My First Car - Ann Southwood
March 2011
The first car I ever sat in was a huge Humber Hawk. I was about 8 at the time and sometimes my friend Pat and I played with a girl whose father was a butcher and one day I think he got so fed up with us trailing in and out of his house that he told us to go and play in his car. I felt that we had been swallowed into the lap of luxury and remember thinking that all butchers must be rich and we were reluctant to get out of the comfort this car afforded.
BSA, Triumph, Norton - these were the names I knew growing up as we were a motorbike and sidecar family. In fact there were probably more motorbikes in our street than cars. Many a weekend the dining room carpet was rolled up, newspaper laid in its place as dismembered bike parts were carried through to be tinkered with, cleaned and polished before being reverently carried back out to make it whole again. A tub of Swarfega was a permanent fixture on the kitchen windowsill.
We had fun days out though and the highlight of the year was our trip to Southend to see the lights. The Southend Arterial, we know now of course as the Al27, seemed to go on forever and the excitement built up as we finally approached the seafront via the crowded High Street. Once parked we joined the throngs of people wandering about. Never Never land was a magical place although quite frightening in the dark corners. Then we strolled along the prom eating our fish and chips wrapped in steaming newspaper, vinegar dripping through our fingers but the smell and taste is something that I've never forgotten.
The first car I ever drove was an MGA. My boyfriend then was very brave to let me have a go as he was very proud of his gleaming red speed machine. As soon as I sat behind the wheel and was instructed what to do I felt I belonged and knew I had to have lessons, although at the time I had no aspirations or hopes of ever owning my own car.
So I had my first lesson on the 26th November l962 at the cost of £l-2-6d. Three more followed and I was due to take the dreaded test in February, but the winter of 1963 was a bad one with snow that seemed to last forever so had no more lessons until 30th April and the test had been delayed until 25th May. The test cost £2-2-0d which I passed. Although I thought I would fail at the last minute as I had pulled up beside a large tree on the front passenger side preventing the tester from getting out. Or perhaps he thought he had to pass me otherwise I might have kept him prisoner until he succumbed.
My first car was a l937 Austin 7. It was mid blue and beautiful with lots of chrome to keep polished. I was so proud of it even though it was hard work sometimes having to crank it up with the handle to get it to start. I remember approaching the first roundabout with trepidation closing my eyes and praying nothing would hit me, but once I had got round, it was a piece of cake and knew I could go anywhere, and I did.
I had friends in Kent and had been invited to stay the weekend so off I went heading for the Blackwall Tunnel. It was a lovely hot day and driving along the Mile End Road thought I must have been at the tail end of a carnival procession as there were whistles, people waving and calling out, but it was only market day and it seemed like the car was a novelty so I responded with waves and a toot on the horn. Great fun.
Then there was the time I had been invited to dinner by a boyfriend I had met in the offices of P&O where I worked. He was due to join his ship on his first voyage as a purser. The ship was the Oriana and it was docked at Tilbury. To get to Tilbury it was easier for me to go cross country. I had a lovely evening but then it was time to go. About 5 or 6 miles from home along a dark narrow winding road with shadowy hedges on either side, no street lamps in the country, the car started to weave about and seemed out of control. I wasn't sure if it was due to the amount of wine I had drunk at dinner or something more sinister. So rather than stop in case it wouldn't start again and because I was a little bit frightened I peered out of the window and could just make out the offside rear wheel had a puncture. So I just continued on, wobbling all over the road. It was past midnight with no garages open and no other traffic about (thank goodness) and eventually got home deciding to leave it until the morning to survey the damage.
Besides there was smoke coming from the remains of the shredded tyre. It seemed the rim of the wheel was ok but did I get told off when the wheel was mended!
It was funny how most men used to refer to their cars as females with comments like 'she's a good little runner' or 'she does a good 30 miles to the gallon' and other similar phrases. My car was male mainly because the index was CYD 398 so he became Sid to me. He was temperamental, good fun at times and never listened to a thing I said. I don't think sexism had been invented then.
My mother wanted to visit a friend so off we went. We had nearly got to the top of quite a steep hill when Sid just stopped for no apparent reason, perhaps the strain was too much, poor thing. So my mother got out, I got out and we started to push it, hoping to reach the top to get on to level ground.
Trying to push and steer at the same time was quite a feat but we made it. There was a cricket match going on in a field next to the road and the game came to a halt as the fielders came to view the sight, calling out advice - I think that's what they were doing, then a very nice gentleman stopped to help and we got Sid going again with great relief and many thanks.
One day I had gone for a drive and took a turning down a narrow country lane which became more rutted and bumpy the further along I went, when the keys fell out of the ignition. What shall I do? Shall I stop, keep going; will the car keep going without the key? I had no idea so eventually slowed down, scrabbled on the floor for the key and shoved it back in and, hey presto, it carried on.
After a couple of months of having the car I realised the indicators had stopped working, mainly because I kept getting hooted at or shouted at when turning into a side road. No-one seemed to know how to get them going again so I had to revert to hand signals. This meant driving with the window open come rain or shine. Right arm straight out when turning right, right hand with a paddle motion when turning left and an even more furious paddling motion when the car or cyclist behind felt the need to overtake me.
One day I noticed water was leaking from the radiator so sought advice from a local garage. They had never come across a car like Sid and said they couldn't repair it. Couldn't or wouldn't - I didn't hang around to find out.
Then a friend suggested putting mustard in the radiator. Mustard? Yes, the powder variety, which would solidify and block the hole. So with great scepticism I emptied a tin of Colemans into it and lo and behold it did the trick.
I loved my Sid, but the day came when it had to go and the tears fell as it was driven away. I hope the new owner had as much fun as I had with it.