On my first date with my husband Dan, he picked me up from my parent's house (no, I wasn't 16 and never been kissed, but a 29-year-old with a child and a failed marriage) in a plump, shiny, turquoise Rover Coupe 69 with a Webasto sunroof. The heavy doors swung open and I sunk into the generous blond leather seats. The engine throbbed as he had to lean over and help me put on the old- fashioned seatbelt whose design I had never seen before. By the time he dropped me home that night I was smitten by the big, generous man and his big fat car.
A couple of weeks after that, my sister looked after my son and we went away together on a walking holiday in the Brecon Beacons - except that we didn't do any walking. Instead we sat in the comfortable interior of the Rover and looked at the hills and the rain and talked, ate sweets that we had bought from the service stations along the M4 (in a classic car you have to stop and fill up frequently) and er, consummated our relationship. It was the best weekend away I had ever had.
That was seven years ago. We got married, bought a house and had another child. We have a sensible family car that we use for everyday purposes. The Rover is still used for important motoring experiences - for trips away or to make an entrance at a wedding or a party. 0ur children love it and when we all went on holiday to Italy there was none of the usual claustrophobia, car-sickness or "How long until we get there?" nagging. They are proud of the admiring stares the Rover gets as it hums majestically along the road and it makes going on long trips an expensive but pleasurable experience.
A couple of weeks ago Dan suddenly announced that he was going to put it up for sale. My son burst into tears and my husband explained that the car needed some work on it that he didn't have the time or money to carry out and that it made him feel guilty that we don't use it enough. He wanted to sell it to someone who would give it all the attention it deserved. A single man, perhaps, like he had been 10 years before when he bought it off his next door neighbour.
I have never been able to bring myself to nag Dan about the Rover. While my sister insisted that her partner got rid of his old 70s gangster Jaguar because it seemed a luxury and could never be a practical family car, I knew that the Rover was part of the deal when we got together. He has always told me that it is worth a fortune and that we could sell it if we needed money. I nodded, thinking he was part of the Eddie Grundy school of finance, but basically ignored him because I knew that it was an asset that could never be realised. There is just too much personal history and emotion attached to his beautiful old banger.
If he has to sell it I worry about the effect on his psyche. I can't help wondering if part of his personality will go along with the sale of the car, if his largess and spontaneity will just shrivel up and disappear. The Rover is like his signature. His friends say things like "Saw you were in Kentish Town today" because they know it is him in that curvy blue car.
I may associate the Rover with our courtship but he has other important memories that were before my time. In Marseilles some gangsters started shooting from a speeding car at the garage owner who was selling Dan a new tyre and they both found refuge on the cosily carpeted floor of the Rover. A river bursts its banks in Dorset and the strength of the engine stopped him being swept away by the water and he simply drove through the deluge. These are the times the Rover saved his life but the most important memory of good times in the Rover is when Dan drove his late father through France.
He had never allowed Dan to drive him before - in fact he had never really allowed anyone to drive him before and Dan felt that it was not only a sign that he regarded Dan as a man at last but that he trusted and admired the reliability and comfort of the Rover. I suppose Dan must have driven other women in it too but I can't bear to think about anyone else testing just how far the passenger seat can tip backwards, thank you very much.
Car owners are perfectly capable of having strong emotions about cars that do not have the obvious appeal of a classic like Dan's Rover, which has the ability to inspire feelings of nostalgia even from those born long after it was made. Adam Richards, 25, owns a Peugeot 309 that most people would have great difficulty mustering up any sentimental attachment for.
"I know that she looks totally ordinary but this used to be my family car. My parents gave me it a couple of years ago. It has probably hindered rather then helped my love life and yet I have such good memories of going on family trips with my parents and my sister. It would seem immensely disloyal to my parents who saved up to buy it and kept it going in such good condition to ever sell it. It would mean nothing to someone else but for me it has come to symbolise the later part of my childhood."
Gemma and David Ackerman feel that they will never be able to sell the BMW 5 series that they bought in the late 80s even though they don't feel it reflects the kind of people they are now. "We both worked in the financial sector when we met but now I am a teacher and David retrained as a doctor. We don't really like anything about the car except the fact that my waters broke all over the back seats when I was in labour with my first son Joseph. Because of that the car must belong to us and we belong to the car. It has transcended its function as a motor vehicle and because of this one little incident has become a deeply personal object."
So is it ever worth selling a car whose price can hardly reflect its emotional value? "Yes," says Dan, who is selling the Rover for £1,200, "but only if you love the car enough to let it go. It is a car that makes things happen and owning it has been a real adventure. So much has happened in that car. Anyone who buys it will not only be buying a beautiful machine but a piece of motoring history. The closure of Longbridge makes it even more poignant. If I feel that the buyer understands all this then the pain of seeing it drive away for good will be made much easier." Is there anyone out there?
