Our plan boiled down to a 362-mile round trip, starting from my place near Cirencester, Gloucestershire, as calculated by the algorithmic wizards of Waze. When the whole thing could be plotted today on a digital map in minutes, I fell to wondering how my journalistic ancestor of 1933 would have calculated this same route, and how long it would have taken, given no motorways, no service areas, no Waze and the limited capabilities of the cars of 1933 and earlier.
Which, of course, raised the issue of which car to take. There was no guidance from The Scribe, beyond his implied liking for the better things of life and his evident comfort about driving long distances. The advertisement on the page straight after his column — for the Rolls-Royce Phantom II 40/50hp — might have provided a clue, but obtaining one of those was impractical at short notice.
Should we take a modern or a vintage car? The Scribe would certainly have driven a contemporary machine, so we decided on the same. That eliminated a smooth-cruising choice from Bentley’s classic collection (generously offered). Should I take one of my own cars — Alpine A110, Dacia Duster or Ford Ranger Raptor? None seemed right. Besides, modern surely means an electric car nowadays.
Taking into account The Scribe’s evident liking for the finer things, I decided eventually on a Mercedes-Benz EQS, the elegant all-electric S-Class that seemed entirely in-character with the project. It was a car I hadn’t driven before, and it would get the job done in silence and comfort.
Mercedes was instantly helpful: the car arrived at my place the day before our long day’s drive began. My partner for the project was to be John Bradshaw, our chief photographer and a man who I’d suggest knows this country every bit as well as The Scribe did back in the day.
The plan was first to head north to Shipton, a modest 26 miles away, or 45 minutes or so, then due west to The Paddocks, a matter of 59 miles and 90 minutes’ driving time.
Allowing enough time for chat and photographs that today are considered as important as the words they accompany, this would let us take in an Exeter charging station in time for a late lunch and set us on The Osborne’s elegant doorstep – a journey of 137 miles/150 minutes – before the none-too-abundant daylight needed for our photos had run out. Done like this, we could return in darkness with all the images we needed.
