The Sunday Drive - memories of the 1940s

Ive read a lot of books about the 1930s - 1940s, but nothing truly transports you there like a first-hand account from someone who lived and breathed during that time. I'm fortunate that both my parents have written some excellent anecdotes about their lives in the USA and England during the '30s and '40s. The Great Depression and the war years really come to life in these stories.

This is a favourite story of my mother's, recalling the excitement and adventures of going driving in the 1940s. It's lengthy for a blog post, but trust me, it's well worth the read. Enjoy!

"The Sunday Drive"

a recollection of the 1940s, by Patricia Speer

Those first old cars we had were never able to go more than 25 mph on a level road, and going uphill slowed us down considerably. But sometimes on our Sunday drives, when Dad and Uncle Vic raced their cars against each other at top speed, with all of us family members on board shuddering and shaking in unison with the cars, we felt, even at 25 mph, like we were flying with the wind. At the greatest point of mechanical stress when the shaking and knocking reached critical mass, the racing ended no matter who was winning, as neither man dared to have the health of his automobile challenged to the point of collapse.

We loved those high-speed races. My brother Freddy and me and our cousins Shirley and Henry, took part as very willing if not eager passengers along with our parents, in the sometimes exciting and adventurous “Sunday Drives” that began immediately after our fathers bought their first cars.

This happened in the peacetime years after World War II ended when the production of consumer goods began to power up again. Newly manufactured cars, as well as everything else new, were not in plentiful supply and so were too expensive for most people to buy. In our town of Ramsgate in Kent, a used car market existed but it was small and pretty much restricted to the recycling of old jalopies that had already lived out their useful life spans, but were being sold off by families wanting money for more essential things.

Uncle Lewis, the only one of my Mother’s brothers to survive the war, was the first in our family to purchase such a used car. When he brought it home he beamed like he was now the king of the castle; the first person in the family to do something magnificent. It was a sight to behold, and had the other men in the family eye popping and filled with envy.

After that there was no stopping Dad and our Uncle Vic from doing all they could to be able to purchase such a vehicle for themselves. I believe our Dad bought the next car, an old black Singer. They were all black. This was swiftly followed by Uncle Vic’s purchase of the largest and most decrepit vehicle of them all. It looked like a hearse ready for the scrap heap, but it was his pride and joy.

Whenever the men had a Sunday free we would all go for a Sunday drive. They, especially, looked forward to this all week. Most times there were just two cars in the caravan, the Singer and the 'hearse'. Uncle Lewis, being away at sea for a month at a time as a ship’s captain in service to Trinity House, was most times unable to accompany us. It was Uncle Lewis, though, who taught Dad and Uncle Vic how to drive these ancient dinosaurs. Taking lessons from him proved very helpful even though Lewis didn’t yet have his own driving license. He taught them what to do to get the engine started with the crank inserted into the front of the car, how to drive in a straight line and turn corners being aware of the width of the car they were in, and how to brake properly using the gearing down method. This information from Uncle Lewis’s tutelage was considered sufficient to begin Sunday drives right away.

Little Freddy and Patsy (my mom) on the running board of their Dad's car

One of the critical tasks involved in our Sunday drive outings was initially getting the cars to start. This required manual skill, a lot of luck, and oftentimes a lot of stamina. Many a time we would all be sitting in anticipation in the cars, dressed in our good Sunday clothes in readiness to go, when the sound of numerous cranks to the engine of one or other of the cars, told us that a delay was certain. We would cross our fingers for each new attempt.

When the men had to stop to take a breath before continuing the effort, we would look at each other and grimace, roll our eyes to the roof, and slump glumly in our seats resting our faces in our hands, hoping that the engine would eventually cooperate. Sometimes it took so long we would get out of the cars and mill around, watching the profuse efforts that were involved in trying to get the thing started. When the aged engine finally did sputter to life though, the men beamed in sweaty triumph. Everyone’s spirits immediately lifted, and we all happily climbed back into the cars and were off on another trip.

The worst calamity that could befall us once on the road was for one of the cars to stall en route and draw attention to ourselves. This happened one time to Uncle Vic’s hearse as it was passing through a busy intersection controlled by a traffic policeman. We in the Singer following right behind were horrified, first of all to see the police, and then to see the hearse slow down, cough and splutter, shudder and then collapse into a heap of silence right in front of the officer in the middle of the intersection. It was a completely unexpected piece of bad luck. There were no tricky corners to negotiate that might have revealed the drivers’ lack of skill, and we thought that as long as we looked straight ahead as we drove by the policeman we would not look suspiciously like unlicensed cars and drivers. Shirley and I were in the back seat of the Singer, while the two boys, Freddy and Henry, were in the back seat of the hearse, with Uncle Vic and Aunty May up front.

None of us can remember what story Uncle Vic came up with to divert the policeman’s attention from asking the fatal questions. Luck was with us though as traffic began to back up at the intersection and the officer became anxious to get us out of the way. Vic began cranking at the handle to try to bring the hearse back to life, and after dramatically puffing and wheezing at this for a few turns, the policeman impatiently took a turn without realizing that his efforts would need to be successful if he was to retain the respect of all the interested onlookers. It ended up with Uncle Vic and the policeman both pushing the great hulk through the intersection, and after more endless cranking, we were able to leave the scene, and with great relief.

We could never travel too far from home at 15-20 mph. Our destination was often one of the beaches along the south east coast - Pegwell Bay, Sandwich, Deal etc. - where we would play in the sand and water, or Sturry Woods. Here, Freddy liked to lay face down on the ground parallel to the stream in the Woods, dangling his arm down over the edge of the bank with an open jar in his hand, in high hopes of scooping up tadpoles swimming in the stream. He wanted to watch them turn into frogs at home. I remember the tadpoles in the jar but don’t recall any frogs in the house. I liked to pick the wild primroses and bluebells that grew there.

Sometimes we would travel inland to explore places such as Rochester and Fordwich. Most times the Sunday drive included a picnic that our mothers had made. If we were hungry before we were able to reach our destination, we would stop and picnic on a grass verge beside the road oblivious to other cars passing by.

As the men received more lessons from Uncle Lewis, they became more and more confident of their abilities, and Sunday drives took on the added fun of some carefree singing as we traveled along. We could always tell when there was singing happening in the hearse in front of us, as we could just see, through the hearse’s high rear window, the top of Uncle Vic’s peaked cap dipping rhythmically up and down, and pointing straight up when he reached the high notes.

It bothered us at first that he would always drive his hearse with the division line in the road centered right between his left and right wheels. Though an accurate way for him to gauge his straight line driving, we feared it would attract the attention of any passing policeman. I guess we were lucky, as we were never stopped.

Our Singer had the only luxury of a sliding section in the roof, with an inside handle that made it possible for that part of the roof to slide open, to allow the sun and fresh air inside. It didn’t actually slide, but moved stiffly open and closed when pushed hard enough. Dad was the only one with enough muscle to accomplish this. When Freddy and I were in the car, we really enjoyed standing up on the back seat and sticking our heads out the top to enjoy the wind blowing on our faces. The concept of child safety and seat belts was years into the future.

The one disadvantage to using the sliding roof was that, the car being so old and rusty, we would be showered with rust particles every time we opened and closed it. In fact, every time we drove over a bump or the car jolted, all passengers would be showered with rust, and we would have to brush ourselves off when we got out of the car.

The greatest mishap occurred on the Sunday drive that found us traveling along what eventually was realized to be a wrong road. The only place to turn around involved backing up a narrow dirt pathway that straddled a water filled ditch on each side of it, and Uncle Lewis’s driving lessons hadn’t yet covered the backing up procedure.

The Singer, with Shirley and me in the back seat, made a successful attempt the first time and Dad was very proud of himself. Following this, Uncle Vic started to back up the mighty hearse, but being such a large vehicle, and Uncle Vic being a rather short man, his visibility wasn’t very good for tackling this tricky reverse turn. At our back seat window watching his attempt at negotiating this maneuver, we suddenly gasped with fright as we saw the back right wheel start to sink over the side toward the ditch. Then, as Vic tried in vain to remedy the situation, the front right wheel started to slide down as well, and we could see Uncle Vic slowly disappear from view, and Mom and Aunty May panicking in the back seat trying to scramble uphill to get out of the side door. They were quite badly shaken by this little accident, but no one was hurt.

We witnesses who had watched spellbound, never forgot the image of that scene as the hearse slid slowly but surely overboard. The hearse was eventually retrieved with a towrope from the Singer, a hopeless but friendly gesture that would have been entirely unsuccessful without the additional rescue efforts and towropes from other motorists who stopped to help. We were glad there wasn’t a policeman there when we needed him! We headed straight back home after this little incident.

In spite of this and all the other minor mishaps that occurred, the Sunday drives continued, and Dad and Uncle Vic learned enough all the while from Uncle Lewis’s driving lessons, to eventually sit and pass their respective driving tests.

After happily accepting credit, with many handshakes and pats on the back, for successfully tutoring Dad and Uncle Vic into two newly qualified and licensed drivers, Uncle Lewis took his test and failed.