Denise Mullen

Denise Mullen is a journalist, columnist, writer and entrepreneur.

CARAVAN CRAZY …. DOESN’T END WELL!

By Denise Mullen

Dredit: Karl Aage Isaksen / Shutterstock.com

The tale I’m sharing this month is one of marital harmony (not mine!) brought to the brink of disaster. We are going back some years to a simpler time. The tale was related to me by our friend Kev and it came from an elderly Irish couple he sort of adopted, we think it involved random attacks on their biscuit tin and tea caddy (when there were such things). The lady wife was from Northern Ireland and her man was from Southern Ireland. At the time they were in their 40s and had caught the caravanning bug.

In those days there was no internet, no mobile telephones. Caravans were the size of a hat box and could be easily towed by a Morris Minor (very old small car).

They had been trolley-bobbing around the mainland UK countryside, enraptured with their freedom and in love with the fact that wherever they went, their home was right behind them.

That Saturday they had already done a long stretch on the road and the wife, in the passenger seat, was starting to nod.

Her husband’s big, string-backed driving-gloved hands pulled their little rig into a lay by.

‘Why don’t you hop into the caravan and get your head down?’ he said.

Then, as now, it was illegal to tow a caravan with a passenger in it. But that wasn’t going to stop this hardy pair.

‘Good idea’ she chirruped before nipping through the caravan door to get into her nightie and hit the hay as it were.

Her husband carefully manoeuvred them back onto the A road and put in another fifty or so miles before having to attend to a call of nature in a handy bush. Caravans had zero sophisticated mod cons back in the day and also, with his Mrs asleep in there, he thought better of introducing a blast of cold night air to her nest.

Having sorted himself out he returned to the car, walking round the front of it to the offside to climb into the driving seat.

At the same time, his wife, who had woken with a question, nipped out of the caravan, the door to which was nearside, next to the curb, to speak to hubby in the car.

As she closed the caravan door, the car and the van rumbled off the pull in and onto the road.

She ran out into the road, waving and shouting, but to no avail.

It was 11.30pm. It was October. It was an unlit road. It was cold.

She was in her nightie and slippers.

By now she was running down the road (there was no pavement) that was bounded on each side by forest.

Around half an hour of freezing and shivering, she managed to wave down a motorbike. She breathlessly, and between chattering teeth, told the motorcyclist that she was on her holidays, she’d lost her husband and they needed to catch him quickly.

Her white knight, a local as it happened, urged her to ‘hop on’ and drove her directly to the local asylum, about two minutes away, where he pulled up the bike, took his passenger by the arm and knocked on the door.

While his be-nightied lady in distress began screaming, about her holidays and her husband abandoning her, her rescuer relayed to asylum staff the tale that he’d found ‘one of yours’ wandering on the road, hysterical and endangering herself and road traffic.

She was becoming more and more agitated. A restraint jacket was produced, slipped over her head and she was led away. Everything looked grim until a facility headcount revealed that everyone was present and correct - and in bed.

The jacket was removed, and the police were telephoned. An operation began where single male drivers towing a caravan were pulled over and questioned.

Her husband was quickly pulled over by a motorcycle officer.

‘Do you have anyone in the caravan, Sir?’ he was asked.

‘Absolutely not officer, that would be illegal, I would never do that, so I wouldn’t,’ came the emphatic answer.

‘Ah on you go then,’ came the officer’s reply.

The husband drove on.

Some miles later he was stopped again, this time by a patrol car.

‘Evening Sir. Do you have anyone in your caravan?’

‘No officer, I would never do that, it’s illegal.’

‘Yes, I know Sir, but someone who says she is your wife and was asleep in the back of your caravan is 30 miles back down the road in her night attire and slippers. Just in case that IS you, would you mind checking for me?’

Given the stress and the drama, it’s a credit to the old fashion ‘bobby’ that the couple were reunited without blood being spilt and sent on their way with a little telling off.