Barry
Barry is a retired engineer, DJ and car enthusiast.
He built his car ‘Scarlotti’ from recycled materials.
His dad died in XXXX and his mum died in XXXX.
“I’m very resourceful, very mechanical. My attitude is, ‘If someone else can do it, why can’t I?’
I built my own house. I did everything: plumbing, electrics, heating. I made all the windows, all the doors.
I’m always creating things. My missus works at the charity shop. You know the guns they put the tags on with? The needles are always jamming and she brings them home to me to fix. I end up repairing all sorts of things and sending them back again.
All these toys that come into the shop - I’ll fix them with baking soda and superglue. OK, you can see there’s a repair, but it works. Kids aren’t bothered.
The stuff people throw away, it’s absolutely unbelievable. It’d break your heart.
My dad was in the Royal Navy. He came back from the war and we had nowhere to live. We were squatters on the airfield. We lived in a Nissen hut - one of those corrugated iron things.
Then when I was five, we moved to a new council estate. The house was like a palace. The first piece of furniture my mam and dad bought was a sideboard. I still have it now. I love that sideboard.
My mam did all the baking and the cooking and my dad did all the handiwork. He taught me to never waste anything. Talk about Bob the Builder. ‘Can we fix it?’ ‘Yes we can!’
My dad used to say you can’t fail. If you make a mistake, you learn from it. He worked in an engineering shop, and that’s how engineers’ minds work.
Mistakes tell you that you need to refine things. It’s the only way to discover new things.
Ten years ago, the classic car market was going silly. The prices they were asking were just ridiculous. I wanted to prove people wrong. Show them that you could make something out of nothing.
I said to my dad, “Have you got any old scrap or anything?” He was a hoarder like me. Keeping all the bits and pieces that might come in handy one day.
I already had the headlamps, the seats came out of my rally car. I got all the aluminum from a friend of mine who built horseboxes. The only thing that was new were the tyres. Everything else is either second hand or car boot or eBay or whatever.
I said to my missus, “I’m going to build that.” I had one piece of paper with arrows all over it. That was my plan. And it slowly evolved from there.
“Mistakes tell you that you need to refine things.
It’s the only way to discover new things. ”
He was always asking, “How’s the car coming along then?” And I’d say “It’s coming along good, Dad.”
“Have you finished it?” Mam’d chip in: “He’ll never finish it!” Joking, like. But he passed away six months before it was done.
I wanted to put those stickers on. I wanted to say to the world that this car was built in memory of him.
I knew he wouldn’t see it, but I wanted him to know that it was done and it was good. He would’ve been proud.
There’s nothing you can do. You can’t bring them back. You just have to remember them for what they were and be thankful.
They had nothing, but they came through it. They had a good life. They went on cruises and everything. I get quite emotional about it. It fills me with such pride.
My mum died 12 months after my dad. You can’t celebrate the death. We’re here to celebrate the life.
Before she died, she came out for a ride in Scarlotti. We had a bit of difficulty getting her in, but she did it. She had her scarf on, oh yes.
She said, “Oh, your dad would’ve loved this.” And I said, “Yeah, he would.”
Written by Laura McDonagh