The Road to 'L' Do You Remember Your Driving Instructor?

By Tony Levy

The Road to 'L' Do you remember your driving instructor? Well, they sure remember you.
It is humorous memoirs through the eyes of a professional driving instructor, 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.
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.
Read about 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 tell 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 encounter 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 or read about Mrs Shah and why nobody could take their eyes away from staring at her.
My book is a journey through the eyes of a professional driving instructor that will amaze you and also amuse you.
It is 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
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.
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 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005639099

Tony Levy

I am a 68 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 now completed my 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.It is about my last working career after having to go back to the UK during the recession I obtained work as a security officer at Heathrow Airport Terminal 5.This book El Dorado? No! Heathrow Airport is a continuation where my first book finished and revels the truth about how we all behave when faced with airport security the rudeness and the language directed at security staff by passengers and celebrities will amaze you and bemuse you.Look out for 'El Dorado? No! Heathrow Airport' It is now available now. Read the book and recognise yourself in the book.These two book have actually led to a third book making them into a trilogy of my quest to find my personal El Dorado.The third book will be about real people too and my experience of living on an ex pat community in Spain. This too will be a great read but will mean I will have to move for my own safety after revealing the behaviour of my fellow Brits abroad.But before this book can be completed I have written a prequel all about when I was a driving instructor in Central London back in the early 1980's Which will be published soonI am now also working on a children's book all about four stray kittens that arrived on our doorstep after some tremendous storms. Homeless, hungry and in need of help these cats have changed our lives and I felt compelled to write their storyI hope you read and enjoy all my booksThank you all

Book preview

The Road to L

Dedication

Do you remember your driving instructor? Well, he sure remembers you and this book is dedicated to all the pupils I taught during my time as a Driving Instructor in Central London back in the early 1980s working for The British School of Motoring. Based on Baker Street, London, it was a very interesting and adventurous time for me.

This book is a true confession of what happens to both instructor and staff when on their driving lessons, written by me: a real driving instructor.

I worked as a driving instructor between 1981 and 1983 and this is my story of what really happened to me during that period.

This book is a warts and all revelation and tells the story of this period of my life. It tells the story of what happened to too many driving instructors with their pupils whilst on their lessons.

Some conversations I had with pupils could have come straight from a psychoanalyst's couch, but they took place in an Austin Mini Metro in the middle of central London.

The offers of sexual favours (some of which were unbelievable), the gifts given as incredible thanks and appreciation of my professionalism, the frustrations of dealing with some pupils, the accidents, the confrontations with traffic wardens and the general funny incidents of the day-to-day life of a driving instructor are all contained in these pages.

Some you will believe, some you will not, but all these incidents are my recollections of true events. However, I have changed the real names to protect the privacy of the individuals.

Not the most glamourous job in the world, but hey I had some weird and wonderful times doing it and some fantastic memories.

The book is dedicated to all those pupils that took lessons with me. You know who you are, we spent hours doing kangaroo starts and driving around that square at the back of Camden Town. Just driving around and around so you could get used to the feel of moving and steering in the push and pull method required, and the kids from the block of flats shouting insults at us the whole time. Then there were the endless right turns and left turns and so on until you either became competent drivers and we went for your driving tests or you realised that it was a hopeless task as you would never get this driving lark.

Thankfully, I never had many that gave up. I wouldn't let you even though I would get back to the office and bang my head several times in sheer frustration of it all against the toilet wall, or just go down to the dungeons and swear in frustration and anger at the top of my voice.

Do you remember when I screamed at you at the top of my failing voice ‘When I let out a blood-curdling yell and scream Jesus Christ you're going to kill someone I'd like you to apply the brakes...NOW. I really meant it’.

However, I hope you are still the skilful drivers you were then when being taught by me. Thank you all for these wonderful memories.

This book is a prequel to my previous trilogy of books A Turnkey or Not? followed by El Dorado? No! Heathrow Airport and the last book in the trilogy, which I am currently writing and it’s called The Real El Dorado? No! The Real Truth.

I hope this effort amuses you, as did my other books.

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

Reviews for The Road to 'L' Do You Remember Your Driving Instructor?

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

It was funny witty with great stories and a wonderful tour of historic London thrown in for good measure