It wasn’t my car, it was my Dad’s Holden. I had my license for a couple of years and my Dad bought this Holden. I’d had an old 1948 Morris 8 which was just a heap. It cost me $35 to buy and hundreds to keep it on the road.
Dad got this Holden Special — what an awesome vehicle — and I was a little scared of this powerful car so i didn’t drive it. However, one Saturday night, me and my two mates, Andy and Wayne, where going to a Scottish dance in Onehunga, not to far from where i lived at the time, and they come to pick me up and Andy asked if he could drive Dad’s car as his Holden was playing up.
We got to the dance and had a great time. We had some ladies we were hanging out with at the time. We were about to leave and Andy reckoned he was feeling crook so he asked me to drive. I said I wasn’t confident to drive this beast, I mean, it had a grunty 186 horsepower, which in essence wasn’t all that powerful but when you are used to a side-valve 8-hp powerpower plant it was a beast.
I got behind the wheel and I felt like I had a V8 under the bonnet. I felt a renewed sense of confidence and barreled down Mt. Smart Rd doing 90 miles per hour even though the speed limit was only 30. I could have been done like a dinner if a cop had seen me.
I never looked back after that night; my Dad had problems getting his car back. Served him right, and that was one of the many stories in my repertoire.
Sadly, my Dad sold his Holden a couple of years latter and he bought himself a 1971 Skoda Octavia Combi. I didn’t speak to him for month after that little debacle.
— John Phillips, Otahuhu, South Auckland, New Zealand