UNCLE’S FORD CAR

Our family never had a car. Not many people had cars when we were children. Trams 
and buses in town and trains for going further afield, provided an excellent service.

But our uncle had a car, an early 1920s model Ford. It was a sort of khaki colour, had 
running boards along each side acting as steps when climbing up into the car. The 
seats were such that you sat primly bolt upright. 

Protection from the elements was in the form of canvas ‘curtains’ with transparent 
celluloid windows. These curtains could be buttoned on to parts of the car’s 
superstructure. In fine weather the left side of the car was usually left open without its 
curtain. My sister and I liked to sit on that side. We called it the ‘danger side’. 

Being small girls our knowledge of the technical side of motorcars was nil. However, 
we did observe some things about the car and the way it was operated.

Originally the car was started with a crank handle inserted into an aperture in the front 
of the vehicle. Apparently a heavy and potentially dangerous procedure. Later it was 
replaced by a self-starter inside the car.  

The petrol tank was situated under the front bench-type seat which had to be moved - 
passengers included - when filling up with petrol. A dipstick was used to estimate the 
amount of fuel still in the tank. It was common to carry extra petrol in a can if going 
some distance. 

On the steering column just below the wheel were two little levers which were 
adjusted from time to time during driving. As for the accelerator, brake, gearshift and 
clutch, I have no recollection.

Uncle bought the car while living in Dunedin. Occasionally he would take us for a 
drive on a fine Sunday afternoon. Everything was fine so long as we drove on the flat 
or gentle hill slopes. But on two occasions we had the startling experience of the 
radiator boiling and blowing steam from the radiator cap - once when we reached 
Upper Junction on the North Road and the other may have been coming up the old 
Whare Flat Road behind Flagstaff. 

I don’t know whether the car just couldn’t take these hills or there was a fault or as 
my father declared: “He doesn’t know how to drive the car.”

Then Uncle and Aunt went up country to manage a sheep station at Omarama and we 
went there for one summer holiday. I don’t remember the whole journey. We would 
have been met off the train at Oamaru and driven that long road up to Omarama. It 
must have taken many hours at the speed that Uncle always drove, nor would the road 
be like it is now.

Our arrival at the homestead in darkness ended in drama. With only a mile or so to go, 
the car seemed peculiarly lopsided and we could hear a graunching noise from the 
rear. A flat tyre? No, the whole tyre had been cast from one of the back wheels. 

What did Uncle do? He drove very gingerly on three tyres and one bare wheel without 
any further mishap. Next day the men went back along the road and retrieved the cast 
tyre and inner tube intact.

After a short stay at Omarama, they moved to a farm at Herbert, south of Oamaru. 
Many of our school holidays were now spent there with Uncle, Aunt and the Ford car. 
We loved going to Oamaru for the day when Uncle had business to do and Aunt some 
shopping. 

Great were the preparations for that 12-mile run. I expect Uncle checked the oil, 
water, dipstick and the petrol tank. Tyre pressure –well, sometimes he did even more. 
If a tyre seemed a little down he didn’t just pump it up, the car was jacked up, the 
offending tyre was removed from the wheel and the inner tube was tested in a tub of 
water.

We kids were dressed ready to go, champing at the bit, impatient with all these 
lengthy preliminaries but intent on watching for any air bubbles emanating from the 
tube. If there was a tiny hole, a small rubber patch was applied.

Finally the car was passed fit to drive. Uncle then had to wash, shave and dress in his 
Sunday best. Eventually we were off for a day in Oamaru. It took an hour to go the 12 
miles to Oamaru because Uncle seldom drove more than 12 miles an hour.

“How fast can you go?” we once asked. “About 15 miles an hour,” he said. “What 
would happen if you went even faster?” He gave no answer to that one.

Uncle went about his business while we went with Aunt to the shops. At lunchtime 
we met and always to our delight, went to Miss Willets Tearooms in Thames Street 
for pies. How we loved those pies!

At the end of the day we chugged quietly home to the farm, fed the hens and got the 
cows in. A great day.

The Ford car survived for many years. After Uncle’s death it remained in retirement 
in the garage at my Aunt’s home in Oamaru. I don’t know what was its eventual fate. 
It would be a gem of a vintage car now.

Just for interest, many years after in my own car I timed that trip from the old Herbert 
farm into Oamaru. Twenty minutes, easy driving, well within the speed limit.      
This item from the Otago Age Concern Publication  Memories are Made of This
is used with permission

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