My first car: 1972 Datsun 1200

I wanted a Gemini coupe (you can read about that love affair here). Instead, I got this, a humble four-door 1972 Datsun 1200.

The year is 1985 and I’d just passed my licence test and was now in possession of those very public coming of age markers, the ‘P plate’.

But, where to put them? Unlike plenty of the kids I went to school with, I hadn’t given much thought to transportation as I approached the age of driving.

So while some of my mates were getting around in cars as diverse as beater XA Falcons and bog-standard Mazda Capellas, cars they’d bought with hard-earned cash working McJobs after school and on weekends, I was left to trundle around in the car I had learned to drive in, Mum’s Datto 1200.

“It’s only temporary,” I told myself as yet another more powerful, louder, sexier, P-plate wearing XB Coupe blew me off at the traffic lights, the peals of laughter at my little pastel Datsun audible over the screeching of burning rubber and the snarl of Cleveland V8s.

Turns out, it wasn’t temporary.

Possession they say is nine-tenths of the law and my time spent behind the wheel of the little Datsun amounted to possession and at some point – I can’t remember exactly when – the 1200 became ‘my’ car.

Embarrassed at first, not least of all because of its lovely shade of Duck Egg Blue, I slowly grew to love my little Datsun.

It wasn’t fast, no, nor was it particularly engaging to drive. But it was reliable. And pretty easy on fuel.

As its name suggest, the Datsun 1200 was powered by a small 1.2-litre inline four-cylinder petrol making a modest 40kW and 95Nm. A four-speed manual sent drive to the tiny steel wheels clothed in hubcaps that gradually disappeared over time, shaken loose by shitty driving and shittier roads.

Its 0-60mph time was a laughable 13.1 seconds. Why laughable? Because I don’t recall ever getting the needle to the 60mph mark on the speedo (mine was a 1972 imperial measurement model and the speedo was still in mph).

Even on the freeway, I was lucky to get to 55mph, or maybe it was fear holding me back, the faster the little blue buzzbox went, the less stable it felt on the road, bucking and weaving in my chosen lane at even the merest hint of a breeze.

Still, the Datto afforded me the freedom most teenagers craved. Being mobile opened the world, and that little blue egg travelled for and wide.

Frugal too, for the time. Typically, I’d get around 250 miles (402km) from the little 40-litre tank so just over 10 litres per 100km. While that doesn't sound particularly economical by today’s standard, it was pretty decent for the time. Mind you, I was paying around 20c per litre for leaded petrol so fuel economy was hardly a pressing issue back then.

Aside from the usual consumables, the only major repair was replacing the clutch which had given up the ghost after one too many trips to visit my then girlfriend high up in the Dandenong ranges in Melbourne. Hated a climb, she did, the car, not the girlfriend.

Sadly, the Datsun 1200 met an untimely demise when I was rear-ended by a suited man in a Holden Commodore. The damage wasn't actually all that terminal (I drove it home with that skinny chrome rear bumper perilously close to falling off) but with the insurance company placing a value of about $200 on my little blue chariot, the underwriters ran the red pen over the paperwork, signalling the end of the line for my first car.

I replaced the Datsun 1200 with another Datsun, the loftily ambitious “first four-cylinder limousine” Bluebird which was better in every way bar one. It was utterly devoid of charm, a feature my little, humble, duck egg blue Datsun 1200 had in spades.

I wish I still had it.