James Griffin: A slice of automotive history

James Griffin. Photo / Dean Purcell

Dear people at Suzuki New Zealand, I don't know if such a thing exists or if you are planning on building such a thing, but if there is/will be a Suzuki Museum in New Zealand, then I know of one little Suzuki that should be an exhibit.

Sorry, I don't know what model it is - one of the small ones. The word Swift comes to mind, so that is probably what it is. Mind you, it's pretty old, probably dating back to the 1980s, so maybe the Swift range didn't exist back then and it is called something completely different. But we'll call it The Swift, for now, just to keep things simple.

Not that The Swift has ever really been swift as it plied its trade around the streets, roads, avenues and expressways of the Napier-Hastings region for all these many years. This is partly because it has been driven by my mother, who is one of those drivers for whom exceeding the speed limit is a crime of monumental proportions, right up there with failing to give way properly and overtaking on yellow lines. It is also partly because I don't think The Swift has been capable of exceeding the speed limit for a long time now.

Just as The Swift won't be the centrepiece of your Suzuki museum because of its land-speed-record-breaking abilities, neither will it deserve its place on any aesthetic appeal. It's sort of a funny browny colour, with definite signs of age, as befits its vintage. Nor will it get there for its spaciousness, as I can most definitely testify on the occasions it has been my duty to pilot The Swift across the flatlands of Hawkes Bay.

No, why this Swift deserves a place in some kind of Suzuki-related automotive museum is simply because it kept on going - and going and going and going. Every six months it would pass its Warrant of Fitness; every time (well most times) there was a little ding or a mechanical problem it would get sorted out somehow - even as the nice folks from the garage in Taradale would scratch their heads and wonder if they could still source the appropriate part from anywhere. Through all this, through all the years, The Swift kept itself together and kept on rolling along.

But mainly why The Swift should be in this mythical museum is because of what it represents. Independence. My mother, as they say in the trade, is getting on a bit. The other day she rang up to pass on the news that had been coming for a while: she's decided it is time to end her driving days. The eyesight isn't so good and although it is an upsetting decision for her, it is the right one to make - and she is glad she is the one who made it, not some doctor telling her what to do.

In these days where the automobile is held responsible for many of the worst things in our daily life - air pollution, traffic jams, car ads on television and dickheads in SUVs who think they own the road - we tend to take for granted the independence the car affords us. Unless you are one of those freaks of nature who has never driven, not being able to drive or being able to just get in and go whenever you feel like it represents a quantum shift in someone's life.

This isn't to say that with the loss of her Swift-capability, that Mum will immediately become housebound (if she does, I shall be having stern words).

She gets a good discount on taxis and she has great friends and neighbours who will ferry her places. And I'm sure that, from time to time, it'll be The Swift doing the ferrying - just not with Mum, propped up on many cushions, behind the wheel.

And so, Suzuki people, if you are ever constructing some kind of automotive museum, celebrating what the motor-car means to us, then boy, have I got an exhibit for you. It's not much to look at, and it's got about a billion kilometres on the clock, but all those kilometres were driven at sensible speeds, in strict accordance with the road rules (except maybe when I was driving it) and each represents a life being lived.

It's safely tucked away in a garage in Taradale, Hawkes Bay, if you're interested.