I do not know if my Dad was looking forward to it or dreading it. He was about to teach his twin teenage boys to drive. Our training vehicle was the family car - a 1959 Austin Cambridge A55 with a standard shift, a four cylinder motor, no power steering and no power brakes. We already had learning permits having passed the written examination required by the Alberta government. Now our destination was the parking lot of the Westmount Shopping Center in West Edmonton which was totally deserted on a Sunday afternoon.
That first lesson we were to learn three basic skills: how to shift gears, how to let out the clutch, and how to apply the brakes. It looks easy when somebody else is driving but it is not so easy when you are fresh behind the wheel. The idea is to engage the gears without grinding them. Shifting into 1st gear and then letting out the clutch to set the car in motion was the next challenge. Not done properly the car jumps like a jack-rabbit. Grinding gears damages them and riding the clutch burns it out. "Don't grind me a pound," or "Stop riding the clutch" were expressions we heard often those first few lessons. You quickly learn not to slam on the brakes or you could find yourself going through the windshield. After a few shaky starts, we were both driving the car around the vacant parking lot.
My brother turned out to be a backseat driver since we were both in the car as each lesson progressed. He was mechanically inclined so learning to drive was easier for him than me since I am not mechanically inclined. He was also of the opinion that his driving skills were superior to mine. It got so bad that when it came to learning to parallel park, I refused to let him be in the car with me. I have often wondered how we managed to not hate each other during that time. Three is a crowd specially when you are learning to drive. Our Dad's response to all the stress of teaching us to drive was to mutter under his breath. When we got home, he would quickly exit the car and head for the house.
We progressed from the parking lot to driving down side streets until we were able to drive in serious traffic. I do not remember how many months it was before we went for the driver's test in order to obtain that much desired prize - an official Driver's Licence. The licensing bureau was in a hilly area of Edmonton near the Alberta Legislature. I was terrified that the examiner would ask me to parallel park on an incline but he chose level ground. I did not pass that first test. I did what he called, "a running stop" at one stop sign. On my second attempt I passed with flying colors. My brother made three attempts before he got his licence. That's what you get for being a backseat driver with superior driving skills.
1959 Austin Cambridge A55
(ours was a cream color)
