‘A gutless dud... she’d ripped me off’: Max Futcher on his Holden Sunbird

My first car was a Holden Sunbird and I hated it, it had a long gearstick and something was wrong with the gearbox.

Holden Sunbird pictured in 1978.

My first car was a Holden Sunbird, and I hated it.

It was a four-cylinder hatchback version of the Torana, painted gold except for the dull undercoat patch covering a rust repair.

There was no air conditioner, an AM radio and I think the driver’s seat was broken. It had a long gear stick and something was wrong with the gearbox because there was a loud crunch when you shifted into reverse.

In fact, everything was loud. The engine screamed, drowning out the tinny radio, but there was no exponential performance. Holden’s four-cylinder engine was a gutless dud.

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I bought the Sunbird off my sister. She also hated it. Even so, I naively thought any car was better than none, so I gave her my cash and basked in the glow of being 16 and owning a car.

When I got my learner’s licence and actually started driving the thing, I quickly realised she’d ripped me off.

My patient mother used to teach me how to drive every Sunday afternoon at Chermside.

Back in the late 1980s, Chermside Shopping Centre was just a big brick box surrounded by a massive carpark, and on Sundays, there was no shopping, and no people.

It was completely empty; an expansive tarmac where I could fumble with the clutch and bunny-hop across the asphalt without fear of hitting anything.

I particularly liked the seclusion, because none of my mates would see my bad driving, in my bad car. It was lame.

Max Futcher. Picture: Tara Croser.

My mates all seemed to be getting cooler cars than me. I remember my best friend calling me to tell me he’d bought a Triumph TR7. It was British Racing Green and went like a shower of hell. Another mate got a Nissan Bluebird that had a stereo tapedeck.

A kid from school got an MG Midget, while another had also bought a Torana, but his was a V8.

My Sunbird was so pathetic, I didn’t even tell anyone about it.

One day, after Mum had left for tennis, I convinced my brother to jump in the passenger seat. Unlicenced, I backed the old Sunbird down the driveway to the street, and then crawled back up to the garage again.

We cruised up and down a few times, dressed in our school uniforms, with the scratchy radio blaring some forgotten tune. The windows were down and the breeze blew through the cabin. We giggled and swore each other to secrecy, before grabbing our pushbikes and setting off for school.

We performed our stealth missions a couple more times, but that’s about as much excitement as I could squeeze from the Sunbird.

Just before I got my licence, I sold the old Holden to another sucker and bought a beige Subaru. It was a station wagon and it was newer, but best of all, it was four-wheel drive, which in my mind gave it a cool edge.

As I’d tell my mates, it’ll fit all our surfboards for weekend missions to the beach.

My mate’s Triumph spent more time at the mechanics than on the road. I’m not sure what happened to that other kid’s MG.

As for the Nissan, the radio broke and a cassingle got stuck in the tape deck, so we spent a whole summer listening to Denis Leary singing “I’m an Asshole” over and over and over again.

My Subaru was a ripper. We took so many surf-trips up and down the coast. In my mental rear-view they were golden years; the first taste of real freedom with a full tank of petrol, the open road and endless possibilities.

Even in hindsight I can’t find any love for the Sunbird. It was a dog. The other day, out of nostalgic curiosity, I did a search on Carsales and found a 1977 Sunbird for sale. There was just one, in NSW. And I was shocked to see the price: $55,000.

God it was ugly.