Bonzer Words!: Driving Lessons
Shirley Henwood tells of a bold letter from her driving instructor.
When I was about 18 years old, my mother decided that if I could drive, this would solve the problem of my father never being able to take us to beaches, or wherever she decided we should go, when he went to bowls. No matter what promises he made—for instance I'll only bowl one Sunday out of four, these inevitably petered out. There was no incentive for him to not go to bowls, no matter what rows this provoked. He didn't like beaches. Nor, looking back, did he particularly enjoy being with his family.
My father decided he would teach me initially, followed by a few lessons by a qualified driving instructor. He had bought a navy-blue Ford Prefect by this stage in our lives. I was not keen, but I learned by fits and starts, despite his yelling, and me shaking in my shoes, to be able to drive the car along the road, do a three-point turn, back, and drive along the main road.
Fortunately, in those days there was very little traffic on the roads. If a car came towards me, going in the opposite direction, I held my breath, gripped the wheel hard, until it was past. As for overtaking another car, I was not confident enough to do this. My father's efforts on my behalf came to a screaming halt the day I took a corner too fast, on the two side wheels, narrowly avoiding tipping the car over. He screamed at me to stop. 'Get out of the bloody car, you bloody idiot.' He took over, and the next day I was booked in for 10 lessons at Leighton's Driving School in Auckland City, one of the well-known driving schools at that time.
My instructor was Phil Silich, who was small, smoked, balding, older, and everything I definitely didn't like in a man. But whatever, I fell madly in love, (or perhaps it was just infatuation). He taught me to drive somehow with me worshipping him, and flirting madly with him, while he did so. He took me out in his little red Austin Healey. We'd park at the top of a hill overlooking the Auckland Harbour. One night, a car stopped beside us. 'Can you do it with glasses, Phil?' came this voice, amid much laughter. I was highly embarrassed, as my glasses had always been the bane of my life, but I was blind without them. I wasn't the sort of girl who "did it" anyway. I'd never even thought beyond kissing.
My mother was full of misgivings at my going out with him, and she said to him the first time we went out, 'You'll look after her, won't you?'
'Don't worry, she's safe with me,' he said. This seemed to satisfy her.
Once I had my licence, he didn't turn up for our next date. I was devastated.
The next day a letter came from him.
Dear Shirley,
I'm sorry, but kisses are not enough for me. If you are prepared to come away with me for a week's holiday, drop me a line at work. I will show you a good time.
All the best. Phil
I was horrified, and showed this letter to my mother, who forbade me to have anything to do with him again. 'To think he promised to look after you,' she said. 'You could have been murdered.'
Well, I wasn't worried about being murdered, but I was disappointed that my big romance was at an end.
But I don't regret the experience. It stood me in good stead for future encounters.
© Shirley Henwood
