Geoff587
Well-Known Member
Retirement eventually comes to us all, that is those of us who
survive the risks that life throws at us. No one gets to
retirement age without losing a few friends and loved
relative’s en-route. The knocks and bumps of life fi ll our
minds with memories, and it is in retirement you get the time
to look back over happier times, and if you are lucky, some
money to be able to do something about it.
In my case, the story starts back in the mid-1970s when I
was serving in the RAF at Valley, on Anglesey. I was virtually
given 90% of a 1961 Panther 650cc M120. Now is the time to
mention that I am a great one for re-cycling. That simply
means I seem to be able to fi x almost anything with an
engine in it. I have also always had a motorcycle of one sort
or another since 1962, and the P&M Panther was a real
challenge. I re-built it and fi tted it with a BSA single seater
sidecar and chassis. My wife, son and I had a great time
with it, attending rally’s, show, meetings, going on runs, and
using it to commute to and from work at Valley. There I
worked on Hawk trainer aircraft, and my son would
sometimes accompany me, being very keen on aircraft and
motorcycles, like myself.
Very few people will think of the little family man of the 1940s,
50s and early 60s, and how he managed to get to and from
work and transport the family. The family motorcycle
combination is still a bit of a Cinderella in the classic bike
world, and I think this is just grossly unfair. Many, many big
singles, both side valve and over head valve, and later the
parallel twin bikes found themselves hitched up to a single
seat side-car at fi rst; and as the family grew, so a child/adult
chair would be attached. Today, names like Busmar, Squire,
Watsonian, and Steib are rarely heard, where as Bonneville,
Trophy and Bullet roll off the tongue. Lots of names are given
to the motorcycle and sidecar, such as combination, chair,
outfi t, and combo.
So where are all those thousands of motorcycle
combinations of yesteryear? There was a time every street
had any number being ridden. So popular was this cheap
form of transport in the 1950s that the ‘Practical Motorists &
Motor Cyclist’, edited by F.J. Camm, in the September 1956
issue ran a series of articles on how to build your very own
child/adult side car. The October and November issues
covered completing it and fi tting it to a bike. There were so
many combinations on our roads then, chugging about,
powered by Panther Model 100, Ariel VB, BSA WM21, and
Norton 19S that the exchequer charged extra duty on the
road tax if a chair was fi tted. But so safe was the combination
in mature hands of the family man, that the insurance
charged then was between 40 to 50% less than a solo. The
ideal bike to power a combo is one that has good torque at
low revs; one that can slog on unworried, and is reliable and
strong. A lightly built, fast, large engined sports machine
would be hopeless. The attraction of the outfi t for the family
man was its cheapness, ease of maintenance and economy
in running. This icon of the mid-twentieth century workingman
is now a very rare sight. He might be a fi tter, or a turner,
miner, mechanic, toolmaker, toolsetter, pattern maker or
similar; either way he would probably be a time-served
apprentice in his chosen trade. This would mean he had a
good grounding in engineering, so maintaining his steed
would be second nature. The top-speed of a combo was a
good 20% lower than the equivalent solo machine, and one
could carry up to four people. You have to ‘drive’ a combo,
not ‘ride’ it as a motorcycle. A gallon of petrol would last 50-
60 or even 70 miles, when small family cars could only
manage 25-30. Annual road tax was half that of a car. The
speeds of 40-50mph seem slow now, but in those days cars
were no faster; commercial vehicles and heavy lorries were
then limited to 40mph anyway. Few could afford the superbike
combinations of the day, some costing more than a
small car. Such machines as Ariel’s square four, or an HRD
Vincent with a chair, were just dreams. Mr. Average owned
functional transport.
The gearing of a motorcycle combination normally has to be
lowered, usually by fi tting a smaller engine sprocket, to
enable it to cope with the extra drag and weight. Some
manufacturers even offered stronger fork springs to cope.
The sidecar wheel had to ‘lead’ the rear wheel by a few
inches, so the bike could steer round it. Tyres with a much
fl atter profi le were fi tted, as the bike no longer had to lean
over on bends. The riding technique was special, and had to
be mastered quickly. Any one who has driven a combination
will know how easy it is to lift the side car wheel off the
ground on left hand bends, and even turn it all over. Righthanders’
are a pleasure, as the chair supports the bike. But
even here you must not get over-confi dent, too fast and the
bikes rear wheel lifts with devastating results. And therein
lies a tale, and maybe the reason why the motorcycle
combination seems to be held in less awe than the shiny
sporting machines. That is quite simply, their road
performance. A 500cc combination could cruise at around
45-50mph at the most, with perhaps the later 650cc models
touching 55-60mph. How ever, the social historical value of
the combination in the story of the motorcycle far outweighs
any contribution to society, than that of the sports bike.
Thousands of families went to the seaside on days out, on
holidays, visiting relatives, to family weddings and funerals,
went shopping, commuted to and from work, in their
motorbike and sidecar. Millions of miles were travelled by
family men huddled up in a thick water-proof coat, peaked
helmet or fl at-cap on back-to-front, goggles, and huge
gauntlets; all doing their best to get as many miles per gallon
as possible. The majority would do their own servicing and
repairs, and know the machine like the back of their own
hands.
So what killed off this unique form of transport? We simply
became too well off. As incomes grew and small cars
became cheaper, so families moved up to four wheels, a
roof and a heater, (though this was often an ‘extra’). The real
nail in the coffi n was the arrival in 1959 of the BMC Mini at
just over £400.
Where once millions knew how to set up the sidecar toe-in,
and machine lean-out, what a swan-neck was; today few will
even know what those terms mean. The sidecar wheel has
to toe-in to the bike’s wheels, just as rear-wheel driven cars
have toe-in on their steered wheels, and for the same
reason; otherwise the sidecar would drag the outfi t to the
nearside all the time. A swan-neck is the stout steel tube on
the front mounting, bent at right angles. The bike has to lean
out slightly when the outfi t is stationary with no one on it.
This is to permit the sidecar suspension to sink when weight
is applied, such as a passenger. I sold my Panther 120 back
in 1983,moving myself up to a family car. I have now
A Motorcycle Combination.
3
survive the risks that life throws at us. No one gets to
retirement age without losing a few friends and loved
relative’s en-route. The knocks and bumps of life fi ll our
minds with memories, and it is in retirement you get the time
to look back over happier times, and if you are lucky, some
money to be able to do something about it.
In my case, the story starts back in the mid-1970s when I
was serving in the RAF at Valley, on Anglesey. I was virtually
given 90% of a 1961 Panther 650cc M120. Now is the time to
mention that I am a great one for re-cycling. That simply
means I seem to be able to fi x almost anything with an
engine in it. I have also always had a motorcycle of one sort
or another since 1962, and the P&M Panther was a real
challenge. I re-built it and fi tted it with a BSA single seater
sidecar and chassis. My wife, son and I had a great time
with it, attending rally’s, show, meetings, going on runs, and
using it to commute to and from work at Valley. There I
worked on Hawk trainer aircraft, and my son would
sometimes accompany me, being very keen on aircraft and
motorcycles, like myself.
Very few people will think of the little family man of the 1940s,
50s and early 60s, and how he managed to get to and from
work and transport the family. The family motorcycle
combination is still a bit of a Cinderella in the classic bike
world, and I think this is just grossly unfair. Many, many big
singles, both side valve and over head valve, and later the
parallel twin bikes found themselves hitched up to a single
seat side-car at fi rst; and as the family grew, so a child/adult
chair would be attached. Today, names like Busmar, Squire,
Watsonian, and Steib are rarely heard, where as Bonneville,
Trophy and Bullet roll off the tongue. Lots of names are given
to the motorcycle and sidecar, such as combination, chair,
outfi t, and combo.
So where are all those thousands of motorcycle
combinations of yesteryear? There was a time every street
had any number being ridden. So popular was this cheap
form of transport in the 1950s that the ‘Practical Motorists &
Motor Cyclist’, edited by F.J. Camm, in the September 1956
issue ran a series of articles on how to build your very own
child/adult side car. The October and November issues
covered completing it and fi tting it to a bike. There were so
many combinations on our roads then, chugging about,
powered by Panther Model 100, Ariel VB, BSA WM21, and
Norton 19S that the exchequer charged extra duty on the
road tax if a chair was fi tted. But so safe was the combination
in mature hands of the family man, that the insurance
charged then was between 40 to 50% less than a solo. The
ideal bike to power a combo is one that has good torque at
low revs; one that can slog on unworried, and is reliable and
strong. A lightly built, fast, large engined sports machine
would be hopeless. The attraction of the outfi t for the family
man was its cheapness, ease of maintenance and economy
in running. This icon of the mid-twentieth century workingman
is now a very rare sight. He might be a fi tter, or a turner,
miner, mechanic, toolmaker, toolsetter, pattern maker or
similar; either way he would probably be a time-served
apprentice in his chosen trade. This would mean he had a
good grounding in engineering, so maintaining his steed
would be second nature. The top-speed of a combo was a
good 20% lower than the equivalent solo machine, and one
could carry up to four people. You have to ‘drive’ a combo,
not ‘ride’ it as a motorcycle. A gallon of petrol would last 50-
60 or even 70 miles, when small family cars could only
manage 25-30. Annual road tax was half that of a car. The
speeds of 40-50mph seem slow now, but in those days cars
were no faster; commercial vehicles and heavy lorries were
then limited to 40mph anyway. Few could afford the superbike
combinations of the day, some costing more than a
small car. Such machines as Ariel’s square four, or an HRD
Vincent with a chair, were just dreams. Mr. Average owned
functional transport.
The gearing of a motorcycle combination normally has to be
lowered, usually by fi tting a smaller engine sprocket, to
enable it to cope with the extra drag and weight. Some
manufacturers even offered stronger fork springs to cope.
The sidecar wheel had to ‘lead’ the rear wheel by a few
inches, so the bike could steer round it. Tyres with a much
fl atter profi le were fi tted, as the bike no longer had to lean
over on bends. The riding technique was special, and had to
be mastered quickly. Any one who has driven a combination
will know how easy it is to lift the side car wheel off the
ground on left hand bends, and even turn it all over. Righthanders’
are a pleasure, as the chair supports the bike. But
even here you must not get over-confi dent, too fast and the
bikes rear wheel lifts with devastating results. And therein
lies a tale, and maybe the reason why the motorcycle
combination seems to be held in less awe than the shiny
sporting machines. That is quite simply, their road
performance. A 500cc combination could cruise at around
45-50mph at the most, with perhaps the later 650cc models
touching 55-60mph. How ever, the social historical value of
the combination in the story of the motorcycle far outweighs
any contribution to society, than that of the sports bike.
Thousands of families went to the seaside on days out, on
holidays, visiting relatives, to family weddings and funerals,
went shopping, commuted to and from work, in their
motorbike and sidecar. Millions of miles were travelled by
family men huddled up in a thick water-proof coat, peaked
helmet or fl at-cap on back-to-front, goggles, and huge
gauntlets; all doing their best to get as many miles per gallon
as possible. The majority would do their own servicing and
repairs, and know the machine like the back of their own
hands.
So what killed off this unique form of transport? We simply
became too well off. As incomes grew and small cars
became cheaper, so families moved up to four wheels, a
roof and a heater, (though this was often an ‘extra’). The real
nail in the coffi n was the arrival in 1959 of the BMC Mini at
just over £400.
Where once millions knew how to set up the sidecar toe-in,
and machine lean-out, what a swan-neck was; today few will
even know what those terms mean. The sidecar wheel has
to toe-in to the bike’s wheels, just as rear-wheel driven cars
have toe-in on their steered wheels, and for the same
reason; otherwise the sidecar would drag the outfi t to the
nearside all the time. A swan-neck is the stout steel tube on
the front mounting, bent at right angles. The bike has to lean
out slightly when the outfi t is stationary with no one on it.
This is to permit the sidecar suspension to sink when weight
is applied, such as a passenger. I sold my Panther 120 back
in 1983,moving myself up to a family car. I have now
A Motorcycle Combination.
3
