First drive

Great story Lang, now it has been captured forever and not lost, like everyone else I appreciate being able to read these, keep it up. [smiley=dankk2.gif]

Hey Lang,Your story brings back memories.I also got my licence at Southport Police Station.It was 1951 and I was 16.My mates mum had an Austin A40 and she let us take it to both get our licence.We both passed ok.The licence was a cardboard one like a little booklet,was valid for 10 years and was free!.The following year,1952 I got my truck licence from the sargent at Wyndham and went from there back to Halls Creek from where I had driven by myself without a licence.Probably would be unable to get away with it today.
Cheers

Like most farm kids I drove tractors from 8 or 9.
First the Farmall AV as I could push its clutch in, then the Bulldogs once I got stronger.
Drove semis from 12.
Mum had a cancer scare when I was 16 so the household was a bit topsy turvy. Old man put me in one of the LAD's with Grandad (90) as passenger and I finished out the season. Buggered if I know what would have happened if I'd had a prang.
Got my car licence at 17, copper unimpressed that I did all his hill start tests without using the handbrake. (Told him no handbrake on all our other cars)
Drove the LAD to the copshop, tossed Grandad out and copper in, took him for a bit of a drive. He asked me if I could reverse up this laneway, no problems expept that the loaded widespread tore the bitumen up like paper.
Copper was astonished and he got out/stopped the traffic so we could get out of there ASAP.
Stamped the licence for semi, truck and tractor all at once to save time.
Told me I couldn't drive any better that day than the previous just because I had a piece of paper, too true.

Jeffo,

Good history. Wasn't life more simple then?

When I got back from WA after working on oil exploration and roadbuilding in the Kimberleys I had enough money to put a deposit on a semi.

I went and saw Ron Hartridge in Footscray Road, Melbourne and he said he would guarantee me regular work as a subbie. Good bloke, always stood by his word.

Only problem, I did not have a semi licence and had never driven a semi, though I could back a trailer.

Ron told me it was 10 times easier to get a licence with a driving school than just rolling up with your own truck and put me on to the only semi-school in Melbourne at that time.

We booked a driving test and I went to Richmond a couple of hours early and an instructor made me back around the block in some old 50's truck and trailer then said "Let's go"

Through peak hour traffic we appeared at the testing station right in the middle of the gardens in downtown Melbourne. The testing officer hopped in, the instructor sat on the engine box, chatting away to someone who was obviously his mate (or on the kick-back list).

"Just drive up here" (traffic everywhere).

100 metres later "Right back-up" (in the middle of peak hour traffic!!!)

10 metres later "Jeez, Fred this traffic is bullshit, what's he like?"

"No problems, been driving in the bush since he was 10 years old"

"OK stay double parked with the truck and I will bring your licence out."

6 days later I drove out of Hartridge's yard in Melbourne (after an old hand had shown me how to tarp up) in my brand new Commer on my way to Sydney. It was my 18th birthday.

Lang, you got it in one, Life was so simple

lang...keep this fantastic stuff coming...

in a kind of similar experience with the law, i took the bosses LJ GTR torana to go and get lunch one day..18 year old, pimply headed i guess, and the right hand turn at the intersection i was making was was full of coppers on motorbikes coming at me to do the left, to go down the same bit of road.

a few had gone through to the left when i realised these blokes had to give way to me so i went out to the right, and the rest of these blokes had to give way to me.

the upshot was ...i've got a motorcade of coppers in front, pimply headed bloke in a torana in the middle, and a bigger motorcade of these bikes behind me!!

there was nowhere for this crowd to overtake me for about a mile, so i was ''escorted'' down milleara road east keilor for all to see...sticking to the speed limit, mind you

...it must have looked ridiculous...cheers

You know boys , There is the makings of a great truckies stories book here .Add a few Beamish tales and poetry and tall tales from chocs , and of course Ronhorse . Plus the many others here with a tale or two to tell ,I reckon Number one best seller at the truckstops .

Lang,

Absolute classic mate, even the uniform still has the new creases in it!

Just found some more photos of the old Morris referred to above. Mum checking the scene out.

Come on blokes we need some more early stories, I am starting to run out of stuff.

I mentioned above that I earned enough money carting sand in the old Morris on South Stradbroke Island to buy myself a Landrover.

It was a real beauty, an original RACQ 1948 service vehicle. We hand painted over the perfect RACQ cream because I like green better. You could buy "brushing enamel" for cars in those days and it just flowed. It was hard to tell it was not sprayed even when done by teenage kids.

My mate, John Salter aged 16 (who later won an MC in Vietnam) and I, 15, set off to the Gulf one Xmas holiday. All I can remember of the 2,000km trip up was it was bloody boring at 30mph and bloody hot!

We stayed on several cattle stations between Richmond and Mount Isa and shot the hell out of the kangaroo population. John's dad was a major in the Army so we had enough .303 ammunition to start a war. Looking back it was the hardest work I have ever done.

Unlike modern shooters we shot during the day in 45 deg heat and were absolutely covered in blood, fur and flies after skinning in the sun then pegging the skins out with lengths of fencing wire.

Eventually coming to an end (we both wanted to keep doing this forever!) we loaded 280 dried skins onto the trailer and set off to drive back to Southport via the coastal route this time. Of course it started to absolutely bucket down at the same time as the 15 year old canvas roof blew itself to shreds.

All the roo skins hanging out of the trailer began to stink and the blowies had a field day and soon the load was crawling. We stopped in front of the Parthenon Cafe in Home Hill one evening (still raining) and sat down for a meal. Unfortunately we did not notice the other customers gagging and leaving.

"Whosa dat bluddy stinking truck?" said Spiros "Get it the bluddy hell out of here!"

John, who has been known to be indiscrete, said something inappropriate and Spiros, the ex-Greek weight lifting team captain, picked him up bodily and tossed him out on the footpath in true western movie style.

Being of an heroic disposition I left my milk shake and nicked out behind Spiro's back to pick John up and flee into the night. I did not mention that in the ten minutes we had been there, 20 dogs were munching on the sagging green edges of the kangaroo skins hanging over the edge of the trailer and they formed a high speed escort for us until we crossed the city limits.

Eventually arriving home and getting the same reaction from my mother as we had from Spiros (she actually burnt some of my clothes!) we finally redried the skins, trimmed the blown bits off and took them to the skin buyer in Brisbane the following Saturday.

Sad was our visit as the buyer put skin, after skin in the "D" grade heap. We had not asked anyone how to peg skins out and they were all the wrong shape. Final result was the income from the skins left us two shillings out of pocket for fuel and food for the trip. Damn well spent, I say!