Within a month or so of arriving in Emsworth, I booked myself a few driving lessons to make sure that I was competent on British roads. Although I was used to driving on the left, the signage and the road markings in Britain were very different, and the volume of traffic horrendous. I was not going to meet strip roads, nor a signboard telling me to beware of elephant or crocodiles, but I needed to learn how to enter and exit a roundabout, some of which were multi-laned and enormous. I had to cope with motorways, too, where drivers could drive at 100 miles per hour. This terrified me. I was required to know the very strict rules for overtaking, and in which lane to travel when, as well as to understand the difference between words on a blue road sign versus on a yellow road sign versus on a brown one (the latter for places of historical interest, museums, and the like). Finally, could I navigate roads that seemed to me about as wide as pathways, lined with high hedgerows or stone walls, turning this way and that as they wound their way through the countryside? It could be hair-raising for someone like me who was used to the straight, extra-wide, tree-lined avenues of Salisbury, Rhodesia, with plenty of parking spaces along the sides. Some of the local British country roads were so narrow that two cars approaching from the opposite direction couldn’t pass each other. In that case, one of the drivers would either edge forward or drive slowly backwards to one of the lay-bys which were included every now and again by the side of the road so that vehicles could pass each other in safety. We certainly didn’t have them in Salisbury!
So, I knew that I hadn’t needed a car in Southern Rhodesia, and I didn’t need a car now that I was in England, I told myself. I was happy enough walking to the train station, catching the train to Havant, then walking a mile or so to the grammar school where I was teaching. It was all good exercise, though not much fun when it was pouring with rain, nor when I was loaded down with textbooks and exercise books. I would do the same journey in reverse to come home again at the end of my day. It was easy enough, too, to take the train to Portsmouth, a few more stops beyond Havant, to visit my grandmother and her husband. I had no intention of buying a car.
That all changed when I passed my test first go, though! I started thinking to myself, “Why don’t I get a car? My life would be easier. I would have more time because I could drive to and from school in minutes”. Such thoughts continued until I decided to take them one step further: action!
I couldn’t afford a new car, so how was I to start looking for a good used vehicle? I didn’t know. So, I asked my housemates, their boyfriends, and my colleagues if they knew of anyone selling a car. No, they didn’t, unfortunately. However, my step-grandfather, John, said he would ask around amongst the people who worked with him in the dockyard. Within no time at all, he told me that he had a car for me. I was staggered.
