RANDOM REMINDER

Press, Volume CVI, Issue 31209, 5 November 1966, Page 48

RANDOM REMINDER

FITS AND STARTS

When New Zealanders are not talking about Rugby football, races, taxes, or beer measures, the conversation frequently turns to motorcars, their prices and their availability. New Zealanders returning from overseas are usually astonished to note the number of old and decrepit vehicles still on the New Zealand roads. Not that old cars are without character, and here was are not referring to the established, gleaming, glossed-up and rather unreal vintage cars. There are many sturdy old vehicles giving some sort of service to their nervous owners, who are never quite so nervous as when they have to navigate their ancient craft through one of the testing stations for a warrant of fitness. Examination candidates at this time of the year share the feeling exactly.

A gentleman of mature years, with car to match, took it to the testing station in a state of trepidation and had his worst fears confirmed. It was knocked back on this, that and the other. Yet by the time his 28 days of grace had almost elapsed, the defects had been remedied and he set off for the testing station again with only one gnawing doubt in his mind. While the car’s ailments had been remedied, it had developed just one new one, in the ignition. The motor had to be kept running, to avoid complications. And it was kept running right through the check-up; the vehicle went through satisfactorily. But the last of the attendants, after testing the brakes, stopped it by the ticket box so the owner could get his warrant and drive away. He turned off the key. It was a costly error. The owner was issued with

his warrant, entered the car, and went through the motions of trying to start it, although he knew very well he had as little prospect of success as he did of hiding his extreme confusion and embarrassment. The cars behind him lengthened in line, and the station staff looked rather anxious for him to depart.

Ultimately, he had to suffer the final humiliation of being pushed down the road by the attendants, who lent themselves to the task with a willingness which could be well understood.

There was only one crumb of comfort for the motorist in the whole affair. In answer to one of his many mumbled apologies, a large mechanic, breathing stertuously as he pushed said “What worries us isn’t starting them, but making sure they can stop."