The nifty old
Ford Anglia!
Ialways enjoy a chat about the old days and a special group of friends I meet (on Zoom these days) often start the conversation with "Do you remember the Sunday night dances long ago... if we could only get a lift!?"
Well, our last get together launched into reminiscent tales and adventure as each talked fondly of the pure joy of owning their first car and the ups and downs of getting on the road, some shaky drivers for sure who now, with years of experience, wonder how they escaped or how they narrowly avoided close contact with other equally red-raw road-users.
We all gave accounts, some very funny, of the major achievement of owning our first vehicle on four wheels and indeed others, who ventured long hazardous journeys on two wheels, even carrying a clinging passenger! My dear brother Donie, joined An Garda Siochana in the 1960s and he got a standing ovation at close of an evening in the farmyard, as the sun sank in glorious golden glory over the idyllic beauty of Dunmanus Bay. He drove into our humble home front in a bright blue Ford Anglia displaying an 'alien' registration from faroff County Mayo - BIZ 525 - and were we so proud. We took turns sitting in, filled with utter awe at the shiny bright red upholstery and when you were allowed try the various switches, the 'screen' in front lit up, the lights came on and there was a soft whimper of life when the key ignited the engine... all these experiments were carried out under strict supervision from big brother.
Now, we had heard my Dad talking about the breaking newsflash in 1961 when Yuri Gagarin, the Airforce cosmonaut launched that Space Race in his capsule, Vostok, to be the first human into space; but to us youngsters this bright blue mobile on four wheels, was a major ground-breaking spectacle to wind its way through the narrow one-way street of Durrus village, up the stony Barr-na-Gaoithe road, to land in our farmyard of the seven cows!
My parents were no doubt very proud of their son’s daring investment in times when the Raleigh bike and the working horse were the main travellers on the rough surface of the winding Bothar Dromréidh, near the Mizen Head peninsula. Many vital missions such as the creamery run, school transport, the 8 mile fair day trek for potential animal sale, even bringing home the Christmas fare, were but a scant list of daily chores undertaken by the well-fed prancing steed my Dad always expertly trained on these lines of duty. Donie was his aide in the training episodes, the young horse was put through some rigorous paces in the confines of the wide top field until the animal steadied somewhat to allow my brother mount and take off at galloping speed.
I often wondered did my Dad have silent misgivings at the sight of the blue four-wheeler entering the old homestead; would it lessen the absolute loyalty and nurtured bond with the four-legged breadwinner that served the family in all its needs over many years, would he be without the agile willing jockey in training expertise? It was an exciting new venture for the Ford Anglia owner and for us, in expectation of our first joyride to the local shop, but I guess my Dad lived in his own world, as handed down to him when each working day dawned with the welcoming bark of the sheepdog and the familiar awakening equine whicker from the old stone stable by the farmhouse gable end.