OK, here's a little bit of history ... my father was nearly 20 years old at the outbreak of World War I, and when he was called up was the proud owner of a four-cylinder FN motorcycle. When he was training (he never made it to the front, btw) some officer or sergeant asked if any of you 'orrible lot could drive, and Dad, knowing no better, stuck his hand up ... never having driven a four-wheeled vehicle. It seemed that the camp, near Catterick, was on the estate of a cough-mixture millionaire, whose chauffeur had been called up and who liked to go to board meetings in Leeds and get thoroughly drunk afterwards.
So Dad found himself in charge of a huge Daimler limousine like a small bus ... on which he had to teach himself to drive!
My poor Dad never was a very good driver ...