My personal folklore is populated by some very wonderful people. But perhaps one of the most wonderful people from my early life was my grandfather.

"Islwyn" (a Welsh name, pronounced iss-luin) was a fascinating man. He was also very unusual - very kind, very gentle (at least to me, who never heard him say a cross word) and very tolerant. He was balm for the pains of growing, and I miss him still, twenty six years after his passing.

He was always tinkering. I think these days he would be called an experimenter, a "gadget geek" - he was the first in his street with a television, the first even with a car. And it was his cars which are amongst the first thoughts I have of him whenever his name is mentioned - indeed, it is he I have to thank for my love of all things automotive.

Not that he ever had any car for long. My earliest memory was of a Rover P4 - an old fifties car with quarterlights which raked back, aping the slant of the a-post. My impression (I would have been very young at the time) was of the gorgeous smell of the leather hide which covered the seats - the love of which has informed my habits ever since. I remember going to the Gower peninsular (a beauty spot on the south Wales coast) in it - to Llangennith - a perfect snapshot of perfect infancy.

Since then, there have been other cars, of course - some of the ones I remember are the Renault Dauphin (another '50s/early '60s car) - a peculiar looking object in, if I can remember, blue - but still quite beautiful in the sylph-like style for which French art-houses are renowned. I look on that with some affection, as I do the Hillman Imp, a white and particularly sporty car which I remember had devices on the windscreen wipers to press them into the window. Of course, little did I know at the time that the Imp was one of those cars whose bad design and penny-pinching production techniques saw the Rootes Group (which owned the company) leave the automotive field, but there is much to be said for the innocence of a child. There were vans too - I particularly liked the Vauxhall Victor-derived Bedford HA van, especially for the mandala-like shape of its rear light cluster; and I retain a soft spot for the first of the Bedford C series of mid-size vans, whose smooth jelly-mould shape and sliding door were very appealing to a pre-adolescent.

But there were other cars, too. Sometimes he would fix them - people would come around and get him to do the jobs the robber-baron garages were asking extortionate prices for - and sometimes he would take angle-grinders to them and cannibalise what was useful. That, perhaps, was the saddest memory - but oftentimes I would be able to play around in other cars and pretend to drive (when the car was stationary, obviously), and so the sadness was fleeting.

Perhaps the saddest memory, though, was of the car he had when he died - a Mk 1 Ford Cortina. The car I like - but obviously its association with the demise of the greatest man I ever knew will always be poignant.

Learn more about this author, Tabitha Hergest.
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