Memories and reflections from when I learned to drive... as an eleven-year-old
It may sound clichéd to say that I have been a car fanatic ever since I can remember. The origins of my interest are tricky to pinpoint exactly, but I recollect times of curiosity that sparked my passion. When out with family or friends, there were some occasions when an exotic supercar would drive by or was parked up that would capture my attention. My intrigue grew and would compel me to research automotive brands in the car industry. The internet was a source of escapism that I found solace in learning about the facts and stats.
Here, my fascination ignited and would, in time, fuel my ambitions to become an automotive journalist. I would stare at pictures of cars and wonder what they must be like to drive, what the sensations must feel like to experience. Yet it was not a case of when I would have those driving experiences, but if. Even at the age of eleven, I could sense my socio-economic circumstances as an obstacle that would be challenging to overcome, but could not articulate the thoughts.
As a boy, I was unaware of the predicaments that I would encounter in pursuit of fulfilling my career ambitions. But I remained undeterred in my determination to know what it was like to drive a car, so I did what most kids don’t do: I asked my dad if he could teach me to drive in his. To my delight, dad agreed. I am the eldest of three brothers. Both my parents work for the NHS. They have jobs that are purposeful and meaningful, but are undervalued and underpaid for what they do. While we have always been financially secure, we have never had much money.
We do what we can with what we have, which is what I did when learning to drive… aged eleven. Although, I say eleven years old, but I can’t actually remember the specific point in time that I learned to drive, I’ve just kind of always done it, and I can’t remember the time when I didn’t. What I do know for sure is the car that I learned to drive in. To be honest, this is rather an awkward revelation, but not something I feel ashamed about. It was a Vauxhall Meriva… okay so it's embarrassing, I admit! However, the version we had was the mid-range Design model, which at least had a modicum of desirability.
"I managed to pick up the skill of car control quite quickly. There was no nervousness, just anticipation"
I would be the first to confess that it definitely wasn’t the coolest car in the world, there were certainly image issues, no doubt about it. But as transportation for a family of five, it suited our needs quite adequately. It was described as a small people carrier and the first-generation example we had was based on the third-generation Corsa. It was as disenchanting as it sounded, there was nothing much to write home about. It was to all intents and purposes an average and decent car that left no lasting impression and could easily be overlooked. It was, though, an alright car for me to learn to drive in.
The Meriva we had was from new in 2005, and it was leased via the Transport Department in the NHS. Whilst it had the new car aura, it didn’t overload your sensations with any real excitement. The location where my dad would teach me to operate the controls was a place without any distractions. My grandmother lived in Plains Bungalow, which was located in a small village called Ampton not far from the town Bury St Edmunds, and was situated by a quiet backroad surrounded by trees and fields. It was a peaceful place to contemplate and reflect, but it was also a place to explore and discover the delights of the natural world.
To get access to the property, there was a track beside it which led to another house. Infrequently used, it was a safe space for me to get to grips with driving a car. Me and my two brothers would be dropped off to visit my grandmother (Nonny was what we called her) every Friday after school. My dad would return from work to visit his mother with us, where we would eat dinner together and spend the evening enjoying each other’s company. They were happy times.
My memory of actually learning to drive with my dad teaching me is fragmented. From what I can recollect, the practical challenge of understanding how to drive was not particularly problematic, and I managed to pick up the skill of car control quite quickly. There was no nervousness, just anticipation. Dad manoeuvred the Meriva from the grass front garden onto the dusty gravel track. He got out and switched to the front passenger side. I sat in the driver’s seat and adjusted its position, then I strapped myself in and altered the mirrors.
"Lifting the clutch pedal gradually, I could feel the Meriva starting to pull forwards slowly… I was driving"
Everything was in place and I was ready to go. Hand eye coordination has never been an issue for me, so being able to steer was simple. The first step was learning clutch control. With the car turned on, Dad instructed me to push my foot down on the clutch pedal, which I did. He then told me to put the five-speed manual transmission into first gear, which I did. After releasing the handbrake, the balancing act came when trying to find the biting point on the clutch. Lifting the pedal gradually, I could feel the Meriva starting to pull forwards slowly… I was driving.
We crawled along the track for a short distance. I monitored the clutch pedal and modulated it to avoid stalling, and keep it moving at an even speed. Then came the time to stop. Dad told me to push my foot down on the clutch and press gently on the brake at the same time to bring the Meriva to a steady stop, which I did… but more abruptly than was ideal! This procedure was repeated numerous times as we made our way up the track until we had to turn around. Inevitably there were times when I stalled as I adapted to the clutch's touch and feel.
For the few weeks that followed, some time was spent every Friday practicing this skill with dad sat beside me. It was not something I struggled with. Changing gear is initially more challenging. There is an art to shifting a manual transmission, as you have to be driving fast enough to do it. I repeated what I had practiced in the previous weeks, but this time applied a small amount of throttle. Driving past dense trees on the left, with an expanse of field on the right, there was a change in engine tone as the rpm increased. Once the revs were high enough, it was possible to shift up a gear.
Dad said to put my left foot down on the clutch and take your right foot off the accelerator simultaneously, then pull the leaver into second gear. I did so before pressing my foot gently on the throttle again. Now driving faster, the demeanour of the Meriva changed, and it felt much more in its element, where the motions of driving flow smoothly. For the few weeks that followed, I built up my experience and confidence. The progression of my driving was relatively straightforward, and it was not something that was burdensome, but actually rather enjoyable.
"To challenge myself, I sometimes lined the bins up in a row to see how close I could get to them"
I reached a stage where I was competent enough to drive without any supervision, which was liberating and also comforting that my dad trusted me. Every Friday from then on, I would drive the Meriva. It wasn’t an exciting experience though. With a 1.4-litre petrol engine that produced only 90bhp, it was underwhelming. To extract the most from it, you had to really rev it, often all the way to the red line. With 0-62mph taking 14.4 seconds, and a top speed of just 104mph, the Meriva was handicapped. The engine was the most frustrating aspect, as it held the car back.
For the purposes of my Friday drives though, it sufficed. As I became more settled, I experimented more by taking risks and finding the limits, which of course meant driving faster. That resulted in teaching myself how to do wheel spins. Dad wasn’t all that impressed about it when I showed him, as I could end up burning out the clutch! In the winter though, my dad did show me how to do something else that was equally rebellious, but didn’t do damage to the car.
When the temperature got really cold, the track by the bungalow used to freeze, making it treacherous to drive on normally. But it was the optimum conditions to do some slow speed handbrake turns. It was an art that I practiced. Drive at a steady pace, turn the steering wheel left or right depending on what way you want to slide, pull the handbrake up to lock the rear wheels, and drift across the ice. It made for an enjoyable change to normal conditions. To challenge myself, I sometimes lined the bins up in a row to see how close I could get to them, which was fun.
This period of time in my life meant so much to me for many reasons. It was the awakening of my fanaticism with cars, as I discovered the thrill of driving. I’m so grateful to my dad for teaching me how to drive at that age. I wouldn’t hesitate turning back time and reliving those days, I do miss them. The memories I have are fondly remembered, as those moments are lost in time, and won't return. Nonny passed away in 2017, I miss her every day. The Vauxhall Meriva was returned after its three-year lease, but I don’t miss that so much. They are both gone, but won't be forgotten.
Photo: Callum Alexander
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