When he returned to New Zealand on leave in 1943 before going back to Italy he stayed with his parents in Blenheim. One of my cousins recounted a story that his mother (dad's younger sister) had told them. One Sunday morning my grandfather, grandmother and aunt were driving to church in the Ford model A.
Going through the centre of town my grandfather, on seeing tyre marks just past the central roundabout going straight to a high hedge which had a hole punched through it, went on a tirade raging about the 'young hoons and layabouts who had no sense of responsibility. Their cars should be taken off them and crushed' My aunt, in the back seat could hardly contain herself as could my grandmother and my grandfather wondered what was wrong with them. The night before, my father had borrowed the old man's car and hooned around town with other family members including my aunt and had crashed through the hedge.
My aunt had recounted that Dad, on going through the hedge had weaved and accelerated shouting "I've driven tanks in worse situations than this" and carried on through, across the park on the other side and eventually onto another road. At home he tidied up the car so my grandfather didn't know what had happened.
4 comments:
Nice story. It reminds us that there's nothing new under the sun.
No, some things don't change.
Curmudgeons beget Curmudgeons, bastards beget bastards.
Schizophrenic alter egos beget even more schizophrenic alter egos.
My father wasn't a curmudgeon.
I've developed these traits all on my own.
Nice post Curmudgeon. Great to have you back.
The story reminds me of my dad letting (a very young) Chris drive the car around a park in Mt Victoria.
Next day there was an article in the newspaper about hoons tearing up the park!
My memories of this are faint, maybe Richard can add details.
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