It’s possible to have sex in a Goggomobil

Sydneysider: A personal journey

My first car was a Goggomobil. There are not many Australians who can say that. My parents bought it, second-hand, when I was 16. I guess it was probably mid-1965.

Quite why my father decided on a Goggo is unclear, but probably it was all he could afford. And besides, getting the thing roadworthy was the sort of technical challenge he liked to set for me.

The Goggomobil was a series of tiny two-stroke cars introduced to a sceptical public at the 1954 international bicycle and motorcycle show. Volume production started in 1955 and ceased in 1969. They were produced in the Bavarian town of Dingolfing by the Glas company, and remarkably, by Buckle Motors Pty Ltd, under licence, right here in Sydney where 5000 Goggos rolled off the line between 1957 and 1961. Unlike the German-built product, they had a fibreglass body. Ultimately, world Goggomobil production topped 285,000.

Even more remarkably, Buckle Motors produced 700 of a unique open-top sports car version known as the Dart, but alas, my Goggo was not this slightly famous Australian innovation, but the coupe version. This was still somewhat sporty, but rather more practical.  My Goggo must have been at least seven years old by the time I got it, and, at a time of rapid automotive development, they were already regarded as something of a joke.

The engine was an air-cooled, two-stroke, two-cylinder affair located behind the rear wheels. The early models were 250 cc, but later Goggos were available in 300 cc and 400 cc. They had an electric pre-selective transmission and a manual clutch and … drumroll … independent suspension all round using coil springs and swing axles. They were really a two-seater vehicle, but there was an incredibly narrow rear bench with a few centimetres of legroom on which one might, just possibly, have seated a couple of small children.

The engine being a two-stroke, you had to wait until the tank was close to empty, fill it with high-octane (’Super’) petrol and some engine oil. Back then, before self-service, I just used to roll into the servo and ask the attendant for a dollar’s worth of Super and a pint of SAE 40. Usually, they looked confused, tried to find the engine and then got more confused when I told them to pour the oil into the petrol tank.

When dad got my Goggo home it was put up on blocks in the garage and I rebuilt the engine. Inside, the metal floor was badly rusted and had to be stripped back and repainted with tar paint. Scratches were polished out of the windscreen. Replacement parts came from the second-hand dealer on Canterbury Road at Punchbowl, where dad had bought the thing.

In those days getting your driver’s licence was an easy rite of passage. Right on the dot of 16 years and nine months old you went and got your learner’s permit and started having lessons. To avoid me having to go through the rather ferocious Department of Main Roads examiners, dad called in at a country town when we were driving to visit an old friend of his who lived north of Mudgee and the local police sergeant did my licence examination without a booking. Dad waited outside the station, the sergeant hopped in, I drove around the block, did one reverse park, and that was it.

I can report that is possible to have sex in a Goggo, but you have to remove the offside front seat. In this condition my girlfriend and I were once discovered by a couple of cops on a lonely bush track a couple of hundred metres from St Bartholemew’s Church at Prospect. I’m not sure who was more embarrassed. Sadly, the spot was later obliterated by the M4 motorway.

In 1967 I left home after a dispute with my mother. I threw my few important possessions into the Goggo and drove away, never to return for more than a visit. I had no idea what I was going to do so I drove to Sydney University and wandered around Fisher Library until I found a fellow student who I knew rented a bedsit in Georgina St, Newtown. I ended up living there for a year. The Goggo broke down, I had no money to repair it, and living so close to the uni, I didn’t really need it. My quirky bit of Australian automotive history sat forlornly in the street and was eventually towed away by the council.