The first car registration plate was A1 and issued by London County Council in 1903. From 1st January, 1904 it was compulsory for every motor vehicle to be registered and have a registration plate. In modern times, it became a status symbol to have a private registration on a car, personal initials, for example, and the fewer letter and numbers, the higher the value. The most recent information I have found on the A1 plate is that it is registered to a Mini Cooper in London and the estimated value of the plate is between five and ten million pounds. The lovely photo from my I Spy Car Numbers book reminds me of one of my dad’s Jags. He never indulged in a ‘cherished number plate’.
Once, a long time ago, I think I had a ‘cherished number plate’. It was on a Vauxhall Viva, circa1969. I bought the car in desperation in 1980. Home from visiting family in the U.S.A., I needed wheels but had very little money, fifty pounds, in fact. Fifty pounds couldn’t buy much of a car, but sometimes there might be a ‘good runner’ for sale with only a month or two left on its MOT. It was worth reading all the adverts in the used car section of the local paper. This was one such car. Many shades of green, lots of filler on the sills and a very snatchy clutch, it was worth every penny of my fifty pounds. And my dad loved tinkering with cars, which was just as well. Nearly every day there was something. While I was at work, my dad would be at the nearby scrap yard looking for parts. We would guess if the car would start or not each morning. It became more efficient as my dad replaced bits and pieces under the bonnet. I did the Advanced Drivers Course with the local traffic police in that car. My tutor, a lovely police officer, used to mock my car, mostly in fun, and blame my driving, not the funny clutch, until he drove it himself. By the time I could afford something better, my dad had virtually rebuilt the engine. The bodywork, which was half metal, or more correctly, half rust, half plaster, or whatever they fill holes with, was in a sorry state. Slam the door and a bit more would drop off. It was up for sale. My neighbor thought that was hilarious and suggested I scrap it, but no, I needed some money for it. The first person to see it, bought it, and for my asking price of £100. He didn’t actually want the car, he was after the ‘cherished number plate’, which meant nothing to me but everything to him. That was the one and only time I made money on a car. HEN 63F.
A1, that was Blackpool FC on Saturday against Swansea. Another win, another three points, first class. I was so happy to have my husband back at the stadium for the first time since November, though I’m grateful to the family members who have taken his place and kept me company at home matches during his absence.
My poem, nothing to do with A1, and not even a poem, just thoughts.
Carrying whatever they can,Walking for miles,
Someone’s child,
Hungry, tired, scared.
Someone’s parent,
Anxious for family, friends.
Someone’s partner,
Sick with worry.
No sleep, no rest, just tears and fears.
War-torn people, devastated lives.
Broken burning buildings,
Homes, hospitals, schools.
Soldiers fighting for Ukraine,
Their lives, their families,
Their all.
Someone, something,
Put a stop to Putin.
Russians rebel,
End this now.
Thanks for reading, Pam x
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