You never forget your first car. Technically, the Charade was my second car, but the Saab 95 V4 project I bought at the age of 15 was cast aside when I discovered the joys of Championship Manager. Taking Boston United to the brink of European football over the restoration of a Swedish classic. Hey, I was young and stupid. One of those things has changed…
I learnt to drive and spent the first year of my motoring life behind the wheel of the Charade, so I’ll always remember it as my first love. This makes it the best car I’ll ever own.
It cost £30 – the equivalent of £65 in today’s money. Small change for a Japanese car with half a tank of fuel, a fresh MOT and some tax. This was in 1992, by which time the little Daihatsu had been subjected to ten Hampshire winters and several uncareful owners. Japanese cars were ahead of the game in many areas, but rust remained a big issue. My Charade suffered terribly from corrosion on the rear arches and the edges of the back doors. It had the appearance of a car that had been used as transport for a pair of Freddy Krueger tribute acts. Why use the door handles when you can carve your way into the back? I filled the chasms with a blend of filler, tinfoil and silver Hammerite. It looked passable… from the Isle of Wight.
Officially, the 993cc three-cylinder engine could propel the Charade to 60mph in around 16 seconds, but it felt much, much quicker than that. Nothing in the college car park could touch it, especially the legions of lethargic Metros. The A-Series sounded like motoring from a bygone era, while the three-pot sounded like the future. It even had a five-speed gearbox.
Crucially, everything worked. Well, almost. The speaker in the passenger door was broken, so listening to some tracks on the stereo radio-cassette was like eavesdropping on one side of a telephone conversation. “Bohemian Rhapsody” was a particular treat, with the song interrupted by periods of silence. It was impossible to work out if Brian, Roger and John were willing to let Freddie go.
I decided to let the Charade go after 12 months of trouble-free motoring, for no other reason than my head being turned by a Viva HB Deluxe. The Daihatsu never let me down. The Vauxhall let me down whenever some light mist formed over the Solent. I shouldn’t have sold the Charade, but that’s the thing about a lost love: you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.
This article first appeared in issue 2 of Classic.Retro.Modern. magazine.
