When I was at school in the 70s, there was a very attractive teacher
called Miss Taylor (first name Joanne) who drove a Hillman Imp. These
were small rear-engined cars which could be quite temperamental. In
recognition of this the makers had provided an attachment for a
starting handle as backup. I remember one day leaving school late
after playing sport, seeing Joanne in the car park, bending over the
back of her car in her skirt and high heels, trying to crank it into
life. She was putting her whole body into wrenching the handle round,
her long brown hair swinging across her face. On that occasion she
managed to get it started after a few turns, after which she got in
the car and drove off.

In my last year at school, the teachers arranged an evening visit to
the theatre to watch a play we had been studying. The teachers were to
take us in their cars. When we gathered outside the school, I casually
drifted towards Joanne's car. Three of us travelled with her, a girl
called Helen who sat in the front, another girl called Sue, and me. I
got in the back with Sue, on the opposite side from Joanne so I could
watch her drive.

It was a cold day, and setting off from the school, Joanne had trouble
starting the car. She said "fingers crossed and hope the car starts,
it's playing up a bit at the moment". She turned the key, and the
little engine cranked over unwillingly behind me and Sarah. As she
released the key, Joanne jiggled the accelerator with the pointed toe
of her black high heeled boot. Her skirt had ridden up a bit revealing
her stockinged knee. "Make that all fingers and toes crossed," she
said, adjusting the floor-mounted choke lever. "What's the matter with
it," said Helen. "I think it needs a new battery" said Joanne. "This
morning it just wouldn't turn over and I had to use the starting
handle." While my expectations were being aroused, she turned the key
again. Same routine - the engine turned over, but when she stopped
cranking the engine wasn't running despite her efforts to stimulate it
with the pedal. "Come on baby," she pleaded, "they're all waiting for
us". Joanne tried again, and this time the engine fired. She worked
the pedal really vigorously with her toe, but after sputtering for a
few seconds the engine died. The next time she gave the key a really
long turn, finally lifting the choke lever slightly and prodding the
pedal, and the engine sputtered into life. She pumped and pumped, and
it gradually picked up until it was revving hard. She looked over at
Mr Johnson who was waiting in his car at the exit from the car park
and gave him a thumbs up, and we all set off for the theatre.

All through the play I was waiting eagerly for the journey home.
Emerging from the theatre, the night air was bitterly cold. The
teachers had all parked in different places, so after saying goodbye
to the others, the three of us who had come with Joanne walked back
with her to her car. The high heels of her boots clicked on the frosty
pavement as she walked along, her long brown hair flowing behind her.
We arrived back at the Imp with its frosted windows. Joanne unlocked
the door and tipped the seat forward so that Sue and I could climb in
the back. Joanne said: "Helen, could you give the windows a scrape
while I see if I can get this thing started?" She handed a scraper to
Helen who set to work.

Joanne got in the driving seat, leaving the door open. Fortunately for
me we were parked under a lamp and I still had a good view of her
stockinged legs and booted feet. She switched the ignition on, and
wiggled the gearstick to check it was in neutral. She eased the choke
lever into position, and poised her right toe on the accelerator
without pressing it. "Now for the moment of truth" she muttered and
turned the key. Behind me the starter motor stirred, and began
cranking the engine slowly and unenthusiastically. After ten seconds
or so Joanne let go of the key. "That doesn't sound very good Miss"
said Sue. "No it's really cold" said Joanne. I can tell this isn't
going to be easy." She turned the key again. The engine seemed to
crank even more reluctantly than the first time. Repeating her
technique from the afternoon, Joanne worked the pedal hard with her
toe as she released the key. We sat in silence disturbed only by Helen
scraping the last of the ice off the windscreen.

Joanne tried one more time. The starter was reduced to a muffled
wheezing behind us. As a last resort, Joanne pressed her boot right to
the floor and released it, but to no avail.

Helen opened the passenger door and got in. "Sound like it won't
start" she said. "No it won't" said Joanne. "There's just not enough
life in the battery. Is the handle down by your feet". Helen reached
down and passed Joanne the starting handle. "Let's try this" said
Joanne, getting out of the car and leaving her door open.

Behind us, Joanne lifted the cover off the engine and we heard the
clatter of her slotting the starting handle into place. "Helen, do you
want to get into my seat so you can work the controls for me? John,
open the window could you, so I can tell Helen what to do." The Imp
had an opening rear window, which I popped open. Helen slid across
behind the wheel. Although soberly dressed for school, she was wearing
quite sexy boots with a bit of a heel. "Can you turn the ignition on,
but not so far that you turn the starter" asked Joanne. Helen did so
and red lights appeared on the dashhboard. Through the open back of
the car I saw Joanne bend to grasp the handle. It seemed all she could
do to wrench it through one turn. After a pause she turned it again,
the engine clanking over without firing. "Right" she said, "Helen
could you press the accelerator as I turn it? On three - one, two,
three.." Behind us Joanne cranked, and glancing at the driver's seat
in front I was just in time to see Helen's toe coaxing the gas. "And
again - one, two, three (clank, clank), one two three (clank, clank),
one two three (clank clank)".Joanne let up, and all we could hear was
the creaking of the accelerator under Helen's foot. "Helen, do you
know where the choke is?" enquired Joanne ".that little lever on the
floor. Can you lift it up just a bit. OK let's try again."

Joanne began cranking again, putting all her effort into turning the
engine over with the handle. Helen had got the knack of working the
accelerator at just the right time, so Joanne no longer needed to
count. Joanne's whole body seemed to be gyrating with the starting
handle. She was gasping for breath as she cranked as hard as she
could. Unexpectedly the engine gave a brief cough. "Coax it Helen!"
Helen's toe expertly jiggled the pedal, trying to stimulate the engine
again as Joanne kept cranking. The engine sputtered again, and again,
but Helen just couldn't keep it running. With a huge sigh, Joanne
stopped cranking and stood up. "God, I just can't keep cranking!" she
exclaimed. "We nearly got it then - you're doing a good job Helen."
She walked round to the side of the car. "How about giving the key a
turn?" Helen did so. The engine cranked turned really reluctantly.
Helen worked the pedal with her toe, but just couldn't get it to fire.
"Sorry Miss, it's not starting." "OK, I'll try the handle again."
Joanne went back behind the car, bent down, and began cranking the
handle with renewed energy. I didn't know whether to look at her
swaying body or Helen's toe gently coaxing the pedal. Suddenly Sue
leaned over and whispered "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I felt
my face go red but she added "Don't worry, so am I!" and giggled.
Fortunately Helen was oblivious to this as the engine was beginning to
sputter again and she was concentrating on her attempts to get it
running. Eventually as Helen pumped and Joanne cranked, the engine
gradually picked up. "We've got it!" shouted Joanne, "Don't lose it,
keep your foot down." The little engine was now throbbing behind us as
Helen revved it.

That was about the end of the experience. Joanne eased herself into
the drinving seat, edging her boot onto the pedal before Helen took
hers off completely as she slid over to the other side. We sat there
for a few minutes with Joanne warming the engine and fiddling with the
choke until she trusted it enough to set off. By now Sue was leaning
on my shoulder and whispered to me "Maybe you should come and watch me
start my moped." But that is another story.