The Circle Closes

by Aaron Porter

My family’s history with the MG T-series goes back to the mid-60s when my family lived in Singapore. My dad was a press attaché with the State Department and starting in 1960 my parents, my sister Elise, and I lived in Southeast Asia. After posts to the Philippines and Malaysia, we moved to Singapore in 1965, just as it formally declared its independence from Malaysia. In 1967, the United Kingdom began withdrawing its troops, ending its post-World War II military presence there.

Around this time, my dad acquired an MG TC from a British army officer who didn’t want to ship the car back to the UK. It was white with red paint under the front fenders, a feature I haven’t seen since on an MG, and it had red seats and a black hood. I think my dad was able to buy the car relatively cheaply. I have a feeling that he couldn’t resist the appeal of driving around Singapore in a sports car. I don’t remember exactly what year he bought it, but the first photo of the family in the TC is dated 1967. I was 12 years old at the time, too short to reach the pedals. I would accompany my dad on drives around town, looking at the speedometer which was mounted in front of the passenger seat on the TC; the tachometer was mounted in front of the driver. We almost always had the hood down, and I remember the smells of blooming tropical flowers or fruits and vegetables being sold at open-air markets. I also have fond memories of sitting in the luggage area behind the seats if my sister or mother came along on the drive. Being the youngest and smallest, I was able to just fit back there. One can only imagine the outcry if parents did something like that today!

In 1971, our time in Singapore ended, and my dad was reassigned to the State Department in Washington, DC. We moved to Arlington, Virginia, where I finished high school. The TC accompanied us to the US, but before long my dad decided to sell it. I was disappointed to see it go, but he said, “It’s a rich man’s toy.” Although he didn’t say it at the time, I believe the thought of driving it in crazy DC traffic was a major dissuasion. He sold it to an MG enthusiast, and we found out later that it won many awards, being in excellent condition and having mostly original parts. We have one photo of me in the TC looking like a character from “That ’70s Show”, dated to 1972 just before it sold.

Fast forward 50-plus years, and I am now retired from a 30-year career with the US Navy and have settled in Milbridge, a small town in Downeast Maine. Milbridge is about as far from Singapore geographically and culturally as you can imagine. Life is quiet here, with the nearest big city, Bangor, about an hour and 15 minutes drive away. One early fall day in 2023, I was driving to a woodlot to fill the bed of my pickup truck with firewood for the coming winter. There’s a vintage car dealer along the road in which I had never taken much interest. On this day, to my surprise, right by the road, sat a very good-looking MG TD. As I drove by, I said to myself, “Wow, that’s a TD!” The smaller wheels, chrome bumpers, and slanted gas tank were dead giveaways. As I drove to the woodlot, it was all I could think about: how great it looked, like a shiny gem in the sun. It was painted in a cream color, with red upholstery, and the picture of it in my mind took over with a vise-like grip. I decided that I would stop on my way back—just to look at it, just for fun and nostalgia’s sake. It won’t hurt just to look at it, I told myself. I should have known then that resistance was futile but stop I did. I talked with Terry, the proprietor, and told him the story of my dad’s TC, and he took a picture of me next to the TD. I was surprised that the car looked so much smaller than I remembered, but then it occurred to me that I was remembering the TC as a 12-year-old. I’m now 6’2”, significantly bigger than I was then! I asked Terry if it still ran well. He reached in, popped it into neutral, turned the key, and pulled the starter. It rumbled to life right away, as if it was eager to get on the road and feel the wind flowing over the curved, wing-like fenders.

More memories came back to me— the smell of the exhaust, the familiar MG sound (if there is such a thing—it sounded familiar to me). I looked under the hood and remembered my dad tinkering with his TC, while I “helped,” probably getting in the way more than anything. Another memory came back…how everything was laid out in a logical way, and how you could see where everything was. Compared to the engine compartment in a modern car, it was simplicity itself. You need an advanced degree in auto mechanics to know your way around under the hood of a car today.

At one point, Terry asked me how old I was—68 then—and he said something that stuck with me on the drive home to stack the firewood: “You’re still young enough to enjoy this car. Think about it. Now’s the time to do something like this, while you can still enjoy it.” I know Terry was trying to sell a car, but the more I thought about it, the more he made sense. I did some investigating online, looking at TDs in similar condition, and realized his price was reasonable for an MG that I thought I could drive off the lot without any problem. At this point, I knew I was won over, but I wanted to make sure that I was getting a good deal with a car that was in decent shape. I’m not a mechanic; I’ve done my share of oil changes and simple things, but I wanted a car I could drive and enjoy and not have to spend endless hours in the garage fixing problems. As it turned out, I had a great resource to call upon.

A good friend of mine in Milbridge has a TD in British racing green that he drives around town during the balmy Maine summers. By sheer coincidence, his name is George, which was my dad’s name (are you beginning to get the feeling that a higher power was influencing things?). I told him all about the TD, and he was interested in seeing it, so I called Terry to arrange a test drive, and we agreed to meet at the car lot. George invited his friend Tom, another MG enthusiast, to meet us there. Tom has done extensive MG restorations at his garage on Mount Desert Island, not too far away. I thought they would be able to give me an objective assessment of the car’s condition, and whether I was getting a good price for it. I must admit I was a bit nervous about the test drive, as it had been several years since I’d driven a manual shift. Well, like the adage about riding a bicycle, it all came back. We took it on a short test drive, and feeling the gears change, hearing the rev of the engine, and watching the tach respond brought back more memories. After the drive, Tom pulled me aside and said, “I thought this was a good car before you drove it, but now my assessment of it just went up a notch.” George also gave it the thumbs-up, and my fate was sealed.

Some days later, on a beautiful, sunny early fall afternoon for which the coast of Maine is famous, George and I returned to pick it up. I asked George to follow me back to Milbridge, about 35 miles up the coast, just to make sure I didn’t break down on the way home. I needn’t have worried, as the TD hummed along Route 1 without a hiccup. I couldn’t help but miss my dad during that drive. I felt his presence next to me, feeling the wind in his face with a big smile, reveling in the memories of the drives we took around Singapore so many years ago. When I go out on a drive now, I feel him sitting next to me. Instead of tropical flowers and open-air markets, today I smell the sea and the salty pungency of seaweed at low tide. The small country roads around my town are perfect for a car like the TD and, though my dad didn’t say it at the time, now I can see why he might have been reluctant to drive it in the frenetic traffic of Washington, DC.

Based on some information that Terry told me about the family that sold it to him, I did some sleuthing around and found out that it was built in late 1952, and that the previous owner was a man who lived in Greenville, a town in North-Central Maine, on the shores of Moosehead Lake. I found his obituary online, which mentioned that he was a “car enthusiast.” He’d had it fully restored in the early ’70s, and a little brass plaque on the dashboard says it attended a “Gathering of the Faithful” in Springfield, Massachusetts in June 1975.

One particular and unexpected pleasure I’ve experienced as I drive the TD around Milbridge is the feeling of control an old car can give you. Modern automobile electronics and computers manage so many aspects of driving today. Every driving decision you make in an MG TD is yours alone, no computer, chip, or advanced electronic device is going to take it away from you. There is no electronic “brain” that will intervene in the experience; everything that transpires is the result of a decision taken by the most advanced brain there is: the human one. That has a way of focusing your attention on the smallest details.

So that’s the story of MGs in the Porter family. I had no idea that I would someday be TD owner, nor did I have any ambition in that direction until I saw this little gem beckoning me in the fall sun one day on the coast of Maine. One day, you’re living your life, and then fate, fortune, or a higher power steps in and helps you close the circle.