Handbrake horror

sir – In 1956, aged 17, I took my driving test (Letters, January 13) in Newcastle in my uncle’s car, a 1938 Morris 8.

Having learnt to drive in this car, I knew that the foot brake was less than efficient, and was concerned about the emergency stop I would have to perform.

When the moment arrived, I stamped on the foot brake but simultaneously yanked on the handbrake – which, to my horror, detached itself from its anchorage.

I passed the test on the basis that my reaction was first class.

David Brown

Lavenham, Suffolk

sir – I passed my driving test in 1967, aged 17, in my father’s black Austin Princess, which he used in his funeral business.

As I approached Holy Trinity church in Llandudno a funeral cortège was leaving the car park, so I stopped to let it come out and joined the back of it. An immaculately dressed policeman with white gloves on stopped the traffic on the main road and signalled for the cortège to proceed, standing smartly to attention and saluting. I also proceeded.

The driving examiner said: “You lucky chap.”

Philip Roberts

Nant Peris, Carnarvonshire

sir – I took my driving test on my 18th birthday in 1958.

My father’s 12-bore shotgun lay on the back seat from the previous day’s shooting. The examiner asked: “What is that for? Are you going to shoot me if I fail you?”

I responded in the affirmative and he wisely passed me.

Martin Pawsey

Colchester, Essex