This is story #57 in the series “Where Exactly is Home?”. The author recommends you read them in order.
Introduction:
“Where Exactly is Home?” follows the story of my parents, my two younger brothers and me, Susan, who emigrated from war-battered Britain, in the mid-late 1950’s, to Southern Rhodesia, Africa.
The effects of this move on our family were huge, as we struggled to adapt to such a different way of life. Only after further upheaval, and more long-distance travelling, did our family eventually settle in the city of Salisbury, Rhodesia.
However, we did not know then that we would not remain there for the rest of our lives, either.
When the family first went to Africa, I, Susan, was 9 years old. My two brothers, John and Peter, were almost 7 and 4, respectively.
Nowadays, as seniors, John and Peter live in England. I live in Canada. Throughout our lives, we have both benefitted from, and suffered because of, our somewhat unusual childhood.
I, for one, still sometimes ask myself which country represents home to me.
This is a series of stories under the title "Where Exactly is Home?" - I recommend you read them in order, starting with story #1.
57. The Yellow Peril
Boy-oh-boy, did I love my Yellow Peril! At first sight, too! It was just beautiful to me. I couldn’t stop admiring it as it sat, gleaming in the sunshine, beside the bungalow which I was sharing with two other single women in Emsworth, UK. I could not believe that this yellow metal box, this mechanical wonder with its four wheels and sloping back window now belonged to me. I knew, of course, that it wasn’t brand new, but I still thought it was magnificent because it was mine and it was going to take me to so many places. It was a Ford Anglia, the first car I had owned. I loved it!
How did I land up by acquiring a car, when I had told my housemates and my colleagues that I had no intention of buying a vehicle? I had been determined to pass my driving test, true, as soon as I could after my arrival in England, but this was mainly because I wanted to be able to drive a car in an emergency. My Rhodesian driver’s licence was valid for a year, and I was determined to pass the test for a British licence before that year ended.
I had passed my Rhodesian test years previously but had only ever driven my parents’ large Zodiac when it was available; not very often. Most of the time, I hadn’t needed a car. I had been living in a university residence, from which my folks collected me at the end of every term. Even when I was living at home studying in my fourth year at university for my Post-Graduate Certificate of Education, I hadn’t needed transportation. My studies had included a mandatory high school placement. I had been dispatched to Prince Edward High School, where my younger brother, Peter, at 17, was in his final year as a student. He would take and collect me on his motorbike. This caused some consternation amongst his peers who accused him of trying to make up to the new student teacher, not realizing that I was Peter’s sister. I wondered why they couldn’t see that I was several years older than him.
