Lisa’s Story – Growing Up With Pebble

I cannot remember a time in my life when Pebble wasn’t in it. My dad bought one of the first two Austin Healey Frogeye Sprites ever to be registered for the road 11–years before I was born. I am now 30, and as I write, the car is up for sale.

My earliest memories of Pebble date back to when we lived in Melbourne. I was 4–years old. Dad had a massive steel garage built at the side of our suburban house, with a painted creamy coloured concrete floor that felt cool underfoot.

Apparently, the floor paint repelled any excess oil, which I thought was fabulous. To me oil was yukky stuff and smelt funny. Of course, the garage was for Pebble.

I can remember that when going out in the car my sister, who was older and taller then me, would always sit in the passenger seat, whereas I had my own special seat, which wasn’t a seat at all. It was just the space between the backs of the proper seats, where being so small, my bum would snugly fit into that space.

The wonderful feeling of having the wind in your hair

Nowadays such a treat would not be possible, due to seat belt and other safety laws, but back then it was common practice, and in the late 70’s we got away with it. This would only be for a jaunt around the track paddock, or around the block at home, but I remember the wonderful feeling of the wind in my hair.

The keen interest for open top cars this gave me still survives to this day. When you grow up from childhood with a car such as this, one of the most vivid memories you keep in your mind is that of the smell, and this is certainly true in my case when thinking of Pebble.

I don’t know if it was the shiny burgundy leather seats, or the well cared for russet carpet, but all I know is that Pebble’s smell still holds a unique and pleasant memory for me.

Bumping along in Pebble (I could never say she glided along the road) was exhilarating to a child, and indeed to an adult! Her tight suspension and short wheelbase combined to provide a ride where you could really feel the road. This driving experience created my considered respect for the road and the skill required to tame it.

However, I had nothing to fear as my Dad was and is a driver of considerable skill. I would shriek in delight as he sped into a corner, feeling sure Pebble would tip over, but she never did.

The sound of the engine being started meant there would be an adventure

The roar of her little engine was like no other sound I have heard, being deep and guttural, yet not aggressive or overwhelming. Today’s sports car engines whisper by comparison, which is a shame. As soon as I heard Dad fire her up, I knew fun was in store as it was that kind of noise, even if it was only for a 5–minute trip down to the shops.

I only got to drive Pebble once. I was 18 and although Dad explained there was no gear synchomesh, and that I would have to pump the clutch twice to get her in gear, of course I knew better. Easy, I thought, because being on cloud nine due to actually getting to drive the car, I didn’t think a lot about it.

With her gearbox was broken, Pebble was retired to the garage

Sadly, something broke. My inexperienced fumblings with the gearbox had caused damage and Pebble was retired to the garage.

At the time of writing I have been away from home for two–years, and when I return to Australia in a month I will perhaps see Pebble for the very last time. This will be a very sad occasion, as when I think of home I think of my family, and that family has always included Pebble.

She was one of those things that is always there, and come the day that is not the case it will seem very strange, almost empty without the little car. I am not sure I will know how to express my feelings at the absence of something that has been an important part of my whole life.

More than just a car

Some people will say that it’s just a car and not to be so silly, but Pebble isn’t, and never has been, just a car. Pebble is special. She is the first and most loved of her kind. She is like the last of the Mohican’s, only she’s not the last, thank goodness, and although she may soon be gone, she will never be forgotten.

My only hope is that whoever gets the pleasure of owning Pebble will treat her with the same amount of love and devotion that my father has shown for the past 41–years. After all, doesn’t she deserve it?

Lisa Evett
February 2007.

The above article has been written by Lisa Evett, and produced and edited by Julian Smith of Ride Drive Ltd. All photographs have been provided by, and will remain the property of, Phil Evett and are displayed here with kind permission.

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Lisa’s Story – Growing Up With Pebble