How Not to get a Driving License!

Vintage MOT Car & Driver

I have been enjoying a column in the NZ Herald about some hilarious stories regarding getting a driving license and how things have changed over the years. Some folk sure had fun getting that wonderful recognition that you could drive in such a manner as to satisfy the Official who was testing you at the time. I am currently reading a book about a young English chap who became a POW in 1940 and remained a prisoner of the Germans for 5 long years. He was a truck driver and was captured trying to get to Dunkirk and he describes getting his license in Sussex in 1938. He said that the Policeman who took him for his test asked him to stop the car, while he got out and went around the back of the car. He climbed back in and asked the young fellow to drive off from a standing halt while they were on a steep hill. They only moved forward a few feet and he asked him to stop, while he got out again and went to the back. He repeated his command and as they drove away, the driver asked the Policeman if here was something wrong with the car or his driving. The Policeman said" No, I just wanted to make sure you hadn't gone backward over my matchbox that I had placed under your rear wheel. You did well!" That sounds like quite a tough test under the circumstances!

I remember when I got my 1st driving license at the age of 15 years. We lived at Mt Wellington a suburb of Auckland close to Otahuhu on a new housing estate. At that time it was like living in a rural area and there were acres and acres of empty paddocks around this new housing area, but we had new roads, a new primary school and a little shopping area. Unfortunately we had a long walk to the top of the road to the Highway to catch a bus into town and as I was working late on a Friday night it was quite a long trek home. I decided I needed a car!

My 36 Morris Sports

Dad had always owned large American cars and in fact during the War he often lent his car to American Marines who went for trips as far away as Frankton and Matamata. ( Apparently they called these places Franktonville and Mata-two-times) and they would bring the car back full of petrol and usually some other gifts, such as nylon stockings. He owned a large 1939 De Soto for many years. One of his NZ Railway Firemen, named Gary, had a 1936 Morris 8 Sports convertible for sale and Dad offered to lend me the money if I wanted it. We went over to Glen Innes where Gary lived and as soon as I saw this little beauty I fell in love with it. Gary had been a panel beater and he had rebuilt the Morris in the style of an MG Sports, with a red canvas convertible roof, Hub caps that covered the original wire wheels and Chrome headlights off a Vauxhall car. It looked fantastic! But I didn't have a license!

 It was agreed that I would get a license within two weeks and we would settle the deal then, after we had paid a deposit. My mate John had a 1936 Ford V8 Saloon and he showed me the ropes and my Brother Denis had a two tone, twin aerials, 1938 Chevy Coupe (with original body by Fisher of Canada) This was a beautiful car and the boot was almost big enough to fit the Morris 8 in! Denis gave me heaps of his time learning to drive this car and we decided I was proficient enough to make a booking for the license.  John offered to drive me down as he wanted to get a motorbike license at the same time, so away we went.

Our 1938 Chev Coupe'

In those days it was the Local Council who supervised and once we arrived at the Council buildings we met a very large MOT Traffic cop who got into the passenger seat. Well, to cut a long story short, as soon as I started off I forgot the parking area was not sealed and as I dropped the clutch and accelerated away, we had a wheel spin that any modern boy racer would be proud of! Man those American cars were powerful! The cop glowered at me, but said nothing and after we drove around some local streets, stopping and starting on command we arrived back at the Council. "You can come back next week after more practice" he said. Needless to say I was crestfallen but resigned to the fact that I would have to wait a bit longer.

36 Ford V8

John sat his test for his bike license and I sat next to him while he did his Oral test. (he had already done his bike test) The Cop asked him "How far away from a fire hydrant must you park?" John looked at me as if I should answer on his behalf. " Six Feet" he said. The Cop said nothing. "Three Feet?" he said, still nothing, "Two feet?" The Cop said " You can come back with your mate when you have sorted the right answer" I didn't feel quite so bad after all!

(Actually later that week Dad and I went and bought the Morris 8 Sports and I drove that car down the following week for the test and passed with flying colours, I didn't mention to anyone that I drove myself down, I will probably get arrested now!)

My love affair with my Morris 8 began and I had many happy miles driving this little beauty. (More on this Later)

I spent every Saturday washing and polishing the car and polishing the red hood with Neatsfoot oil, so that it glistened and I loved driving to the beach in Summer as I could lower the roof and let the wind blow my hair. It was neat fun!

John also received his motorbike license, so between us we were finally organised for any eventuality, or so we thought, but we didn't count on coming unstuck after a trip to the "Ming Rose Restaurant" for a couple of hamburgers and chips, but that's another story!