The Manx

s a young teenager growing up in country Victoria during the mid ‘sixties, I got tired of bashing my brother’s old unregistered M20 BSA around the back roads of Beechworth on weekends. I wanted my own bike and so when a school mate told me that he wasn’t allowed to have his uncle’s old five hundred single I asked if I could buy it. He agreed and one day in 1967 I wheeled said bike out of “uncle’s” woodshed. I knew it was a Norton because the name appeared in original paint on the tank. Back home Dad couldn’t work out why there weren’t