Good God! Split Waterman; there's a name I never thought I'd hear again.
Natty moustache of the sort favoured by spivs, expensive tastes, this young
teenager's hero for a while. His expensive tastes ran to being caught with a
blonde and a bar of gold at Dover customs. When he took up pistol shooting, it
had to be a SIG P210-2 instead of a common or garden Browning. His cars were
from your side of the pond not ours. Not much cycle content here except that
they were the days when cars were scarcer than now and all of the working class
and most of the middle class rode bicycles. My Dad owned one car between 1928
and 1956 and that was a Peugeot so slow that cyclists disdained to overtake it for fear their friends would laugh. Stuart Tallack wallowing in nostalgia in West Sussex Postscript. I seem to recalll that some of Split Waterman's misdemeanours were less benign than gold smuggling.and he had somethig to do with the notorious Richardsons whose first scrapyard was a short stone's throw from Gillotts... See, I did get back to bicycles.