The Road to "L"

By Tony Levy

The Road to 'L' Do you remember your driving instructor? Well, they sure remember you. This is My next book and its title is The Road to 'L' I have just completed this my next book which is a humorous memoir. Set in Central London during the period 1981 to 1983 when I was a driving instructor in London working for The British School of Motoring. Pitched somewhere between the old English classic carry-on films and a series of sexy films called Confessions of... It is a humorous memoir of my time as a driving instructor; I reveal the stories of what can happen on a driving lesson, the offers of sexual favours and the actual driving routes I used all around the famous and historic landmarks of London. My books are all humorous memoirs hopefully in the style of Terry Pratchett They should appeal to anybody who likes anecdotal tales, I have tried to write in the style that would make you believe you are in a restaurant and I am with you just recounted episodes of my life or in a pub having a drink with friends, and I'm relating anecdotal stories about my life to you. The Road to 'L' is an eye-opening poignant and often hilarious romp through my years as a professional driving instructor in Central London back in the early 1980s. I reveal people's behaviour, conversations and downright dangerous things that happened to me during their lessons and their time learning to drive in my tuition car. I reveal the amazing tales of some of the things that could have come straight out of a Bond movie, the inappropriate offers of sex, and you will meet the amazing sister Mary Clara and her meeting with one of the famous Beatles back in the day. Travel throughout London and all the amazing sites this city offers and all on a driving lesson, or be part of being bombed twice in one day on two separate lessons, by the IRA. Learn about the Falkland Islands war, from the perspective of both sides. My book is a journey through the eyes of a professional driving instructor that will amaze you and also amuse you. It gives you a chronological history of the world events that affected London during this period, and of course about learning to drive a car. But in reality, the book is about people and how they can reveal so much about themselves whilst in the company of their driving instructor. With some amazing stories, and some scary situations, but above all humour. This book is a prequel to my first two books and a further look into the story of my life and my search for my own El Dorado. My first book published back in 2011 is called A Turnkey or Not? It is a biography of my 25-year service working in Her Majesty's Prisons and my second book El Dorado? No! Heathrow Airport is a follow on from the first book and continues my working career as a security officer working at one of the busiest airports in the world and people's behaviour when confronted with modern-day air travel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Levy
• Release date: Apr 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393780229

Tony Levy

I am a 69 year-old cancer survivor from Tottenham. A family man and former prison officer. After spending 25 years in the UK’s prison service, and having become increasingly disillusioned with stifling modern prison service politics and practices, in 2008 I took my pension pot and ran, moving to Spain to spend my early retirement in the sun. This autobiography A Turnkey or Not? is about my prison service life is my first book. My wife and I, however, temporarily moved back to the UK due to the economic climate, at the time. And I returned to working life. I have completed a second book all about working at a major UK airport as a security officer, based on true facts it is an observational look at how staff, passengers and management treat being subject to modern airport security. This is my third book to be published not bad for a man who started life as wanting to be a soccer star and won a writing competitiion when I was just 13 years of age  

Book preview

Table of Chapters

Prelude

Chapter 1   A New Job

Chapter 2   History of the British School of Motoring

Chapter 3   BSM Baker Street London – An Average Day

Chapter 4   Transference - The Stockholm Syndrome

Chapter 5   BSM - Blessed Saint Mary’s

Chapter 6   Cadbury’s Flake Anyone?

Chapter 7   The Globe

Chapter 8   Crystal Blue! No Crystal See-Through

Chapter 9   FA Cup Final Replay 1981

Chapter 10   Comfort Breaks

Chapter 11   The New Austin Mini Metro

Chapter 12   Gunfight at Southall Test Centre

Chapter 13   The Royal Wedding (Charles and Diana)

Chapter 14   The DfT Continual Testing

Chapter 15   An American in London

Chapter 16   Nuns on the Run? No! On the Roads

Chapter 17   Tour of London History

Chapter 18   The Gifts

Chapter 19   Mind that Bus?

Chapter 20   Wendy Greenshield

Chapter 21   The Falklands War

Chapter 22   Have You Ever Changed A Wheel?

Chapter 23   You Don’t Understand a Word I’ve Said

Chapter 24   A Night Out at Talk of the Town

Chapter 25   Little Miss Sexy

Chapter 26   Celebrities

Chapter 27   London Bombings 20th July 1982

Chapter 28   Traffic Wardens

Chapter 29   Oh Mrs Shah, What Big Eyes You Have?

Chapter 30   The Most Beautiful of Them All

Chapter 31   One Accident Too Many

Chapter 32   Time to Go

Chapter 33   Christmas 1982, New Year 1983

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Prelude

‘50 quid, you want to give me 50 quid what the hell for?’

‘I want to take out your next pupil for her lesson instead of you?’

‘What just to take my pupil out on her driving lesson instead of me, why?’ I replied.

This was what one of my colleagues offered me to take my pupil out on her driving lesson rather than me!

Back in 1981 fifty pounds was a fortune. In today’s terms it is worth around two hundred pounds so a very considerable sum of money. Remember that back in the early 1980s we in the UK earned an average wage of six thousand pounds, the equivalent of about nineteen thousand pounds today; petrol cost 28p a litre, a pint of beer was 35p, a loaf of bread 33p and a pint of milk 17p. So, fifty pounds was a very considerable amount of money.

But the real reason my colleague offered me the fifty pounds, well my pupil was stunningly beautiful, a real stunner, any man would fancy her, I know I did. It was always very hard to concentrate on being a professional driving instructor with this beauty in the car. We should have been driving a Ferrari along the Cote de Azur towards the exclusive resorts of Villefranche-sur-Mer or Nice or Cannes, or Monte Carlo with the wind blowing her luscious long jet-black raven hair and her scarf flying off in the wind just like something from a Grace Kelly or Deborah Kerr movie instead of crawling along the Marylebone Road in London in the middle of a busy Wednesday afternoon in an Austin Mini Metro, but hey this was actual life not, the movies. This beauty looked like a darker-skinned version of Victoria Principal. For those younger than me (which will be a lot of you), Victoria Principal was a star of the famous TV show Dallas. In the series, they married her to Bobby Ewing. Victoria was a famous beauty of her day, although I have seen her recently on TV and she is still a stunning-looking woman.

I was working for the British School of Motoring as a driving instructor based at Baker Street central London. This was a very interesting location for teaching people to drive.

Having this beauty in my car for an hour twice a week really made the job and all the stress much more bearable.

How did I get here? What was I doing teaching people to drive in the middle of central London? Was I that mad or just desperate? Read on and you shall see.

Me! A driving instructor! Well, that’s a laugh for a start. I remember a favourite aunt once telling me I was the nuttiest driver she had ever been in a car with. I remember at the time I was driving along the A10 Great Cambridge Road in Tottenham, heading for my sister’s house in Hoddesdon Hertfordshire. We were going for a family reunion of some sort when my Aunt said this to me from the back seat of my car. My Dad was in the front with me and my Mum was sitting in the back alongside my aunt. Still driving along at 70 mph I recalled saying to her, ‘Aunt, if you don’t like it, just get out of my car and walk or just shut up.’

It horrified both Mum and Dad that I had spoken to my aunt in this way, but for all my cousins and I this aunt was our favourite and she was always part of our gang so we felt we could say what we wanted (within reason), so it was okay to be blunt to her, and bless her she always accepted it in good grace. Hell, the things we said and did to her in our youth, it’s embarrassing to recall.

I remember telling my friends that my aunt was so big they used her black knickers as blackout curtains during the blitz (WWII), and she had a job at Heathrow Airport kick-starting jumbo jets, but really, we all loved her.  Sadly, she along with Mum and Dad have now passed away but I hope she is up there still laughing at what we get up to even today. To suddenly realise where I was now, sitting in a little Austin Mini Metro teaching people to drive, I bet she’s having a genuine laugh at this one.

How did I get here doing this job, and why?

Over the next few chapters, I will explain how my life went from driving along the A10 in my car at 70mph to driving along St Johns Wood Road, working for the British School of Motoring.

Here is some background. Between 1974 and 1977 there were a series of British films that arrived on the film scene titled Confessions of... Rude enough for an X certificate rating, they were a natural progression from the Carry-On films that were looking increasingly outdated.

There were four films in all: Confessions of a Window Cleaner, Confessions of a Pop Performer, Confessions of a Driving Instructor and Confessions from a Holiday Camp. All concerned the erotic adventures of Timothy Lea, based on the novels written under that name but written by Christopher Wood. Each film featured actors Robin Askwith and Antony Booth.

I knew of Christopher Wood’s work from his screenwriting on two James Bond films, The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker.

They based the series of confessions films on smutty innuendo humour. In today’s world, we would consider them politically incorrect. But it based much of the background on some facts of what happens in a driving school tuition car, and once I started working at The British School of Motoring, I realised just how near the truth the book and film really were.

My book based all on my own experiences falls somewhere between the Carry On films and the Confessions of a Driving Instructor film and book.

My memory is not as good as it used to be therefore to make the book flow and to add realism, I have used some literary license for some conversations that take place, but all that you read, and some of what happened to me is unbelievable, but it really happened.

Again, as in my other books, this is my life, warts, and all.

Chapter One

A New Job

I was a married man, out of work, with a mortgage to pay and a cat to look after. To be honest, the marriage wasn’t working. It was the first stage of failure for our relationship, but we were trying to keep it going, but then I received the sack from my job working as a salesman for a specialist computer equipment company.

Again, to be brutally honest, I was crap at the job. I wasn’t – and never would be – a salesman, and I didn’t really understand how to sell anything. However, after being made redundant from my position as a computer operator at the Middlesex Polytechnic, I found myself in somewhat of a desperate situation, so I took the job as a salesman.

After seeing a recruitment advertisement for new driving instructors and the fantastic pay you could get after training, I thought to myself, Hey, I could do that job! After all, I loved driving a car, so teaching somebody else to drive seemed a good idea at the time. I remember sending off the application, and a few days later, being asked to attend an assessment driving test. Well, what could be so difficult about that? I’d passed my driving test at seventeen years of age at my first attempt. Since I could already drive, what did I have to fear? Actually, as it turned out, quite a lot.

Off I went for my test. We drove a Triumph Dolomite, or Dolly, as we used to call them, but bloody hell, it was like taking my driving test all over again. First, they asked me lots of questions about the Highway Code and practical driving situations, and then we went off for an assessment driving test. The only thing that worried me was my favourite aunt’s voice in my ear, telling me what a nutter I was when behind the wheel of a car, so I took the test, carefully driving way within the speed limit everywhere they directed me to drive. We practised hill starts, three-point turns (a turn in the road), left turns, right turns, emergency braking – the whole works. Then, I drove some more while the instructor gave a running commentary of what I was seeing whilst driving and asked what colour the car behind me was, among other questions, until we returned to the assessment centre, where we received our results. Bloody hell, Aunt. The only thing they criticised me for was driving too slowly. That was entirely your fault, Aunt, for having a go at me about my nutty driving all those years previous. But I had passed and was promptly told that I would be placed on a driving instructor’s training course a few weeks later.

I received the notice to join a training course, which was mainly located on and around Blackheath Common, and there were two cars, both Dollies, which the three of us new trainees crammed into. All of us trainees were to be housed in a seedy guesthouse somewhere near Earls Court. Most of the other guests staying in that part of London were Australian backpackers, many of whom had parked their VW camper vans around the local streets. We had some fun evenings with the Aussies, and boy could they drink beer, and that was just the girls, who all seemed to think that London was still the London of the swinging sixties and they all wanted a piece of the action, if you get what I’m saying. These girls were certainly no shrinking violets, and they were very upfront with their sexual desires, often talking about having sex with whoever they fancied that night.

There were several evenings when I made up an excuse so that my new colleagues could cover for me, allowing me to sneak home and spend some time with my wife as our marriage was running into problems and we were still hoping to sort out our issues. But the real reason I wanted to get away was that one of the Australian girls made it obvious that her evening dessert was going to be sex and beer with me, and although I was not sure what order she wanted it served, it was not my scene.

‘Tony, do you fancy me?’ she would ask.

‘Sorry, Gloria, but I’m married.’

‘What difference does that make, sport?’

‘A lot, really. I am loyal and don’t play those sorts of games.’

‘But who will know?’

‘Me! And I would never be unfaithful just for a one-night stand.’

‘Not just for one night, I’m here for two more weeks.’

‘You know what I mean,’ I spluttered, sounding rather embarrassed. This explanation seemed to spur her on even further.

‘So, you don’t fancy me?’ she said, showing her ample cleavage, which was very nice, and to be honest, she was a very attractive young girl, but I was never into this sort of scene.

‘It’s not a question of whether or not I fancy you; I’m loyal to my wife and would never jeopardise our marriage.’

‘But look what you’re missing out on...’

She would then make some erotic gestures, making it very obvious what she wanted, as she provocatively leaned into me. It was pretty obvious she was getting turned on, and I needed to get out of this situation.

‘Sorry, I’m just not interested.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ she remarked, exasperated. ‘I fancy the only Englishman that’s faithful to his wife and is refusing sex with me. Are you blind?’ and she would then show me more of her body as she became more turned on and sexually explicit in her movements. She was a really attractive girl, but this was not something I enjoyed, and to be honest, I never enjoyed women coming on to me in such a provocative manner. After muttering some excuse, I left the dining area, feeling embarrassed and annoyed that she would approach me in such an obvious way. I then made a hasty departure from the guest house and returned home to my wife.

From that day on I tried to avoid Gloria as much as possible but she seemed genuinely always interested in coming on to me. Maybe I had become some sort of challenge for her or maybe she had a bet with her friends that she could have sex with me but thankfully it never happened. Mind you, from the stories, told me by some of my new colleagues they obviously had some interesting evenings with the girls and especially Gloria who they told me was one very hot babe. Maybe that accounted for some of the road traffic accidents we had on Blackheath Common during our training.

The two Dollies would arrive each morning around 08:30 and our instructors would assign us trainees a particular car for the day. They would select one of us to drive to our start point on Blackheath Common. We would then take it, in turn, to show what our instructors had taught us. There are three stages of teaching somebody to drive: The first stage, complete beginner; the second stage could drive, but under instructions; and the third stage ready for the test and could drive without help but just directions of where to go.

One of the early lessons that they taught us was how to use the correct terminology. For instance, you never said turn right to a pupil because that’s exactly what they would do irrespective of there being a right turn available or not so you would say Take the next turning on the right, or at the roundabout take the third turning off to the left, and so on. Never say let the clutch out.

We were driving one day and I was in the back when the trainee instructor said to the pupil (our instructor) ok let the clutch out, and at that point the pupil opened the driver’s door and chucked out what looked like the clutch pedal. ‘What the hell are you doing,’ said the trainee instructor, quickly grabbing the steering wheel as we headed towards the pavement. ‘You said let the clutch out, so I did.’

On another occasion, the trainee said, ‘depress the clutch.’ The driver immediately started looking at the clutch pedal and not the road and said, ‘I’ve had a sad life, my Mum and Dad used to wrap my school lunch in road maps and they left me without leaving a forwarding address, my wife left me when she ran off with the chauffeur as we left the church on our wedding day.’

‘What the hell are you doing?’ said the trainee at the same time as grabbing the steering wheel and braking using the dual controls as we were heading off the road and straight for an enormous oak tree.

‘You said to depress the clutch, so I was telling it a sad story to depress it!’

They taught us how important language was: set gas was the terminology, not press the gas! I did that on an early lesson, forgot our training and said press the gas pedal and the pupil revved the car up so much I thought the engine was going to explode.

‘Stop!' Stop! Stop!’ What are you doing.? I yelled above the engine noise.

‘Well, you said to press the gas pedal, which is what I did right to the floor as you didn’t say how far to press it.’

Lesson learnt from now on I said ‘clutch down off-gas, change gear, clutch up on gas.’

As we were driving along our instructor would occasionally put a piece of cardboard over the driving mirror and say, ‘What’s the colour of the car behind us,’ or ‘how many people were waiting on that zebra crossing we just passed?’ just to make sure we were fully concentrating although on some occasions I hadn’t even seen the zebra crossing let alone the people waiting to cross. However, it taught us to make sure we knew exactly what was going on all around us and not just in front of us. The days were long and tiring and it was a relief when we finished for the day and headed back to our digs.

Unfortunately, after such a stressful day learning how to become driving instructors, it should have been a relief to return to our digs for a much-needed rest, but I had forgotten all about Gloria. However, she had not forgotten about me.

On one such occasion Gloria caught me in the corridor by the bathroom leading along to our rooms. She was provocatively wearing just a bath towel wrapped around her body showing every curve. The wet patches made by water dripping off her wet hair made certain areas of her body shape stand out. She looked amazingly sexy, but I was just attempting to leave the guest house and go home to my wife for the night.

‘Hi Tony, fancy a quick fuck, you know sex with me tonight before dinner.’

‘Sorry Gloria, I am going home to my wife tonight.’

‘Well, have a starter with me.’ and she tried to wrap her body around mine.

‘Gloria we are in a public hallway!’

‘Okay, we can go to your room or mine, I really don’t care, Tony. I’m gagging for it.’

‘Gloria, I’m going home to my wife.’

‘So, you want sex with her but don’t fancy me?’

‘It’s not about sex with my wife or fancying you. I’m happily married and am going to see my wife who I love.’

‘That’s great I just want sex with you,’ and she rubbed her body up against mine very provocatively. I thought her towel was going to come off leaving her naked body exposed, and I was getting very embarrassed and a little turned on, but she seemed not to notice either.

I needed to get out of this situation. After all, there is only so much a man can take when being seduced in this manner, and that’s what it seemed like to me. Gloria was trying to seduce me, bloody hell that’s never happened to me before I thought to myself and my resolve was waning, she really was very attractive but no I just wanted to get out of this situation. Thankfully one of my colleagues Paul came out of the shared bathroom at that moment, and all he could see was Gloria with her towel wrapped around her body and cuddled into me in a very sexually suggestive manner. It was so surreal and uncomfortable to me, but I suppose Paul being a man would see it in a completely different way.

‘For Christ’s sake Tony, not in the bloody corridor. Take her to your room!’

‘Paul will you tell Gloria that I’m going home to see my wife and am not here for this.’

‘Sure Gloria, Tony is going home to see his wife although it’s a waste of time as his marriage in on the rocks anyway and they never have sex, but I don’t think now is the best time to try it on with him and especially in the bloody corridor. Nice tits and ass, by the way.’

‘Thanks Paul, that really helps me,’ and he shrugged his shoulders and headed back to his room.  But at least Gloria let go of rubbing herself up against my body, much to my relief.

‘Are you honestly going home to your wife then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Even though Paul said your marriage is on the rocks? Why not stay here with me and have some fun? I do fancy you Tony, honestly.’

‘Because as I keep explaining as attractive as you undoubtedly are, I will not be unfaithful to my wife and I’m going home.’

‘But admit it you were getting turned on I could feel you.’

‘Look Gloria you are a very attractive woman and what you were trying to do to me, well there are few men that could control themselves but that doesn’t mean I wanted sex with you. Now I’m going home to my wife. Goodnight.’

‘You’re a fucking idiot Tony, nobody will ever get such an easy offer of sex than I have just offered you.’

Then she showed me her bra-less breasts by loosening the towel and pulling it down below her breasts. They were extremely attractive breasts for sure, but at this moment I didn’t want to see them.

‘That’s as maybe Gloria, but I’m still not interested.’ As I walked down the stairs, I can remember her words.

‘I don’t believe you. I know how you were reacting to my body back then, you’re missing out on a great...’ I didn’t hear the rest as I walked out and closed the front door behind me. I

Reviews for The Road to "L"

[Tony Levy · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What a journey through the eyes of the author of the streets of London back in the 1980's It was like being in the car with him and how he turned some of the offers of sex down I will never understand, he must have been the consummate professional, I would have loved to have him teaching me to drive I would not have failed three times with Tony as my tutor
The historic events that took place during his time brought all that history back to life
An easy read but one I could not put down
Loved the book and recommend it to anybody