March 2011
There it was, my very first car, a gleaming black Morris Minor. It was a 1958 model with 'semaphore' indicators still attached, but not working as they had been replaced by flashing ones. And, no, it didn't have a split screen, but it did have four doors, a luxury for my first car.
This time last year I was beginning to think that I'd never own any car or even pass my test.
To go back slightly further, when I was nineteen and becoming slightly more financially solvent, as it were, I decided that now was the time to start taking driving lessons and eventually buy a second hand car.
Apart from the natural wish of a young man to own a car, there was a further incentive; my best friend, Mike, whom I'd known since the age of nine and who had eventually followed me into my first job, had a father who ran a business selling home-made soft drinks and cleaning products. Mike seemed to think that in time he would take over the business and I would come in with him. Of course I would need a car, preferably an estate, but this was of course some time in the future.
Mike started taking driving lessons before me as it turned out. I certainly couldn't afford them yet as I had moved recently, with my family, from Ilford to Southend and my season ticket to London had doubled, so it took a while before I could afford luxuries like drivers lessons.
Eventually I started driving with a school which offered a package deal where they would not only give you the standard practical lessons, but also 'throw in' some theory lessons. This was, of course, many years before the driving test included a theory test.
The lessons seemed to go ok; some of my fellow classmates would actually be passengers, as we took it in turn driving and I don't think I was any worse than the others. However, once the course was over, and we all had separate lessons before eventually taking our tests, things didn't go so smoothly.
In retrospect I think I was taken for a mug, as every little mistake I made was exaggerated and I was told that yet again I wasn't ready for the test.
Enough was enough, I decided, and so I told my instructor that I couldn't afford any more lessons for the time being. In hindsight I should have told him that the reason they didn't recommend me for the test was because that would kill the goose that laid the golden egg. So long as they could keep on getting me to have these endless additional lessons, which I am convinced weren't necessary, they were quids in. Once I passed my test, this source of easy money was gone.
So it was that after a month's gap to replenish financial resources, I went to a school my friend recommended and after just a few lessons I took my test and passed first time. Funnily enough, I saw my previous instructor at the Test Centre, but unfortunately he wasn't there at the end, when I told my new one that I had passed.
It was to be several months before I could afford a suitable car, but eventually a relative told me his employer had a Morris Minor for sale, not an estate, but a saloon. Still, the job with my best friend seemed less likely and less desirable than it did a year ago. He was still in Ilford and I was now in Southend and in a secure job. Also he and I were drifting apart and I'd found new friends locally.
The price of this car seemed unbelievable too - £50 for a 1962 model, but I should have known better, with this particular relation. It was £75 for a '58 model.' Still, it was in good condition and at least the previous owner was in easy access, as it were, if there were any comebacks.
Incidentally, my best pal, Mike, had told me some time back that he had passed his test and was, like me, saving for a car. However, when I rang his house a few months later, he wasn't in but his mother told me that he was having a driving lesson! I think he'd been a little economical with the truth there.
Anyway, here was I with my new, well, not really new, first car and once I'd run it in and got used to driving solo, I thought it would be a good idea to take my two new mates on a trip to Clacton. All went well going there and I vaguely remember we had a good day in Clacton, but on the journey home the water in the radiator boiled over. Not a good omen, I thought, my first long distance journey and the car let me down! However, I can't remember it failing me again, so on the whole I still regard my first car with affection and probably always will.