Cars
I learnt to drive in my mother's car, getting my licence a week after my birthday.
My father taught me, and later my brother, to drive although Peter didn't require much teaching for the reasons discussed later.
My father had taught Australians, Canadians, South Africans and Poles, amongst others, to fly fighters and fighter bombers in the Empire Air Training Scheme in Canada, in the latter part of the war (WW2). That's how we ended up in Australia.
As a result we learnt to drive like fighter pilots. We were shown how to get into and out of skids. Independently we discovered 180s and 360s.
Peter even showed a hapless hitch-hiker his roll-over technique. He now denies this; claiming instead, and I quote, that he demonstrated: 'his clean off the suspension on the curbing technique'. The hitch-hiker may not have appreciated the subtleties.
When I got my licence Peter, who is two and a half years younger, promptly bought an Austin Seven; in pieces; for £10; plus some more pounds, to a final total something less than £70 'on the road'.
Actually, there were eventually parts for about three Austin Sevens. We assembled an engine, chassis and drive chain, it had a fabric universal joint, and he put a seat in place on the chassis so he could drive it.
And drive he did; around and around the house; to the detriment of the sandstone side steps, and the back lawn and terracing.
By the time he was old enough to have his licence he had restored the Austin Seven sufficiently to get it registered. It had, on occasion, been taken out on clandestine test runs, up and down Pennant Hills Road and around adjoining streets; but not very surreptitiously; as it initially had a defective muffler, when fitted at all, and until Peter re-ringed it it blew clouds of smoke .
At first the battery was the most expensive individual component in the entire car, in due course surpassed by a new windscreen. The electric self starter, to replace hand cranking, was an add-on that sat over the flywheel near the passenger's feet.
An Austin Seven - Peter painted his red
There was a COR garage at West Pennant Hills that had our custom.
COR, Commonwealth Oil Refining later became British Petroleum. Due to road widening the garage moved around the corner and was rebadged green and yellow. The proprietor, Ray, lent us specialist tools; but he would only lend them if I took responsibility. He told me that Peter and I were as different as Hitler and Stalin. I never worked out who was who. I was afraid to ask.
Initially my father had frequented a mechanic's garage in Pennant Hills. The garage was of an older generation in contrast to the new glossy ones. It sold Vacuum Oil products, under a red flying horse logo, later renamed Mobil.
The building, not the village setting, which bordered on bucolic, smelled of oil and resembled the one in the 'Great Gatsby' (the movie); unfortunately without Karen Black.
It was modern enough to have three electric pumps, one for 'standard', another for 'super/Plume', and a third smaller one for dieseline on the pavement outside; but kerosene, for heating and so on, was still pumped the old way; by a handle, into a glass top like a water cooler marked off in gallons; from which a tap allowed it to flow down the delivery hose.
It was on the eastern side of the main shopping village, but was soon lost under successive road widening. It disappeared along with the the Radio shop where I sometimes picked up old radio chassis for parts.