The Naming of Cars

BESSIE

Have you ever wondered why people name their cars and why eight times out of ten they chose a female name?

I have recently had a lot of trouble with my pride and joy, a 1984 Nissan 1400cc bakkie, known to me as Bessie. She was recently in hospital for almost a month, with mechanics and auto-electricians unable to diagnose the problem.

A simple problem, I thought, poor old Bessie kept on cutting out on my visits to the local shops and the waste collection yard, mere four or five-kilometre journeys.

The engine simply stopped firing. My grey matter has never retained any of the fundamentals regarding automobile engines, but my household electrical expertise told me the problem centred around either a lack of fuel or an electrical short.

The hired auto electricians I delivered her to firstly replaced all the leads to and from the distributor, that is the cables to the plugs and the cable to a newly installed starter-coil. I collected the bakkie after a day, but the following morning Bessie again refused to start. After three or four attempts I managed to get her out of the driveway onto the street and cruise her up and down the road but on the fourth test run she conked out.

I phoned Keith at Stallone-Auto-Electrical and told him of my problem. He sent over a driver with a technician and they succeeded in getting Bessie back to their workshop.

Two days later Keith phoned me saying they’d sorted out the problem and cleaned out and checked the fuel pump and replaced the fuel filter so, I picked up Bessie and drove her home without a problem.

She was then inactive for seven das as my son took me to Mountain Sanctuary Park in the Magalisberg mountains as written about in my previous blog.

On my return to Egoli, the city of gold Johannesburg, I attempted to start Bessie.

No luck.

The starter turned over, but no spark was reaching the plugs, another phone call and Bessie was hospitalised a third time.

Two days later Tony, one of the owners of Stallone, drove Bessie to my abode and collected me to return to their workshop and settle my account.

Account settled, and I was now informed that they had given me a new battery, a new carburettor, a new reconditioned-starter and checked all the wiring, so Bessie was fit to run her menial tasks like local shopping and waste removal. I drove her home.

The following day after a visit to the refuse-collection yard I decided that a celebratory drink was needed so, I proceeded to the nearby local bottle store to purchase a bottle of vodka.

On the drive home Bessie cut out again, luckily before I reached the main road, Jan Smuts Avenue, which was now packed with rush-hour traffic.

Thank God for modern technology, which usually I hate, my cell phone sprang into action and after a half hour wait Tony and technician arrived. Tony drove me home while his technician managed to start up Bessie and return her to the workshop for the fourth time.

Clutching my bottle of Vodka, I sat down, switched on the tele to watch some rugby highlights and poured myself a triple shot to calm my frayed nerves. Three stiff drinks later I began to cogitate over the opening question, why do we name vehicles with female names?

One theory is that the habit carried over from men’s habit of naming ships after women, usually a Goddess’s name from ancient times. This reason combined with the chauvinistic idea that a female car was just a pile of metal and would not work without a man at the wheel! Men adopted the mentality that their automobiles must be tended and coddled with a gentle hand, thus perceiving them as female.

A recent survey shows that the most common car names are, Betsy, Bessie, Sally, Bertha, Lucy and Sally. Other names from modern TV programmes and movies have now entered the list with the additions being, The Enterprise, Optimus Prime, Millennium Falcon, and The Batmobile.

An ageing mechanic I knew in my childhood gave me the best reason we call them female names.

He said in a thick Lancastrian accent, “Cars? Ya call ‘em women’s names, right? Them’s just fucking trouble! Like ya Missus or the piece ont’ side!”

My Bessie had certainly not given me trouble during my twenty-six years of ownership. She had one previous owner when I purchased her in 1990. Her engine has now been round-the-clock four times and I’ve had her re-bored twice, taking her on long distance drives to Cape Town and St Francis Bay near Port Elizabeth. Both these journeys are both well over a thousand kilometres and can take fourteen hours of steady driving. She completed these tasks without failing and I must have made the trip to Durban on the East coast at least five times.

The next day.

It was a Friday and I knew that I had to visit the refuse dump with a three-week load of garden debris, Keith phoned me and said Tony would be round in twenty minutes with Bessie. This time she had been fitted with a brand-new distributor for which I had to cough up another one thousand Rand. I climbed in to drive her and Tony back to the Stallone workshop. I settled my outstanding account and did not wish them “Au revoir.”

Just a blunt English, “Goodbye!”

I was praying I would not have to return.

It is now three days later and so far, Bessie has made four shopping trips, one refuse dump visit, and carried some cut-down garden stakes to a friend who lives about five kilometres away.

I have now decided to re-christen Bessie and name her not after a female, as is the fashion, but in honour of her hospitalisation, she will be called: RE-Furbished!

If she makes another trip to my garden-stake friend this coming Tuesday morning, to collect a disused electric dishwasher, then that will be her name until I depart this mortal realm.