NZCC reader, Malcolm Graham, tells us how he came ¨to own a Bentley Turbo R

For many years I made a living screen-printing T-shirts and a good many of my customers were motor vehicle enthusiasts in the Christchurch area. This suited me just fine because I loved cars even before being turfed out of the local Holden dealer’s showroom when, as a 10-year-old in 1968, I climbed into the driver’s seat of a brand new Monaro doing the rounds on the turntable.

Although I’ve always owned unspectacular practical cars, I’d been involved in hobby cars of all sorts in a peripheral sense all my life and I wanted to own one. But what to buy? I loved them all — hot rods, vintage, classics, customs, new ones, old ones, big ones, small ones, sports cars, wagons and racers. I loved the lot so it was hard to decide.

For years not buying anything was easy — I didn’t have ¨any money.

Towards a Decision

When I first met NZCC columnist Trevor Stanley-Joblin, he was in the process of turning a trailer load of expensive rubbish into a 1936 Ford Roadster. Well, that’s what it was supposed to be, but by the time he finished with it, Trevor’s Ford was way better than it had been when Henry built it. At the time it was regarded as over-restored — but Trevor was just ahead of his time.

These days ‘perfect’ is the standard.

I had many long conversations with Trevor (I don’t think there’s such a thing as a short one) — which he may not remember — but the gist of some of his comments about’ 36 Fords was that they go like hell; you haven’t got a hope of stopping; if you want to negotiate a corner you should wedge yourself between the end of the seat and the bodywork to avoid sliding clear across the other side; and that the course of the car could be influenced but not necessarily predicted!

The long and the short of it was that Trevor’s roadster looked fantastic driving along the road, but driving it wasn’t particularly enjoyable. I took from this that, before choosing a hobby car, I should limit myself to the ones that are a pleasure to drive, as well as ride in.

The Rolls-Royce Option

A good few years of my early working life were spent working for Motor Corp in Christchurch, agent for Rolls-Royce and Bentley along with British Leyland’s finest and, eventually, Honda.

Occasionally a Rolls-Royce or Bentley would appear in the workshop for servicing, and I admired every one of them never, for a moment, dreaming I’d ever own one.

Years passed and one day I noticed that the asking price of Silver Shadows was becoming affordable so I started to take some interest. The first one I looked at had been resprayed white (for wedding work, presumably) — apparently by a drunken octopus using a garden hose. I walked round it once and never broke my step getting back to my car. Even had the paint been perfect it was still overpriced.

I spoke to the local Rolls-Royce/Bentley club secretary, who recommended a particularly nice example in Timaru that might be for sale. I met up with the owner at Bruce McIlroy’s establishment in Ashburton and knew I was going to own the car as soon as I saw it. It was merely a matter of sorting out the details — price, conditions of sale, timing and, of course, telling my wife, Ann.

I knew it’d be easy once I got her behind the wheel. I knew too, that once there I’d never get her out of it. The hard part was in convincing her we needed to take a 320km round trip to seal the bargain.

A deal was sorted out over a cuppa and then, after a suitable pause to admire our purchase, it was time to head for home in our Nissan-powered Commodore. We both looked at each other in horror as the air was rent with a horrible screeching, grinding noise as the Commodore turned over and fired. We instantly realised the car wasn’t actually about to spill its guts all over the driveway. It always sounds like this. Our couple of hours in a properly maintained Shadow had just spoiled us.

Lotto Winner?

We had so much fun in the Shadow. I was awaiting my order in a fish shop one day, watching an elderly couple taking their time going round the car pointing out this and that to each other, being careful not to actually touch it. They were still there as I went to go and the gentleman made a complimentary remark, so I asked if they’d like to take a ride round the block. You’d think I’d told them they’d just won Lotto. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so excited and happy.

On my way to work one day, I passed a security shop with a huge sign in the window advertising two keys cut for the price of one. I only needed one but I guess I must be the perfect consumer. I was driving my old Falcon panel van but happened to have the Shadow’s key. As I entered the shop I noticed two staff — a young chap clearly busy on the phone and an older woman doing her nails. She looked up, took one look at me in my work clothes and carried on with her nails. The guy finished his call and came over. After comparing my sample with his wall of blanks he asked me what it fitted.

“Rolls-Royce.” I said. The manicure was instantly forgotten and the woman materialised in front of me full of sudden interest.

Then there was the time Ann and I were out for dinner in a flash pub. I’d left the car in the hotel’s portico — feeling sure that management wouldn’t mind the place looking classy.

During our meal three men entered the room looking a little out of place in their rather informal attire. One was middle-aged, wearing his hair in a pony tail halfway down his back and clad in a black Harley T-shirt. They took the table next to us and my wife leaned over and asked him whether he actually had a Harley or did he just like them. Apparently he’d been riding Harleys for 25 years and was no great lover of pretenders.

We all got on very well. It turned out that the men were Australian, in town to disassemble a huge wool press that had been sold to their homeland. All they’d seen of Christchurch was the airport, the hotel, their worksite and taxi rides between. We offered them an after dinner sightseeing tour which was accepted — conveniently neglecting to burden them with the knowledge of the intended mode of transport.

As we finished our meal before they did, Ann and I paused in the comfy seats in the bar to wait for them. Soon two of them arrived, the third having found the prospect of an early night more attractive. As we walked outside, one joked — “We’ll take the Rolls will we?” I’d been about to drop a similar joke but that made me forget completely what I’d been about to say. It was superfluous now anyway.

“Yes, I thought we would as a matter of fact.” I unlocked the car to total silence.

About 10 minutes later Mr Harley (who’d earlier invited us to stay next time we visit Brisbane) regained his power of speech. “If you come stay at my place, I won’t be carting you round in no Rolls-Royce, that’s for sure!”

Even being stopped by the police was fun. I was once pulled over at a checkpoint concentrating on Warrants of Fitness.

“Suppose this has a warrant, has it?” Honestly, I never said a word. I just turned my head a little, raised my eyebrows and let my mouth fall open. I’m sure the officer’s face coloured a little as he said “Oh! Thought so, on your way driver.”

We had a fantastic five years with that car. I’d never intended to sell it but after I sold my business, Ann and I agreed that, using my right to a four year UK work permit (through having had a grandparent born there) and her universally marketable skills, going to see some of the world was a more attractive option than getting a job and settling back into the same old rut for another 30 years.

We could have a sort of working holiday — she could work and I could holiday. As you can imagine, that suggestion didn’t go down that brilliantly.

We were going to be away for an indefinite time so the Shadow had to be passed on to somebody else to enjoy and look after. I would have liked to have kept it, but these cars punish anyone who locks them up and leaves unused as they are hellish expensive to re-commission. They like to be used.

I never again saw a similar car in as good condition as my Shadow. I thought better ones would be everywhere in UK but, armed with 20/20 hindsight, I now realise that I would have got a way better price for it if I’d taken it over there with me.

The Bentley Option

Right from the moment we stepped off the plane at Heathrow, unemployed and homeless, I had in mind a bit of a list of things I wanted to take home with me, one of which was a Bentley Turbo-R.

First we had other priorities — we had to find jobs, somewhere to live, do tourist stuff and save some money. Nothing too major.

Before I even started looking for ‘my’ Turbo-R, I took all reasonable steps to make sure that getting my purchase back to NZ would be as painless as possible. This included contacting Byron Martin at the NZ Bentley importer, Independent Prestige, in Auckland. He was rather surprised, but pleased, to be consulted before purchase rather than after. He told me that any Turbo-R I intended to import would need to be fitted with driver and passenger airbags and a high level stop light — which meant a 1994 model onwards to have these items factory fitted. That also meant a big budget blow out. Bugger!

Byron also issues all Statements of Compliance for Bentleys being imported to NZ.

I tried to save some money by attempting to buy my compliance certificate through a UK Bentley dealer, or direct from the Crewe factory, in order to save costs. Eventually, though, I had to bite the bullet and pay up. Bentley’s staff and dealers were very helpful, very sympathetic and apologetic but there exists a contract between Bentley Motors and its NZ agent covering this sort of thing and it wasn’t going to be broken — for me or anybody.

To comply with NZ government red tape we had to own the car (and have it available for everyday use) for at least a year before shipping it back home. This was no real hardship because it gave us the opportunity to properly participate in as many Rolls-Royce Enthusiasts’ Club and Bentley Drivers’ Club events as we could squeeze in.

In England, of course, this includes visits to famous factories, Goodwood, the holy of holies at Crewe, a row of old sheds in the Malvern Hills where Morgans are born, sundry stately homes and opportunities to drive in places we had only read about and seen on TV.

Naturally, this delay gave our wonderful government time to think up a way of making things even more difficult. If Bruce McIlroy hadn’t emailed us to advise us of the imminent introduction of new laws relating to emission standards of imported, second-hand vehicles we might well have sent our car over six months too late. I shudder to think what would have happened then.

On so many levels I’m so pleased that I consulted Bruce to discuss this vehicle or that, during the shopping process.

He even found time to drop in and take a look over the car for me during a rush trip through England after completing on the Peking-Paris Rally. The advice he gave us then was useful, reassuring and very much appreciated. How many mechanics are prepared to make house calls to the other side of the planet?

Bruce also recommended CARS (Classic Automobile Relocation Services) to ship the car home. We’d got quite a few quotes and CARS wasn’t the cheapest, but it came highly recommended. That was good enough for us — although the sight of an allegedly brand new Morgan that had gone down aboard the good ship Napoli made sure we took no chances with insurance cover.

Jaine Cunnighame of MGL Ltd looked after all the government red tape at the New Zealand end. Customs, MAF, VINZ and LTSA all showed an interest and all had to be appeased before my pride and joy could be put on the road. However, between Jaine and Bruce all was sorted with the minimum of fuss — at least it seemed that way from where we were, still on the other side of the planet. I’m sure in a more ‘hands-on’ role, I would have found all the government red tape rather daunting but, while there was a cost involved, having professionals look after it for us made it easy and was worth every cent.

The Turbo-R in New Zealand

I’d decided to buy a car in UK and ship it home because at any given moment there was more choice available within two miles of our UK home than in all of New Zealand, so it was ironic to find that Bruce McIlroy was offering a very similar car (younger and lower mileage) for about the same money I’d spent to get mine parked beside his in the same shed. Bugger! I thought about trading mine in but, unfortunately, I have to own it here for two years before the government loses interest in it and will allow me to sell the car.

The 1996 Brooklands photographed with my car is two years newer and, at 74,300 miles (119,090km), has covered 17,000 less that my Turbo-R. The paint is Red Pearl, the same as mine, and the Sandstone hide upholstery is also the same — although the Brooklands has the seat piping in red, which I prefer. Most of the original owners of these cars specified contrasting piping but mine is the same colour as the seats.

Both cars have the same Cherry Red carpets. The Brooklands is fitted with highly figured burr walnut veneer and has a recent service history with Bruce McIlroy Ltd — the South Island’s official Bentley Motors service agent. There are other differences between the two cars too, but these are limited to improvements to the specification between 1994 and 1996. Spot the most differences and you will get a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

‘Blown’ Bentley

During the ’60s and ’70s, Bentleys became little more than badge engineered Rolls-Royces and the number of ‘Bentleys’ sold slowed to such a pitiful trickle that Bentley, as a marque, came very close to extinction. In the early ’80s the decision was made to revitalise Bentley sales by differentiating it from Rolls-Royce.

Initially, they did this by turbocharging the Mulsanne, Bentley’s version of the Silver Spirit. The stellar performance improvement was very popular, but the chassis dynamics just weren’t up to enhanced power levels. The Turbo showed an improvement in the handling and the Turbo-R went further — the ‘R’ being to the Bentley Turbo what ‘HO’ is to the Falcon GT, standing for ‘roadholding.’

The result was that the Silver Spirit (and the longer wheelbase Silver Spur) were for people who wanted supreme luxury above all else, while the Bentley was for those prepared to sacrifice some ride comfort for improved high speed handling.

In a Rolls-Royce you can drive over a 4×2 and not know about it whereas in a Bentley, if you drive over a coin¦ I guess you know the rest.

The ultimate progression of the SZ series Bentleys was the Brooklands. This came about because Bentley drivers liked the chassis dynamics of the Turbo-R but found they really didn’t need the ultimate performance available with the turbocharger — not in the real world, anyway.

Wonderful Memories

I’m getting over the disappointment of having gone through all the hassles (and expenses) of importing the Turbo-R when I could have simply flown home and written a cheque for the Brooklands, because we’ve had some wonderful memories driving the Bentley in UK. My loss could be your gain, as Bruce McIlroy Ltd is offering the Brooklands for sale. The $65,000 might seem like a lot of money but you can easily spend that in a Holden or Ford showroom — and what’s that car worth in five years time? A Brooklands is capable of similar fuel consumption to a V8 Falcon or Commodore, but with way more presence.

Want to buy it and do weddings? Give me a call. Prefer the look of my colour-keyed grille? Bruce will change that in a heartbeat. Buy it soon. In the unlikely event that it’s still there in 14 months when the government loses interest in my Turbo-R, I might look at it myself.

You can look forward to the fun owning a car like this brings.

“Had anything to drink this evening, sir?”

“I’ve had a glass of wine with my dinner, yes.”

“Have a good evening, sir,” The pretty policewoman says with a laugh, and I wish I was 25 years younger. Yes, she was certainly attractive — but nowhere near as pretty as my wife!

Words: Malcolm Graham Photos: Sean Craig and Malcolm Graham