Classic Cars and Ice Creams

Ah, the smell of old clothes, grease and the sounds of old men wheezing in the heat. Another Lodge meeting? No! The annual Classic Car Show held at the Brockenhurst Masonic Centre, well organised as usual by W. Bro. Lee Marsh, who somehow managed to arrange sunshine, vehicles, only a modest number of learned men leaning on bonnets while saying, “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

Refreshments were available inside the Centre, consisting of teas, coffees, and biscuits which, judging by their pedigree, had either been won in a previous raffle or survived several previous committee meetings with quiet dignity.

It is not a large car park at the Centre, but it was big enough to accommodate an impressive collection of machines, memories, and spectators confidently misremembering engine sizes. So, if you will allow me to wax lyrical — and possibly a little oily — here goes:

There was a Jaguar E-Type, sleek as could be, A D-Type beside it, looking wonderfully free; A Mini came revving, it woke up the senses, And two Morris Minors just parked by the fences.

A Triumph TR4 gave a dignified cough, And an MGB was there to show off; A Ginetta drove in looking to play, While a Rolls-Royce glided in, the opposite way.

There was a Lotus so striking, so low and so mean, A Porsche Cayman GTS looking remarkably clean. A Widows Son rode in on his Triumph five hundred; Then he counted the cars and looked frankly outnumbered.

A Mercedes SL500 cruised into sight, With a Smart Brabus buzzing like a wasp in flight; Then came a Land Rover, which parked with a thud, Looking ready to conquer a field full of mud.

But the winner, by miles, of the public’s devotion, Was not built for racing or high-speed emotion; It jingled, it chimed, it stole every fan The mighty Ford Transit ICE CREAM VAN!

I think I’ll stop while I’m ahead!