An Irish Diary

Confessions of a non-driver: Fionnuala Ward on closing the door on an old ambition

The theory test was grand but it was tricky after that

"I’ve done plenty of lessons over the years. I even did a week-long intensive course." Photograph: Getty Images

Fionnuala Ward
Tue Aug 23 2022 - 19:26

I don’t drive. It’s nothing medical. It’s nothing pragmatic. It’s evolved into something sustainable and environmental but to be honest, it didn’t start out that way.

A lot of it is down to laziness. Having a car just seemed so much hassle. There was the cost, for a start and then all that figuring out – car makes, insurance, how to do that whole pump thing at the petrol station.

I’ve done plenty of lessons over the years. I even did a week-long intensive course, heading out with the instructor for three or four hours a day. By the end of that week, we’d run the gamut of an actual relationship from anticipation and enthusiasm and showing great interest in each other’s stories to prolonged bouts of frustration and exasperation.

At one stage, the instructor pointed out a parked car which according to him I’d missed by inches. I begged to differ in the strongest possible terms and it was then that it struck me that we’d effectively turned into a married couple, bickering our way down the Main Street.

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I learned loads, mind you. I passed the theory test and even got my provisional licence. And then I let the whole thing slip and at this stage it’s gone. Every last bit.

My mother learned to drive late in life. She had an advantage, though, having no need to do a test. She had one of those licences, now long since defunct, which involved a signature on a form and had the wherewithal to renew it every year. It licensed her to drive not only a car but an articulated truck which she took great pleasure in letting people know.

As a non-driver, I tend not to take note of cars. For us non-drivers, cars are functional items only. They get you from A to B. Friends and family talk of makes and mileages and it’s like another language

A friend recalls learning to drive on the family farm. She and her boyfriend drove into a field, startling a cow going about its business in the process. The car possibly came between the cow and the herd or maybe the cow and its calf. Either way, this cow let her annoyance show by charging the car and giving it a good thump. There were hairs from the cow entangled in the bumper for weeks afterwards.

Cars can be essential items. I get that. A friend tells of driving from Galway to Dublin, when her car gave out. She managed to make her way to a garage but the prognosis wasn’t good. My buddy had things to do and places to go so she did a quick run with a new model and arranged trade-in and purchase on the spot. And then she headed back to Dublin in her new car, much to the bewilderment of the garage staff.

As a non-driver, I tend not to take note of cars. For us non-drivers, cars are functional items only. They get you from A to B. Friends and family talk of makes and mileages and it’s like another language. Actual drivers don’t get this at all. A friend, who’s given me a lift on numerous occasions, once watched as I made my way towards her car, messages in hand.

I stopped en route at a red vehicle and was about to unload my purchases into the back seat until I spotted her in another car further along the road.

She was incredulous when I opened her door. “How could you think this car was red?” she exclaimed. “You’ve been in it so many times. It’s navy!”

Recently a friend texted to let me know where my pick-up from the train station would be. The information included the make of the car which induced a momentary panic. I walked outside with some apprehension but happily the car was right where it was supposed to be and I found it no problem.

Driving is on my mind of late because I’m closing the door on it. I’m planning to dig up the front drive which up to this has been used by visitors only and put in some combination of bark and gravel and plants instead. I’ve read that drainage has become an issue in towns and cities and that say the South of England is pretty much concreted over, with dire repercussions when it comes to flooding. And then there are all those worms and insects and birds and bees and their need to have somewhere to hang out.

Coincidentally, I recently met the grandson of a previous owner. The man explained that his grandfather had had an award-winning front garden and sent me a photo of the winning cert.

I’m not expecting to win anything but I’ll give it a shot anyway. And as for visitors with their red and navy and pink and polka-dot cars? They can park on the street.

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