Much more than just a number - the fascinating world of the registration plate

CAR number plates fascinate me. You too? I thought so. I love the combination of letters and numerals and the messages they convey, privacy cast to the four winds.

We began to reveal identities in the 1850s when the Penny Post required the literate to give their home names, largely for the benefit of the postman.

For years The Beeches, Wisteria Lodge, The Laurels and so on sufficed. But as, thanks to the advancement of education, more and more houses appeared and the population grew, these simple names fell to other yearnings.

This time, royalty, generals and battles produced illustrious names and soon words like Kenilworth, Victoria, Napier and Balmoral proved new choices – even battles like Ulundi, Ladysmith and Paardeburg (one of my oldest readers recalls this one forever) appeared on house gates and envelopes for the benefit largely of the occupants keen to reveal their dreams and fancies.

But the population soared and tastes and enthusiasms changed, and in the 1920s and when the 1914-18 war was over we called our homes Avalon and Shangri La, Chez Nous and Nirvana in the hope of better things to come.

And then these also became dated and folks revealed what passed for humour: Thistle Do, Dunpayin and Yur Tiz.

It was the arrival of the housing estate which did for house names. Rabbit warrens of bungalows and semi-detached houses don’t have names.

The dustman goes from number to number, from one anonymous house to another, and privacy rules as the postcodes provide.

But not on the family saloons parked outside. For in the desire to let neighbours know just a little about them, carefully chosen numbers reveal all.

Some are delightful and very clever.

Some are valuable and the famous are ready to pay high prices to sport them.

But occasionally you get glimpses of the past. It is so reassuring.

Last week I rejoiced. For there in front of me was DA51 JAC. Terrific. Definitely Dunroamin.