The war had come to an end, so at the time of this anecdote I would have been about nine. My father had bought a car, a Lanchester Ten, just before the war ended and in due course had decided to join the Royal Automobile Club. I remember quite clearly that he received a visit from an R.A.C. representative who was driving an early 1930s Morris Minor van. Those in the know will realise that this was a small square vehicle, akin to an Austin Seven and not to be confused with the 1950s model of the same name.
At some point after witnessing this meeting I had a dream. In this dream I was standing at the side of the road in which we lived, at a point about 250 yards distant from our own front path. Once again, for the benefit of those in the know, this was outside the Blackmore abode. As I stood there, I saw an R.A.C. patrolman on a motorcycle and sidecar, turn in at the top of the hill, from the direction of St. Mary Cray. He pulled up beside me and asked, “Does Mr Marchant live up here?” I will not pretend that I know if and how I replied. What I do know, without a shadow of doubt, is that at some point in the days following, this very thing took place. I was standing in the very spot, when I saw the R.A.C. man turn in from the same direction I had dreamed. He stopped beside me, as I knew he would and asked, “Does Mr Marchant live up here?” I must have answered in the affirmative, because he went off in the right direction! I have no doubt a number of people reading this will be sceptical and understandably so. I can only tell you, it happened!