The Bubble Car

My parents bought their first car the year that I was born. I don’t know what make it was. I do know that it was black and had running boards and those pop out turn signals. Neither of them could drive and it sat in our driveway in England for two years until we moved to Canada and it was left behind.

Once ensconced in Toronto, it became clear that a car was a necessity. Mum was not keen on shopping-by-transit with two small kids, and Dad needed wheels to get to locations where he worked as a cameraman. They bought a two-tone turquoise boat of a Chevy. It too sat in the driveway. They still couldn’t drive. They didn’t take lessons, but drove relative’s cars around for a bit and then took the test. Mum failed it four times, scoring an absolute fail first time out by reversing the car into a snowbank from which even the examiner couldn’t extricate it. Dad, with great glee, only failed twice.

When the required pieces of paper were finally obtained, road trips became a thing. As Dad was often away, these were usually undertaken by the three of us. We never travelled light and the Chevy’s cavernous interior was loaded to capacity. Our two Westies took possession of the back window ledge. My brother and I, plus two enormous teddy bears, pillows and every other possible method of entertainment occupied the back seat, with Mum and the picnic basket in the front. Most of our trips were made to wherever Dad was currently filming and those usually involved camping.

Mum would begin the preparations a week in advance, with lists that were frequently lost and re-written and intense supply shopping. Then the packing ensued. Our huge Inuit tent, complete with center poles, guy ropes, and tent pegs would go into the car first taking the three of us some manoeuvering to load. Next went the camp cots with their metal frames, the camp stove, the lanterns, the deck chairs, and folding table. In went the dry goods, cases full of clothes for all weathers and enough bedding to keep us toasty for months to come. Finally, on the day of departure, the icebox, filled with perishables and a block of ice in a metal container; and the wicker picnic basket were loaded in. A procession would exit the house. My brother and I would settle bears, dolls, pillows, stuffies, colouring books, storybooks, snacks, crayons, blankets and the dogs in the back seat. My mother would rush back and forth with forgotten flashlights and first aid kits; rain boots and fishing rods; triple checking all the windows and doors in the house before we were finally cleared for take-off. Only then would the adventure begin.

One such adventure began with a phone call from my father. He was filming somewhere in the wilds of Algonquin Park, Ontario and had borrowed a Heinkel Bubble car in order to get around. The problem was the getting around, because he wasn’t. Bubble cars are minute and three-wheeled. They are in no way an off-road vehicle. This one had the added foible of conking out every time it stopped. The Chevy was needed urgently. My mother was to drive up, make the switch and return with the Bubble. A panic-stricken pack of the camping gear ensued and early the next day our menagerie headed in a northerly direction out of the city. The journey up was smooth sailing; no doubt our overnight camp was equally uneventful. The trip back down the next day was anything but.

The Bubble squatted before us like a toad with three legs. It was tiny, a two-seater that you entered by swinging open the front door. Where were the dogs, the bears, the luggage, the picnic basket, the children and the driver going to fit, let alone the camping equipment?

Fiveprime

After much to-ing and fro-ing, the camp gear ended up back in the trunk of the Chevy while the kids, dogs, bears, and Mum squeezed into the Bubble. Seatbelts were nonexistent but we were wedged so tightly into the two-seater that we probably wouldn’t have come to harm. With the door latched in front of us, we were off to a running start, enabled by the combined might of the film crew pushing from behind.

The trip was fairly uneventful until the dogs and the kids started to get fractious; Algonquin to Toronto is a long way; stomachs needed to be filled and bladders needed to be emptied. The search was on for a hill on top of which the Bubble could perch while we stretched our legs. After some miles, a convenient crest appeared and we all piled out, had our break and piled in again. The Bubble wouldn’t start. Mum let off the handbrake and we all leaned forward willing it to begin the downward slide. It didn’t budge. Some consternation followed. My brother and I tried to push it but it still wouldn’t budge. With a worried sigh, Mum clambered out, giving us strict instructions on steering and applying brakes if the car took off on us. With an almighty heave, the Bubble finally inched forward and gathered speed as Mum ran alongside; then took a flying leap in the open front door. To this day I don’t know how we managed to switch places, get the door shut and get the car started before we reached the bottom of the hill.

Again we trundled on our merry way until we got to the city. There were still a number of cross streets to be navigated, all policed by traffic lights. This was the sixties and every other car on the road was the size of an ocean liner. We were walled in on all sides by shiny metal. At each red light that we encountered, the Bubble stalled. My mother would rise from the depths and politely ask the astonished driver behind us to please give us a push. With a great deal of trepidation, they would edge forward nudging the Bubble until it spluttered into life and went on its way.

We all heaved a sigh of relief when we turned into our driveway. The Bubble coughed and stalled one final time and we climbed out on shaky legs.

Over the years, my parents owned a string of quirky cars but none of them came even close to the character of that Bubble car.

Irish Photo Archive

Clo Carey Oct/19

Blog challenge “Quirky Car” word prompt

The Bubble Car first appeared in “One Word” an anthology published by South Shore Scribes, October 2019.

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