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Riga August 2009 by John Donovan

In 1980 a letter appeared in Miscellany from a Danish Morgan driver living in the northern wilds of Norway, claiming to have the loneliest Morgan in the world, which prompted me to write to him saying that I would visit to bring a little cheer to their lonely existence. Having duly done just that in 1982 I noticed the reference in various Morgan books to the “only known Morgan driver in Russia”, a certain Gennady Michailov. It occurred to me that his Morgan contacts and activities might be a little restricted and so I thought it would be a good idea to get in touch. Armed with the details provided in the literature I sent off my next letter explaining my interest in foreign Morgan travel and confidently indicating my wish to visit Gennady and Riga. I had no idea whether he spoke or understood English, but on any basis my expertise in Russian and/or Latvian was virtually non-existent. To the best of my recollection it was some months before I received a reply, saying that I would be very welcome in Riga, but that unfortunately it would not be possible for Gennady to visit England.
At my suggestion Gennady was enrolled as an honorary Cranmog member and accordingly was bombarded by all manner of Morgan paperwork, including in particular John Crummie’s (in)famous newsletters. MSCC also agreed my suggestion that he be made an honorary member of The Club and Miscellany found its way behind the Iron Curtain, at least for a number of years until someone in authority decided free copy would no longer be provided! Following my further intervention this omission has been rectified, at least for the Centenary year. Over the intervening years our postal contact continued and then, with the advent of technology, progressed to exchange of e-mail, via Alexey Tukacinskij, a friend of Gennady and a professional translator/interpreter.

Having retired in 2006 I felt that I had waited long enough to fulfil my stated intention, and I began to consider the logistics in greater detail. I was also prompted by Cheryl and Dudley’s “Grand Tour” of Europe which included a visit to Gennady and Riga. A fascinating account of their trip can be found on the Anglemog website. It is worthy of note that their story includes reference to a recollection by one of the staff at an hotel in mid Norway of the Cranmog cars which had visited in 1986, (Frans and Anne, Willi Koelln and Mr & Mrs President). Personal contact had also been made by our old friend Harry Schindler and Latvian girlfriend, (she of Reydon fame!), and also by my former senior partner’s daughter who kindly took and brought back various gifts whilst on some form of educational trip.

The Prologue, as some would say. Ramblings of a country solicitor (ret’d) others might.

How long for the journey? Who would like to come with me? Would I fly? (Answer? I hate bucket shop flying in principle so intensely that that question was immediately dismissed). To avoid Russia and the need for visas and additional paperwork it is necessary to cross from Poland into Lithuania, adding a little mileage/kilometerage. By my reckoning Calais-Riga should be about 1400 miles. That would be 3 nights and 4 days, if all went to plan.

Who would accompany me? Nobody from Green Tye! I mentioned it to a number of likely candidates, but ultimately only one was interested enough to commit, namely our professional driver Graham Evans. He and I have travelled to numerous Morgan events on the Continent over the years, and are well aware of one another’s little quirks/foibles! Coincidentally our first joint foray was in 1982. The third member of the party was Fred the mighty pottock hunter. He is known to many of you and is rapidly becoming multi-lingual. For those of you who have lost the plot at this early stage Fred is a small teddy bear, and pottock is the Basque word for a small horse.

Timetable/accommodation? We discovered years ago the only place to stay in Dover, namely “somewhere else”. This discovery led to the conclusion that it made sense to start the journey the day before, and to establish base camp in Belgium, (provided always of course that the goal lay in the right direction). Hotel Abdjihoeve in Oudenburg serves the purpose admirably. One hour from Calais, good food and beverages and perfectly adequate accommodation. No ridiculously early rising and early morning ferry and no immediate loss of one hour. A very enjoyable evening with friends, a good night’s sleep and a fresh bright start, at least that’s the principle.

Dawn the second day. B,NL,D. Motorways all the way, with little traffic problems until shortly before Magdeburg. Friday afternoon in Germany is clearly very similar to, if not identical to, the UK. For better or worse I decided it would be sensible to take to “the little cross-country route I know”, or at least would know once we had travelled along it. We eventually arrived at the little town of Tangermünde on the banks of the Elbe, in what had been the DDR. We found and parked at a very attractive converted Schlosshotel on the riverbank, and confidently approached reception, looking forward eagerly to our evening’s rest and relaxation in the lap of luxury. Sorry, fully booked, came the reply. After telephone enquiries we were advised that the only room available in the town was to be found in Hotel Sturm, which itself was to be found next to Factory Sturm. We were told we could not fail to find it as it looked like a collection of containers put together, but that we should not be put off as inside it was perfectly acceptable, even though we learned that in soviet times it had been the hostel for the apprentices in the factory! We duly checked in and were favourably impressed by our quarters, which had clearly been renovated since soviet occupation. Other buildings in the area were still awaiting their turn. After more than ten hours and 480 miles on the road the first bier did not last long. We chatted with our charming hostess Vera, who had acquired the business some 18 months before, and learned that whilst most of her clientele ate in town, she was more than happy to prepare food for us. As time was getting on we decided to avail ourselves of her generosity and chose “wedding” soup and some form of poultry dish (we think). After dinner we discussed matters of international importance with her and consumed further beer and digestifs. 55 euros per head for DBB and drinks. Excellent and almost exactly half the previous night’s cost!

Off again on our travels, over the “roof” of Berlin and cross-country to the Polish border. I had studied the route in great detail and armed myself with numerous maps and it was not difficult to find the right road. I had even Googled the route and “driven” from Germany to Riga on the screen. I envisaged, correctly, that we would see a great many fields and trees. The road surface in the western half of PL was quite good, but it deteriorated as we travelled north-east, direction LT. Two way traffic all the way, with more speed cameras per kilometre than UK, but always well signposted. As far as we know we did not fall foul of any! Towards the end of the driving day we again began our search for accommodation. Although most of the journey was through rural areas, we did pass through some large towns. In one of these, Ostroda, we repeated the previous evening’s enquiry, with the same result. Off we went 10 or so miles up the road to the appointed hotel. This time we were towards the other end of the scale, in a Spa Hotel with white clad medical staff, out of whose clutches we managed to keep. Eleven hours on the go today, stopping only for petrol and coffee. How did we feel? Perfectly fresh, without any aches or pains. A fitting tribute to Morgan suspension and seats. Interestingly, (for some anoraks perhaps), all four seats come from the first public injected +8 R9372. Same procedure as every evening, eat, drink and retire. Approximately £50 per head, DBB and drinks. Very good value.

Our intention the next day was to make nightfall in Lithuania, and in due course to make the first telephone contact ever with Alexey. Close to the border with LT we were ushered into a roadside café by two young lads in a Lotus 7 lookalike who were keen on discussing our respective vehicles. Unfortunately it all suffered in the attempted translation. However the venue proved ideal for a lunchtime stop, and detailed consideration of the day’s progress so far. Progress seemed to be excellent, but even after our first contact it was still suggested we spend Sunday night in LT. Were it not for the fact that I had not noticed that my beloved Breitling had stopped (again!), and that we had forgotten that the clocks run faster east of Poland, we might have agreed. As it was we decided it would be madness not to make for Riga that evening, and we so told Alexey. The roads in LT are well surfaced, flat and partially dual-carriageway. They also avoid the towns, apparently part of deliberate soviet planning during their construction. This particular point is very much at variance with Polish policy, which means that often we were subjected to awful surfaces and seemingly interminable waits at traffic lights and railway crossings. Not only do Polish level crossing gates remain closed for what seems like an eternity, but also Polish drivers slavishly obey the command to Stop at crossings, even when no warning lights are showing. This practice led to wholly unnecessary loss of time en route.

The net result of the above, and further telephone exchanges, was that we arrived at the City outskirts at 19.30, where we were met by a black 1955 ZIM, looking every part its soviet origin. Out poured Gennady, Alexey and two friends Eugene and Boris. Spirited greetings and embraces later we were escorted to our quarters on the outskirts, only a kilometre or so from Gennady’s home. In true Donotours fashion we were out of the hotel and in a bar/restaurant opposite within half an hour. We had no Lats, but plenty of beer and vodka. We had Lits, but LITtle good would they do us there.

The first Latvian dawn and attempts at conversation in the local tongue at breakfast. The options were a little limited, and the need for words probably more so. Coffee (very thick and strong) and cold meat/cheese. Our hosts arrived and we drove off to the city dutifully following the ZIM and its occupants. The weather was good and the temperature high. So much so that in the middle of the city and thick traffic the ZIM decided enough was enough. Probably petrol vapourisation was the cause of our involuntary five minutes or so stuck in the middle of our very own traffic jam. Eventually we were off again to visit Riga’s Motor Museum. Gennady has been involved with the project since the late 60s, and the result is an excellent showcase of all forms of transport, including in particular cars of the soviet era. Stalin is to be seen, albeit in wax form, sitting in the rear of one of his black limos. Brezhnev can be seen in his accident damaged R-R, just as it was immediately post event in 1980. A talking point amongst local aficionados is the question of whether the superb Auto Union V16 is restored or a replica. There appears to be a feeling that so little of the car is original that the net result of the “restoration”, (in England), is to produce a replica, albeit one of the highest quality. Back to the hotel and an evening visit to Gennady’s home, where we met his wife Eugenia and two local friends, one of whom had spent time in Coventry and is now maintaining London transport buses in London. I had been told by Dudley that Gennady’s house is a veritable treasure trove of motoring memorabilia, and indeed other collectables. The truth was even more impressive, (favourably). Every room is packed with items he has collected over the years, including a moped in the hallway. In the garden and sheds stand further bits and pieces, including cars and motorcycles.

Unfortunately the story includes a very dark chapter. Gennady has for decades been known as Mr Morgan in Latvia, being the only known owner of a Morgan for many years. He still is the very proud owner of a 1936 4/4. I say “is” the “owner”, but tragically he is no longer its possessor. Who is we do not know. Suffice it to say that Gennady was persuaded by a Swede to part with the car to allow the Swede to display it at an exhibition in Sweden. Since then, and despite enquiry of the Swedish police, the Swedish Morgan Club and Morgan contacts generally nothing whatever has been seen or heard of the vehicle. Given its vintage and rarity and the very low number of Morgans which are stolen, it is astonishing that nothing has come to light. Needless to say if anyone has any clues or suggestions, Gennady would be delighted to hear from you.