Imports of US leathers were expensive and rare. But British manufacturers such as Lewis Leathers stepped in to cater for the burgeoning market of Britain’s home-grown Wild Ones. For young riders, the leather jacket could become an extension of their personality, and jackets were often decorated with an assortment of badges for clubs, racing-circuits and motorcycle manufacturers; together with a profusion of studs and the occasional painted slogan.

For the motorcycle pack, life often revolved around the coffee-bar, café or ‘caff’. Pubs of the time rarely welcomed leather-jacketed youngsters – because they tended to upset the older clientele and attracted unwanted attention from the local police. The ‘caff’, on the other hand, was warm and inviting (and also cheap), and so became the regular haunt for young British riders. It was a place where they could meet up with mates and spend smokey evenings chatting-up the ‘birds’ and spinning disks on the jukebox. And some cafés became legendary motorcycle hangouts – the Nightingale in South London, the Salt Box near Biggin Hill, the Chelsea Bridge Tea Stall, the Busy Bee on the A41 and Johnson’s on the A20.

The Ace Café on London’s North Circular Road became a particular favourite. Open 24-hours a day, the Ace could see up to a thousand bikes come in and out on a busy evening. And, after midnight − when the North Circular traffic was at low ebb − breakneck races could be held with little fear of interference. The Ace even provided the backdrop for parts of the 1964 film The Leather Boys, a ‘kitchen-sink’ melodrama (adapted from Gillian Freeman’s 1961 novel) whose location sequences captured much of the flavour of the period’s motorcycle scene.

For a while the BSA Gold Star – affectionately known as ‘the Goldie’ – was the young motorcyclist’s ride of choice. Launched in 1954, the Goldie’s ‘classic’ versions (with their distinctive, ‘big-fin’ engines) were especially admired. But riders were seldom satisfied with stock bikes. Increasingly, custom-styled and heavily modified machines became popular. Dubbed ‘café racers’, their superfluous fittings were chopped away and a racing fuel tank was bolted on, along with swept-back exhaust pipes and low, ‘clip-on’ handlebars. The ambition was for greater speed and the revered aspiration to ‘do the ton’ – a slang phrase for tipping the speedometer above 100 mph (and the derivation of the term ‘Ton-Up Boy’).

The scene saw a profusion of homemade, custom-styled machines, but a common arrangement was a powerful Triumph engine (usually a 500 or 600cc Twin) slotted into a Norton Featherbed frame. The combination offered the best of both worlds – a reliable engine that delivered an impressive turn of speed, and a lightweight frame that allowed excellent handling and road-holding. Indeed, so commonplace was the Triumph/Norton fusion that it became known as a bike in its own right – the ‘Triton’.

The ‘Ton-Up’ gang shared tastes similar to the 1950s Teddy boys. American rock ‘n’ roll, for instance, was the preferred music − Elvis, Eddie Cochran and Gene Vincent, whose image (especially their greased-back hair) was widely imitated. The jukebox, meanwhile, laid the way for the infamous sport of record-racing. The stunt involved slapping a record on the jukebox and leaping onto your bike in an attempt to complete a prearranged course before the end of the song. A popular route at the Ace Café covered a distance of 3½ miles, while massed races from the Ace to the Busy Bee, 12 miles away on the Watford bypass, were also a favourite. And, of course, Britain’s arterial road system – expanded and improved during the 1950s – provided an ideal track for many other impromptu ‘burn-ups’.