RANDOM REMINDER

Press, Volume CI, Issue 29893, 6 August 1962, Page 16

RANDOM REMINDER

MISTRESS OF THE ROAD

Women drivers, for so long the subject of cynical comments, have been making ground recently. From two or three widely distant sources, they have been commended for the attention they give their motoring. Men, on the other hand, are supposed to think too much about other things —why Canterbury does not have a minimum of 10 men in the All Black team, how it was that in the seventh at Trentham the horse nominated as a certainty by none other than a cousin of the owner's closest friend had failed to win, and where it might be possible to find a parking place without having to take a bus back to the office.

But in nearly every team, there is a weak link somewhere, and among women motorists, we think we have found her. It was a busy

period of a busy day. but she managed to head the stream of traffic flowing north up Colombo street towards Armagh street by the simple expedient of making a right-hand turn at Gloucester street against the lights. It was a close thing, but she was in front, and in the centre of the road, before the long line of traffic had reached its maximum of 15 miles an hour. Then she showed a flash of genius in making sure she held pride of place. A touch of the brake halted the traffic behind her, a flick of the wheel took her into the lane destined for Victoria street, and brought that long line into imminent danger of telescoping

But when she reached the barrier, the light was on red, so she reached for her knitting—yes knitting. It must have been a complicated

stitch, or perhaps she had dropped something somewhere, for when the green came on. she was still bent over her work. Even the violent tooting behind her made no impression for some time. Then, suddenly aware of what she was doing, she sat up, and thrust the kniting away into the glove box—just as the light changed again. This must have shattered her somewhat, for she produced a cigarette, presumably io calm her jangled nerves. In all fairness, she should have passed the packet down the line. And then, when the green showed again, she tried to get away too fast. A convulsive leap of a yard and she had stalled. It was hard to hear the feeble whirring of her starter motor against he background of hard fact, acid comment and malicious gossip in ' her wake. The li;ht changed to red.