Left is the Right Side of the Road

The silencer muffler on my Nissan Cube recently developed a deep throaty gurgle; you just know that driving your car anywhere within spitting distance of an auto repair place will set you back a couple of hundred dollars: I also needed a new front tire, and that became two new tires and a new battery. The auto repair professional called soon after I left the Cube to be worked on to announce that they couldn’t get an aftermarket muffler and that they would have to buy one from a Nissan dealer. My first thought was; get off the grass, what do you mean no muffler for a Cube. It took one Google search to discover that my brave little toaster was dead; in 2015 the Cube was discontinued from the Nissan US lineup. So now, every time I sit in the Cube, I muse over some of the cars I have known, that are no more; the Commer, Vanguard, Austin and Holden.

I think it was the Austin A40 that took us over Pretty Sally. Pretty Sally Hill is a gap in the Great Dividing Range. The Great Dividing Range is Australia’s largest mountain range; stretching from the north eastern tip of Queensland, through New South Wales, and then into Victoria. The road over Pretty Sally was the gateway to the Highlands of Victoria from Melbourne: And it was part of the original Hume Highway to Sydney. By the 1930’s Pretty Sally, because of a sharp turn near the crest of it’s hill, was known as a road accident magnet. It was a long, slow, climb up Pretty Sally Hill and cars were often strewn on the shoulder with violent boiling radiators. The highway was shifted to avoid the steepest section in the 1960s. In 1979 the now closed Pretty Sally Roadhouse was used as the setting of Fat Nancy’s in the film Mad Max.

hume shifting

image:state library victoria

Mum started her repeated warning early on the day we had to cross Pretty Sally. She was rocking imperceptible in her passenger seat and it seemed every few minutes was asking dad how much further to Pretty Sally. She kept repeating that we have to be across Pretty Sally before dark: And asking how many more hours until the sun goes down. We didn’t know what Pretty Sally was holding for us; only that we couldn’t be crossing The Hill at nightfall. My brother and I fell into a huddled silence on the back seat fearing that something out there awaits us and knows our names. And then mum announced; we won’t be there before dark, and she fell into a deep quietness. It was twilight when Dad’s “we’re here” caused my brother and I to unfurl from our shivering fetal positions and fix our eyes on the road ahead. Dad started to talk slowly and quietly to the A40; a soothing, encouraging chant. The car slowed as it entered the incline of The Hill and it slowed even more as we passed the hissing, steaming, defeated cars on the shoulder.

radiator boiling

image:chicagotribune.com

We didn’t know what fate was going to befall the wide eyed families inside. Mum stared at the cars and the innocent victims as if she knew their fate. The A40 began to lurch forward and dad gripped the steering wheel and his knuckles turned white. Just as the car was about to give up, dad in one quick motion double clutched and shifted down a gear; the car was renewed with momentum from it’s second gear. Mum asked quietly; Bob are we near the top. We laboured labored past other stalled and wheezing cars on the shoulder. Our eyes grew wide in fear as we watched the mums and dads leave their the cars; Just as Jack and David left The Slaughtered Lamb and wandered the North York Moors. The A40 conquered The Hill that twilight but we knew that something unknown out there awaited us and knew our names. For years to come we convulsed at the mention of Pretty Sally.

For many years dad worked at Forward Library Supply. The office was on the first floor of the Block Arcade; Room 1, First Floor the Block, 98 Elizabeth Street Melbourne. Back then the Block was just an arcade and not known as a heritage shopping arcade and you went to The Hopetoun Tea Rooms for a quick cuppa and a plate of sandwiches; mum and nanna would never think of it as an authentic federation style tearoom experience. Forward Library Supply was a wholesale bookseller to libraries and schools and rented books to lending libraries. Most rental lending libraries were in shop store fronts in the main streets of Melbourne’s suburbs. They would either rent crates of current best sellers or choose from a selection of favorites from Forward Library Supply ‘s book stock; after a given time the books were exchange for another crate or other selections. Book readers would either join a lending libraries for a quarterly or yearly subscription or would borrow a book for threepence a book. Dad called on Melbourne’s lending libraries and completed his monthly circuit in a Forward Library Supply car. I think his first car was a Vanguard and then a Holden station wagon.

vanguard

vanguard image:1949vanguard.com.au

HoldenEH

holden image:mightyrollaman

The boot trunk of the Vanguard would be loaded with crates of best sellers, books being recirculated from lending libraries, and a collection of favorites for lending libraries to choose from; dad carried a swatch of dust jackets of all the books in the trunk. I’m not sure how Dad kept track of all the books that were at each library, what was being returned and recirculated, and what was selected from the favorites collection. I suppose he had his method; probably similar to the dabbawalas of Mumbai; and I think he worked to the same efficiency as the dabbawalas of Mumbai. It is claimed that the dabbawalas make around one mistake in every six million tiffen deliveries.

tiffins

dabbawalas image:commons.wikimedia.org

I remember a few days on school holidays that I partnered with dad when he did his rounds of the libraries. A lending library would select the books they wanted from dad’s swatch of dust jackets; my job was to find the books in the trunk and to re-shelve the returned books on the trunk floor. The job was a lot easier when dad got the Holden station wagon; with the back seat down the Holden became a modern day bookmobile. I can still see the lending libraries in Douglas Parade and Ferguson Streets Williamstown and the one in Anderson Street Yarraville.

books

image:pixabay.com

I don’t remember our front seat conversations in the Vanguard or Holden. I know we didn’t talk about circulation systems because dad didn’t know any thing about the Dewey Decimal Classification system and besides the books didn’t have call numbers.

If the Vanguard or Holden was parked on the street outside of the house on weekends I would ask dad if he would unlock the door; as soon as I sat in front of the steering wheel I became Gelignite Jack Murray or Jack Brabham. Dad never left the keys so I became the car engine and driver. The steering wheel was enormous but I gripped it just like dad did on The Hill. I knew the gears because I watched dad as he mastered the busy streets of Melbourne’s suburbs: And I knew the sound of a straining, overworked car engine because the A40 had conquered Pretty Sally. My feet and legs couldn’t operate the brake, clutch, and accelerator gas pedals but my left hand and arm became an extension of the steering column gear shifter. I would start each travel adventure revving the engine with a series of throaty roars, pushing my left foot down on the floor below me and then thrusting the gear shifter to first. The engine purred in my throat through first gear until it reached the desperate sound of needing to change to second gear. I crossed the finish line first in the 1954 Redex Round Australia Reliability Trial and was the Formula One champion in 1960. Sometimes I just went for a leisurely drive without leaving the curb.

Gelignite Jack_Murray car

gelignite jack murray image:commons.wikimedia.org

Around the bend from where the Strand meets North Road was the warmies: water that was used for cooling was discharged from the powerhouse into the Yarra River. A steam punt guided by chains ferried cars, bike riders, and sometimes trucks across the mouth of the river from Newport to Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne; we always knew it as Fisherman Bend. You could squeeze about 32 cars on to the punt. I forget the make and year of the car that my brother, Graeme Kelly, Ron Templeton and some others would push from Kelly’s place to the punt, and then on to the marshy grasslands and runways that surrounded the buildings of the Commonwealth Aircraft Corporation and General Motors Holden.

newport punt

image:ferriesofsydney.com

During wartime the Commonwealth Aircraft Corporation made the Wirraway, Wackett, Mustang, and a fighter aircraft known as the Boomerang. I helped push the car on to the punt a few times and became a Sunday driver over the grasslands and up and down the airstrip that was home to the Boomerang.

Mum learned to drive in the Holden and she became a licensed driver. I think she drove only once or twice to the Melbourne Road shops in Newport and the once or twice to the Douglas Parade shops in Williamstown; her top speed was bout 10 miles per hour and the car bounced over the blue stones of the gutters that she always seemed to drive on. And then she drove no more. When dad took a new job at Turner Industries in White Horse, Road Box Hill the Holden became the last car we had. At first he took the train to work; changing at Flinders Street to the Box Hill-Lilydale line. The train journey was over an hour each way. Dad became the owner of Vespa scooter. I remember him layering coats and then a rain coat on cold wintry mornings before he started on the long journey to Turner’s.

vespa

lambrettas image:bkennewell.blogspot.com

The Vespa was always parked in the front yard pushed up against the veranda. Some Saturday afternoons I would jump onto the Vespa and even though the handle bars were locked at an angle I would ride the Great Alpine road from Myrtleford to Bairnsdale; the Vespa engine staining and humming in my throat.

Now that the Cube is discontinued from the Nissan US lineup I probably need to start going and sitting in the driver’s seat on Saturday afternoons and joy riding Iceland’s ring road or the Tasmanian peninsula.

 

Fishermans Bend Aerodrome

Laffans remember Pretty Sally

Overland Adventure: The Story of the 1954 Redex Reliability Trial

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2 thoughts on “Left is the Right Side of the Road

  1. My dear Mr. McAdam,
    I must say having known you for nearly one-fortieth of a millineum, I never knew you father hawked books as did mime, My father owned several bookstores over the years in San Francisco and the Bay Area. He loved setting them up, getting them going, and then he sold them so he could get going. During ithe time he had his last store in Palo Alto, he too, owned a white station wagon like your dad’s Holden. He called it the meat wagon. It could be stuffed with crates of books and still fly down US 101 at 90 miles per hour. Since the speedometer never worked while he owned the car, he’d just make sure that there was one car going faster than the meat wagon was in front of him.

    I propose that we meet to down a few pints to honor the Holden and the Meat Wagon which I believe was built by American Motors. What facts might we share during that adventure?

    Like

    • Then it is true that there is only six degrees of separation. Your suggestion of a few coldies is an outstanding suggestion; perhaps we could belt out the chorus of Marian the Librarian from the Music Man.

      Like

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