A big man in a very small car
It was the late 1950s and long past time for me to try for my driving licence. The problem was, my parents did not own a car and none of my friends seemed willing to lend me theirs. So it was up to me to provide my own wheels.
I acquired a1949 Renault 4 CV, my first car, and it was in this tiny car that I arrived at the home of the driving inspector. He was a large man and when he saw the test vehicle he was very apprehensive.
You always seem to be going faster in a small car and when I topped 60 on Oakville’s main street, apprehension turned to alarm! He didn’t realize that the speedometer was in kilometres per hour.
That issue resolved, the next challenge was demonstrating proper hand signals, a requirement to pass at that time. The side windows did not roll down but merely slid back, making it almost impossible to get one’s arm out. I persevered, only to miss the turn in my efforts and run over a lawn.
Next came parking which did not go at all well. Being a very small car, it got hung up on a snow drift. I partially redeemed myself by rocking the car till I got free. This seemed to please the inspector, as he feared being called on to push.
Finally, after our return to his home on Gloucester Ave., the harried man looked at me and said, “I’m giving you your licence only because I never want to get back into this car again!”