It had (if I can recall correctly) three vertically mounted Stromberg carburetors, highly polished with conical air intakes funnels that had coarse screens over them.
Amazing. He was nearly 70 years old, and was probably 5'5", built rectangularly like a solid brick, and had huge meaty hands with scars all over them, and he had the rheumy blue eyes with a trace of cataract in them.
He was unmarried and I think divorced, and dated a number of far younger, very attractive women, who he drove around with him in his car.
He lived in the unfinished attic of his garage which was a Mecca for foreign car owners needing service on all types from Rolls Royces to Sunbeam Tigers, British cars were his specialty. He lived simply, a small bed, a hot-plate, and he heated it with oil he drained from cars.
When he went out, he was a very snazzy dresser, always with a neat sport jacket and tie, polished shoes, and a fedora on his head.
I admired him, and he treated me very well when I asked him for advice when I worked on my MG Midget. Family...:)
He worked with his nephew, a young unmarried guy who drove an absolute shitbox, but was a very good mechanic. He treated me very well too, and gave advice to me freely.
My uncle was out in his Jaguar one day, and a dumptruck cut in front of him and nearly took off the front of that beautiful Jaguar. I can nearly hear him growl "That dickless f**k" when he talked about it.
His brother raced cars back in the Twenties (my uncle was the mechanic) and this picture survives:
