carsales contributor Shona Hendley takes a look back at the cars from her past that although may have been bombs, still hold some fond memories from yesteryear.
As a child of the 80s and 90s, sitting shotgun in my beat-up green three-door Datsun, which was later replaced by a second (or probably fifth) hand silver five-door Datsun (moving up in the world), I was always envious of the kids who were passengers in cars much newer, than mine; or even rarer, those special, special, kids who drove around in brand new cars.
But the reality was, back in my day (no, I’m not a Boomer) whether it was a Tarago, a Datsun, Holden Commodore, or Ford Falcon, used AKA pre-loved cars were commonplace and often became a quintessential part of the family in their own right.
My second family car, the silver Datsun, ‘Bullet’, who took me from A-to-B for over a decade of my formative years, was definitely an integral member of my household, despite him being, how do you say it nicely…a bomb (sorry Bullet).
Bullet was purchased from a second-hand car dealer in town for a couple of thousand dollars (with the green Datsun, Kermit as a trade-in). Bullet was an upgrade from three-door Kermit and like his predecessor, was personality filled from the get-go.
Yep, Bullet’s personality included an abundance of rust speckles on his panelling that had been poorly covered up by a thin layer of paint. He had side mirrors that sometimes lost a screw and sat on an angle until my mum could be bothered paying someone to fix it and a tape player that regularly chewed up my cassettes (R.I.P Frente!).
Bullet’s windows would often get stuck, so you’d have to tap or bang the glass in a particular fashion while simultaneously winding the handle in order to get the window to start sliding up or down again.
Driving in him during summer was HOT. There was no air-conditioning, and the steering wheel or vinyl seats could burn a hole through your skin.
In winter it was the opposite, with cold air breath visible even inside the car and buckets of hot water regularly required to melt the frost or ice off the windshield so you could actually see and be able to start the drive to wherever you were going.
But perhaps the most memorable (for all the wrong reasons) was the fluorescent orange ‘Wheels’ sticker that got plastered across the front car window after a trip to the iconic tyre shop. This sent my teen self into a state of despair, with me desperately trying to scrape it off with a paint scraper before I had to go to school the next day (because how embarrassing!).
Bullet also broke down. He broke down on highways, in car parks, on local roads (pretty much everywhere) – he was by far a reliable car. Despite this, somehow, most of the time at least, he got us to school, to work, took us on holidays and even helped me learn to drive.
Like me, many others of my generation have these ‘bombs of yesteryear’, those personality-filled, potential death trap cars that had their own unique character, something which today is almost a rarity (even if it is for roadworthy and safety reasons).
Now as I look on at ‘Origami’ my brand-new SUV with heated seats and steering wheel, a sunroof and cameras anywhere a camera can be, while I do appreciate the comfort and safety it provides (because how can you not), I also do feel a little despondent that the Bullets and other bombs of yesteryear, will no longer be a part of family’s lives. Because, come on, how can you grow up without learning how to push start a car? Or how to turn a key in the ignition just right, so it actually starts?
Keyword: A tribute to Bullet, my Datsun and all the other bombs of yesteryear