The Journey Home
We were driving home from our one-week holiday by the sea, I was 15 my friend was 17. We had used up all the money and we were wondering if there was enough petrol to get us home.
If we could get to this petrol station where his firm had an account, then we could fill up, pay later, and everything would be OK.
We drove down the motorway, a long way from home, both of us glancing at the petrol gauge every once in while, checking to see when it would go under the red. It was a nerve-racking experience, so we decided to stop at the next motorway café, to have a think about it.
As we walked towards the entrance something on the ground caught my attention, I went over to see what it was, it was a Scottish one-pound note! I picked it up and put it in my pocket, thank you, I thought, we used their toilets, bought a pounds worth of petrol, and we were on our way again.
We drove for about an hour, the petrol gauge was now under the red mark, but we were close now, a mile or two to the petrol station. We drove through the suburbs nearing our target, then cough and splutter the car ran out of petrol.
The car rolled on silently, down hill, we turned left and right and left for what seemed to be a couple of minutes, “there’s the station”, my mate exclaimed, and he steered the car right to the petrol pump he used, and without using the brakes, the car stopped, we both got out amazed to see that the car was perfectly placed. We filled up and drove home.
Some of my relatives were Scottish, all dead now, I have never met them. If it was one of those, then I’m thankful that they watch out for me, you don’t see many Scottish pound notes in Birmingham.
But what is truly incredible is the pound worth of petrol, plus the petrol already in the tank, the cars petrol usage, the distance involved, the rolling down the hill stopping precisely outside the pump.
The calculations involved are astronomical, think about it.