In any profession you would generally value decades of experience. You’d trust a doctor with 40 years’ experience over a young ‘whipper-snapper’ who looks like they may still be at the Bunsen burner and frog dissection stage of their training.
But I’m afraid when it comes to some things, experience isn’t always the most reassuring attribute - driving, for example.
If I hear someone has 20, even 30 years’ experience on the roads, I’d feel pretty safe in their hands. But as time passes on, and the decade odometer reaches a healthy four or five, then I believe something starts to happen.
Suddenly after forty confident driving years behind them, people start to lose their nerve. Maybe it’s because your reactions perhaps aren’t what they were, or because your pace of life is slowing, so everything you do slows (significantly), but it’s another one of those things about getting older that I just can’t wait for.
I can only use personal points of reference, and although I feel it is unfair to generalise, I’m guessing most of you will know someone in their latter years who is quite literally a law unto themselves on the roads.
I found myself almost falling victim to a ‘geriatric person plough’ recently when making the fatal mistake of traversing the road at a zebra crossing. I can only thank my daughter for the fact that she was with me, as crossing the road is far more of an ordeal when you’re crossing with a pram. I probably look left and right about 20 times these days - far more than the Highway Code Hedgehog used to advise – to make sure when I step out with the pram ahead of me, that the two of us have safe passage.
Waiting outside Nabbs shops – the mecca of retail in the North Hucknall area – I was stood at the Zebra crossing, looking left and right like an Abba tribute band on speed, when I made the adjudication that the cars approaching were slowing down to allow me to cross before they arrived at the crossing.
Or were they?
Luckily I saw the make and model of one of the cars that was, although approaching slowly, not necessarily reducing in speed. The brand new ‘probably only got 69 miles on the clock’ Suzuki Wagon rang some ‘Motability’ alarm bells in my head, and I hesitated before crossing.
Being the granddaughter of an elderly couple who have been accessing cars on the Government’s Motability scheme since God was a lad (well, a while anyway) I was acutely aware that some cars, like the Wagon, are almost solely dedicated for such schemes. These vehicles were surely the product of a rather disgruntled Suzuki design employee delivering a final blow, before handing in their resignation and pursuing some sort of tribunal.
There was a 98 percent probability that the driver of a Motability car was over the age of 70 and one of the following things was about to happen:
A – they would drive straight over the crossing, totally oblivious to me at the side of the road, any other road users, or in fact the road itself
B – They would suddenly realise what was happening, panic and attempt to slow down, while waving vigorously at me to apologise, and proceed to plough into the parked cars nearby.
Thankfully this old chap went for option A. I say thankfully, I wouldn’t have been so thankful had I actually crossed the road and trusted the judgement of the driver, as me and Erin would have almost certainly been hit. But as the Wagon sailed past us, I noted the man’s nose raised so high in the air to enable him to actually see over the steering wheel, hands at ten and two and totally ignoring the babbles of his wife, who had clearly just been to the hairdressers, proudly wearing her rain hood over her recently pruned three-inch perm. My suspicions confirmed.
Stood with my mouth gaping open at the utter disregard for the road, pedestrians or any other vehicles, I turned to the car behind to see a man around my dad’s age (young, very young obviously) shaking his head and rubbing his brow in relief, clearly expecting to have been peeling me and Erin from the bonnet of the Wagon at that point.
This incident made me realise that the only reason there aren’t more accidents with the over seventies is down to the awareness and reactions of everyone else.
And of course, it’s not always the activity on the open road. Almost certainly the primary target for the menacing ‘Senna senior citizen’ is the lined tarmac of a car park.
Over the years I have witnessed some rather interesting parking experiences either as a passenger or innocent bystander to my beloved grandparents (who I hope will forgive my indulgence), and it’s not just the parking itself that never ceases to amaze, it’s the reaction of the culprit.
On a family day out to Center Parcs about five years ago, my Grandad was able to park practically in the reception area with his disability Blue Badge, while the rest of us parked fifteen miles away in a space the size of a Raleigh Chopper.
As we all walked down towards reception, we could see that despite arriving five minutes before, my Grandad was still attempting to reverse a large Citroen Picasso into, an equally large disabled space, carefully indicated by a metal post.
Every single jaw started to slowly drop as we watched my Grandad reverse (diagonally of course) as fast as someone on a Bond film driving over a body (just to make sure he’d definitely killed them) towards said metal post.
Low and behold, we heard the ‘boing’ and watched the post wobble in the ground, as Grandad slammed his brakes on and parked, boot still touching the post.
But the best bit was yet to come.
As he got out the car, my sister shouted “Bri” (we’ve always called him Bri rather than Grandad) “Bri…you just hit that post.” And despite the loud ‘boing’, the obvious crunch on the boot, and probably the bang that would have been felt in the car, his reaction was classic, “What post ducky?”
Not a jar of glue. Neither of them, my Gran looked as shocked as he did.
They were either great actors, or just totally unaware of what had happened and the damage that had been caused. Brilliantly when informed of the ‘prang’, my Grandad didn’t even join my Dad and Uncle at the back of the car to mull over the damage like men like to do. Wasn’t bothered at all, was far too keen to have a cappuccino and a sit down.
Not your first time Mr Shelbourne? I think not.
My Gran doesn’t escape here either I’m afraid. An expert ‘Senna senior citizen’, my Gran used to bounce off the fence outside our house as she did a three-point-turn, using it like a bumper lane at the bowling alley – I can’t isolate an incident, it was just something we became accustomed to after a while. However now the fence is gone, she manages fine without it!
There have also been many wing mirror incidents, alloys have shuddered with fear as they saw her approach, and she’s even scraped her entire left wing on her own garden wall. But thankfully, she’s never hurt herself or anyone else on the roads.
My grandparents I know are not alone. If you ever drive out on a Sunday, or around 11am on a weekday, you’ll undoubtedly have a slower journey as you trundle along behind a Ford Fiesta with a blue rinse or flat cap at the helm.
But are these smaller things enough to deem the older generation ‘dangerous’ on the roads? Me and my husband have had countless conversations, while out in the car, that there should be some sort of ‘roadworthy’ test for the over seventies. Some would pass, but I’m sure many would fail.
It seems sensible in a way, as you wouldn’t allow somebody with slower reactions to fly a Boeing 737, so why would you put somebody on a road, with far more traffic, if they can’t react quickly enough.
As a general rule, I think this plan makes sense. But then I think about the effect this would have on my own Gran. She can’t bear to be stuck at home, has never taken public transport anywhere, and sees her car as her freedom and independence. Take that away and you’re left with a lady who has to adjust, and at 75 it can’t be easy to change your lifestyle and routine.
It’s a quandary that, as a Government, I wouldn’t like to address (and they probably never would as the over-seventies probably make up the majority of voters), but is it something we should consider? Or could it cause more problems than it’s worth?
Whatever your feelings on the subject, I would strongly advise you to always be alert when spotting a Suzuki Wagon trundling towards you, always park further away from the supermarket to keep your bumpers in tact, and never wave to my Gran if you spot her out driving - she wouldn’t see you if you were wearing a Neon sandwich board with the words “Hello Brenda” on them..and quite right, I’d much prefer her to keep her eyes on the road and hands at ten and two!
I dedicate this blog to all my favourite old folks, past and present.
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