Darwin and Evolution*

My father was something of a dreadful driver. A late starter with cars, (as a father of six there was no money spare for lessons and he had to wait until his late forties - and divorce - to take them), he became famous for the dreadfulness of his driving skills. 

Like the time he had to take me to Leicester General for daily blood pressure checks when I was heavily pregnant with my son (I didn't have pre-eclampsia beforehand, I swear, but I most definitely did after those journeys).

Like the Mexican stand-offs he had in the terraced streets around the school when he picked my children up at home time.

Like the time he backed off his driveway straight into a parked car opposite, or the deep, raw gouges ripped into the side of his little Vauxhall from going in and out of the garage, or the growing list of near-miss accidents which were never his fault.

My stepmother’s insistence on shouting ‘oh my God!’ from her front-seat-driver viewpoint caused many a marital disagreement, and when in his 80s Dad sped out of his driveway clipping a passing car he’d not noticed, my brother secretly informed the police he was a danger and his days as a driver came to an end.

I still remember the sound of his heavy-footedness struggling unsuccessfully to tease the biting point. And I remembered it most strongly last Tuesday, as I drove the daughter’s new little motor off the garage forecourt, the young mechanic waving us into the traffic frowning in disbelief.

Alison M

*Written from the prompt 'what've you been up to this week?' as well as the day of writing it being the anniversary of Darwin's death.

Charles Darwin.
Image in the public domain and sourced from the website of the National Archives here.