When I read Dotti's blog it reminded me of when I was a Student Nurse.
Getting to work on Sundays and Bank Holidays for a half past seven start was always a trial.
I used to scan the duty rota lists to see who I knew, from near where I lived.
If I could find someone I would try to beg a lift from them.
I didn't really want them to go out of their way to pick me up and many many mornings I have walked to Accrington, Church or Rishton to get a lift.
One of the students I trained with lived in Accrington.
Catherine(for that was her name) was learning to drive. Her father had bought her an old Austin to learn in.
We were both working a stint on the surgical unit...but on different wards.
One Sunday she had offered me a lift.....I walked it to Accrington and she picked me up.
Her mother was in the front passenger seat as the qualified driver....I was in the back seat.
Catherine was a lovely girl, all the patients loved her for her kindness...she was very brainy too...but she was ditzy.
Her driving was (I say this with affection) erratic to say the least.
She was all over the road. We drove over Haslingden road and we were just going around a gentle bend(with Catherine well into the lane for oncoming traffic) when we were faced with a huge lorry.
What did Catherine do?
She took her hands off the steering wheel and put them over her eyes.
It was only the swift actions of her mother that saved us from both being patients on the wards we were supposed to be working on!
We ended up in the hedge.....but unhurt......and strangely there was very little damage to the car.
Catherine's mother took over the driving...got us to work safely.......and I didn't travel with Catherine during her learning phase again.
In fact I think she gave up learning until she got married and went to live in the USA.
The other little story about motoring was rattled out of my skull yesterday.
We went to Southport.....it was sunny so we blew the dust off the bus pass.
In the gardens by the side of the pier was a gathering of interesting and vintage vehicles.
Himself was like a dog at a fair. He wanted to run in seven directions at once.
I was taken by an old Morris 8...a red one.
The one at Southport had a soft top.
It reminded me of the time my dad raided the holiday money tin to buy a red Morris 8.
The holiday tin was where Ma salted away any coppers she had at the end of each week.......the mid year co-op divi also went into this tin.
The money was to take us on outings during the school holidays.
Dad surreptitiously purloined this money without telling Ma(and boy was he in deep do-do when she discovered what he had done).
However it all turned out good. The car needed much love and attention to be lavished on it...and dad was up for that. He loved mechanical things and he did the work that was needed to get the old girl ship shape.
Our Morris 8 had a hard top...but it was red.
We loved it because it took us places that we would perhaps not have been able to go to.
Days out were easier. We could take flasks and butties and have picnics by the side of rivers...on the sands at St Annes...we rock pooled, we collected cockles......we ran on the beach, flew home made kites.
All this for not a lot of money.
I remember us hearing the car coming along the factory bottom...we would all run down the hill and meet up with the car at the bottom of the hill...we would stand on the running boards at either side and get a ride up the hill. Those memories are priceless!
Ma forgave Dad his transgression because she could see that the money had been well spent.
As long as you didn't want to go anywhere fast you were alright.
So seeing that fine red Morris 8 brought back all those lovely memories for me.
Getting to work on Sundays and Bank Holidays for a half past seven start was always a trial.
I used to scan the duty rota lists to see who I knew, from near where I lived.
If I could find someone I would try to beg a lift from them.
I didn't really want them to go out of their way to pick me up and many many mornings I have walked to Accrington, Church or Rishton to get a lift.
One of the students I trained with lived in Accrington.
Catherine(for that was her name) was learning to drive. Her father had bought her an old Austin to learn in.
We were both working a stint on the surgical unit...but on different wards.
One Sunday she had offered me a lift.....I walked it to Accrington and she picked me up.
Her mother was in the front passenger seat as the qualified driver....I was in the back seat.
Catherine was a lovely girl, all the patients loved her for her kindness...she was very brainy too...but she was ditzy.
Her driving was (I say this with affection) erratic to say the least.
She was all over the road. We drove over Haslingden road and we were just going around a gentle bend(with Catherine well into the lane for oncoming traffic) when we were faced with a huge lorry.
What did Catherine do?
She took her hands off the steering wheel and put them over her eyes.
It was only the swift actions of her mother that saved us from both being patients on the wards we were supposed to be working on!
We ended up in the hedge.....but unhurt......and strangely there was very little damage to the car.
Catherine's mother took over the driving...got us to work safely.......and I didn't travel with Catherine during her learning phase again.
In fact I think she gave up learning until she got married and went to live in the USA.
The other little story about motoring was rattled out of my skull yesterday.
We went to Southport.....it was sunny so we blew the dust off the bus pass.
In the gardens by the side of the pier was a gathering of interesting and vintage vehicles.
Himself was like a dog at a fair. He wanted to run in seven directions at once.
I was taken by an old Morris 8...a red one.
The one at Southport had a soft top.
It reminded me of the time my dad raided the holiday money tin to buy a red Morris 8.
The holiday tin was where Ma salted away any coppers she had at the end of each week.......the mid year co-op divi also went into this tin.
The money was to take us on outings during the school holidays.
Dad surreptitiously purloined this money without telling Ma(and boy was he in deep do-do when she discovered what he had done).
However it all turned out good. The car needed much love and attention to be lavished on it...and dad was up for that. He loved mechanical things and he did the work that was needed to get the old girl ship shape.
Our Morris 8 had a hard top...but it was red.
We loved it because it took us places that we would perhaps not have been able to go to.
Days out were easier. We could take flasks and butties and have picnics by the side of rivers...on the sands at St Annes...we rock pooled, we collected cockles......we ran on the beach, flew home made kites.
All this for not a lot of money.
I remember us hearing the car coming along the factory bottom...we would all run down the hill and meet up with the car at the bottom of the hill...we would stand on the running boards at either side and get a ride up the hill. Those memories are priceless!
Ma forgave Dad his transgression because she could see that the money had been well spent.
As long as you didn't want to go anywhere fast you were alright.
So seeing that fine red Morris 8 brought back all those lovely memories for me.
