The Polo first arrived on our driveway in January 2011 as the ultimate panic buy after a particularly frosty winter had taken its toll on Mum’s sky blue Peugeot. She’d been driving along one day to suddenly feel the clutch pedal flapping lifelessly under her foot, as the cable connecting it to the engine had frozen in the cold and then snapped alarmingly.
Mum and my sister were having a coffee in Starbucks when the garage phoned with news. “So, how’s the car looking?” asked Mum cheerfully. A long time passed as she sat with the phone pressed tensely against her ear, occasionally muttering “hmm…right…ok….” Fellow latte drinkers at other tables began to smirk and exchange glances, inferring that the situation for our car was not looking good. Eventually, the call ended. Mum explained to Freya, and the rest of Starbucks, that the Peugeot was in such bad shape, the mechanic regretfully wouldn’t let us drive it out of his workshop.
This news amused Starbucks greatly, but in the House of Sluijs, panic set in. Two adorable daughters needed taxiing between schools and my father was as reluctant to share his BMW Estate as my Mum was to drive it. Desperate for a solution, they hurried down to the local second-hand showroom. Eyeing a solitary silver VW Polo, they decided that though it seemed a dull and unimaginative choice, this would ultimately do the job just fine.
Though pleased with her choice, my mother was somewhat vocal in her disappointment not to own a blue car again. This was initially dismissed by the family as merely aesthetic preference. However, Mum’s concern was proved to be justified as she continually lost the Polo in various car parks of the home counties. Sensing that another ‘panic buy’ was needed, my father bought her a large flower sticker and pasted it above the petrol cap. And thus, Lily was christened.
Lily became part of the family. We chased the school bus and hurried to exams, sleepovers and parties. She drove my sister to our first jobs and subsequently our first flats. I failed my first driving test from behind the wheel and developed a lifelong hatred of the Aylesbury town centre.
In June 2018, I returned home from university at the same time that my sister purchased a new car. Subsequently, the Polo became mine, and I was surprised to find it meant more to me than I had ever expected from a car. I’d returned to my small, rural hometown to live with my parents after struggling to find a job. Having spent five years commuting between England and Scotland, interspersed with spells of living in Europe, a world that had previously seemed huge and exciting suddenly felt very small.
Soon, I took a job working for the family business in the next town. In this new, quieter way of life that I had reluctantly settled for, the Polo was quite simply my independence. Every morning, the car became a bubble of popular culture as Radio 1 blared through the stereo. In evening drives down country lanes, I dodged potholes and swerved pheasants en route to visit friends for late night catch ups. Thanks to the car’s ancient CD player, one of my hobbies became popping into charity shops to see what teenage nostalgia I could invest in for future journeys.
My favourite drive of all time was on Christmas Day of 2019. I had spent the night before enjoying a homecooked dinner with friends in St Albans and set off early the next morning to open presents with family. The sun sat low on the horizon and the blissfully empty motorway was lit by a warm orange glow. Little Mix chattered excitedly over the radio and I bobbed my head along to their song choices, feeling a rare of moment of peace with our hectic, unpredictable world.
Unfortunately, Lily’s time came to an end in 2020. She had developed a strange fault of refusing to start in hot weather, causing to a cacophony of delayed plans, missed trains and frantic phone calls. Having reached a stage where I was taking my work laptop home each evening in case of car drama the next day, it was time for a change.
And so, Lily, the time comes to say farewell. You touched all the lives of the van der Sluijs family in one way or another. I’d like to say you left your mark on us but, given the scrapes and bumps you’ve suffered at our hands over the years, it’s truthfully the other way around. Knowing your capacity to stall at the slightest clumsy gear change, it’s fair to say that you did not suffer fools gladly. However, you were always there to be called on in times of crisis which, over your many years of service in our household, were many. You were agile, nimble and, given your inevitable involvement in the VW emissions scandal, gave out far more than you received. I wish you well at your final resting place, We Buy Any Car in Hemel Hempstead.
Farewell, four-wheeled friend.
