The longer lever
09/30/2025
I've been doing an internship at Zwischengas since this summer - and I've never driven a car older than me (i.e. 22) before. High time to change that!
On Sunday, September 28, the Austin Morris Wolseley Friends (AMWF) are going on their last ride of the season, and I'm invited. As my internship salary is not quite enough for a classic car, they kindly let me use their club vehicle: an Austin A30 panel van, built in 1958. My predecessor Leandra has already driven this car; she also recorded her driving impressions in a blog .
When the car key - which looks more like a letterbox key - is handed to me, I feel a little queasy. I'm supposed to drive this almost 70-year-old vehicle from Bülach to Wohlen. Will that go well?
Before getting in, I have the peculiarities of the Austin explained to me. The gearshift is very long in the high-legged van, so that the knob is only a hand's breadth away from the steering wheel. "It takes a bit of feeling to get the gears in," says Martin, the husband of club president Gudrun Tognella. And you have to slam the doors with momentum so that the locks engage properly.
In the driver's seat, I automatically reach back to fasten my seatbelt - and promptly reach into the void. Of course, there were no seat belts in the 50s, nor were there headrests or a safety steering column. On the other hand, the Austin can not only signal when turning, but also wave - much to the amusement of the people at the side of the road.
And then it's time to get going: reverse out of the driveway and drive up the slope. Surprisingly, this works without stalling, the 0.8-liter engine with 28 hp is patient with me (which may also be due to the choke). In general, I am amazed at how well the A30 can be tamed. Only the third gear needs a lot of intermediate throttle when downshifting so that it slips in. All the better the feeling when the revs are right and the gears mesh silently.
Concentrated, I chug after an Austin Princess . With 28 hp under the hood and a passenger next to me, I sometimes struggle to keep up with the comparatively modern car, even though the A30 even has a highway sticker. Only a horse-drawn carriage is even slower than us.
On a bend, it suddenly rattles. All I can see in the rear-view mirror is the tailgate swinging open and slamming shut again noisily. Now it's definitely closed properly and won't close again.
Shifting gears works better the longer it takes. The Austin fights back loudly every time it doesn't like the revs when changing gear. It teaches you how to change gear properly all by itself. At around mile 20, it starts to drizzle and my co-driver switches on the windshield wipers. At kilometer 21, the wiper blade falls off. Fortunately, the rain soon stops again and we reach our destination in one piece and just in time: the Wohlen go-kart track.
I've never been to a go-kart track before, but after the journey in the Austin, I feel perfectly warmed up. In fact, the go-kart doesn't handle much differently to the Austin, except that it corners better and the bucket seats offer more lateral support. After a few fast laps with squealing tires, the fun is already over.
Karting makes you hungry, so we set off through Freiamt towards our lunch stop. As sat navs were unfortunately not standard equipment in the 1950s, we have to rely on the sense of direction of the Austin Princess in front of us. However, this proves to be deceptive, so that we have to reverse twice that day in order to turn around. I notice how smooth the steering is, even though there is no power assistance. After the involuntary turning maneuver, we make it directly to the Besenbeiz, where we are rewarded for our efforts with a cordon bleu.
On the way back, we make a quick pit stop at the gas station. The Austin lets us know that his tank is about to be full by contentedly spilling a gob of fuel from the flat filler neck onto the ground. Of course, the gourmet also treats himself to a sip of lead substitute afterwards. "Cool car," says the cashier as we pay. Shortly afterwards, we are back on the road and soon back in Bülach, where we have to leave the Austin with a heavy heart.
As I sit in a modern car again on the way home, I notice how quiet it is. You can't hear any gearbox noises or rattling, just the muffled roar of the exhaust system. It's almost as if something is missing. While the Austin knows exactly what it wants and lets its driver know it, modern cars perform their duties dutifully, submissively - and silently.
