OUR VW

My mother evidently took this photo. You see my father, my two elder brothers and me. I have a little flower in my hand. Was I not always picking flowers? That's what my parents told me. And a huge bow in my hair.
Our journey went through Belgium, France, Switzerland and even as far as Rome in Italy.
My parents slept in a little army tent and the three of us children slept in the car. Me as the youngest in the little boot. There were no campings at that time. We simply stood in a meadow, fetched water at a farm.
Even washed ourselves in a fountain somewhere in a village, and in one of the many fountains  of Rome for that matter..  This trip had an enormous impact on me: seeing for the first time mountains, lakes, ancient cities and the like.
My father had not be happy, travelling with three kids did annoy him. After two long journeys he decided to take only my brothers with him.
My mother, who had left a baby (my little sister seven years younger than me) in the care of her sister, did not object. She did not like to travel, at that time not, and later even less.
After six or seven years I objected to be left out of these journeys, told my parents that I felt left out. They understood this and took me with them on the Jawa motorcycle they owned then, on a tour through Germany.

My haiku:

My brothers could climb
I could not, but my strong Dad
Took my hand and led.

And the proverb:

Ye drive a snail to Rome.

1641  Fergusson,  112