An Amilcar, a promise, and a very long French affair

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In 1962, as a young British student in London, I met Rosy, a beautiful Corsican girl working as an au pair. What started as a chance meeting soon blossomed into a romance. By the summer of 1964, I found myself on a road trip through France with my flatmate Martin and his Portuguese girlfriend. We decided to stop by the village of Montesquieu-Volvestre to visit Rosy’s close friend, Anne-Marie. That’s where I met her grandfather, Benoit—a retired schoolteacher with a garage full of secrets.

Over dinner one evening, Benoit casually mentioned he had an old car stored away—an Amilcar C4 from the early 1920s. At the time, the name meant nothing to me. But the next morning, he led us into the garage, and there it was: dusty, draped in sheets, and definitely showing its age. Still, something about it captivated me.

Martin and I spent two full days coaxing the car back to life. Looking back, we may not have been the most considerate guests—turning up late for meals didn’t exactly endear us to Rosy—but our enthusiasm was hard to contain. When we finally got the engine running and took it for a cautious spin, it ran surprisingly well for a car that had been sitting idle for years.

That night, I asked Benoit if he’d be willing to sell it. To my surprise, he said he wouldn’t sell it—but he would give it to me, on one condition: that I promise to restore it properly and not just sell it off for quick profit. I accepted without hesitation. We sealed the promise with a toast of eau de vie. Perhaps buoyed by that moment—or maybe it was the joy of receiving the car—I proposed to Rosy that very night. To my delight, she said oui. In just one day, I had gained both a fiancée and a vintage Amilcar.

When we returned to Britain, we made arrangements to bring the Amilcar over. With help from Rosy’s family in Toulon—her father was Head of Naval Security and had the right connections—the paperwork was sorted quickly. The car arrived in Dover on September 4th, 1964. It cost me just £4 16s. 7d. in duty and purchase tax. My father generously offered space in his garage in Twyford, and that became the Amilcar’s new home.

Over the following years, Rosy and I got married, and my career with the British Tourist Authority took us to Amsterdam, Paris, and later Copenhagen. While in Denmark, I finally had the space to begin the restoration. With the help of local experts, a Danish engineer, and a classic restoration manual, I got to work.

A memorable moment came during a promotional tour I organised for Lord and Lady Montagu, who brought over the famous 1909 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost. I became friendly with their chauffeur, who offered to take some of the Amilcar’s parts back to Britain and restore them—free of charge. That gave the project a real boost. But just as things were picking up, I was posted back to London in 1977.

We moved to Henley-on-Thames and gave the Amilcar a new garage, but not long after, another relocation to Edinburgh sent the car back into storage—once again in my father’s garage. Then came the business of starting my own business, raising a family, and taking on other vintage vehicle projects. The Amilcar, I’m ashamed to admit, sat waiting for me for nearly 20 years.

It wasn’t until I retired in 2003 that I could finally return to it. Rosy and I moved to the Toulon area in France to be near her family and the sunshine. We brought the Amilcar’s body with us during the move, while the chassis remained stored in a friend’s barn back in England. With no garage on the new property, we built one specifically to house the Amilcar.

In 2014, a fortuitous meeting with Mike Tebbett led me to Derek Magrath of Vintage Metal near Malvern. Derek, a former Morgan craftsman and a passionate Francophile, took to the project immediately. He brought the chassis over from Britain, and together, we began the final stretch of the restoration.

Derek’s meticulous work and love for the car brought it back to life. Remarkably, much of the Amilcar’s original features were intact: the dashboard still bore Benoit’s nameplate and address, and the yellow headlight bulbs were stamped with a 1943 manufacture date—the same year I was born. Some elements were curious, like the absurdly high front seat that made driving nearly impossible (we made a new one), and the shattered brake shoes that somehow hadn’t stopped it from running all those years ago.

Originally, I believed the car was a 1923 model, based on a pencilled note on the carte grise. But after consulting with experts, we concluded it was more likely built in 1922, based on its model number.

In 2022, the Amilcar was finally finished—just in time to celebrate its centenary at the Le Mans Classic. That same year, we were thrilled to learn it had won the Bob Porter Trophy, thanks to Derek’s superb restoration. The car now remains in Britain with Derek as its custodian—someone we now consider part of the family.

It took nearly 60 years, but I fulfilled my promise to Benoit. This story isn’t just about restoring a vintage car; it’s about love, dedication, a few detours, and a lifelong connection between a man, his wife, and a charming little French Amilcar.

Words and photos by John Ette

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