Many years before that (perhaps another 30 or so) my dad, as a young lad also had an accident (actually I think he had a few) - but in his case, he was riding a scooter - A Lambretta LD150 to be precise (not for no reason is he rebuilding one of these 50 years later) Those tumbles off his scooter were enough to give him the resolve to ensure no child of his was ever going to have a motorbike, and craftily he went about designing my own youth in such a way that motorbikes never came onto my horizon.
With plenty of fatherly encouragement I bought my first car when I was 16 - a 1967 Renault 4 TL - If i remember correctly, I paid about 60 quid for it (and that included delivery to my home).
Although it was running, It was in a very sorry state and so began a 2 year project (that came to be known as the “Renaultvation”) orchestrated by my father as a way to keep me occupied while the ‘motorbike phase’ passed me by.
I (and he) dedicated all spare time to that car. Together we stripped and rebuilt every single component, from floor pans to piston bores, door posts to dynamos. I can genuinely say I touched every single nut and bolt on that car.
A project as long and intensive as this built a very special bond between, not only, me and my dad, but me and my car. I loved that car.
The ‘Renaultvation’ had been on the road for 6 months, and as I set off for college on that fateful frosty morning of Tuesday 16th December 1980, I was glad to be in my warm car and not on a chilly motorbike. As I pulled out of our sleepy village and rounded a corner, I hit a patch of ice. I remember veering heavily to one side of the road, and I remember worrying about scratching the paint on my new front wings, and I remember a lot of noise........
The next thing I remember, I was halfway walked back to my house - and I was swearing - a lot. I explained to my mum that I had crashed the car (but I had no recollection to the extent of the damage. In fact I still have no recollection to this day of the the crash itself or how I got out of it). We phoned dad who decided to come straight home from work.
It wasnt until a little later that morning when I returned to the crash site with dad that I saw the full extent of the damage to my car. From the imprints of the sides of the car in the frosty grass we could see that the car had turned arse about face and done a complete roll over - the roof and wings were squashed over one way and the rear wheels squashed under the other way, the bonnet ripped off and doors all distorted out shape. I have no idea how I got out of the car (but I do know I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt in those days) or the field that I had rolled into
I saw my car and I cried. I was shaken and shocked by the experience, and I was so bitterly saddened to see the love of my life so battered.
and so the point of this story?
At the same moment, Dad saw my car and simply said “Ok, lets tow it back home and get started on repairing it” - As I remember it, there was no panic, no anger, no hesitation in his voice. I remember being both surprised and comforted by his calm response.
It wasn’t until a long time after that I realised how important that moment was. I was in total despair but dad had just the right words to make me believe it would be alright. They made all the difference between giving up and getting up.
I got up. We hitched the car up to his car and gingerly towed it back home - and there and then started another 4 months of renovation of the Renaultvation during which time we removed all the body (again) and pushed and pulled, stretched and shrunk the metal work back into some recognisable shape again. I was back on the road by summer :-)
Epilogue
That little Renault 4 never did become the custom show car I had originally dreamed it would be. It lived on for many years after as a wrinkly fun car that made people smile where-ever it went. I never loved it any less for being not-so-perfect, In fact I think I loved it all the more for the character that my accident had created (in me and my car)
I loved that car
Bringing the story up to date. I was sitting in a coffee shop with Laurie today when I got a call from Scotty. “Ive just been knocked off my bike” he said - There was a shaky mix of shock and I’m-alright in his voice. “I’ve scratched and dented up my lovely scooter”
I was taken right back to that moment of my own accident in a vehicle that I loved; shaken, gutted, and dazed, and I wished I could have been as comforting to Scott as dad had been to me.
I think it had only been within the hour that he’d had the accident and I wasn’t quite able to keep up with Scotts trembling recount of the details. He was clearly all in one piece, but clearly quite shaken.
Having established that he was not seriously injured, how could I help? What words are right at that moment? What actions? We shall have to see over the next few days how Scotts bruises and confidence develop.
I hope he recovers well..... and secretly I hope he doesnt regret (or blame me for encouraging him) buying his scooter.
Maybe I might be seeing another Vespa in the garage soon - I’ll get my hammers ready - its what my dad would do.
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