The Cars We Can't Let Go

We've all seen them. We've all questioned them. Most of us still don't understand them. That neglected car, once polished and maintained like a silver cutlery set, now slowly turning to dust in the English weather.

Until you've owned a car for a long stretch of your life, it's hard to understand the ties that form. The memories begin to outweigh the value, and the once cherished pride and joy sits abandoned at the end of a drive.It might have flat, cracked rubber boots at each corner. A dust cover that looks worse than the Incredible Hulk's shirt after he's stubbed his toe. Mice at home in the boot, nesting in a chamois leather gone hard as honeycomb. Weeds and mould working along the seals, searching out every nook and cranny.

But that car has a past.

And a past is a hard thing to give up. Kids growing up in the rear-view mirror, promoted from the back seat to the front seat. The day they took control of the in-car entertainment, and you found yourself listening to lyrics you couldn't make out and wouldn't have approved of if you could. The wallet left on the roof, which held on bravely until the first roundabout.

The dating. The wedding. The canoodling

.A car with a past is a car that lasts. It used to frustrate me. Why doesn't the owner just sell it, I'd think, or have it towed away? Why abandon it? Now I understand completely. That poorly looking piece of automotive history has a story, and only the owner knows how it goes. I've thought about selling my Coupe. When the chance actually came, I had second thoughts.

Pictures arrived uninvited: bloodied fingers, skinned knuckles, a favourite song playing while I sat going nowhere in traffic and didn't much mind. I've been lucky. The car has gone up in value. But the profit no longer outweighs the memory of a small child discovering the centre push horn, or frowning at a window that had to be wound.

This was a car from the days when wing mirrors sat on the wings, and a radio aerial had to be pulled to its full height before it would give you anything at all. When I look at it now, sitting quietly on the drive, I don't see an automobile, and I certainly don't see profit. I see a series of images: tales, laughter, friends, journeys that mattered and plenty that didn't. The car I once dreamed of owning has been ticked off the list.

It gave me everything I hoped it would. In years to come, those dreams might belong to someone else. I hope that when they do, it's still sitting under a war-torn dust cover with a flat tyre or two, sending whoever has them flashbacks to an era that's priceless.

Can you believe 100,000 cars are abandoned every year in the UK?

Despite this fact, I believe the UK is full of sentimental drivers.

Written by Philip (The Rascal)

Editor

Editor's Grandson

What's your memory of a long-gone car? Tell us below.