The world’s worst teacher
Learning to drive with my father beside me was never going to be easy. He had zero patience and was a truly terrible teacher. I wasn’t expected to be just a regular driver. This I realised when driving his little Austin Special sports car around a field one day. I was turning the wheel when he shouted, “boot it now!” Dad-speak for hard on the gas.
Now, being my father’s son, I knew this would normally make the car spin, so I gave it the gas and applied opposite lock to ensure it wouldn’t spin and produced a perfect powerslide! Dad smiled – I’d passed my first test!
Learning the hard way
I suppose I always had a fractious relationship with my father, probably because we were too alike. We often argued, but our shared love of anything automotive kind of kept us together.
I found the process of learning to drive quite easy, but not with my Dad teaching. For example, I started driving regularly at age 15 (off the public road) at the wheel of his small, self-built sports car.
It was based on the mechanical parts of a 1933 Austin Seven. The car actually looked very much like a Lotus Super Seven (it shared the same wings/guards front and back).
It was very smart for its time and had won many national trophies, so scratching it wasn’t an option. And, with a crash – gearbox (no synchromesh) every gear-change was a real challenge, especially since Dad expected them to be silent! Not easy, even for an expert, never mind a learner.
Biggin Hill Airfield – my learning track
Biggin Hill. Nowadays this airfield is owned by Bernie Ecclestone, ex-FI boss and billionaire. However, when I was in my teens it was just another ex-World War 2 airfield near Bromley, south of London and was just 20 minutes drive from our family home.
It was generally used by quite small, private aircraft and we discovered that only one main runway seemed to be ever used most of the time, while a second runway seemed to be surplus to requirements.
Our ‘private’ runway
So, knowing this, we would sneak around to the farthest point of the airfield from the Control Tower. We’d just drive through a gate that allowed us into the airfield, unseen by the flight control operators. This became our Sunday morning routine – we’d arrive early the morning, raise the single-bar gate (curiously unlocked) and drive onto the empty runway – the perfect, safe learner driver environment, or so we thought!
Thus observed by Dad, I’d drive up and down the runway, crashing gears and making mistakes with no chance of hitting anything or obstructing traffic. Well, not cars anyway.
Is that a Douglas DC3 on my tail?
One day, I was driving down the middle of the runway minding my own business with Dad in the passenger seat. I looked in my rearview mirror and, to much to my surprise, it was full of a large twin-engined aircraft (a Douglas DC3, I was reliably informed by my father later).
It was landing right behind us and catching us very, very quickly. I swerved out of the way and the pair of us made a fast exit before we got into trouble with the airfield officials.
Even today, I remember how scary it was to see the large aircraft land just a few metres away from our little sports car, with smoke pouring off its tyres. And, probably steam escaping from the pilot’s ears.
I can only imagine the conversation between the pilot and the Control Tower later that day. I think that spelled the end of my illicit driving lessons at Biggin Hill. We later learned that the ‘our’ runway was reserved for larger aircraft only. This is because they could cope more easily with the higher wind forces on that side of the airfield, apparently.
Anyway, nobody died and, how many drivers can boast of being overtaken by a Douglas DC3 – on the ground?
