This week Marion tells us about her first car and the adventures that ensued

My first car was a Morris 8 which my husband and I bought in May, 1953.

We saved really hard and it cost us what was then an enormous sum - £115.

It was black with a running board (a platform on each side of the car which we stepped on from the pavement), a wonderful horn and indicators that stuck out a bit like rabbit’s ears.

A cautious driver also stuck his arm out of the window to give hand signals before turning left or right.

We usually carried a spare gallon of petrol - something drivers would never do today.

We called our little car “precarious” and oh, the fun we had in it.

We were so young and carefree, and so happy, when we chugged off on our first tentative journeys.

As Kenneth Grahame fans (Toad of Toad Hall etc.) we would both go “Poop Poop” and get the giggles whenever my husband sounded the horn.

When we saw another car coming towards us we slowed right down until it was safely past.

If we were going to Weston-Super-Mare we would pass more cyclists than cars.

We took the scenic route - no motorways in those days - and although it took us longer to get there and back motoring was a pleasure - no speed cameras and no parking charges.

As time went by and my young husband got more used to driving we used to go to Weymouth or Hayling Island for the day.

We enjoyed our times with my mum and my dad so much we started having caravan holidays with them.

My little brother, who was only 13, also came with along - which added to the fun.

Our first holiday was in Bowleaze Cove at Weymouth.

There were no “mod cons” like today.

We went to the shower block when we needed a shower and the toilet block for the other necessities.

And at night time, since there were no lights on the site, we used the old gazunders – which do seem to crop up a lot.

The toilets were abysmal.

There were proper toilet seats and flushes but as these not fixed to the mains a lorry came along every morning to empty the cesspit.

We used to call it the “jam cart” but it paid not to be down wind at that time.

If we were all going out for the day my mum would cook a chicken and when we arrived at our destination we would have a lovely picnic lunch with bread and butter and tomatoes plus a cup of tea from our flask.

We often took a drive down to a lovely pub in Yatton called the Prince of Orange where the landlady made lovely Cornish pasties.

But to get there we had to cross a level crossing which I was always a bit nervous about.

However when we came out one particular Saturday night after a couple of pasties each and a couple of whisky and oranges for me it was to find a thick fog – a real “peasouper”

We couldn’t see a thing so my dear husband decided to follow the car in front which was going very slowly.

All went well until he took a left turn - and so did we - before getting out on his driveway and walking back to ask what we thought we were doing.

Luckily he believed us and told us the best way back.

My husband said “phew.”

Now comes a great co-incidence.

Whenever we went away on holiday with mum and dad, or even for a day trip, we always stopped in a lovely little place called Keynsham.

We would go to the toilets at the top of the High Street, get fish and chips from the local chip shop and then eat them in the car.

Then, to round off the day out - or week away - we would go to a lovely pub called the Lamb and Lark.

Mum always said she thought Keynsham was a lovely place.

Little did my husband and I think that one day we would be allocated a lovely two bedroom council flat in Farleigh Road where my first child would be born.

See you next week.

Take care, Marion.