The family bubble car
Plus: Heavy Head Syndrome: Do you have it?
Ah, summer in Britain, and the seaside campsites are filling up.
My thoughts turn to August 1971 and my first proper camping trip, when we set out in the first car my parents ever owned: a second-hand BMW 600. I was ten.
You might associate BMWs with luxury and a reluctance to give way at mini roundabouts, but this was the other end of the spectrum. A tiny turquoise bubble car, with front opening door, left hand drive, no boot, engine in the back, battery under the rear seat. (We once had a battery fire, which was scary when you’re sitting right over it.)
The looks we got, driving from Barnsley to the Norfolk coast, crammed to the gills, roof-rack on top, trailer behind.
The trailer was hand-made by my dad, from the front forks of an old Lambretta scooter. It had a single wheel. How’d that work? “Ball-bearings to stop the shimmy,” he would explain to anyone who stopped to chat. He was an engineer: worked the lathe at the local colliery, making and repairing parts for the pit machinery, so he had the know-how.
Day one
Dad said we would need to “be away by eleven at the latest” and my sister, brother and I climbed into the back seat of the car, raring to go. It was a four-seater, but we were skinny kids.
Camping equipment was packed in around us. Sleeping bags piled on top.
The trailer and roof-rack also had to be loaded. Everything came with us, including a literal mini kitchen sink.
Hours passed. The tent was clipped to the roof-rack, but the trailer was still half empty.
We got hungry, unwedged ourselves, went into the house for lunch. Cleared up, then squeezed back into the car, optimistically.
“Your mother’s having a bath,” Dad announced, exasperated. Another hour gone.
He eventually admitted defeat and called us back in to make dinner, with a plan to set off “bright and early” next day.
Day two
Preparations still under way. Brother, sister and I still sweltering under a pile of sleeping bags. I don’t know how we passed the time. I think I read several books.
We knew from experience that any offer to help would cause more friction. Apart from packing our own bags, tidying up the kitchen and helping stretch the bungee ropes into position, we were better out of the way.
Finally, there was a lull in the parental bickering.
Last to be ‘packed’ was Ben the Labrador, on top of the sleeping bags, on top of our knees.
We were off!
The dog liked to stand up and stick his head out of the window. It was summer and, of course, there was no air conditioning. My view for the entire journey was of the dog’s bollocks.
Thirty miles into the trip, on an incline near Clumber Park, the little car overheated and conked out.
Dad found a phone box and called the RAC. We kids passed the time awaiting roadside assistance eating Stackers1 and boiled sweets2 and nipped into the woods for a wee.
Kudos to the RAC for having the right parts. Proof that engines were simpler then. RAC membership was one thing my parents never skimped on while they owned that car. It was always overloaded, and it always broke down. Aside from overheating, it was the spark plugs that went, the “silencer”, or once, catastrophically, the “big end”.
We arrived at the camp site at dusk and pitched the tent in the dark. I felt nauseous from the diet of Stackers.
Day three
Finally, our holiday could begin. Camping stove. Bacon butties. Beach. Sunburn.
A cultural trip to Norwich Cathedral. I noted in my junior school news book later, “We ate at a café. I had a lovely dinner of sausages and chips with a cup of tea, and ice-cream to follow.” It was that novel.
…
Deciding the car had personality and could overcome all odds, we named it Herbie, after the eponymous star of the Disney films about a Volkswagen Beetle which came to life.
My parents would show Herbie off at bubble car rallies, where it shared a field with other BMW 600s, plus tiny three-wheeled Isettas, and even tinier bug-eyed Messerschmitts.
Jeremy Clarkson said once on Top Gear (S15 E02) that “If you had a car like this [an Isetta], you wouldn’t have a wife or girlfriend.”
I found out recently, flicking through the collection of Isetta owners’ magazines when I was clearing my late parents’ house, that Jimmy Savile drove an orange Isetta, so maybe that tracks.
But the four-seater, four-wheeled, BMW 600 was first marketed as a family run-around car in Germany in the late 1950s.
Here’s a fantastic 60-second commercial for the BMW 600 and the Isetta, from 1955.
Bubble cars were briefly in vogue then because of the shortages of raw materials after the end of WWII and rising oil prices during the Suez crisis of 1956. The really early models had a bubble, “cockpit”-like, appearance, like the Messerschmitt, hence the name.
Herbie rides again
With spare parts becoming harder to find, Herbie eventually flaked out once too often, and rusted in my parents’ garden for years, until eventually it was sold to a collector. It was then sold on again, so we lost track of it. My mother would mention it wistfully, wondering how and where it was, like a long-lost family member.
Ten years ago, my brother was contacted out of the blue by a chap called Erwin, in Holland. He was restoring Herbie, He sent my brother the photos of Herbie ready to go back on the road. Herbie rides again!3
Do you have memories of family cars, or of camping trips? Please do feel free to leave a comment below.
Heavy Head Syndrome. Do you have it?
Ian woke up on Tuesday to find me already absorbed in reading on Substack.
“I worry it will affect your health,” he said.
“Huh?” I said.
“You’re looking at your phone. You’re in phone posture. It’s bad for you.”
“You’re right. You look at your phone a lot too,” I said.
“I know,” he said.
“And you have heavy head syndrome,” I said.
“Do I?! That would explain a lot.”
“We all do. People do. We have heavy heads. My Pilates teacher said human heads can weigh up to… seven pounds? What was it? I’ll have to look it up.”
“Isn’t it funny how as soon as you suggest someone has a syndrome, we immediately go, ‘That explains a lot,’ instead of finding out if the syndrome is real.”
“Yeah! I think I just invented Heavy Head Syndrome! HHS! But we do all have it!”
I check on my phone for the average weight of a human head: 11 lbs.
Look after your phone necks and heavy heads, people!
Thanks to everyone who read, shared and commented on my piece last week, about how Ian and I met via a lonely hearts advert in 1986. The feedback was heartwarming and I was blown away by the number of people who read it, and the 80+ and counting who clicked the Heart button to show appreciation.
How I met my match
I’ve read some highly entertaining stories of blind dates on Substack in the past week (links included further down), and Rosana S, who is recounting some of hers at the moment, prompted me to tell my own story.
Clicking the heart, commenting and/or sharing this piece will help other people find my writing.
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Until next time!
© Wendy Varley 2024
Stackers were like Pringles.
Hard candy if you’re in the US!
A shorter piece about Herbie appeared on my old Wordpress blog in 2013. Some of the research overlaps with my contribution on bubble cars to Steve Stack’s 21st Century Dodos: A Collection of Endangered Objects, Kindle Edition.
Childhood camping--sometimes a privilege, sometimes a punishment. I can go either way.
I once went to a chiropractor who said it was no wonder I had neck issues due to my "enormous" head. (Which is what every teen girl longs to hear.) I told him I needed it, as it held my enormous brain and never went back. Then I felt guilty for being rude, despite his rudeness. (Teen girl.)
I love the way my parents weren’t precious about their vehicles back then. I guess it’s because it was post-war Britain and we didn’t have much money. My Mum was knitting once in said van, probably before the engine lid over-heated and scorched my bum, when her ball of wool fell through a hole in the floor. I can remember her being most indignant that my Dad wouldn’t stop and go back for it!