By
Frederick
Charles Cunningham
1905
to 1968
This story was written by my
father for me in 1968 following a heart attack while lying in bed at our home
sadly shortly before his death. I think it might have been partly based on his
first car an
even its registration
number 272 EPK I often wonder what
happened to it. All I can remember is that he traded it in after a few years
for his first brand new car a Vauxhall Viva deluxe.
I have not attempted to update
the story so it actually reflects a time more than 40 years ago.
This story was written when
men built cars, before computers, robots and moving conveyor belts took over in
car plants, and now sadly gone for ever
committed to the pages of history. British car names like, Austin,
Austin Healey, Armstrong-Sidley, Humber, Jensen, Morris, Singer, Standard,
Woolsey and many more proud names gone but not I hope forgotten.
He told me later that you
always remember your first bicycle, job and even school day, I know I will
always remember those, and a quiet kind
man who read Brer Rabbit and other tales to me at bed time with a voice and
emotion that made the characters come to life in my bedroom every night.
THANKS
DAD.
Darrell
THE
CAR
PART
ONE
CRASH! BANG! CRASH!
That’s my body being pressed
together, now up I go on to a traveling chain in the air moving slowly forward
to the paint shop. First a nasty red, two dull grays, then a gleaming black. I
move forward over my chassis, which is below me and has nice new wheels, engine
and a steering wheel all shining bright. I am now lowered and we come together,
little men are hurrying about, fussing all around, screwing me here, bolting me
there, joining wires, along I go, lamps in the back, big lights for my eyes in
the front for me to see my way in the dark. Now come the windows all round, swish
things on the front screen. On I go down a slope, petrol in my body, oil in my
stomach called the engine.
My first man gets in, (what a giggle),
he pulls me here, he flicks me there, pulls my little buttons, turns a key and
there is a rumble. I spit and splutter, he pushes on of my pedals down, then
lets it come up slowly, while he pushes another down, and I come to life. He
slowly lets a handle called a brake, down and there, we are moving over the
ground. He drives me round to some rollers, and he puts the pedal down to the
floor, and I spring to life with a loud roar my wheels spin round and round. I
am trying to get away but there is an iron bar in front stopping me. He puts
his foot down on a pedal called the brake and one called the clutch. I stop
dead, then, he puts the gear into neutral. This is so the engine will run but I
will not move. He lifts the pedals up gently and I just purr and purr without
my wheels turning, he gets out, lifts my bonnet, tickles me here and there with
a screwdriver and spanners making me purr much better. With the bonnet closed
he gets back in to my front seat, and another man puts a reflector in front of
me. With my lights switched on, he fixes both of them level, you know like they
do to with people’s glasses. He signals to the man inside me that all is clear,
so of we go again to a place where the men wear white coats just like doctors,
they fuss all over, flicking switches, feeling my cushions, listening to my
engine, pulling this, pushing that, they all talk to one man who has a big card
on which he is writing. He looks me over, feels my body outside then, says “OK”
and puts a blue cross on my windscreen.
Now I am driven out of the building to
a large field where there hundreds of gleaming cars. Large ones, small ones,
box ones, all brightly painted. There are reds, yellows, greens and whites, but
I think my black body gleams the best. The man turns my engine off leaves the
key, gets out and goes away.
I wait for days and days becoming sad
because I am getting dusty and dull. Several cars have gone away, but I don’t
seem to be wanted.
THEN! It happens.
One morning a man in a white overall comes to get me,
gets in, and turns the key. I show off a little for being left and do not
start. He gets worried, pulls this, pushes that, then turns the key again and I
spring to life, (he thinks he did it). Off we go out to the roadway; there
stands a big vehicle with cars on the bottom rack. He drives me up a slope,
over the top of the other cars along the top rack right up to the front. I can
see such a long way now; two or more cars are put on behind me. We are all
fastened down with clamps so that we cannot fall off. All the men get off,
except one who is driving the big vehicle.
A man at the side says ‘OK’, an engine starts up and away we go, out on
to the roadway and away mile after mile with all sorts of cars, vans and even
lorries rushing here and there, some passing, some going the other way, some
crossing in front, sometimes we had to stop.
On we go over river bridges, under railways, round a
round-a-about where all the cars seem to be pushing each other off, saying with
their horns ‘Be careful!’ Then we come to a big town, our driver stops to speak
to a policeman, then off again, round this street, across this one, round that
one, we finally stop outside a garage.
The three cars on top including myself are taken off
and driven round to the back of the garage and left. Next day I am driven into
a place called the workshop, where men in overalls inspect me, tightening a nut
here, a screw there, trying everything including my engine. One man in a white
coat says everything is in order, and I am then driven to a place behind canvas
shields, where I am washed, polished all over, my windows cleaned. I am then
driven into a big room, which has several cars all shining; I am put right in
the front because I am known as a new model. People walking by the large
windows look at me pointing to this and that. Some of them come in, sit in me,
feel me all over, and look at my engine, then, stands back exclaiming “What
beauty, what smashing gears. What speed will she do? I like the colour”. Then
one comes back with a lady, he shows me off to her, pulls this, pushes that, he
asks her to sit in my seats in turn. He asks the man who is looking after me
(called a salesman) if he can take me out. The salesman agrees and I feel very
happy. The large glass windows are opened; some red and white signs with red
letters and numbers are put on my back and front bumpers. I am driven out on to
the roadway. The lady gets into one of my back seats; the man gets into my
front seat, known as the driving seat, and the salesman next to him. The
salesman explains all about my pedals shows him my gears, and the lever called
a handbrake, also the knobs and dials on my dashboard.
We are then ready to start; I like this man because he
likes me, and so I decide to be on my best behaviour. The man turns the key and
I start purring as he pushes all the necessary buttons, leavers and pedals and
off we go. Slowly at first then a little faster, along the streets. I can see
people looking at us, their faces showing they like me, one here, one there
saying ‘What a beautiful car’ .We go a little faster, then a little slower, a
little braking, turning here and there with my little blinkers blinking, then
we arrive back at the garage. The man looks underneath, then I am very pleased
because I hear him say “I will take her” The lady is ever so happy, rubbing her
hands gently over my body. But, they can’t take me for a few days because I
have to have what is called a road tax and insurance. I am driven round to
reception.
Next day I am checked over again, polished and shone
till I gleam. They fit nice new number plates black with white letters and
numbers. Then they stick a round disc inside on my windscreen which is the road
tax. This means I can be driven on the roads. Finally a label is put on the
inside of my rear window saying ‘ Running in—Please pass’, this means that I
must only be driven slowly and carefully for 500 miles. It also lets drivers
know they can pass me.
Now I am ready, the time goes slowly but next morning
my new owner arrives with his lady. My attendant says he has the papers for
them to sign. All is ready, my owner is given the keys, and he gets in with his
lady beside him. He turns the key and I purr straight away. He drives very
carefully for a while because he says he has to get used to me, but I behave
properly and I am so happy because he says that I handle well and his lady says
I run smoothly and am comfortable to ride in.
After driving for about an hour we come to a road, all
nice houses, we stop in front of one.
There are several cars about but none as nice as me. Then from some of the
houses men come to look, they walk all round me, looking at this, looking at
that, they all say what a nice car I am but new or two look a little jealous of
my owner. They take me for a little run to show me off, a dirty big car comes
very close and my owner tells the driver to get further away but they do not
mean to damage me only to have a look as I am new. Then back home into a place
called a garage, just big enough for me. I am wiped all over and locked up
until I am needed again.
Next time I will tell you all about my
travels...Goodbye…
PART
TWO
Well here we are again ; my owner has just been cleaning and
polishing me. I hear him say to his wife, that’s the lady I told you about,
that he is taking me out tomorrow, Sunday, and she is to make up sandwiches and
flasks of tea so that they can have a picnic.
Early next morning my owner drives me out of the
garage onto the driveway. He opens the bonnet looks at a thing called a
battery, takes the cap off the radiator to see if I have enough water so that I
don’t get dry on the journey. He pulls out a long rod from my engine to see if
there is enough oil, then, closes the bonnet saying I was alright. He goes to
the back and opens my boot (that’s a large cupboard in my body to store things
in) and his wife brings out folding chairs and rain coats in case it rains.
Then, to my surprise, a small boy and girl come out of the house, jumping for
joy when they see me (they were asleep when I was brought home the other night)
They want to jump all over my seats, But my owner tells them to sit still or
they will spoil me, and they will not ride with me again (of course he does not
really mean it).
At last we are ready and everybody is in so off we go,
my owner driving me very carefully, round the houses, through the town,
stopping at the traffic lights, which are red. When they turn green off we go
again, then there are people ahead crossing the roadway, on one of those black
and white markings on the road between two large flashing oranges on poles.( It
is called a zebra crossing) My owner looks in his mirror to see what is behind
and puts his hand out of the window, moving it up and down as if he is patting
something. He is letting other drivers behind and the people ahead know that he
is stopping. Then it is all clear and off we go to the end of the road where
lots of cars of all sorts, sizes and colours are going up and down. My owner
looks in his mirror and as he wants to turn to the right into the other road,
he puts my right winker on to let other drivers know he is going to turn right.
We move slowly forward my driver looking right, left, then right again pulls to
the centre of the roadway and waits. He can do this as it is known as a duel
carriageway. He looks left and sees a clear gap in the traffic coming up, so
moves slowly forward until it is clear,
then a little faster turning to the right so that I am level with the nearside
curb. Then we are really away going faster and faster until my owner says that
it is quite fast enough, about 45 miles an hour as he is still running me in.
I am really purring now and little things in my engine
are going up and down, oil and water going round and round. In front of my
engine is a fan which is also going very fast to keep me cool. It was exhilarating with the wind rushing by
and whistling through the front to cool the radiator (that’s where the water is
kept). Presently we slow down and turn into a narrow road where there are no
footpaths but trees and bushes, cows, sheep and horses in the fields, we pass a
very old windmill, it was not going round. Over a small bridge over a river, my
owner has to toot my horn because there is only enough room for one lane of
cars. On the river bank men and boys are fishing. Over a railway crossing as
the gates are open for us (not one of those new fangled ones). After we cross
the gates are closed and a steam train goes puffing by, the entire people wave
to us. On we go past lots of parked cars. We have been traveling for over two
hours when we turn round a bend in the road and there is a lovely open space of
grass with trees and bushes all around. (I almost forgot to tell you that it is
a warm and sunny day).
My owner pulls onto the grass, drives round to a nice
spot under the trees where we stop and I am in the shade. The lady then opens
my boot, takes all the things out and the children run off to play ball. My
owner calls his wife and together they put up the table and chairs. Claire
(that’s her name) gets out the basket, lays all the cups, plates and food on
the table and calls the children. They then have what is called a picnic lunch,
the children sit on the grass.
When it is all over and cleared away the children want
to explore but my owner says he is tired and wants to rest, so he settles in
his chair while Claire and the children go off over the common. My owner soon
falls asleep and I am very nice and cool. There are lots of other people and
cars. After about two hours Claire and the children are back, my owner their
father wakes up and they all play games, then it is tea time. Some of the other
car owners and their ladies come over to look at me, and my owner shows them
everything even my engine. They ask lots of questions but they all agree that I
am a very nice car.
Soon the sun is going down and it begins to get dark
and cold. The children come back and everything is packed away into my boot. We
are now ready to leave, so everyone gets in and off we go out onto the lane,
turning a different way. My owner does not hurry me as we go through the narrow
lanes, passing small villages with houses with thatched roofs and very old
churches. We have been going for about an hour when my owner turns into a place
with square tanks in the middle. There are pipes on each tank. A man comes up
to us and my owner asked for four gallons. The man goes to my back and undoes
something and puts a pipe into me, (I hear the boy say “Nice petrol station
Dad”) so that I wont get dry because I have drunk quite a lot of fuel. My Owner
gives the man some paper, which I later find out is called money, and off we
go.
After a little while my owner asked everybody if they
are feeling dry (like me I suppose) and they all say ‘Yes’. Just along the road
we come to a place called an
All the other cars now have their lights on as
well. Some of them have big glaring
white lights on and they nearly blind my owner and me, so we slow down to let
them pass. Then there are no street lights so my big lights are switched on. My
owner pushes another switch and my big lights dip to the ground and other
drivers dip theirs to say thank you. On we go, quietly along as a hare runs in
front of the lights. I see him and so do the children who are excited. In front
I could see many red and winking lights. My owner drives into our road then
into the garage, everybody says they have had a lovely day and enjoyed the
drive. Tom says I have been a pleasure to drive, and as he locks the garage I
feel very happy.
Next day Claire comes and cleans me inside and out.
When my owner comes home later he gets me out and washes and polishes me,
before putting me back in the garage.
Goodbye…next time I will tell you all about my
holidays…….
SADLY MY FATHER NEVER WROTE THE
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