1954 Jaguar Mk VII review from Australia and New Zealand

Drank oil like a camel drinks water.

Lots of things on the car didn't work properly, like the steering, brakes, suspension and any part with 'Lucas' stamped on it.

I bought this car as part of a syndicate. I was 16 years old and had just got my driver's licence. Six of us, all still at school, put up $100 Aust each to buy this worn-out, black behemoth.

We had a roster. Every few weekends, each of the owners would get the car for a Saturday night. We felt like kings, but knew we had done a bad, bad thing in buying this retreaded dinosaur and kept it hidden away as best we could. I admit I lied to my parents who were hoping I would find a nice used Morris Minor to drive.

We filled the engine regularly with 26 pints of used sump oil, as the real thing was too expensive. The best way to get the car to stop was to hang on to the steering wheel and pull back on it to get maximum force on the brake pedal.

Our finest hour occurred one weekend afternoon, with four owners on board, all apples of our mothers' eyes, together with a few girls even younger than we were. Using a notorious stretch of road south of Adelaide, South Australia, and all craning over to watch the big speedo, we hit the magic 100mph as the sixteen year old driver tried to keep the car on the bitumen.

All young drivers believe themselves immortal.

It became known at school that a group of us had bought a very fast and dangerous car. While our peers considered us gods, our parents and our school considered us fools.

The car was sold, and our lives, especially at weekends, returned to drudgery.