DRIVING MISS, DAILY
TAKE A MOTOR DOWN MEMORY LANE, AS WE REMEMBER THE CARS THAT WE’VE LOVED AND HOW THEY’VE PUT WOMEN IN THE DRIVING SEAT
Back in the mists of time, at the window of a second-floor flat in Glasgow, a toddler scans the street below.
“Vauxhall Viva! Morris Marina!” she shouts. “Ford Cortina Estate!” Reader, I was that tiny nerd. An obsession with cars took hold at three and is still with me, more than 40 years later. I’d beg my parents to drive me to the leisure centre or some far-flung park, not to swim or swing, but to eye how they changed gears on our little red Mini.
I’d soon negotiated my way to the passenger seat if it was just me and Mum in an empty car park. She would screech “now!” as she depressed the clutch and I clunked into second with two chubby hands on the gearstick. ‘Driving’, even at 10mph, was a thrill I’ve never topped. Over the years I’ve made a living out of driving, talking and writing about cars, but still words can’t do justice to that feeling of power and control, acceleration and elation.
GEARING UP FOR FREEDOM
You may be a car nut like me or just reply, ‘Er… a red one?” when asked what you drive, but there’s no denying we have the motor car, in part, to thank for the liberation of women, giving us the opportunity to swerve the bus stop and become mistresses of our own destinations and destinies.
Soon after the first be-goggled Edwardians took to the road, their sisters whizzed off to suffragette protests, crewed ambulances in the First World War and trained as taxi drivers when they didn’t have the means to pay for their own wheels. Ex-nurse Sheila O’Neil was the first women to set up as a London cabbie, though she was refused a licence. One reporter commented that her previous training would come in useful when she ran over pedestrians. (Women driver ‘jokes’ were a thing, even in 1908.) It wasn’t until 1967 that a female cabbie got her badge.
Flappers and farmers’ wives, Land Girls and dolly birds, we drove through the decades,
savouring the freedom and sanctuary of our own cars when they became more affordable and attainable. As a means of escape, a haven when we couldn’t go home or just a safe space to sing Celine Dion and eat Haribo, cars have always been so much more than just a way to get around.
“My very first boss knew my bus commute took hours,” remembers Nicola, 40, an HR consultant. “I found a cheque for £500 in my paypacket with a note saying I should buy myself a car. Dad found me a Mini Metro at an auction and I felt like I’d been handed a new life at 18. The sense of possibility was mind blowing.”
SMALL WAS EVER BEAUTIFUL
Launched 60 years ago, in response to the Suez oil crisis, the Mini I fell in love with answered the need for an economical drive for housewives and the girl around town, who, like Nicola, found their horizons expanded further than they’d dreamt of. “For the first time, I could go anywhere, any time,” says my 77-year-old mum. “Ironically, I was happy to stay home, but it was my choice to do so. The keys were in my pocket.”
“The future is ours. It’s female drivers who will lead the way with cleaner, greener choices”
Marketed to men and women alike – unusual back then – the promise was that the little car could be ‘parked on a postage stamp’. In a time before power steering, the Mini was certainly appealing and the ads made much of handbagsized storage bins, calling it ‘the man’s car women are crazy about’.
WOMEN TAKING THE WHEEL
So, what of our choices today? Female ownership of cars is higher than ever – jumping 10% in the past decade. The future is ours – it’s female drivers who will forge the way with greener, cleaner choices. According to research from the University of Sussex, women are more likely than men to consider buying electric, and manufacturers are ploughing millions into understanding what female drivers want from the auto industry. I suspect it could be as simple as driving cars that make us smile.
Kirstie, a 38-year-old business consultant, agrees. “I live in the middle of the Scottish countryside and drive a bright yellow Porsche Boxter. It’s totally impractical – sports suspension when there are potholes everywhere and the roof leaks on one side – thankfully, the dog’s side, not mine. People wave. Everyone knows where I am and where I’ve been. I could have chosen an incognito second-hand Skoda for the same money, but where’s the fun in that?”
Ask any woman jumping in the driver’s seat; from school run to road trip, motorway commute to track day: we don’t need lipstick holders in dashboards, perky pink paintwork or eyelashes for our headlamps. We need exactly what the first women drivers grabbed hold of all those years ago – the keys to freedom.