So, GM Motors Australia, right? People still bring it up, especially the old Holden die-hards. It’s not just some corporate name people throw around; it’s got history, real deep roots for a lot of folks here. I sort of stumbled into understanding a bit more about what that really means, not by reading some fancy report, but by getting my hands dirty, literally.
It all kicked off a couple of years back. My old man had this beat-up HQ Monaro just sitting in the shed, gathering dust and rust. He always talked about getting it fixed up, you know, “one day.” Well, “one day” never seemed to come, so I figured, why not me? I decided I was gonna be the one to breathe some life back into it. Sounded like a fun project, a bit of a challenge. Boy, was I naive.
First thing, obviously, was figuring out what I needed. I started making lists – panels, chrome bits, engine parts, interior stuff. The usual. Then I actually tried to find these parts. My first thought was, “It’s a Holden, an Aussie icon, parts must be everywhere!” Wrong. Dead wrong. I spent weeks trawling online forums, ringing up supposed specialists. Some numbers were disconnected. Some folks just laughed. “Good luck, mate,” was a common one.
I found a few bits and pieces here and there, mostly from blokes hoarding stuff in their backyards, charging an arm and a leg. It was getting frustrating. I almost gave up a few times. Then, someone mentioned this old workshop, way out in the sticks, run by a guy who’d supposedly worked on Holdens since they were brand new. So, I took a drive. Found the place, looked like it was about to fall down, but it was crammed with old car parts, tools, and the smell of grease and history.
The old fella running it, a bloke named Kev, was a character. He didn’t say much at first, just watched me poke around. When I told him what I was trying to do with the Monaro, he sort of grunted. But then he started talking. And that’s when my “project” turned into something else. He wasn’t just selling parts; he was sharing stories. He told me about his time working indirectly with the suppliers for the GM plants, the buzz when a new model was coming out, the pride people had. He talked about the apprenticeships, the communities built around those factories.
He showed me some old photos, faded and curled at the edges, of his mates at plant picnics, of assembly lines. It hit me then – GM Motors Australia wasn’t just about cars. It was about jobs, families, a whole way of life for generations. He talked about the day the closures were announced, how it ripped the heart out of the local area. He still sounded bitter about it, and sad too.
I ended up spending more time listening to Kev than actually sourcing parts that first day. He did have a few bits I needed, buried under piles of other stuff, and he gave me a fair price. But what I really took away was this sense of… loss, I guess. And also, a real appreciation for what GM, through Holden, meant to this country. It wasn’t just a brand; it was woven into the fabric of Australian life for so long.
So now, when I hear “GM Motors Australia,” I don’t just think of corporate decisions made in offices far away. I think of Kev’s workshop, the smell of old oil, the stories of the blokes on the factory floor, and my own struggle trying to piece together a small part of that legacy. It’s a whole lot more complicated and human than just a name on a building. And my Monaro? It’s still a work in progress, but every time I wrench on it, I feel like I’m keeping a little bit of that history alive, thanks to blokes like Kev who remember how it all used to be.
