I do have an abiding memory of a Beetle (none of this adds any value to your requirement John); when stationed in the massive British Army garrison at Rheindahlen near Moenchengladbach in around '78, I was employed in the NATO Army Group HQ. The camp then was wide open as the IRA hadn’t started killing too many of us back then, so there were several German roads running through the camp. There was a collection of German banks, bars and other shops located in what was known as Camp Centre. One hungover Saturday morning I and a few equally stricken friends were bimbling around said Centre. We were waiting to cross the road and for the lights to change when a beige VW Beetle cabriolet - top down - pulled up at the same crossing. It was populated by 2 of the most beautiful German girls I had ever set my piggy little eyes on. Both brunettes, well-made up, happy and smiling at the bedraggled specimens waiting at the crossing. I sometimes wonder if it wasn’t akin to visiting a Zoo from the German perspective - on the lines of “Let’s go and look at the British soldiers then go for a coffee” sort of thing.
I just gawped; 2 stunning young women, fashionable and just so, apparently, sophisticated . And there we were: 3 of us, clad in scruffy jeans, a miscellany of rugby shirts, sweatshirts and trainers, unshaven, red-rimmed eyes, breath that would strip paint, impressing absolutely no-one.
I resolved there and then to up my game, sartorially improve, learn German and bag myself a sophisticated German girlfriend, ideally owning a cabriolet Beetle; of course, I never did. We were pushed to form relationships with the British military girls on camp, let alone venture into the big world beyond the garrison. I just reverted to the truculent alcoholic beasts that we were (nothing unique there amongst any young soldiers I should think): we couldn’t get the women so we drank, and they wanted nothing to do with us because we drank.
Amongst the memories accumulated from my 45 years of service, that Spring morning back in ’78 has stuck with me – not least in emphasising the inherent personal and social failures; the sight of a cabriolet Beetle these days could almost reduce me to tears. (Sigh).
Sorry John – ‘told you this wouldn’t help(!)