History - Dennis Howard
MAG's founder, Dennis Howard, was the organisation's President from 1973 until his death in 2001. In 2007, MAG posthumously awarded Dennis the Simon Milward Lifetime Achievement Award. As long overdue an award as any that might be imagined. Coincidentally, an old friend of Dennis' sent The Road this personal recollection of the man who might deservedly be called the Father of The Rider's Movement in
I knew Dennis very well, from when I first started biking as a teenager in the 1970's to when I moved up north to
Many happy hours were spent, as Dennis helped to shape my view of the world. We discussed the proper way to ride a motorcycle, the appropriate headgear (who can forget his pudding basin helmet and flying goggles?) and of course what Dennis called 'outer wear'. Mostly, this equated to a 1940's dispatch rider's coat, purchased from Lawrence Corner's Army Surplus Store in Euston. How he loved to berate car drivers for being lazy and often stupid.
Sometimes the cars used to back up at the junction near his garage and occasionally an unfortunate car driver would empty an ash tray, or throw some litter onto the street outside his house. Dennis would pick up the offending material and return it to the interior of the vehicle with some cheery advice and some kind words of remonstration. He had a righteous anger for the stupid, overly self-possessed and of course stupid politicians.
He taught me how to ride a motorcycle ('it's a potentially lethal instrument my boy!', he used to say) and occasionally we would ride together to Brands, or some other location, and he would very patiently explain any deficiencies in my riding style, clothing, or behaviour towards other road users. I have never had an accident on two wheels, which I largely attribute to Dennis' tutelage. He had strong political views, which some may have found somewhat unpalatable, but as with all things he conveyed these with a sense of humour and a big pinch of salt.
He had a strange affection for the MZ in those days, and had a 250cc MZ with Earles forks. He eventually sold me an MZ motorcycle and sidecar which I used for a few years. He referred to the MZ as 'really being a DKW', because it was the DKW factory that made the MZ, and referred often to the forced-induction DKWs of the pre-war period. He had several Scotts, including a Flying Squirrel, as well as a Vincent Black Shadow.
Dennis used to lecture me about how to get the amazing paint finish on the frames of these old bikes, which was done using Brasso as a cutting agent in-between coats of black paint. Dennis used to filter his petrol through nylon stockings to prevent impurities getting into the MZ (a cream coloured ugly beast). You had to ride the MZ with Earles forks in a special way (he said) like Caracciola. I think I got it in the end. I loved the stories of his coach-building business before the war (WW2), which involved taking delivery of new Bentleys, re-building them in a 'more satisfactory and stylish way' and selling them to the well-heeled. He knew the 'Bentley Boys' of course, whom he said raced 'the fastest racing lorries in history'.
I must admit he was a bit of a role-model for me and what I did learn from him has stood me in good stead, not just in biking but also in life. His favourite roads were in the Cotswolds and he often used to talk of riding through Chipping Camden, Broadway, Long Compton and the like, en-route to Herefordshire (where my parents had a second home). In Herefordshire he used to ride through (and wax lyrical about) villages like Weobley, Cobnash and Eardesland.
For him, these roads and villages were quintessentially English and, riding through them on the right mount, ridden properly, in the right outer wear and especially with the right mental attitude (a kind of Zen I suppose) was simply an unsurpassable experience.
For Dennis, the motorcycle was a way of life and an expression of freedom and choice. If you listen very carefully on a summer's night, you can still hear the sound of his Black Shadow on the overrun echoing through the streets of Chipping Norton, as his ghost heads towards Bourton on the Hill.
Just listen to that V-twin go.
He will be missed.
Simon James Castle