Nearly everyone at the flats had cars before we did. Uncle Jack, as a salesman who clocked up lots of miles, had just about every model of Holden. He got a new car every few years and we would all troop half way down the hill to where the residents parked their vehicles, to admire his new acquisition. The colours were always different. I remember the old cream FJ and a rather startling apricot and cream coloured model most vividly.
The other residents had a variety of cars, the makes of which I don't remember. John's grandfather, who was rather well off, brought his enormous Dodge over once. He couldn't drive up the hill because the car was just too big. It had huge fins with an impressive array of lights at the back and I thought it looked glorious as did the other kids. The adults were rather scathing about this giant vehicle, which I thought was unfair.
We were always dependant on others for lifts. Everyone would pile in the cars, sitting on each other's laps, hardly being able to breathe because it was so squashy and nobody gave it another thought. The police would never pull anyone over for an overcrowded car, and of course seatbelts weren't even available.
My father's best friend, Uncle Herbert, who had been on the same boat when the two came to Australia, was a builder who owned a table top truck ie the bit at the back had no sides. He and his family lived in Dee Why. Sometimes he would pick us up and we would all go for a drive. My poor father would be on the table top part at the back with at least three children, hanging on to us all for dear life. If it was raining we had a tarpaulin. He told me years later that he was always really embarrassed to be in that position. At the time I had no idea and thought it rather fun although going around corners was fairly scary.
One day when I was in about fifth grade I was walking home from school and heard our family whistle. My father had a special little tune that he would whistle and we could always find each other, even in a big crowd. I heard the whistle and looked around not seeing my father. The whistle came again and then I spotted him sitting at the controls of a car! I ran over and asked him what he was doing and whose car it was. Much to my delight he announced that it was OUR car and to hop in. I didn't need a second invitation!
We drove home and parked with all the other cars half way up the hill. I raced and got my mother and then rushed about excitedly telling the neighbours who streamed down to look at the new car. Everyone was very complimentary except for Uncle Jack who was scathing. "What did you buy a rubbish Kraut car for? Don't you know Holdens are the best there is?" I was dreadfully insulted but my parents realised the comment was partially tongue-in-cheek.
Of course our car was a Volkswagen beetle, rego CNT 572, pale grey with a red vinyl interior. I thought it was gorgeous. It was about as basic as a car could be but it went and it went for a mighty long time. I suspect, because my parents had such a horror of hire-purchase, they had saved the full amount and then paid cash for the car and that's why it had taken such an age to have our own transport.
Our first trip was to Dee Why to visit Uncle Herbert. We sat up proudly and I was sure everyone was looking at us impressed with our shiny new vehicle.
My father used the car for work but we also went for lots of drives on the weekend and for long trips away. Unfortunately I used to get terribly car sick on the long trips so I would usually curl up and go to sleep which protected me from feeling so sick.
One day my father rang from work. He had had an awful experience on the way there. As he was driving a man had jumped out in front of him and he had hit him. As it was a Volkswagen with a boot at the front the man had dented the car but not really hurt himself. It was a terrible shock for Vati and we were all very upset. The man who had tried to kill himself succeeded in his quest the next week when he jumped in front of a train at St Leonard's station. The poor man had been suffering terrible asthma and hadn't been able to sleep for weeks so was obviously desperate. My future husband was at the station that day.
My father had to pass a driving test when he got the car. In those days if you could drive in a straight line, change gears smoothly, do a reverse park and a three point turn as well as answer a few basic road safety questions, the police officer who was the tester, would pass you. Vati wasn't too good at the theory though. I remember us passing a horrible motor bike accident on our way home from the Blue Mountains. After a while the ambulance, siren wailing, was behind us and instead of pulling over to the left, Vati put his foot down so as not to hold them up! I can remember us hurtling through the countryside until he did thankfully decide to pull over and let the ambulance pass when he found the very fast driving plus Mutti and my terrified hysterical shrieking too stressful.
After a few years we got another Volkswagen, a station wagon this time, which was much more convenient for transporting printing plates around and Mutti got the beetle. She had driving lessons, got her licence, loved the freedom of being able to go wherever whenever, but was a pretty scary driver although she never had an accident that was her fault.
One day Mutti was rung with the news that she was the winner of a raffle and that the prize was a white Torana with a bright purple interior. She was delighted and sold the Volkswagen to the neighbour's son. The Torana turned into a pile of rust within a few years and she had to get a new car. The little beetle however, was on the road for many more years.
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