Memorable journeys

One of my most memorable journeys was a family road trip during our Christmas holidays when we went to visit my grandparents. For some reason or other we left on a dark night, a couple of days before Christmas, and my entire family – my parents, three older siblings and Shep, the family dog – were all piled into our Hillman station wagon. I was six years old, my brothers were eight, ten and 12 years old. There wasn't enough room for us all in the back seat so a space was made behind it at the back of the car for me and the dog, amongst boxes of food, pillows and bedding. Seat belts and special child seats weren't mandatory back then. So, there I was, looking out the back window, watching the world go by.

My father had painstakingly piled more luggage on the roof of the car, secured on a roof rack. He was a very particular packer and would always take hours to pack the car. Since it was the Christmas holidays and we were bringing along all the presents for our family as well as all the presents we were giving to our family down south, the car was extraordinarily packed. Stuff was tied to the roof rack almost half a metre high. We were cruising down the highway and all of a sudden, from my seat in the back, I saw things from the roof flying through the air and bouncing on the road behind us. I'm not sure, but I think other drivers were beeping and motioning to us about what was happening. It took a few moments for my dad to find somewhere safe to pull over – not an easy task at 55 miles per hour on a road busy with holiday traffic. And there wasn't a streetlight in sight.

Once we had drawn to a halt, my father got out of the car and went to salvage what he could. It was mostly the suitcases that had fallen off. He kept returning with bits of clothing and presents that had been tossed from the roof and run over by other cars. He was out there for what seemed like hours, and we were more scared for his safety than about getting our clothes back.
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