When I left school at the age of fifteen, I went to work at a local garage. There I learnt to serve petrol, to squirt grease into the various points on the underside of a car and how to get cold, filthy and thoroughly miserable. I also learnt how ignorant, selfish and despicable an employer could be!
Whilst I was there, British car manufacturers began to introduce their “post-war” models and I saw some of these abominations at first hand. Metal was paper-thin, engines had a very limited life expectancy, paintwork was of a matching quality with the metal. It barely covered and the chromium plating of trim parts peeled off like the skin of an onion! I remember that there was a product on the market which one could smear on the chrome to protect it. This was simply petroleum jelly with a colourant incorporated, which, when applied, turned the trim a pale green or red colour. That is, until the car went out on the road, when the sticky surface attracted dirt and dust! You were almost better off with rust!
A young van driver came into the garage one day and caught site of a brand new (1953) Vauxhall Wyvern. This was a new model, and this chap’s eyes lit up. “Cor! Look at that!” he said. “Ain’t that beautiful?” We, who had already had a chance of a close inspection, suggested he should run his hand round the edge of the wheelarch, to gauge the quality of the metal. He promptly followed this suggestion – and sliced his hand! He took the point!
I am sorry if my criticisms offend the “classic car” brigade, but I saw what happened to the vast majority of these vehicles. They rusted away within about 50,000 miles and in a handful of years. “They don’t make ’em like that anymore”. Just as well!
The breakdown vehicle at this garage was a 1926 Chevrolet 30cwt. A hand-powered hydraulic hoist had been fitted to this ancient machine to assist in recovery of stricken cars. I worked at this establishment for three years, during which time it saw the light of day on two occasions. Strange to say, I have come across it couple of times in recent years at transport shows. It is now dressed up as a greengrocer’s truck and probably looks smarter and shinier than when it came out of the factory. When I told the exhibitor that I knew his entry from the 1950s, he was very sceptical. I then went on to describe where it had belonged, and the use to which it had been put. He was quite pleased to agree that I had the right vehicle.
My “career” at this place was cut short by the government requiring my contribution to the armed forces. The law stipulated that my former employer was obliged to take me back at the end of my service. When I told my workmates that I would not be coming back, they were all in agreement that this was nonsense and that they would see me in two years time! They clearly did not appreciate the loathing I had for both the job and the employer!
In May 1954 I began two years military service, which I have dealt with fully elsewhere. However, as this section is intended to deal with my life on wheels I shall make a brief mention of the vehicles with which I came into contact in those two years.
Elizabeth Barracks, main gate. The examiner told me I should always stop here when driving into camp.
On arrival in Germany I learnt that I was to be trained as a combat driver, i.e. driving across rough off-road terrain. I had not passed a driving test, but I was quite at home behind the wheel. I was taken with others to the garages, where I saw a very impressive-looking truck, which, I was told was a Humber 1-tonner. We went round to the sports ground and each had a chance to show what skills we had. I found this a very easy and comfortable vehicle to handle and made a good impression on the corporal who was assessing us. I was attached to the last three days of a six week driving cadre where I was taught on a Bedford QL 3-tonner. I then took a driving test on an Austin 1-tonner, which I had never driven before and which had the most unforgiving of “crash” gearboxes. In spite of this I passed my test on August 28th 1954 and no doubt thought I was the best driver in the world!
On the day of my driving test, I, and two or three others went out in the Austin with an army driving examiner, a sergeant of the R.A.S.C. We took turns to try to impress this man with our expertise, whilst the others languished nervously in the back. I was the last to take the wheel and was required to do my stuff around the town of Bückeburg and out into the country districts towards Rinteln. The examiner eventually told me that I could drive back to camp.
As I turned in at the main gate he said to me “When you drive into the barracks you must always stop at the guard-room”. I took this to mean that I had passed my test, which was confirmed when we were paraded outside the M.T. Office and given our ‘Pink Slips’, which were later used to obtain our civilian driving licences.
Early in September I was assigned an Austin Champ 1/4 ton and trailer and told that, for the duration of a large international exercise, on which we would depart the following day, I would be attached to the medium machine-gun platoon. The Champ was intended to replace the American-built Jeep, and was powered by a Rolls-Royce B40 engine. Drive to the four wheels was through a 5-speed gearbox and then a transfer box, which had forward, neutral and reverse, thus giving all five gears in either direction! On returning from that exercise I handed back the Champ, and signed for my Humber 1-tonner and joined the 3″ Mortar Platoon.
I have described this vehicle elsewhere, but I will just reiterate the main points. This was a 4×4, powered by a Rolls-Royce B60 six cylinder engine, of 4 litres, producing 98 B.H.P. This was fully waterproofed, and fitted with a snorkel, would run underwater. There was independent suspension all-round, by longitudinal torsion bars and a self-recovery winch was fitted. This was a fantastic machine to drive, and its cross-country performance was phenomenal.
Another significant event in my motoring life occurred when I needed new spectacles soon after arriving at Minden. I had to see an optician at British Military Hospital, Rinteln and was taken there in an army owned VW Beetle. I did not know it at the time, but this was to be the first of many journeys I would undertake in Volkswagens!