Not mine, but my Grandmother's
Back in the 1950's, when my Dad was just a nipper, his Mum came off a wet corner in the foothills of the mountains and rolled her Austin 7 through a hedge. Her sister and brother-in-law came around the corner moments later and, despite the driving rain, leaped out and rushed over to the mangled car, terrified of what they might find. My great-aunt can't tell the story without shuddering; for years afterwards, whenever it rained her skin came up in welts.

By some miracle, neither my Gran nor the two kids were harmed but it did leave something of a conundrum as the other car was already full to capacity with various kids, luggage etc as they were all en route to the coast for a holiday. The decision was taken that the brother-in-law would ferry all the kids and bags the last hundred or so miles to the coast and the girls would hitch together - a much more sensible plan sixty years ago than it perhaps seems now.

Anyway, shaken but relieved to be alive, they sheltered under a tree until a kindly gent stopped by in his sporty saloon and offered them a ride. It was only after they got in that they noticed that, on top of his somewhat spirited attitude to driving, he only had one arm. My Gran, not being as prone to drama as her sister, still has a glint of genuine admiration in her eye when she tells you, "he drove clean through the twisty mountain roads with one arm out the window, one arm on the wheel, one on the gearstick and the other smoking a cigarette... all the same one arm..."
( pineapplecharm D d M Y, H:i, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 12:58, Reply)