The dreaded school run

“No self-respecting middle-class parent would dream of embarking on a school run unless behind the wheel of a 4x4”

THERE was a time when rush-hour meant those times of day when road traffic got heavy because folk were driving to or from work. That was the only time you could expect the odd traffic jam in our towns and cities. Out in the country, jams were something you spread on your toast in the morning. But that was in those halcyon days when children had legs. Yes, that’s right: legs. And well- developed brains, too. Anyone under the age of 40 may find this hard to believe, but there was a time when children actually walked to school. Not only that, but we – for I am old enough to have grown up in that golden era – were capable of achieving this miracle, unattended by adults. By the age of four we had learned how to put one foot in front of the other and make forward progress. We were also allowed to cycle to school – again unattended – once we’d mastered the art of cycling. And, yes, we knew all about the dangers of traffic, too.

So what went wrong? What happened between 1990 and the present time to render children incapable of getting to school unless driven there by adults? Have we raised a generation of incredibly-stupid youngsters incapable of the basic skills of life?

No, there’s nothing wrong with the kids of today. But there’s one heck of a lot wrong with their parents, who have created a whole new rush-hour throughout the land – at the times when they drop off and pick up their precious cargoes from the school gates.

I don’t know what it’s like where you live, but out here in the sticks you simply don’t bother to try driving anywhere near any school in the morning or late afternoon, because the local villages are gridlocked, with roads near the schools impassable because the lazy parents are incapable of parking considerately. And, yes, there is a disproportionate number of Land Rovers among those badly-parked cars. No self-respecting middle-class parent would dream of embarking on a school run unless behind the wheel of a 4x4.

Quite why you need off-road ability to get the kids to the school gates is a mystery to me, but I’m sure Land Rover isn’t complaining. Perhaps they should put an extra setting on the Terrain Response knob to optimise the system for School Run:

you know, like raising the suspension to allow them to mount the pavement and perhaps projecting a ‘Child On Board’ flashing warning on the back screen?

But seriously, I genuinely pity today’s kids. They’re overprotected by parents apparently neurotic about their kids’ safety, yet they shorten their lives by feeding them crap and preventing them from getting healthy physical exercise. I pity them because I was fortunate to grow up in a simpler world where we didn’t have a wealth of material luxuries, but we had the times of our lives, roaming the countryside like The Outlaws in Richmal Crompton’s Just William books.

Yes, they were simple times all right – not just for children, but for adults, too. The automotive world was also a simpler place and that wasn’t so long ago. 1989, to be exact.

This month’s story about the 30th birthday of Discovery got me thinking. After it was launched in 1989, there were only three Land Rovers: Defender, Discovery and Range Rover. How simple was that?

In the very early days, it was even simpler. From 1948 to ’58 there was only one Land Rover. There was a huge difference between the early 80-inch model and the last of the Series Is, but Land Rover never deemed necessary a name or number change. In fact they weren’t even called the Series I until 1958, when the Series II came along. Between then and 1983, most folk just knew it as a Land Rover. It was the Discovery that changed that. In just three decades it has gone from Discovery 1 to Discovery 5 – or it would have done if Land Rover hadn’t obstinately refused to give the latestgen a number. How confusing is that?

But the biggest mystery to me is how the Discovery 4 ever came into existence. It was just a Disco 3, with knobs on.

Like a drunk who seizes upon any excuse to toast a trivial event with yet another alcoholic tipple, Land Rover appears incapable of making a minor change to a model without awarding it a new name or number. And to make it worse, they insist on making every new model look very much like all the others.

Is it any wonder I mourn the passing of the simple life?

EX-LRM Editor Dave has driven Land Rovers in most corners of the world, but loves the British countryside best