Prince Philip's accident

makes me grateful, yet again, that the Senior Cat gave up driving when he did.
The Senior Cat did not like driving. He clung to the wheel as if it was going to get away from him. 
He was of the generation when no practical test was involved. Right up until he ceased driving he had the legal right to drive heavy goods vehicles - something he had never done.
It was the same for my mother and indeed most people of their generation.  All of them had simply walked into their local police station, passed a simple written road rules test and then been handed a licence to drive.
Yes, it makes us shudder now but of course there were very few cars on the road eighty or so years ago. Cars did not go nearly as fast either.
The Senior Cat has of course driven thousands upon thousands of kilometres in his lifetime. When he taught in remote places the only way to get there was to drive or, at least at first, ride a motorbike. My parents had a motorbike and sidecar when they first married. My arrival was the cause of them buying a "baby Austin".  When my brother appeared on the scene they upgraded to a "Morris Minor".  These cars were second hand of course. There were no seat belts and no baby capsules, no airbags or roll bars.
Over the years there were more cars. Only one of them was ever new.  Most of them were station wagons or estate cars so that they could transport a family of six and as much equipment was needed. We went camping to the east coast and back in one of those with a roof rack holding the tent. 
In all those years the Senior Cat was only ever involved in one accident. He was stationary at a stop light  when a taxi ran into the back of the car. It was one of those rare instances when the other driver was entirely at fault. Very little damage was done.
But, when the time came the Senior Cat bought a gopher or scooter - call it what you will. He still had the car but rarely used it. By then the government was asking people to get an annual medical check up after 80. I remember the day the Senior Cat had an appointment. He was 84 about to turn 85. He loved riding his gopher and set sail on that. He was rather later than I expected coming home and I will admit feeling a little anxious but he arrived safely. 
He sat down at the table with a sigh and said, "The doctor said I could go on driving but I'm not happy about it. I went and handed my licence in." 
Of course he regretted it at times. He could no longer pack the car and go off to give a talk on late Victorian and early Edwardian entertainment. He had to stop attending meetings of the International Brotherhood of Magicians and other groups that met at night. 
In daylight hours he went long distances on his gopher/scooter. On one occasion he had a flat tyre but an access cab intended for wheelchair  users got him home. He wore one gopher into the ground and bought a second. I noticed though that he didn't travel quite so far. 
Eventually several people along a regular route for both of us stopped me and said, "We think you should know...."
I, very cautiously, mentioned something to him. He didn't want to give the gopher up. I could understand that.  Giving it up would make him completely dependent on others. He persisted for a bit. Our doctor arranged for half price taxi vouchers as he could no longer use public transport safely.
At about this time last year he was told he must not use the gopher again. He sighed and was very quiet for some days. I felt for him even as I felt relieved.
He's still frustrated at not having his own means of transport but he knows that he should have given up just a little sooner than he did, that he was lucky not to have had an accident - or caused one to happen.
I hope I know that too. I hope I'll know when it is no longer safe to pedal off independently on my trike. We all expect to be able to get out and about.