A game of Travel Squabble

In the long ago days when restraint belts were not compulsory in the rear of a car we relied upon the sticky black vinyl seats , increasingly hot and tacky with the miles, to keep us firmly adhered and safe in the vehicle.

It was not a very pleasant experience and the back of bare legs between sports socks and shorts were always salmon pink in colour from the combined influence of the tight black vinyl weave effect of efficient German seat design and an accumulation of sweaty bodies which was inevitable in a large and tightly packed family car.

Only the really posh cars had anything like a good ventilation system and even then quite a long way in technology and performance from what we now expect as standard equipment in air conditioning or climate control. The VW Variant Estate was unusually only a two door model and it followed that the only windows for winding down were in the complete supervision of our parents who shared the driving and front seat navigation/passengering role on longer journeys such as the annual summer holidays.

The temperature amongst us kids on the back seat would become quite stifling. Those sat immediately behind the front seats could stand up, hang onto the back of the headrest and just catch a few gusts of cool breeze through the window but only after persuading parents to crack one open. There was no middle ground in airflow requirements to the back seat. Half the occupants were more than happy with the window fully or partially open but opposed by the other half who complained of being sensitive to draughts and could feel an ear-ache coming on.

It is something just peculiar to VW cars that if only one of the side windows is slightly open then there is an almighty and faint-inducing vibrational pressure wave which feels like your brain could explode. The very uncomfortable feeling is only relieved by opening the other window to the same extent to even out the build up of air. I had seen pictures of VW Beetles floating away in flood waters and my Look and Learn Magazine had a feature about the same model being able to do this without any special works to seal the body against leaks. Our parents VW was evidently from the same proud production facility at somewhere called Wolfsburg.

In car entertainment had to be on the basis of  our own efforts in the absence of a radio and certainly well before 8 track and audio cassette players. Us kids had the usual spotter books mainly from the 'I-Spy' range but frequent looking up and down usually caused a strong feeling of travel sickness. On the cheap we became expert at spotting and correctly reading road signs with the usual jokes about large breasted women lying down in the road (hump backed bridge), asexual figure struggling with umbrella (Men at Work) and stick man pointing (right or left hand turn) and many in the same comic genre. Otherwise our main activities were singing and squabbling.

Rest stops were regular on longer trips. Various choices such as lay-bys, field gateways and beautiful viewpoints would present themselves but by the time we had all agreed on their suitability we would have driven past and on with a missed opportunity to park up. Again half of us back seat occupants would be in favour, the other not because it smelt funny or something like that. When we did stop we would enjoy the excellent forward planning of Mother's picnic fare with a packet of crisps each, sandwiches, Penguin chocolate biscuits and lashings of orange squash. Then back in the car after a wee wee in the hedgerow or behind a tree dependant on whether a little  Boys or Girls requirement .

We were not wanting for anything in our young lives as we were healthy and loved and quite privileged in a struggling world but sometimes asked for more when we should  have known better

We did once collectively bully our parents into taking us to a Little Chef Restuarant whilst on holiday in Scotland. Us kids had it in our minds that we must, above all other things, have pancakes and maple syrup. We had not had them before and the idea must have been a subversive mental plant from something like Scooby Doo, The Partridge Family or any one of a dozen TV shows imported from the United States.

The cost to our parents of a large platter of the batter cakes and a huge jug of syrup was exhorbitant and must have seriously whittled away the whole fortnights budget. With the first taste of the rich, sticky maple syrup we decided in complete unison that it was the most disgusting tasting thing in the whole known world.

I had not up to that point really seen my parents angry but there is a first time for everything. We left under a very large cloud of parental disapproval.