Photo©Harald Hansen Ours was beige (or pig pink) and the spare wheel was on the bonnet to stop the back door falling off.
This is a musical nostalgia trip for the dverse haibun prompt.
No radio in the only vehicle we ever had—no speakers had been invented that could compete with the rumble and roar of a thirty year-old Land Rover. Her name was Pig because, although the ad said beige, the children, country kids in those high and far-off days, said she was pig-pink colour. In our vintage 1973, Series III Station Wagon, we rocked and rolled along country roads, baby roped precariously onto the front ‘seat’, four children behind, strapped into the dubious safety of two seat belts, and I, no seat belt, hanging on with two hands, rode the bucking roads in the back. We sang instead the songs they taught them at school, strange songs about red deer and rabbits and hunters, Father Christmas, Bella Ciao and other partisan favourites. I hear those songs still, belted out against a background of rattling Pig engine and the protest of potholes. May Day jaunts through fallen northern blossom—a lifetime away.
Songs pour in the rain
brisk March winds blow lush May leaves—
flood of yesterdays.