to convince her that Holdens were the best cars on the road and that we should have one. The more we enthused, the more she used to tease us. Our cause was not helped by our four-year-old brother, Brian, who gleefully called out ‘Holden’ every time one came towards us on the road.

“To make matters worse, Dad did not seem to have any enthusiasm for Holdens either, but would make worrying statements like, ‘I think Morris Oxfords are quite nice’ and ‘Mr Schild seems happy with his Vanguard.’

“At that time I was thirteen years old and Keith, my staunch ally, was eleven. We began a relentless campaign in favour of the Holden, but our fanaticism seemed to turn Dad even more towards other makes.

“Mum, on the other hand, was unenthusiastic about any of the makes, probably because the purchase of a new car would mean considerable financial hardship to our family. Her mood was not improved by our dreams of a Holden fitted with every possible accessory. There would definitely be no ‘extras’ on any car, she warned.

“Fortunately, our Uncle Ron and Auntie Norma came to the rescue. Uncle Ron, whose opinion was highly respected in our household, was emphatic that a Holden was the car for us and Auntie Norma was prepared to help with a loan on a Holden, but definitely not on a Vanguard or a Morris Oxford. So, without even looking at any other makes, Dad and Mum decided to accept their relatives’ generous advice.

“On 27 January 1953, we drove to Murray Bridge, on the River Murray in South Australia, to visit Ned Dutton’s Holden dealership. The dream my brothers and I had of coming into the showroom to adore the Holden on display was dashed when we were told to stay in the car and behave ourselves while Dad and Mum consulted Ned Dutton. Nonetheless, during our parents’ absence our excitement became so hysterical that Keith and I hugged Brian till he started to cry.

“After what seemed like hours, Dad and Mum returned with a mixture of unimaginably good and frustratingly bad news. They had ordered a new Holden, but had refused to take the dark green showroom car, which was available for immediate delivery. They would have to wait ten days for their chosen off-white colour, Cavalier Grey. This meant that we would not be able to arrive at a relative’s wedding in four days’ time, looking splendid in our new car. Instead, we would have to endure the embarrassment of grinding into the church yard in the noisy old Chev – if it didn’t break down on the way and leave us stranded. Even worse, I would not be at home on the day the family took delivery of the Holden.

“My brother Keith recalls how amazed we were when Mum announced that she had requested a mascot for the bonnet of the Holden, because otherwise the car would ‘look too plain’. There would be front mud flaps, too. This sounded too good to be true. Dad, however, was not happy. Ned Dutton would offer him only £75 for the old Chev as a trade-in on the Holden, which would cost £1118. (Dad’s salary at the time was £1098.) In addition to using Auntie Norma’s loan, we would have to take out hire purchase, which I gathered was something of a family disgrace.

“The old Chev managed the trip to the wedding, but on the way home from the reception there was a loud bang from underneath and the car came to an inglorious halt on the dark country road. During the following days emergency repairs were made, which enabled us to drive to Adelaide where Dad managed to sell the car for £120 to a second-hand car dealer. The odometer showed 96,000 miles (154,000km).

“With some satisfaction Dad reported the sale of the old Chev to Ned Dutton, who was probably relieved not to have to dispose of such an unfashionable vehicle. The Holden was duly delivered on February 6 to a family blissfully unaware that a week or two later this model would be superseded by a version with improved ride qualities.

“My brothers and I adored the car, but could not raise that degree of enthusiasm in our parents. ‘It’s quite nice,’ my father used to say unconvincingly, ‘but I don’t think it will last like the old Chev.’ Mum would knock on a door or mudguard and say, ‘Pretty tinny! They don’t make them like they used to.’ Despite her teasing and her declaration that she would not be seen dead in a Holden, she drove happily in this one for the next fourteen years. And when the car was sold with 105,000 miles (169,000km) on the odometer, both Mum and Dad agreed that it had done better than the old Chev.”

I don’t know what happened to our Holden. For years I tried desperately to trace its subsequent story and fate and perhaps, at worst, to buy the wreck of it, but to no avail. Now, however, I’m glad that I wasn’t able to find it, because the 53 Holden that I had the good fortune to acquire in 2007 is the new suspension model and it is painted in Glenn Green. Green is my favourite colour and I find it much more attractive than the boring Cavalier Grey of my family’s Holden.

You can find pictures of my “Glenda” in my fourth (and latest) book, Me and My Holden, on pages 62-4 and 221. Glenda is the first Holden I have ever owned. I used to get teased mercilessly for writing books on the first Holdens and not owning one myself, so at last I can hold my head up high and say that I’m an owner. Every time I take Glenda out for a drive, I have to pinch myself to believe that, having loved the 48-215 ‘FX’ Holdens at a distance for most of my life, I now actually own one.

When I drove Glenda in the 2008 Bay to Birdwood, a friend standing by the roadside saw me passing by and told me later, ‘You looked like the cat that had just licked the cream,’ to which I replied, ‘And I felt like it, too!’