Tall tales and true: of Yorkshire moors and the byways of Surrey: There was Ascot, there was Brooklands

The skies fell as we left Filey, big time tears. A drive to York Station that should have taken just minutes over an hour took us 2 ½ hrs in heavy slow traffic, and, though we had time to top up with fuel, return our hire car, trundle our duffle bags through the station, find our platform, and sit and wait for 20 minutes or more, we missed out train. Hmmm. Almost impossible to conceive, but we did. Instead of leaving from the platform in front of our seat, our train left on the dot, from the platform behind our seat. Two long steps away. We are getting old, and that shows more and more each trip. Still, we caught the next, with no financial penalty, and we were barely half an hour later than we had anticipated. Although, while there were spare seats between stops enroute, they weren't always the same seats we had set out in, so we were constantly on the move and changing throughout the train trip trying to find three seats in the same carriage space each stop. Which we did, although it was a bit of a chore.

We indulged and took a taxi to Waterloo to catch the Woking train only to discover when we exited at Woking that our Oyster cards were valid only from the city to Surbiton on this line. Once we would have sussed this out. These days we are a little slacker. Given that was a few pounds more each, we were on a roll so splurged a little more and took a taxi from Woking to our new abode at Ripley, where we arrived just on dark, with barely time to turn on the lights and dump our bags before we met up with our friends from Den Haag who were staying just five doors down for a few days. The next couple of days were a blur of talking, coffee, luncheons, sightseeing and dinners, followed by long evenings in our extraordinary drawing room beneath its dimmed chandelier, above a deep dark cellar, beside a priest's hole secreted in the library wall, behind rich flocked claret wallpaper, discoursing the state of the planet and its future. We covered lots of topics, many very loudly as the evenings progressed. On one of the days we stirred ourselves to visit Brooklands Museum, just a few miles distant, which became the birthplace of motorsport and aeronautical engineering and design in Britain. The day was wet, but that did not stop the crowds: they literally poured in. The museum, largely run by volunteers, occupies land that was once the estate of Ethel and Hugh Fortescue Locke King. Hugh's father bought the land from the Duke of York and Albany back in the day, and Hugh eventually inherited it, plus a pile of money. So that, after his Grand Tour, when he fell in love with the motor sport races on offer in Europe, he determined to design and build a similar motor sport course on his own estate.

It became the first banked car racing track in Britain, widely known as 'Brooklands'. The track construction nearly cost Hugh his life, together with his fortune. When he became too stressed and too financially strapped to carry on, Ethel stepped in and helped to complete his dream. On opening day, Ethel, with Hugh accompanying her, was the first person ever to drive Brooklands circuit in her own little car, which she later raced herself, the compact 1904 Itala, 'Daisy', which is still around today. In fact, it was in the throes of getting a complete overhaul in the Dunlop building when I saw it, where enthusiasts have it parked ready to give it more than a good grease and oil change, intending to get it back into perfect running condition. It is well over 100 years old.

There was Henley, there was Ascot, there was Wimbledon, and there was Brooklands. Brooklands became the place to be, and to be seen. Activity throbbed, and with success Brooklands expanded. Design and engineering widened to include aircraft construction. Not only were male and female Brooklands drivers breaking motor speed records, but male and female pilots were taking to the skies in exceptional flying machines, designed at Brooklands, breaking records in aerial pursuits all over Britain and the Continent. Brooklands became a social hub. Socialites like Barbara Cartland learned to fly and conducted many a soiree from what is now preserved as the Drawing Room in the admin complex of the Museum. With the outbreak of the wars, flying machines destined for battle poured out of the hangars at Brooklands. Malcolm Campbell, with his Blue Bird wins, became Brookland's favourite son, winning the Grand Prix there in 1926. His workshop was a huge attraction at the museum today.

Brooklands created the biggest and best British airline, the Vickers VC10, and one of these was on display. It was a star attraction. Converted for the Sultan of Oman, with velvet seats, gilded seat belts, and luxurious bedrooms for the Shah and his mother, it was gifted to the museum in 1987 and enthrals enthusiasts today. The last great achievement for Brooklands was the Concorde. We saw a single white Concorde rising in a stylish curve from the ground, arcing its long pointed nose skywards at Brooklands today, looking as ready for flight as if it were built just yesterday.

Despite employing 14,000 workers throughout the 1950's and 60's, Brooklands ran out of space and funds as chunks of design, construction and testing had to move elsewhere, affecting the whole. Ethel and Hugh had no heirs. Their racing circuit eventually aged and became no longer drivable. The site was sold, and sold again. Today, it is the motoring and aeronautical enthusiasts who maintain a vigilant watch over Hugh's dream. On this dream he spent what today would amount to some £16,000,000. When bits of it crumble they find sufficient funds to patch it up, allowing others to visit and thoroughly enjoy it all.