My Uncle Henry, The Bampot

The technical term to describe my Uncle Henry is ‘Bampot’. Sure he was run out of Glasgow for trying to sell the horseless carriage concept to the City Council. It involved taking off the horse from a carriage and replacing it with six little people from the local circus. But he was still my Uncle Henry, and a kinder heart would be hard to find.

In the end, his genius was all rolled up into one mighty concept, that of the ‘Auto Copter’.

He trialled it in the middle of the night, and it led to a few stories in the newspapers of Phantom Riders in the streets of Edinburgh (the city he snuck into after his Glasgow debacle).

It could reach a nose bleeding speed of 18 miles per hour – a factor that inspired my uncle to attempt to sell the beast to the Edinburgh Police Constabulary. To be fair, they did try it out one Sunday morning on Princes Street. It hit three people, cut off Mrs McKenzie’s hat, and then careered down the embankment into the park below Edinburgh Castle.

Uncle Henry still had the cheek to ask, ‘so what do you think? Brilliant or what?’

After they run him out of the City of Edinburgh, my uncle and his Auto Copter rode all the way to Eastbourne, on the English South Coast.

My uncle spent his final days there, having adapted the beastie to pull passengers – he would take them along the front of the town for a farthing a trip.

It all went well until Henry decided to cash in on his Scottish heritage and wear a kilt while driving his invention.

As the local Police told the judge in court - when the Auto Copter got to a speed of 15 miles per hour my uncle’s kilt blew over his head – thereby not allowing him to see where he was going – and enabling the unfortunate population of Eastbourne to see everything he had under his kilt.

As I said, my Uncle Henry, the Bampot.

bobby stevenson 2020