Wilf had a nineteen fifty nine Ford Galaxie. It was red with a crème roof. I remember that whenever we went for a drive people would admire the car because it was different. He used to refer to it as ‘my automobile’ in a phoney American drawl. Sometimes when he was staying at home Wilf would pick me up from school or from my friend’s house in the Ford Galaxie. These places were within walking distance from the house, so he just did it as a treat.
In nineteen seventy one Wilf had to come back home to live. It was strange having him around, seeing him eating his breakfast, having him at home in the evenings. My mother was a great deal calmer when Wilf was around; when he was away she had been very highly strung. I had heard her saying this exact phrase to my auntie: Jeannie, I feel highly strung. In time I began to realise that other than this extraordinary car there was nothing remarkable about Wilf. From time to time he would get drunk and then he and my mother would argue about money.
Finally things got so bad that Wilf sold the Galaxie to a man called Howard. When Howard came to collect the car he could not disguise his glee. He was leering and rubbing his hands together. My mother said that she hoped that Howard took good care of it. Wilf was very sullen. I had this idea in my head that now that Wilf had got rid of the Galaxie he would never go away again, as if it was the only car that had been capable of taking him away, and that now he was stranded here at home.
Within a week Howard had crashed the Galaxie. Wilf told us over the supper table that it was a write off and that Howard had been lucky to survive the crash. My mother cried.
Wilf took me to see the Galaxie at Gwyn Cable’s scrapyard. It was sandwiched in the scrapheap between two nondescript cars, crumpled and faded. My throat felt tight. Apparently Wilf went there regularly, standing by the railings of Cable’s yard, as though he was visiting a grave.
Walker (2007)
© Walker & Jones 2011
In nineteen seventy one Wilf had to come back home to live. It was strange having him around, seeing him eating his breakfast, having him at home in the evenings. My mother was a great deal calmer when Wilf was around; when he was away she had been very highly strung. I had heard her saying this exact phrase to my auntie: Jeannie, I feel highly strung. In time I began to realise that other than this extraordinary car there was nothing remarkable about Wilf. From time to time he would get drunk and then he and my mother would argue about money.
Finally things got so bad that Wilf sold the Galaxie to a man called Howard. When Howard came to collect the car he could not disguise his glee. He was leering and rubbing his hands together. My mother said that she hoped that Howard took good care of it. Wilf was very sullen. I had this idea in my head that now that Wilf had got rid of the Galaxie he would never go away again, as if it was the only car that had been capable of taking him away, and that now he was stranded here at home.
Within a week Howard had crashed the Galaxie. Wilf told us over the supper table that it was a write off and that Howard had been lucky to survive the crash. My mother cried.
Wilf took me to see the Galaxie at Gwyn Cable’s scrapyard. It was sandwiched in the scrapheap between two nondescript cars, crumpled and faded. My throat felt tight. Apparently Wilf went there regularly, standing by the railings of Cable’s yard, as though he was visiting a grave.
Walker (2007)
© Walker & Jones 2011
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