The Weekly Meetings

By Dave Tooley

The regular weekly club meetings held in the Connaught Hall in Gosport were a bit of a riotous affair.  We could not have had a better location, since it was a huge place we could actually drive our bikes into.  There was a strict ‘engines off’ policy inside the building, which everyone ignored.  The buildings caretaker and tuck shop proprietor, Gordon Thwaites, used to regularly rant and rave at every rider who came tearing into the building with their engines revving away.  Same culprits every week, and they’d do it again next week just for the hell of it.

The ‘uniform’ of the era for budding ‘mods’ was an ex-army surplus, camouflage green Parka with a fur lined hood.  It was mandatory to sew on as many cloth badges as possible from rally’s we had attended.  Looking back, we must have looked a pathetic sight, but we thought we looked the dogs dangly bits at the time.

Our bikes had to have as many chrome accessories as is physically possible to attach to them.  Mirrors, crash bars, rear carriers, front carriers, back rests, the list went on and on.  Quite ironic that we would then spend a fortune on ‘go faster’ accessories to try and overcome the excessive weight we had just piled on the machine.

No wonder the Motor Cycle fraternity laughed at us.

The plan for the weekly meeting was pretty much the same every week.  For about an hour we would hang around our bikes in the main downstairs area just generally chatting about our latest add-ons and tuning accessories.  Then we’d gather upstairs for a weekly roll call, and Mick Estlick would discuss general club topics of interest, such as impending Rallies to attend or weekend run destinations.  During this time we would often keep a beady eye out for who was canoodling with who. 

There were quite a few girly members of the club whose partner seemed to vary each week depending on who’d been paid, and who had a spare seat on their bike.  Names withheld to protect the innocent.

Once all club discussions had been dealt with (after much heckling of the afore mentioned Mr Estlick, I felt so sorry for him sometimes…no-one ever took him seriously) we all cleared off in convoy down to the most important feature of the evening.  The Cocked Hat pub for a good old booze up.  The drink/driving laws didn’t apply in those days, if you could grip your handlebars you were fit to ride home.

God, I sometimes yearn to go back to those far off responsibility free days.  We never had a care in the world, and our life expectations never advanced further away than our next weekly pay cheque.