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When I was a babe in arms in the 1950s, my mum was traveling in a taxi with my older brother and I. He apparently opened the taxi door and fell out! He survived.
Further on, when we were a family of five kids, my dad had what was possibly a Morris Minor Tourer, which was a convertible. We often drove around with the top down and the wind blowing in our hair.
Our parents rode up front and we children were loaded into the rear. There were no seat belts then, and we would bicker and play together, with an occasional stern call to order from the front seat. My younger sister Pam, who was around three at the time, stood up on the seat and promptly fell out over the boot onto the road.Fortunately she survived too, with bruises and grazes, but my father sold that car and we were confined in a solid roofed version from then on.
My dad had been a bit of a lad when a young man, and he is pictured with sports cars of various kinds before he married after the war. Sadly, I have no photos, as they are lost to me now.
The wedding photo above is one of few I do have and has been extensively restored in Photoshop.
