In 1972 my father, Doug Marrington, decided to go on a series of driving holidays ostensibly to visit his distributors. They chose to go in the school holidays so that I could be part of the adventure. Truthfully, at 14, I was too young to leave at home. My paternal grandmother, Emma, was also invited. My grandfather, Stan, had died about four years before. Grandma must have shown an interest in keeping a travel diary because he bought one for her. She kept it for all our trips together in the seventies. While I don’t remember her writing in it, she must have done so every day.

Paul Marrington