Like many people of our generation childhood holidays involved early starts. Being woken at some unearthly hour to drive through the night, packed into the back of an overloaded car, was a feature of many people’s early years. So it was that some thirty years ago my brothers and I were loaded, I suspect either into a bright yellow Golf or possibly some variety of small Renault, for the 12 hour journey to the Scottish Isles.
This year I decided to take my own children to Scotland, a few days in Glasgow and then a week in Glencoe. Not for us the 12 hour ordeal, a couple of nights in a Travelodge to break up the journey. So off we went, large recently serviced car, with air-con, navigation on the iPhone, kids plugged into the DVD players in the back and five effortless hours later we arrive in Glasgow.
My respect for those earlier journeys is immense. I know the second the particular movie my children are watching ends as the bickering starts. They would be physically unable to travel the sort of distances in a car we used to do without me having to stop and restrain them with duct tape to save my sanity. They are unable to occupy themselves for that length of time, (this is where my own father tells you that neither did we and he still has the calluses on his hands from gripping the wheel to stop his own desire to pummel us to within an inch of our lives.)
Thirty years on our road system is much easier, our journey was just about dual carriageway or better for the whole journey (bar a few sections on the A66) my car covers long distances effortlessly, the aerodynamic top box taking easily all our belongings (not for me the strapping of a polythene clad case onto a roof rack.)
So here’s to my Mum and Dad for the bravery, fortitude and resilience to take us on those journeys all those years ago and let’s remember next time we are sat in a traffic jam, transport is generally better than it was thirty years ago.
