In the fenlands of Lincolnshire, England, there is a quiet village just north of the old agricultural town of Sleaford. It’s name is Ruskington, you might have heard of it, but probably not. It’s a small community of some 5,000 people, and I used to visit there regularly during my childhood to see my Grandparents, and my Aunt and Uncle’s family.
Weekend visits to Ruskington were always something I relished. My Grandparents lived a relaxed life, and during our time there my brother Tom and I used to climb the trees in their apple orchard at the bottom of the garden and sample the fruit that was growing. We played on the bicycles my Grandfather, a keen cyclist, owned and I used to marvel about being able to push his old Mini across the garage. How could a nine year-old boy be strong enough to push a car? I felt so grown-up.
But most of all – aside from perhaps my Grandmothers frankly spectacular roast dinners, I looked forward to visiting my Aunt and Uncle’s farm. Now, I understand that unless you have a fixation on the man-eating swine from the movie Hannibal, you’re unlikely to be inspired by a visit to a pig farm. But this was definitely no ordinary pig farm.
Something that seems to run in our family is a passion for all things automotive. I used to watch Formula One in the days of Nigel Mansell and Ayrton Senna with my Grandfather, and my Uncle Fred and cousin Stuart were just the same – although perhaps they took their passion for automobiles to the extreme.
Their farm is expansive, containing many outbuildings, which back in the day were used for agricultural business. Not any longer. For the avid car enthusiast, especially one growing up, the farm is a goldmine. Many of the buildings do still house farming equipment – and pigs, but many contain wonderous treasures – some of it having been there long before I was even born.
Even if you don’t like cars, but just love the idea of discovering something amazing and unexpected then this place is for you. In short – the buildings are full to the brim of all kinds of classic cars – some in pristine, concourse condition, and some faithfully waiting literally for decades until their time comes to be dragged out, bleary-eyed and covered in layers of dust into the sunlight, for restoration.
Here are some photographs. These, I might add, barely scratch the surface of what is there. Next time I’m in the UK I will endeavor to visit again, Nikon in hand, and do this treasure trove justice:
A pair of original Mk1 Minis
A mkII Ford Escort
In this barn hides this MGB, various classic Volvos, a Frogeye Sprite, a Jensen and more.
My cousin Stuart's TVR
A Reliant Scimitar. Built from fibreglass - no rust to worry about. Just moss.
The Scimitar from the front.
