The Final Drive: Saying Goodbye to Dad’s Car After 20 Years

After a successful senior management career that came with a series of Jaguars and Daimler executive saloons, on his retirement my father decided to downsize his car. He opted for a British-built Honda Accord.

Ten years into his retirement, he upgraded to another Honda Accord. He selected the same interior and exterior colours and retained his personalised number plate, so no one outside the family knew or even noticed his upgrade.

Now, after twenty years and an average of just under 5,000 miles a year, the time has come to say goodbye to this faithful motoring friend — and to a life as a driver.

Selling a car is rarely just a transaction. When that car has been part of family life for twenty years, the process becomes something far more personal.

To make this momentous event a little more special, we agreed to enter the car into an auction at Mathewsons in Pickering, North Yorkshire — the car auctioneers made famous by the Bangers and Cash TV series.

After submitting a few details and photographs through the Mathewsons website, we received an email saying they would be happy to include the car in their next auction. Dad’s low-mileage Honda Accord will now appear as Lot 300 in the September auction.

The sale marks the end of one chapter, but the beginning of another.

The decision to sell was shaped by practicality and comfort. Dad has always been what you might call a gentleman driver — careful, conscientious and with an impeccable record. But after decades of confident driving, he has reached a point where long journeys and tight manoeuvres are no longer comfortable.

Rather than let the car sit unused, he chose to pass it on and use the proceeds to buy a mobility scooter, allowing him to retain his independence in a new way. It is a sensible decision, but that doesn’t make it any less poignant.

Preparing the Honda for sale became a family project.

On a bright morning, we gathered on the driveway armed with buckets, brushes, polish and a shared determination to make the car look its best. There was something quietly ceremonial about it: wiping down the metallic blue paintwork, buffing the blue-grey leather interior and rediscovering small details we had stopped noticing years ago.

Every sweep of a cloth seemed to bring back memories — retail therapy expeditions, seaside and moorland excursions, and late-night drives home from family gatherings.

By the time we finished, the car gleamed in the sunlight, ready for its next chapter.

Getting the car to Pickering required a little logistical creativity.

I arranged temporary insurance — a straightforward administrative process that allowed me to take the wheel.

Dad sat in the front passenger seat and took the opportunity to demonstrate that he may be more than comfortable in his future role as a back-seat driver.

But symbolically, this final journey in his car marked the shift from driver to traveller, a transition many people experience later in life.

Yorkshire made its own contribution to this special journey.

Leaving York behind, we crossed the North York Moors under clear blue skies, the landscape opening out into sweeping views of heather, stone walls and distant hills. It felt like a fitting final drive for a car that had spent so many miles with Dad behind the wheel, navigating Yorkshire’s roads.

In Pickering, I turned left when I should have turned right and ended up having to ask a local for directions. Demonstrating their pride in a local business, they would happily have chatted all day about Mathewsons.

Arriving at the Bangers and Cash yard is an experience.

I had expected to see Rolls-Royces, Bentleys and Jaguars — and they are certainly there — but what surprised me was the variety of everyday cars from decades past.

Old Fords, Vauxhalls, Rovers and Volvos sit alongside the grander marques, each with its own story. Many are the sort of cars you now only see on television in period dramas, reminders of family holidays, first jobs and early commutes.

It is a place where nostalgia hangs in the air as strongly as the passion for all things motoring.

The reception area is a modest corner of a Portakabin. There is nothing flash about this Yorkshire business. You speak to the staff through a small window and hand over the paperwork — in our case, a thick folder documenting two decades of careful maintenance.

In the background was one of the Mathewson brothers, familiar to me from the TV series.

Once everything was checked, I drove the car around to the back, where a cheery young chap was recording a video for the auction website. As a content creator myself, I knew now was the time to be quiet.

Watching the Honda roll forward for its final assessment was unexpectedly emotional.

Saying goodbye to a car can be every bit as emotional as buying your first one or receiving your first company car. But this wasn’t simply saying goodbye to a motor. It was also saying farewell to being a motorist — one of those milestones that quietly marks the passage of time.

Letting go of driving is never easy. For many people, a car represents freedom, capability and independence.

For Dad, recognising that it was time to adapt didn’t mean giving up his independence. It meant finding a different way to keep it.

There is pride, too, in passing on a well-loved vehicle to someone who will hopefully appreciate it. As Lot 300 takes its place in the September auction, I hope the Honda finds a new owner who sees not just a reliable car, but the care and history behind it.

And for us, the journey to Pickering — across the moors, under blue skies, with memories in every mile — will remain a fitting farewell.

Words – Michael Millward