Story inspired by an unknown photograph.
He had loved it for as long as he could remember, that piece of his childhood, his pride and joy. That green VW Camper Van, which had been practically a member of the family since he was five.
He remembered the day his dad had brought it home, so long ago now, but still so vivid in his mind. How excited his father had been, as he chattered about all the family holidays and fishing trips they would take together in that van!
And they had. As he thought back over all the memories he had attached to that van, his mother falling in the lake on their camping trip to Scotland when he was eight or hiding under the van and getting stuck during a game of hide and seek when he was seven. It seemed odd to him to have such strong attachments to a hunk of metal.
But to him it was so much more, it had a soul, and shared every single memory, every bit of happiness and sadness with him.
He thought back to when he was 21, on his graduation day, when all thought of his new degree vanished from his mind, as his father had given him those keys, and told him the van was his to keep!
All the money he had spent on it over the years to keep it running. The time it broke down on the A1, and he had had to spend over £400 to fix the engine and the carburettor, but it had been worth it, for just four months later that van, with ribbon tied to its wing-mirrors, had driven him to a church, where he married the woman he loved.
And now he stood in a scrapyard, thirty years after he had seen that van for the first time, about to see it for the last. And as he said goodbye, he silently mourned for all the camping trips that his son wouldn't take. In that old, green, VW Camper Van.