One could be forgiven for assuming that a driving test five decades ago, in Rhodesia, where the few towns had wide roads and plenty of space, would not demand a high level of competency. However, the opposite was true. The test consisted of several parts, rather like the Canadian test of today. It was very demanding, with a written pre-test of the Highway Code, and then a road driving test which included several scenarios, first in a large yard at the Driving Test Centre, then on the roads around town. All had to be mastered. The skills included setting off from a steep slope while releasing the handbrake; reversing into a narrow space, reversing round a corner following the line of the curbside; completing a three-point turn; herring bone parking and parallel parking between two adjacent parked cars, and more.
We all knew that “the barrels” were the first notorious hurdle to overcome. A line of 40-gallon drums, one on top of the other, two-high, formed a long narrow passageway outside at the Driving Test Centre. A set of two similar drums had been placed at a distance in front, on either side of this passage, two at the left and two at the right, making an imaginary upside-down letter T. The driver was required to park between the two barrels to the left or right, and then reverse from there across the central area towards the barrels and all the way down this open-air tunnel to the very end. Once done, the learner drove forward to the other set of barrels, to the left or right, accordingly. Then, off again, in reverse, same thing from that direction, to the very back of the barrels. It was nerve-racking, with the barrels standing so high above the car’s roof. Of course, touching a barrel meant instant failure.
By the time I took my driving test, my parents had a Ford Zodiac car, a large car with a manual shift lever on the steering wheel. I had learned to drive with my mother. My father wasn’t as patient with me, and I used to land up in tears after ever practice session. So, my mother took over. When I booked my test, like John, I felt confident. I was ready.
Off my mother and I went to the Test Centre, where I parked the car in front of the office, since the lot was almost empty of vehicles. My mother and I went inside. She sat down in the waiting area, and I went outside with the male examiner. He looked out across the car lot and asked, “Where is your car, then?”
“There”, I replied, pointing it out, just in front of us.
His face fell in disbelief. “You are taking your driving test in THAT car?!”, he spluttered.
“Yes. What’s wrong with it? It is the only car we have,” I replied.
“People usually come in much smaller cars than that,” he stated. His skepticism was obvious. The car was enormous, and I was doomed to failure.
He got in the car, sighing as if it were his last day on earth and he was resigned to his and my fate. He added grimly, repeating the phrase, “To the barrels, then! To the barrels!”
I think that he was more surprised than me that I passed my test that day.
I was delighted, not only because I had proved this man wrong, but also because I could gloat to John that, unlike him, I had passed my test first time.
At least, I hadn’t run out of gas, either.
