TOWARDS the end of the 1950s, William Lavender brought his wife and sister-in-law, Daisy and Amy, across the River Teign from Bishopsteignton to Shaldon take over the Embankment Garage on Bridge Road.

Daisy was an invalid and Amy tended the line of pumps dispensing Esso petrol at less than four shillings a gallon.

In the large workshop, Jack Eden and Alan Heard carried out repairs for locals and emergency breakdowns.

The glass-fronted showrooms protected the latest Renault models bought through Bill’s dealership with the company which was about to launch an aggressive sales offensive.

In the early 1960s, their cars were shipped from France to Millbay Docks at Plymouth then transferred to the dealer at Bretonside.

It was to this garage that Bill’s 17-year-old niece was sent via train and taxi with a pair of trade plates that were affixed to a maroon Renault 16 with just five miles on the clock.

The young woman drove the vehicle back to Shaldon where Bill said: ‘Well done Vivien!’ after the first of several such collections.

Every year, it was exciting to be involved with a demonstration day when all customers and potential new ones were invited to test drive a model of their choice.

A transporter arrived with four or five cars to be arranged on the forecourt for the prospective purchasers to admire.

I would drive them up to the Labrador car park then invite them to drive back.

It seems inconceivable now that, long before females were taken seriously in the work place, Bill entrusted an inexperienced new driver to carry out such tasks.

My enthusiasm was originally sparked in a dodgem car at the fairground on Shaldon’s green, and from then on the idea of learning to drive became an obsession.

Embankment’s car salesman, Johnny Walker, a mature ex-military chap with a bristling moustache allowed me to take the wheel on the rough piece of ground on Haldon Aerodrome.

It was so exciting that Bill generously found a suitable starter car in the shape of a silver grey Renault 750.

With just three forward gears, the front doors opened backwards.

It was a passport to freedom.

That first car was succeeded by a Dauphine, an R1100 and finally the joyous Renault Caravelle – a white open-top beauty which Bill insisted was the car wealthy Frenchmen bought their mistresses.

I should have thought to ask Renault executive, Jacques Fiaux, when he waltzed me round the dance floor during a function in London’s Grosvenor House Hotel.

A man of many seasons, he was reminiscent of the veteran model Renault that came to one of the annual demonstrations.

Families now make their own memories on the once hallowed footprint of Embankment Garage.