#1788 words in a couple hours B)

[lalalaugenbrot]

Attempt at a Comprehensive List of

Alexander von Humboldtʼs Potential Boyfriends

When if not now that Alex came 2nd in the @napoleonic-sexyman-tournament (what a time to be alive) would be the perfect time to finally thoroughly pick his private life apart. Strangely it has always been a mystery even to me (and of course overall it will remain a mystery until the end of times), but I still thought it was about time to at least get some order in the few things that we do know – mainly for myself but also, I dare say, for the public. You (the public!) will find a short text for every friend under the cut ￬.

disclaimers:

a) I tried to pick the most appropriate picture of everyone but please imagine especially the first ones a lot younger than they are in the pictures

b) it’s a potential boyfriends list, meaning: I’m not saying Alex definitely had romantic and/or sexual relationships with any let alone all of these men, it’s just a list of men where it seems at least possible; but ultimately, of course, we do not know and will never know

c) Alex lived for almost 90 years, and even though his textual remains can seem infinite, there is a lot we don’t know about him, especially his private life, not least because he habitually destroyed almost all of his private letters (which is also why for all of his correspondences we only know the letters he wrote but almost never the ones he received) − so I don’t think there’s any way this list is exhaustive (let me know if you think anyone is missing?)

d) Bonpland is not in this because Alex went out of his way to specifically state that his relationship with Bonpland was purely scientific

e) the point of this post isn’t to determine his sexuality, but since it has already come up, just a couple of words on him being on the asexual spectrum: that is perfectly possible and maybe not even unlikely, he said things about himself that could be interpreted as such (not wanting to marry, not having sensual needs); but I think it’s good to keep two things in mind about that: 1. not wanting to get married was a big thing in 1800, something you had to explain yourself for and not wanting to get married as a man also obviously meant not wanting a wife, it was by no means a question on whether or not wanting a significant other and/or sex; 2. the narrative of his sex-less life at least partly derives from the (mainly 19th/20th century) wish for him not to have been (actively) homosexual

f) I hate to be that person, but it has to be said: language and culture back then were much more emotional and expressive than we are used to today, so not everything that sounds super intimate or even romantic to us (language-wise) has to actually have been meant that way; of course this doesn’t rule out anything either but it’s a thing to keep in mind

g) if anyone is interested in sources or further reading on anything particular, do not hesitate to hit me up! But i’m not adding any of that to this post because 1. it’s already 2 km long and 2. this is tumblr dot com

Wilhelm Gabriel Wegener (1767-1837)

18-year-old Alex met Wilhelm in 1787 during the one semester he studied at the University of Frankfurt (Oder). Wilhelm was a (protestant) theology student and on 13 February 1788 they made a “holy” oath to “eternal brotherly love”. They wrote each other very cheesy letters, very much in the Empfindsamkeit fashion of the time, proclaiming their eternal and ever-growing love for each other. There was no one on earth, Alex wrote to him once (and in Italian no less), whom he loved as ardently as him (“Non vi è uomo sopra la terra ch'io amì così ardammente che lei…”). He also told him that, ever since he had met him, it seemed to him that God had created people only in pairs, because no one else could ever compare to what he meant to him. In his letters Alex also repeatedly refers to the many hours spent together (“chatting”) in a certain armchair in Frankfurt and proclaims that he has never been happier than in that very chair.

They kept contact for a couple of years after their time in Frankfurt, but at some point their friendship faded out.

Carl Ludwig Willdenow (1765-1812)

Willdenow (a published botanist) and Alex met in 1788 in Berlin, when Alex had one day decided to just call at his house to ask him to teach him botany. Willdenow agreed and they became friends quickly, spent a lot of time together, and when Alex wandered through Berlin on his own to collect plants, he would afterwards bring them to Willdenow who would then identify them for him.

We do not know a lot about their friendship during that time (and maybe I only included him in this because I needed 9 tiles) but at least one phrase in Alex’s autobiography fragment calls our attention, not least because it’s highlighted by what I like to call a Streisand strike-through: “I became enthusiastically fond of him” or “I grew to love him enthusiastically” (“Ich gewann ihn enthusiatisch lieb”, written in 1801 and crossed out roughly 50 years later).

They stayed in contact even after Alex had left Berlin a couple of months later: in 1795 Alex became godfather of Willdenow’s son and in 1810 he convinced him to come to Paris to work on his botanical collections from the South America trip. Sadly, Willdenow fell ill in 1811 and died in 1812 in Berlin.

Karl Freiesleben (1774-1846)

Alex met Karl in 1791 in Freiberg, where both studied geology and mining at the renowned Bergakademie. Karl was the son of a local mining family and Alex learnt a lot from him about his new profession. They both were nerdy about stones and minerals in ways you couldn’t even begin to imagine. They gifted each other minerals, went down into the mines together, and in August 1791 they made a 200 km long geological expedition through the mountains of Bohemia on foot. But aside from pages-long enthusiastic rants about geology, Alex’s letters to Karl are also full of sentimental love declarations. He called him Herzens-Freisesleben, Herzens-Karl or Herzensjunge (roughly “my heart’s Freiesleben/Karl/boy”) and once finished a letter with: “going to bed now and I’ll be happy when I dream of you” — a passage Karl thoroughly struck through later, probably so no one else could read it, but someone deciphered almost all the struck through passages anyway (not all heroes wear capes!).

Karl and Alex stayed (sporadic and long-distance) friends for the rest of Karl’s life.

Reinhard von Haeften (1772-1803)

The above picture shows a snippet from one of Alex’s travel journals where he noted Reinhard’s birthday (“14 Mai R.”) because sadly we don’t have a picture of Reinhard. But let’s hear how Alex described him:

“This Reinhard v. Haeften has been my only and hourly company for a year now. I live with him, he visits me in the mountains. [...] I have already ridden 8 miles [60 km] just to see him for a couple of hours. He is very tall, taller than most men and he’s only 22 years old but looks more mature than me [at 25]. He has a very remarkable face and everyone finds him to be one of the most beautiful men, and I too think he’s beautiful, but most importantly I have never seen purity of the soul, kindness and courtesy being reflected in anyone’s features as much as in his.”

Alex and Reinhard met in 1793 in Bayreuth (where Alex now worked as a mining official) and they quickly moved in together. However, shortly before meeting Alex, Reinhard had also managed to make a baby with a married woman 4 years older than him. Alex was friendly with Christiane, the child’s mother and helped to keep the birth a secret. The boy (named Friedrich Gustav Alexander, Alex’s godson and surely named after him) had to spend the first years away from his parents. In the meantime, Reinhard continued to live with Alex, accompanied him on business trips and mineralogical expeditions and in 1795 they went on a two-month trip through Northern Italy and Switzerland. It was only with and through him, Alex wrote to Reinhard once, that he could live, only close to him that he could be fully happy.

Later, after Reinhard and Christiane had finally gotten married (and reunited with their son), Alex wrote him a very long letter, proposing for the three of them to (continue to?) live together with Reinhard as head of the family and to settle for quiet life in Switzerland, Italy, or some small town in the west of Germany. That plan never worked out, but “Rein” (as Alex called him), Christiane, their by now two children and Alex lived and travelled together for another two years while Alex was already preparing for his big journey.

After he had sailed for the Americas in 1799, he tried his best to stay in contact with them. In his letters, he called them his “Herzensmenschen” (again, roughly: “his heart’s humans”), wrote them that he was dreaming about them day and night and how much he wished that his – their – Rein could be with him to see all the marvels, too. But cross-atlantic communication was bad during that time and in both directions most letters never arrived.

Sadly, Reinhard unexpectedly died in 1803 while Alex was still in America, meaning they never got to meet again. Alex stayed in contact with Christiane and the children − the only survivors of the shipwreck, as he put it − and wrote Christiane how he still remembered their time together, along with all the hopes and dreams that they had had and that despite the “all-robbing fate”, there was something unalterable in the depth of their love, that could only die with them. When Christiane remarried and had another son in 1806, she named him Gustave Louis Reinhard Alexandre. Alex continued to financially support Christiane and the children and in 1813, Reinhard’s son Fritz (Alex’s godson) visited Alex in Paris for three months.

Carlos Montúfar (1780-1816)

Alex met Carlos in 1802 in Quito and despite him having no scientific qualifications whatsoever, Alex chose Carlos to accompany him on his further journey. This decision offended botanist, geographer and astronomer Francisco José de Caldas (who himself had hoped to join the expedition) so much that he, in a letter to botanist José Celestino Mutis, famously called Carlos “[señor Barón de Humboldt’s] Adonis”, probably insinuating that Alex had picked Carlos purely for his looks, or even more.

Together with the rest of the party, Alex and his supposed “Adonis” travelled what today is Ecuador (where they climbed the Chimborazo), Peru, Mexico, Cuba and the USA. At least once during that journey (but perhaps regularly?) they shared a bed (as in some kind of temporary/mobile  accomodation) which we know because Alex explicitly says so in his travel journal when he describes a night in which Carlos had very bad stomach cramps which Alex tried to ease by heating handkerchiefs over the fire for him in the middle of the night.

Carlos accompanied Alex back to Europe in 1804 and stayed with him in Paris for a couple of months (where they most likely both attended Napoleon’s coronation) until he ultimately left to go to Madrid. But since Carlos had trouble getting money from South America, he still had to rely on Alex’s support. However, over time his contact to Alex seems to have broken off, because in a letter from 1806, Carlos complained about Alex not answering him anymore (“¡Qué largo silencio!”) and then told him, quite dramatically, that he was running out of money, and that he, Alex, was his only friend, his only hope, and the only person he knew in Europe who could tell him what to do. Whether all of Alex’s letters had gotten lost in the mail and whether Alex ended up helping him out or not, I think we don’t know. (But knowing him as I do and since he after all kept that letter, I’m sure that he did.)

Later, Carlos went back to South America, where he (alongside Símon Bolívar) fought to liberate the continent from the Spanish Crown − a fight he unfortunately didn’t survive: he was captured and executed by the Spanish in 1816.

Joseph Louis Gay-Lussac (1778-1850)

Alex and Gay (that’s what Alex called him, no pun intended) first met in 1804 in Paris, just after Alex’s return from America. Before, Gay had done two things: 1. contributed to a harsh critique on one of Alex’s papers, 2. ascended 7016 m in a hot-air balloon to investigate the air up there − a world record at the time and more than 1000 m higher than Alex had been on the Chimborazo, which had then also been a world record (in recorded European history).

Evidently, these were the best conditions for them to totally hit it off: they almost immediately started to work on the evaluation of Gay’s balloon ascent and often spent entire days working together in Gay’s room, from 9 am until after midnight. In a letter to his father, Gay wrote that Alex was the man with the best heart he had ever known, that their tastes and sentiments were absolutely the same − and that their hearts felt a great need to see each other very often.

After the publication of their paper (in which they, without fully realising it, also first identified the chemical composition of water: H2O), they (and another friend) went on a six-month field trip through Switzerland and Italy − where they were lucky enough to witness both an earthquake and a resulting Vesuvius eruption. They ended their journey in Berlin where Gay stayed at Alex’s for a couple of months and even started to learn German until he unexpectedly had to leave for Paris. His absence, Alex wrote after Gay had left, pained him a lot.

When Alex finally returned to Paris as well, they shared a single room at the École Polytechnique and even after Gay became a father in 1808 and married in 1809, Alex continued to (at least occasionaly) live with his family for many years. Gay’s first son (born in 1810) was named Jules Alexandre and while I have no proof that he was named after Alex, I think it’s safe to assume. Alex seems to have also been very intimately integrated into the family life, because he once wrote to Willdenow (with a humorous undertone of course): “We are always pregnant and just had a girl again. Right now we’re not feeling anything though.” Alex was also there to help when an explosion in a laboratory accident injured Gay’s eyes so badly that Alex and another friend had to take him home in a blindfold.

No letters between the two have survived (that we know of), but we do know that in the years after they first met, Alex considered Gay his best friend and “one of the kindest beings in the world”, that he named an American plant genus after him (Gaylussacia), and that they used “tu” with each other (which was very uncommon in France at the time except for childhood friends and family). They stayed friends for the rest of their lives and formed a kind of trio with Arago (see below).

Karl von Steuben (1788-1856)

We don’t know when exactly they first met but according to Alex they started to see each other daily in 1812 at the studio of painter François Gérard, where Alex had then started to take drawing lessons. Steuben, a young aspiring artist, lived and worked at Gérard’s studio. According to Alex, they “drew and painted” together “daily” for at least one or two years. Withdrawn from all other society, he wrote, this was now his “only joy” (interestingly almost the exact same wording he had used to describe his relationship with Reinhard 20 years earlier). However, it had perhaps been one of Alex’s exaggerations because he at least seems to have attended the famous salons Gérard held at his studio, where all the cool Paris people came to hang out. Alex reportedly talked incessantly, stayed late into the night (the main thing usually didn’t get going until midnight) and was found there again, freshly dressed and shaved, already at 7 in the morning.

In the meantime, Alex had started to torment basically everyone around him to commission Steuben to paint them, their sons, daughters, fiancés etc. to help Steuben support his poor mother in St. Petersburg. In 1814, even Alex’s brother noted that Alex had suddenly become strangely interested in art. In the same year, Alex became godfather to Steuben’s newborn son Alexander.

However, the biggest commission Alex got Steuben was a life-sized full-body painting of himself, which he intended to gift to his sister-in-law. It took 7 years to finish and in the end Alex’s brother had to pay for transport and framing because Alex had run out of money. Neither his brother nor his sister-in-law were overly enthusiastic about the likeness of the painting or Steuben’s talent in general but they still put it up in their home because after all, as his brother put it, they loved Alex and always liked a picture of him around.

Alex and Steuben stayed in at least loose contact for many years and Alex occasionally even still tried to get him commissions. Steuben’s painting of Alex hung in the Humboldt residence in Tegel for over a century before it was ultimately destroyed in WWII. Apparently though, another Alex portrait by Steuben from 1815 still exists in a private collection somewhere.

François Arago (1786-1853)

Arago, a young astronomer, was on a scientific expedition through Spain when he got entangled in the Peninsular War: mistaken for a French spy, he got arrested and incarcerated, managed to flee, was captured again, transferred, released, drifted off at sea to Algeria, all the while managing to hold on to his most valuable possession: his scientific records, which he kept hidden under his shirt at all times. When Alex heard about this (the two had never met before), he was so impressed by his courage and determination that he sent a letter to congratulate him — and to offer him his friendship. And in fact, one of the first things Arago did when he finally returned to Paris in 1809 was to go and meet Alex. It was the beginning of a 44-year-long friendship. They saw each other almost daily, worked together at the observatory, planned an expedition to Tibet (which never happened), and actually travelled at least to London in 1817 to visit Alex’s brother, who commented to his wife: “Alexander has arrived yesterday. But he isn't staying with me, even though his room had already been prepared. You know his passion to always be with one person who is his favourite at that time. Now he has the astronomer Arago who he doesn't want to part with (...) So they're staying at a nearby inn.” Just as with Gay, Alex and Arago used “tu” with each other and after Arago had gotten married in 1811, Alex was close with his wife and children as well as with his siblings, nieces and nephews — in some letters he even considered himself part of the Arago family.

When Alex was forced to move back to Berlin in 1827 to work for the king, he wrote Arago desperate letters on how much their separation pained him, how much he missed him every hour of every day. In the following 26 years, Alex’s letters to him were full of yearning pleas for just a couple of lines of his hand, which, as he wrote, always made his heart flutter. However, Arago often didn’t respond for months, but when he did, he at least knew to reassure Alex, writing things like: “Outside my family, you are, without any comparison, the person I love most tenderly in this world.” Alex kept a portrait and a large Arago bust in his study in Berlin, and until his late seventies, he travelled to Paris regularly (that is, every few years), first and foremost to see Arago. (Actual quote from 78-year-old Alex in a letter to his niece: “Every morning at half past eight without interruption, I’ve been at Arago’s in the observatory, today for the 62nd time.”) According to Arago, he and Alex have only been angry with each other one single time in all those decades and even that went over in an instant.

They saw each other for the last time in January 1848, on the last night of Alex’s last stay in Paris. When Arago fell ill five years later, his family informed Alex of his worsening condition — but Alex couldn’t travel to Paris to see him one last time. Even over a year after Arago’s death, Alex wrote that the memory of those last moments in January 1848 vividly came back to him during the night at least once a week. He outlived his friend by 6 years.

[cecil-mudokon-defunct]

💔 - A heartbreak (anyone you want lol)

The way the day started was so ordinary. Bruno and I woke up to the sounds of nature. Light shining through the trees, and the chirping of nearby birds, all promising signs it was going to be a good one. It had become warmer. The freezing tundras being little more than a distant memory.

The two of us had been traveling together for what Bruno explained to be an entire season. The intricacies of the passing of time still perplexed me. But I trusted he knew more about it than I did. We spent most of our time walking from one destination to the next, what that destination was, neither of us were sure of. We didn’t stay in the same place for long. Not wanting to deplete an area of its resources we’d move regularly.

During one of such travels, we were walking through the lush forest looking for something to eat. As Bruno explained the differences between what he defined as mushrooms his words suddenly went silent. I can’t even begin to try wrapping my head around his sensing capabilities. But it’s clear something was getting closer, and by his expression alone I could tell it wasn’t someone friendly.

Before I could even ask what was wrong, he had grabbed my hand tightly and launched us onto a branch right above us. I tried asking again but got cut-off mid-sentence by a harsh hush.

Then I heard something. The humming sound of engines. It’s a sound I was more than familiar with, but these didn’t sound like any machine I had ever seen. Pushing me further back towards the trunk, Bruno made an attempt to shield me from whatever was approaching. The sounds becoming louder and closer, it soon mixed with the sound of voices yelling back and forth. I was told to stay quiet and to not move.

Not understanding what was going on and the lack of information scared and frustrated me at the same time. As the racket came closer, I looked in the direction it came from. Suddenly, the source showed itself, or rather themselves. A small group of outlaws on what I now know are motorcycles drove past by us. The one in the front shouting at the others to keep their eyes open. Whoever these guys were, they’re bad news.

After they passed, Bruno took the both of us down and started running in the opposite direction; his hand tightly clutching mine. I tried to ask what we were running from, if he knew those people, and why they were dangerous enough to get this kind of reaction of out of him. But none of the questions ever got answered.

I did my best to keep up, but I soon was exhausted and couldn’t handle being dragged along any longer.

I begged for Bruno to slow down, but he didn’t listen. One bad step on a stone that slid away under my foot sent me falling downward. Feeling a sharp stinging pain in my leg I looked down; seeing a rather long cut running from my thigh to past my knee. Panting heavily, Bruno told me they probably were far enough now, and that he was sorry for what he had caused. He was already talking about how he would treat the wound in detail, but I simply shook my head, saying he shouldn’t worry about a scratch. Letting his guard down, he helped me get up and let me pull him into an embrace. Catching my breath, I suddenly felt a shot of pain in my back. As a numbing sensation spread through my body, I gradually lost my strength and straddled to the ground.

Dizzy and weak I tried to ask what was happening as Bruno pulled something that looked like a syringe with a feather on the end of it out of my skin. Before he could tell me what this weird object was, he too, soon collapsed. I panicked, but I was too dazed to do anything about it.

I’m not sure of what happened then, but next thing I knew, I woke up laying on the grass with my wrists and ankles tied together by some sort of metal wire cable. Fighting to stay conscious, I strugglingly opened my eyes. Seeing little more than a collection of blurs, I could hear people talking.

“Best catch we’ve had in weeks.” “Don’t get too excited just yet. The big one’s missin’ some parts.” I then realized they were talking about me. Groaning, I tried lifting my head to look at who these captors were. “Well, good mornin’ sunshine.” I heard someone say to me before violently getting pulled up by my hair. My vision became clearer, and I was able to make out that the man holding me was the outlaw leader we saw earlier. “Where… Where is-” “Boss! Lookie here!” Before I could even finish my thought, I was cut off by the other one. A deep chuckle followed. “Son’ bitch has an id number… Betcha whoever owned this mutt would pay good moolah for gettin’ their lost pupper back.”

My tattoo… The barcode that was etched into my neck. They knew what it was and wanted to send me back! In fear, I started to struggle;  hoping to get out of their grip. The thought alone made me fear for my life. If I was returned to Lights-out, I’d be executed for sure. A strong sense of hopelessness came over me. Where was Bruno? Without making a sound I started praying that I would get out of there.

As if by magic, I then heard his voice. “Take your hands off of him…” All this time Bruno had been playing dead while freeing himself from his bondages. His eyes glowing with intense anger, he stared the two down although they were not impressed at first. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves an escape artist.” Waiting for them to let go of me, he stood there unmoved. “I will give you one last warning… Let. Him. Go.” The leader shrugged. “As you wish.” Opening his hand, I fell down, hard. Not wasting any time, Bruno lunged at them; grabbing their throats and releasing a powerful electric jolt into their bodies. I, to this day, have no idea if he killed them or not as neither of us were gonna wait around long enough to find out. Bruno picked me up and quickly made an escape by floating far away from this place.

Later we found ourselves in a denser part of the woods. By then I was fully awake but still shaken up by what happened. Bruno said nothing… He looked into the distance with that stern look he got when thinking up a plan. I sat there in silence. The rustling of leaves being the only sound there. I was getting nervous from this. I stood up and reached for Bruno’s shoulder. The reaction I got was a quick jerking motion to get away from my touch. “Bruno… What’s-” “This was too close.” He said as he interrupted me. “If they did a better job of tying me up, you’d be on the first train back to Lights-out right now!” I didn’t know what he was so mad over… “But we got away, didn’t we?” I said with a naive smile. Hoping to charm him into improving his mood. But it wasn’t working. “Barely… I-” Bruno took a deep breath as I tried to suppress the sinking feeling I had in my stomach. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Cecil…”

My heart sank. “Wh- what are you saying? You’re not leaving me are you?” Tears wetted my eyes, this could not be happening. I attempted to make eye contact, but he kept looking away. “Bruno?!” He sighed and nodded once. “I am…” I could feel my heart shatter. Didn’t he love me anymore? Was I really too much? Whatever made him come to this conclusion, I knew it was my fault.

“You can’t be serious… You’re lying!” I shouted in desperation. “I promise I’ll do better! I’m sorry I keep getting us into trouble. I’ll do anything! Please! you can’t leave me here!” I begged and pleaded. But Bruno gave little response. As I started crying I wrapped my arms around him. My world was falling apart. The only person who ever genuinely cared… Suddenly didn’t care anymore. Didn’t love me anymore…

He took my hands and moved them away from his neck using his powers to push me away without having to touch me. “Bruno…”

“Keep following this path… You’ll find a village of other native mudokons. It’s small, but I’m sure they’ll take you in…” I couldn’t believe my ears. He was actually instructing me to leave. I knew he wouldn’t or couldn’t come with me. But I didn’t want to go. “I promise I won’t let us get captured again! Please… Don’t do this to me… Let me stay with you.”

Bruno took some steps back. Looking at the ground he hid every emotion he might have had in that moment. “I’m sorry… I can’t!” This was the last thing I heard him say before he sped off.

I sank to my knees and bawled. Not even caring if anyone heard me or not. I might as well have been dead at that point. I rather would have stayed a victim to the slave catchers and dragged back, never knowing what happened to Bruno at all, than getting rejected like this. By the time the sun had started to set, I still hadn’t left. A tree behind me supporting my back. My puffy bloodshot eyes hurt by the tears, my throat felt sore and raw, even my nostrils stung.

For hours I kept wishing for him to come back. But he never did. I had sat there waiting like an idiot for hours. Cried for hours. Until I ran out of tears. Slowly I began winding down. I closed my eyes and went back into my memories. Back to the cave of snow I took shelter in after I was banished. I tried to reconnect with how I felt then. Lonely, scared, cold. But not only that, there was also a great sense of hope and determination. I had to figure out to do now what I did then. This wasn’t the end, it shouldn’t be the end. A setback, maybe. Tragic and heartbreaking for sure. But not the end. I got back to my feet and glanced at the path Bruno had taken before staring in the direction I would go. With wonky feet and fighting my own body to make it move, I began walking away. “Goodbye, Bruno…”

[cars4starters]

I have to admit to being a car and motoring tragic for all my (thankfully) quite long life.

In fact, my late mother always said that after I had mastered “mum” and “dad” my next words were “red car.”

One of the benefits of this motoring passion is that I’ve been fortunate to own and enjoy some interesting cars.

Those that especially come to mind when I look back on my more than five decades behind the wheel are my first car – an original Mini – an XM Falcon Futura hardtop, an HK GTS V8 Monaro, an Alfasud Ti, Ford Capri 3000 GT, BMW 633 CSI, Porsche 928S and my current toy – a Nissan 350Z roadster.

Gazumping all of those – certainly in terms of exotic rarity – was my 1959 MG A Twin Cam roadster.

At the time of its acquisition, I was a very young journalist on the Launceston Examiner and as well as doing police rounds and courts and some sport, I was extremely fortunate that the Editor, the late F G N “Goodie” Ewence – added motoring to my responsibilities.

Until the arrival at the Examiner of young Crawford, as well as running the paper “Goodie”, in the absence of anyone else who knew anything about cars and motoring, had been doing the motoring section himself.

Mr Ewence was a serious motoring enthusiast and in fact drove to work each day in a somewhat tatty Triumph TR 2.

He was also one of the driving forces behind the wonderful Tasman Series races held at the equally wonderful but long-since defunct Longford road circuit.

I had seen a white MG A roadster driving around town on a few occasions and wondered why it had steel disc wheels with knock-offs.

I soon discovered that it was Tasmania’s only Twin Cam and that it was in fact for sale.

One drive and I knew I had to have it, so the little Mini 850 with the twin carbs and noisy exhaust was traded and the MG was mine.

To find out more about the Twin Cam and its history in Australia, I discovered some years ago the Australian MG A Twin Cam Register that is run by Melbourne enthusiast Bob Somerville.

He says that 75 Twin Cams were sold new in Australia and another five were imported in the period before 1965.

Another 23 were imported in the 1990s and eight were exported.

Bob says that of Australia’s original 80 cars, 18 are lost – sadly, including mine.

He says that while I supplied him with the photo that’s with this story, I no longer had engine and chassis numbers so tracing it all these years later was virtually impossible.

Bob did, however, float the theory that the car might have been bought by a father for a son who subsequently wrecked it.

In all, the register says 1788 Twin Cam roadsters were produced between 1958 and 1960, as well as a much smaller number of coupes.

The car’s engine was based on the Morris B-series motor and was modified to run an aluminium cross-flow head and the twin-cam set-up.

The engine was fitted with 1 3/4-inch SU carbies and a fuel-consumption figure of 10.2L/100km was claimed.

The 1588cc engine was good for 80.5kW at 6700rpm and 142Nm that was on tap at 4500rpm – modest figures by today’s performance-car standards – but pretty spirited back then.

The engine was mated with a four-speed gearbox that came without synchromesh on first.

Other features that set the Twin Cam apart from the “mere-mortal” MG As were the aforementioned Dunlop steel wheels (like the ones Jaguar ran on D-Types) with knock-off central locking and 11-inch un-boosted disc brakes.

The only other way you could pick a Twin Cam was it if had three “Twin Cam” badges – one atop each front guard near the air vents plus another on the boot lid.

Road tests at the time gave the car a top-speed of 185km/h and sprint time to 100km/h of 9.1 seconds.

Twin Cams have done a lot of racing over the years and in fact a coupe, driven by British drivers Ted Lund and Colin Escott was 12th overall and first in the 2.0-litre class at the 1960 Le Mans 24-hour classic.

In terms of my time with the Twin Cam, after a couple of years of enjoyable (and much too rapid) motoring, the engine ran a big-end bearing and developed the associated unhealthy-sounding rattle from the bottom end.

Before this happened, I had become conditioned by the engine’s propensity to oil up plugs.

To manage this problem, I kept a small sugar-bag containing a plug socket and about 20 spark plugs in the boot.

After the bearing went, a mate of mine at the time, who was much better with a spanner than I, generously offered to help me do a full engine recondition.

Another mate had an empty garage behind his shop and that’s where all the work was undertaken.

The engine was removed and pulled down, the block was sent to the then Repco Bearing Company plant to have the bore honed, the crankshaft ground and new big-end and main bearings were ordered.

Once the block came back with Repco’s bore measurements, pistons were sourced from the UK, flown out and the engine rebuilt.

The alloy rocker covers and the SU “bells” were all polished and the engine looked a million dollars.

For something like 1500km I carefully ran the engine in before changing the oil and giving the car a serious high-speed run down the beautiful road on the western side of the Tamar River.

It was in fact the day this photograph was taken and I was travelling with a newspaper photographer colleague to cover a story.

On the way back there was a nasty noise from the engine, a lot of smoke and a serious loss of power.

After limping back to Launceston, I gave my mechanic mate the bad news and remarkably, he again helped me rebuild the engine.

What we found was that Repco had given us an incorrect reading of the bore size and we had fitted under-sized pistons.

Not only that, they had not cleaned out the oil ducts in the crank shaft and our beautiful new bearings were badly scored.

Needless to say they blamed us for not checking everything.

They were probably right but my mate and I were not happy. In my case, heartbroken would not be over-stating it.

Another month or so with he and my then girlfriend (now wife) working into the early hours of the morning and the engine was again like new.

A week or so after we had the car back on the road, Tasmania’s first Falcon XM hardtop – a top-spec pale metallic-blue Futura – arrived in the local Ford dealer’s showroom.

Back then – and still today for that matter – it was a seriously sexy car and I decided that it had to be mine.

I just couldn’t face the prospect of another engine rebuild – and I was heartily sick of forever changing plugs.

The upshot was that I traded the Twin Cam on the Futura and received the princely sum of 1000 quid for the car.

Needless to say I shuddered when, in February 2017, Shannons sold a Twin Cam Roadster just like mine for $85,000 (except it had red leather where mine had black).

So that’s the story of my Twin Cam. It was to a degree a love/hate relationship, but I still remember the good times and the great drives.

But there’s a remarkable sequel to the story and it’s one of the spookiest experiences of my life.

About 10 years ago during my time as motoring editor of the Canberra Times I was in Hobart on a Mini media launch.

We travelled about 20 minutes by bus from our city hotel to a winery restaurant for dinner.

Unbeknown to us, the PR people had arranged for around 20 members of the Hobart Mini club to chauffeur us, one to a car, back to the hotel after dinner.

We were told to choose a car and head off with its driver.

It was a delightful touch.

Jumping into a Cooper S fitted with a huge Weber carby, I introduced myself to the driver – a great bloke a few years younger than me.

He asked me who I wrote for and I explained it was the Canberra Times, although I did it out of Melbourne.

I explained that actually, I had started writing about cars some 40 years earlier when I was a kid on the Examiner.

He immediately and with some excitement said: “ You used to have an exotic sports car – a white MG A Twin Cam with black leather.”

I was flabbergasted.

Of the 20 Minis I had to choose from, I chose this one with this bloke at the wheel.

He explained that he used to see the car parked outside the newspaper office and how he often used to hear it go past his school, and how much he loved its exhaust note.

To finish off the story, my new Mini-driving mate told me he had actually driven in the car.

This came about because one of the Ford dealer’s salesmen lived in the same street and he had brought the car home one day and took the then schoolboy for a ride.

As they say, it’s a small world.

Looking back, there’s no doubt the Twin Cam – even in the often cold Tasmanian weather – instilled in me a love of top-down motoring.

This was confirmed three years ago when I bought a Mazda MX-5 roadster I found for sale outside a nearby house.

My wife and I loved going for top-down drives in the little Mazda but it was just a tad small for me.

We now have a Nissan 350z roadster and wind-in-the hair motoring (not that I have much these days) is still very much a part of our lives.

And it all started with the Twin Cam.

Spooky tale of Tassie sportster I have to admit to being a car and motoring tragic for all my (thankfully) quite long life.