Growing up in Leyland, Lancashire, a foreign car was an exotic beast. Indeed, such was the local domination of the mighty BL empire, even Fords were thin on the ground. In the 1970s, running a car was a big expense for normal working families.
All of which pretty much ruled out weird stuff such as Citroens and Renaults, which were regarded as far too odd and potentially expensive for ease of ownership. It was bad enough if the suspension collapsed on your Allegro. If the same thing had happened to a Citroen GS, the local garage mechanics would have run mile.
So while more urbane colleagues may have been shuttled to school and on family camping trips in angular French metal, the only local French car I can remember was the art teacher’s 2CV and the local posh family who had an incredibly exotic Renault 17 coupe.
However, on the other side of the Irish sea, my grandfather had a Renault 4 which he used as a carry all on his small farm. On one of my few trips there I remember him using the R4 to tow a trailer of pigs to the local market.