It has always been my belief that Cymro (that is our name for ourselves as opposed to Welsh, which is what the Saes call us) are passionate and not afraid to show their emotions, whether it be joy or sorrow or even anger.
I can be passionate about much in life but mainly about people, music, food and especially my love for my darling Marion.
I do not believe that I get emotional or passionate about “things”. By that I mean objects that we use almost every day whether it be a simple glass to drink water from or the plate from which I eat my food.
I have “liked” various things in my life and this includes many of the cars I have owned, or used as part of my job, or even just test-driven and written about in whatever paper I was working on at the time.
Some cars have been more than “like”, such as my first ever car, a British Racing Green Morris Minor, and my second, a black Austin Cambridge A55.
Even those, however, were still just objects, possessions, whatever you want to call them, which provided me with the means to get from A to B at the time I want to travel, rather than relying on trains or buses, or even other people prepared to drive me from A to B.
This is why I surprised myself this week with my reaction to the demise of my current vehicle – a black Chevrolet Lacetti, VA07 HYB.
This car, which has served me faithfully, well fairly faithfully as it has needed quite a lot of work on it in recent years, for almost 13 years, has finally given up the ghost. It is a dead Chevy; it has deceased; it is not resting it is dead; it is demised.
When it overheated on a drive back from town and had to be restarted four times on a 100 yard stretch of road near home I was lucky to have a guardian angel turn up, actually a guy in a hi vis jacket and a hard hat, who pushed it around the corner off the main road while I steered.
As he started pushing he was joined by his mate, also hi vis jacketed and hard hatted, and we got it far enough from the junction to be safely parked.
When I tried to offer them a tenner each as a sign of gratitude they refused
The smoke or steam, I know not which, from the engine compartment started to ease and once I was sure it was safe I locked it and left it, intending to come back later, put in some oil (the oil lamp had kept flickering) and probably water before driving it the few hundred yards back home.
This I did the following morning and although it was not willing to start (starting had never been a problem in the past except for the time the battery completely died on me) it eventually limped home.
I sent a message to Martin, the mechanic who has kept me on the road for the past eight years, outlining the problem and he said he would call round the following morning.
Even then I think I knew it was curtains for the Chevy.
Why did it make me feel sad. After all it was just a car.
I had bought it 13 years ago when the car itself was just three years old.
It was the closest I have ever come to buying a new car.
My first two were 1955 models I bought the Morris in 1967 when it was 12 years old, and the Austin the following year when it was 13 years old.
The only time I have ever driven a new car was when I did a test drive or when the appropriate company provided me with a vehicle for my personal use as well as for work.
The 13 years ownership of the Chevy was the longest period I have ever owned a car, the previous longest was about five years.
If I thought really hard about it I could probably identify most of the cars I have owned or driven but it would not be as easy as naming my top ten books or my favourite writers, or my best-loved poets.
Why then did this one hurt so much?
Martin came round the following morning, lifted the bonnet, and as soon as he took out the oil dipstick I knew by the look on his face that this was terminal. He said he could smell it, by “it” I think he meant the cylinder head gasket, it was that or something similar and the cost would be far more than the car was worth.
It was only later that I realised why this car was so special.
I bought it in 2010 from a dealer in Redditch.
It was the year my mother died and was reunited with my father.
She had left an estate which, once bequests to each of the grandchildren had been made, was to be divided between my brother, my sister and myself.
While the ins and outs of probate and sale of her property went through we each received an initial amount from bank accounts and similar savings and Marion and I decided to put that to good use and buy a car which, although not brand new, would last for a considerable time.
I am not saying that the car kept my memory of my mother alive. That, and that of my father, would never die until I do. What I am saying is that the purchase of the car is something that she would have approved. Something that would last for many, many years.
My mother was a very practical person.
The car did last for many years and has repaid me over that time.
Now we have to decide whether or not we will replace it.
Robin's Nest 