Back in the 60s in the area where we lived, there were few cars and fewer new cars. However, I always remember my grandparents (father’s parents) having a new car from time to time.
My Grandad didn’t seem to drive much – whether he wanted to or not, I don’t know – my grandmother drove the car everywhere.
Grandad worked at ‘The Powder Factory’ a few miles away, on the outskirts of the local town, and on Fridays, if we were at our grandparents’ house, my grandmother would go and fetch Grandad from the bottom of the footpath in Westhouses (the next village). We’d turn off the road and take a dirt-track under the railway bridge to wait for him. She turned the car around so we’d be facing the right direction.
I got to sit in the front seat on the way down, I had to sit in the back when Grandad got there.
As we waited for him to come home, we’d be kept occupied by a game. The game was to follow the footpath up the hill with our eyes, to see him as soon as he turned the corner to descend the hill towards us.
Simple things like that don’t seem to bring the same excitement for youngsters these days and that’s a shame.
One day, the heavens had opened and torrential rain had been pouring down all day.
We went to fetch Grandad and the road was flooded – not just deep puddles, the road had turned to a river in full flow!
We drove down the lane and towards the bridge for as far as she dared go.
I can’t remember whether the car was a Capri or a Cortina (or similar).
We couldn’t go to the usual waiting place and so the game of spotting Grandad was abandoned. I was worried that he’d not be able to get through the water or that he’d try and get swept away.
She turned the car around to wait for Grandad and we cheered when he came out from under the bridge. I’m surprised she allowed him in the car, he was soaked before he’d had to wade to the car.
The ‘Powder Factory’ was an explosives manufacturer and they would test explosives.
The sound of the explosion could be heard for miles – even when we moved to the next village.
We’d go on road-trips to the coast – Rhyll, in Wales was a favourite and the day we went to Chessington Zoo (I think) we had more of an adventure than usual.
Driving up a steep hill behind a lorry, the lorry suddenly lost its load and thousands of Tupperware rolling pins poured out of the back, onto the road in front of us.
Quick as a flash, my grandmother stopped the car and leaped out to collect as many of these rolling pins as she could lay her hands on.
She filled the back of her Capri, including the passenger seat, and then proceeded to fill the rest of our convoy’s boot-spaces (boot = trunk).
That was on the way IN to the zoo, so we were packed full in both directions.
I must have been around five or so when that trip took place because my mother had to look after my sister, a small baby at that time. I was allowed to wander off alone at one point. I remember asking if I could go into the monkey house to have a look. I suppose it was OK because the entrance and exit was side-by-side and she had clear view of both.
I went in, thinking how I was now a ‘big girl’ and all grown-up.
There was a group of boy scouts just in front of me and they proceeded to tease the monkeys and generally wind them up. They would tap and bang on the glass of the enclosures to make the monkeys react.
The monkeys were active and agitated every time I got to see them, so I suppose it was more interesting.
When I finally got to the last enclosure, the poor little thing must have been at the end of its tether. The noise of all its companions surrounding it would have been panic-inducing. Then the boys winding it up even more…
Then, what should it be faced with, but a kid, looking at it as close to the glass as possible, with a shock of bright ginger hair, exactly the same colour as itself.
It took one look at me and screeched. Mouth wide, teeth bared, a furry, screaming bundle of fury, it launched itself at the glass between us as though it was all my fault.
I screamed in fright and ran out of the monkey house.
I remember my mother laughing when I told her what had happened.
She also told me about another time we visited a zoo.
I was quite a lot smaller and she’d lost me.
They found me again, on the INSIDE of the sea lions’ enclosure, crawling around at the top of a steep and slippery slope.
Why on earth no one had stopped me, or pulled me out of there before then, I have no idea. The adults watching couldn’t possibly have thought I was supposed to be there.
I also remember the opportunity to ride on an elephant. I didn’t want to, I was scared. I wasn’t forced to go on the ride, but I do remember looking back, wistfully. When I finally decided that I did want a ride on it, we’d gone too far to turn back, so I had to wait.
The elephant ride wasn’t there when we got back at the end of our visit.
That has to be one of the earliest regrets I have. I never got to ride on that elephant.
A few years ago, we visited Australia Zoo and I finally got to touch an elephant close-up. I didn’t get to ride on it, I fed it pieces of apple. Then I was so excited, I queued up to do it all over again.
I laughed when I realised I had ‘Elephant snot’ all over my hands! What a trophy.
Pictures from Google Images