Fiat 126p

The Fiat 126p appeared on the Polish market in 1973 and soon earned the nickname "Maluch" (meaning "Toddler" or "Tiny One"), due to its small size. Its width, not exceeding 1.5 m, and length of 3.05 m, comparable to the dimensions of the original English Mini, did not prevent thousands of Poles from fitting their entire 6-person family with luggage inside when they set off on holiday from work. In Poland, the production of the Maluch was handled by Fabryka Samochodów Małolitrażowych "Polmo" Bielsko-Biała in Bielsko-Biała and Tychy. The progenitor of the Polish People's Republic's icon was the Italian Fiat 500, which, although comparably iconic – and more graceful than the Maluch – could never take the place that our hero occupies in the cultural consciousness of Poles.

The Polish Fiat, whose peak popularity in Poland was in the 1980s, also found a group of users in Australia between 1989 and 1992, becoming the cheapest car on the smallest continent. Maluchs steadfastly accumulated mileage, also traversing Hungarian and even Cuban roads.

The drawing's author is Wrocław-based artist Paweł Grabowski.

There was nothing worse than traveling with my family in a Maluch on vacation to the sea from our home in southern Poland. I remember once before a holiday, my father was supposed to get a new car. Yes, he definitely succeeded! Do you know what he did?! He traded our old Maluch for a newer EL version, commonly known as the "Elegant".

Fiat 126P Elegant

I remember him pulling into our housing estate parking lot then and saying to me, "Son, look at this marvel of Italian technology! Nanoplex electric ignition that requires no adjustment! Reclining seats and a modernized dashboard!" My mom, my brother, and I were speechless, but dad was proud that he had kept his promise.

Since my father also liked to have a drink or two on holiday, his work buddy and his family always accompanied us – let's call them the Kowalskis. I hated them, and most of all – old Kowalski. I'll add that, in hindsight, I still don't like them. Old Kowalski's father, the chairman of one of the State Agricultural Farms, had a lot of money, so while we were crammed into our Maluch, they proudly stretched their legs in a Ford Escort imported from Germany. And it was like that every time! And when I hoped for a change of fate... the pattern was about to repeat itself again.

The Potato Stratagem

I decided, NO, NOT THIS TIME, and since I had a younger brother whom I really liked to impress back then, I came up with a plan. Before every trip, my parents would meet the Kowalskis in our parking lot in front of the block, after which my mother would invite them for a last coffee before embarking on an adventure on the open roads of post-PRL Poland. Since we lived on the fourth floor, they were gone for a while.

Taking advantage of their absence, I stuck a potato in the exhaust pipe of their Ford Escort. You don't have to be a mechanic to know that a car in such a situation has little chance of starting, and since my brother and I were playing "Three Musketeers", I made sure with my sword, which was a chestnut stick, that Kowalski wouldn't easily pull the potato out of the pipe. And that's exactly what happened.

When they returned from coffee, Kowalski proudly sat behind the wheel like a Cosa Nostra boss and tried to show off how his new ride started at the sight of the key, but... Once, twice, thrice... The engine sputtered and wouldn't start. After a moment, my father's disliked friend went upstairs to our place and dialed his brother-in-law, a mediocre mechanic. But a brother-in-law, being a brother-in-law – for a bottle of spirits, he'd always do everything in his power.

My parents, slightly embittered by the delayed holiday, came to an agreement with the Kowalskis that we would set off tomorrow morning, and they would catch up once they dealt with the problem concerning their car, which, as my father's friend assured, had to be "some trifle of a modern car." As it turned out – they didn't join us, and the not-so-knowledgeable brother-in-law sent the car to the scrapyard.

I remember my father saying to me on the way to the sea, "You see, son, there's nothing like a good old Maluch!"