The first big one

How did I end up with the big Ford? Well it was between trips and I was in my local pub when a couple of lads came in as I was regaling my tales of foreign shores. They seemed interested, but what they wanted was me, they knew I wanted another lorry, one of them had a Transcon that was too heavy for his job, a deal was struck and the next day I returned my old Saviem to the scrapyard from whence it came, for very similar money as it happens.

I took the money from the scrap man and took it straight to Dave’s house, giving him a cheque and a cash payment for the ex Rockware Ford, he threatened me and said if the cheque bounced he would pull my fingers off with pliers or some such like. I took this as a gentleman’s agreement and said if it did, he could have the lorry back and to count the cash as a hire fee!

I must regress a little and remind you of my working partnership with Andy, we were mates who had become disillusioned with UK transport and wanted to go further afield, his wife was an old friend of Sharon who was George Ghinn’s partner and Roberts mother. George had once offered Andy a job but being newly wed, he turned it down. Ten years later we were on our way to Europe, during our “uncivil” partnership in the Saviem Andy had met a German girl in Langweid near Augsburg while we were drinking with her brother in a Greek bar The plan was to drive up to the nearest autohof, have a shower and come back that night as there was a beer festival on in Langweid Foret. Andy organised a shower at her flat, while I got the keys from her brother to use his shower. Meanwhile the girl prepared tea and her brother got more ■■■■■■ It turned out that Hans was on weekend release from prison, such is the rule in Germany and he had to go back on Sunday night. All that needs to be said is that it was a cracking weekend. I had the keys to Hans flat and we never saw him again that weekend.

So what happens now. I own a new to me Ford Transcontinental, my driver has butterflies in his stomach and talks of nothing but Bavaria Another friend of mine had a lorry standing and he did a lot of German work. Exit Andy.

Meanwhile I have a loaded trailer for Athens sat in Oldbury so off I pop, fairly uneventful were many of the trips but I always used the Commie bloc after my first trip. This was in 1987 iirc or early 88 and a lot of water and beer has passed my lips since then, but I do remember the good bits, reminded to me recently by a chat in a pub with a driver from GLP - aka Chris Brearley.

It must have been the first or second trip with the Transcon and I had gone down with coke cans from Wrexham, tipped and ended up in Piraeus, with nothing to do I nipped round to Theos with it and Ron the con convinced me he could make it fly for a large handful of drachma. He serviced it and cleaned it up and messed with it. I don’t really remember any improvement in the power but it did feel better after a good service. I knew my mate Rod was on his way down with a Brearley load and he arrived over the weekend, tagging on behind was another Ford Transcontinental which I recognised, I also recognised the driver, as Andy!!!

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They had to tip so I hung around as Rod wanted to see Ron. Rod had brought an old school mate Graham down with him and when we visited Ron he explained that some government elections were on, and it wasn’t really safe to remain in Athens.

The job was sorted then. Ron’s partner was a Greek travel agent who could get us some cheap tickets. Dealing with Ron the Con is like visiting Auntie Wainwright We were going to Agistri via Aegina about 20 miles from the mainland for a couple of days. Why not we were all single, the lorries were safe inside the port and we had some spare drachmas, especially as I was picking up some more money when the offices opened again.

Graham is known to us as The General and has been since school, he is a little eccentric to say the least and had us in stitches on the ferry to Aegina. He had turned up with his dads old demob suitcase with a pair of jeans and 3 t shirts, Rod had bought some food but all General would eat was Tuna from a can. During the trip down in Yugoslavia, a border guard had got on the wrong side of Graham when he wanted to look in his suitcase. Graham thought he was taking the ■■■■ or trying to steal his clothes

It started rather innocuously as Rod was doing his carnet, the Guard knocked on the “passenger” door where Graham was sat and called, “Mr Transcontinental” in a sort of tune, and then barked Green Card, Green Card. Graham ignored him, not knowing the procedure, when Rod got back all hell had broke loose with Graham wrestling his suitcase off this lowly paid guard. The Guard realised that Graham was not the driver and was probably thinking the documents were in this old battered suitcase. He only wanted to check the insurance and extract a packet of ■■■■ if it wasn’t there. It all got sorted eventually and by telling the story it has stood Graham a good few pints over the last 25 years.

So here we were on a fast ferry to a Greek Island wearing what we stood up in, no overnight bags, towels or food, just two furry wallets with chains on them. Andy was crap with money so Rod was carrying his running money from Brearley too. When we got off the second ferry in Agistri, the first thing we saw was a sign saying motorbikes for hire, so that was the first priority and off we went to explore the small island, we soon discovered there were only two policeman on the island, how did we know, because they were both chasing us and caught us, one in a car and one on a motorbike. The one in the car was the Chief, the head sharang and the other was probably his brother or cousin. we just got a bollocking but didn’t really know what for, apart from this being a fairly tranquil island and it must have sounded like the end of May on the Isle of Man.

The Chief of police asked us for addresses and we told him England, and he said, where are you staying on the island? Nowhere yet, someone replied, we will find a hotel later. He said there were only two hotels on the island and one was fully booked, the other would have two rooms to share if we were quick. We thanked him without a fine and then tried to race the other policeman back to the main port area. He stopped outside this hotel and pointed, we parked the bikes and went in to find the receptionist was Welsh. He did indeed have two rooms spare and we were welcome to put our bikes in the yard. We went to the rooms and had a shower and arranged to meet in the bar, when we walked down, the first shock was the barman, it was the chief of police, the biggest shock was that he also owned both hotels.

As I mentioned I was reminded of this story only last week so I am trying to write it whilst it is fresh in my mind, by the next day we were fairly emotional after being guests of the local police force who obviously isn’t worried about being raided for after hours serving. I do remember getting another bollocking at breakfast from the Greek copper, he said have you lost anything, well after checking my pockets for lighter and ■■■■, room key and motorbike key I said no!

He then produced a furry wallet with the remains of last night, there was about 800 quid still in it and I had left it lying on the bar He let both me and Rod leave our money in the hotel safe that day as we were going down to the nudist beach on our bikes. During the evening a coach load of Norwegian students had turned up and we had a good night without becoming too close. Well apart from Rod that was who mistakenly got in the wrong room and went to bed early, these girls returned and went to bed to find an English driver snoring away in their dormitory room. I think he was more scared because he ran down the corridor with them chasing him, like a Benny Hill sketch.

So the fearless four set off to the cliffs on the bikes and looked down to the beautiful clear sea, there was a small bar and nothing else to be seen, except a well worn path which we followed. as it was open we needed a drink and we were just sat at a table when first one and then another two Chinese ladies came and stood at the bar, completely naked, not an eyelid was batted nor a ■■■■ raised, it could have been two sisters and mother but not young sisters, they were all quite wrinkly and we were more embarrassed than them. We soon left that part of the beach and found our bikes again and spent most of the day exploring calling at the odd beach taverna. Like mad dogs we became a little hot and decided to cool off in the sea and went swimming before returning to the hotel. Rodney had other plans and stood on a Sea Urchin. We helped him back to his bike and we rode back to the hotel where some of the girls from the previous night were around the patio.

The treatment for a sea urchin explosion in you foot is to remove each spine carefully without breaking them or digging them out, there is an old wives tale that says if you wee on it, that can help, it must be an old wives tale in Norway too as these girls lined up to ■■■■ on Holtys foot. I doubt it made him feel much better but as he is still talking about it after 25 years, they must have hit the spot Sadly the next day we had to return to the mainland where the election had been run, the fires were out and a semblance of order had returned to Athens. We found several other British drivers parked near us, most of whom who had been fleeced by George at the TIR Diner or in Glyfada over the last couple of days. What has this got to do with lorries? Well not a lot except it was a lorry that took me there, it was lorries that paid for it and it was lorry driving that made it fun.

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Here is a photograph of the old road over the Corinth canal

Where to next? I cant remember but I know we ended up in Germany and bought some fuel from the British Army of the Rhine for the belly tanks.

Nice one Malc, great read. The social/party lifestyle was brilliant, all about having a good time.

This is Rod who stood on the sea urchin, he seems to have an affinity with strange creatures

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Did he get Ricky Tomlinson’s autograph

Absolutely riveting stuff wheel nut. Looking forward to more and more!!!

Just setting off for France to retrace a few steps and check on a few facts for the next episode of my own saga!

Andy

Like the title of this thread sounds like the memoirs of naughty Nora ha ha,I m working on mine but don t hold your breath could take some time.Crow.

geoffthecrowtaylor:
Like the title of this thread sounds like the memoirs of naughty Nora ha ha,I m working on mine but don t hold your breath could take some time.Crow.

You already know Rod, Geoff, there is a story about you lot in Romania with young Mark.

Newmercman.

My Arse

mushroomman:
Hi Ron, I can’t remember The Jubilee Way being there in the early seventies but wait a minute when was The Queens Jubilee Year was it 1977.

I am sure that every body can remember their first trip over the water so come on lets hear them .

B.T.W. does anybody know if K.W. has arrived home from that Greek trip yet as were are all still waiting to hear about it.

Regards Steve.

My dad died on the 27/10/1977. About 10 years later I had taken my truck for a service and got a lift home. I went to the pub and got ratted for posterity. Unfortunately the next day I was breathalysed positive while in my car This is the beginning of the story as I arranged to sell my lovely DAF 3300 and GP Tank Barrel. I bought an old 141 Scania and used it on round timber haulage after the storms of October 1987. Me and a friend were earning £400 per load from Box Hill and we worked Sunday to Thursday. It was a good job and apart from fuel it was all profit.

The 141 was rotten, the engine used as much oil as fuel but it was fast enough to roundtrip Hull - Dorking everyday before the pub closed. Several times we were pulled up either at Sandy or Crick and the guys on the weighbridge couldn’t believe we were running these pieces of garbage, my mate had a Ford which would catch pigeons. I did try to swap my Scania for a Volvo, which let me down on the first day when the turbo pipe split letting all the oil out, a new pipe, some oil and a callout from Volvo almost took that days profit. I took it back and reclaimed my Scania. The timber job began to dry up and we were looking for a change. My drink drive hearing was looming and I needed to do something. I took the Scania to auction and failed miserably as a truck dealer, the scrap value offered was an insult.

On the way home we called in to see Chris Brearley and I was looking round one of his Leyland Roadtrains that had just returned from Turkey. I was impressed by all the mud stuck to the cab, looked like it hadn’t been washed since it was built and the tilt was a similar colour. A plan was formed. I would get banned inevitably but only in the UK I figured. On the way back from Chris brearley’s yard I nipped into Assetwell, a well known Mercedes Benz exporter. I knew Ian Hepworth as he hunts with my Uncle and shook hands on a deal, he took the Scania. I drove out in an ex Burtons the Tailor Saviem. I took it for a service, fitted a headlight bulb and chiseled the brass plate of the fifth wheel (This vehicle has been downplated to 24tonne) I did a test run to Dorking and although slower it performed well enough. During that week I was due at court and I asked another mate to drive my Saviem. Andy loved this truck as he used to pretend he was French to chat up the ladies.

I got a 12 month ban and £200 fine and paid him about 30 quid. After visiting Chris Brearley I had sown a seed and got a call from George Brooke who had worked for Chris, he had started up his own business and had a load out of ICI Yalding for Athens, my best mate had a step frame tilt and I said I would do a trip for him. Andy was going to drive the Saviem in England and we would then share the driving in Europe. I got a green card from my insurance broker that was uncrossed apart from Iran I think. On the due day of loading I was told that they would only load a straightframe trailer and it was ADR 6.1. Both Andy and myself had our ADR and I used my contacts to rent a trailer from TIP in Maidstone and set off bobtail the following morning. We had both been to Yalding with the tankers so we were familiar with that. We were less familiar with the next part of the job and arrived in Dover to meet George at Uniex office. He gave me a ferry ticket, a bag of money and an envelope with some phone numbers on it. We went down the lanes and ended up stood on some stairs with loads of other drivers, listening intently to many stories of distant places. We shipped that evening with P&O to Calais and parked near Fontainbleu early the next day. After about 4 hours sleep we set off towards Lyon and on towards Italy. The next stop was at an AGIP station just through the tunnel. I cant remember which but think it was the Blanc. I remember going into the cafe and having a couple of pints when a policeman came in and though it was rather strange to see two Englishmen on the beer about 5am. He seemed happy enough when we climbed in the lorry and closed the curtains and slept while lunchtime.

Now that I was in Italy I looked at the handwritten instructions, “when you get near Brindisi, give Justine a call on this number” Where the hell is Brindisi I asked as we were heading towards Milan. Andy found it on the map and passed it over. What you reckon he said. I don’t know we will get a bit closer and ring the shipping agent where Justine worked. We drove all day and into the night and still seemed a long way from this little village on the coast. The Saviem had performed faultlessly and was amazing on fuel considering we were grossing about 37 tonne. We had taken all the stickers off the trailer in Calais and the orange boards were under the bunk after coming through the Blanc, we had declared the load then and were allowed through on our own. When we got near Bari we decided on calling it a day and pulled into a parking area to sleep. The next morning I woke up and called Frag Line and asked for Justine, she spoke perfect English but I may have spoken to her in Swahili, she didn’t know anything about me, the trailer number or George Brooke. I seem to remember it was a lovely February morning as we approached Brindisi as I saw the silhouette of a policeman behind a tree, not one but two with a gun, a speed gun and the next half hour was spent discussing the price of cappuccino. I won and it cost me the price of a small cafetiere.

As we pulled into the town of Brindisi we saw a sign to the port and ferryboat, we drove up to the gate and waited, and waited, and waited. Eventually a uniform arrived and made me reverse onto some waste ground. “Parking, Parking.” I never really understood what we should have done or where the ticket office was, but up the road was a Dutchman, now I had been abroad enough to know the Dutch drivers have the coffee on permanently and know everything. I showed him the phone number and said Frag Line and he just said taxi, frag line, taxi, pointing to the other side of the dock. So off we went with my money in a Midland Bank cotton bag, two passports and an envelope of invoices, t forms and a CMR to find a taxi. He knew the place and took us to an office that was locked but had Frag Line stickers on the windows. Opposite was an ice cream parlour, so when in Italy, eat Gelato. Maybe it was lunch time, maybe it was closed but we had arrived in one piece.

We ate gelato for what seemed hours and Andy had changed his allegiance from French to Italian now and we spent ages eyeing up the young beautiful talent. His Mother was half Italian so he probably looked the part but his conversation let him down, he sounded like Captain Alberto Bertorelli (Hello Hello) “What a mistake-a to make-a!” We saw some action across the port as a ferry was maneuvering and soon the office light came on and we went into see Justine. she too was beautiful, about 22 and fit as a butchers dog. She explained that we didn’t have a ferry booking and should have made one on our departure from Calais, the next available sailing was 3 days away. I think the day we arrived was Saturday so we wouldn’t be leaving until Tuesday. Andy immediately started to chat up Justine while the more serious one, me, was beginning to worry and imagine all sorts of problems with George. ICI and Hellas. It was then that she opened the envelope and saw that the load was pesticide and poisonous. Oh hold on, it is OK. I do have a ferry booking for you, it is next Thursday. this load must go on a freight ferry without passengers. I have your tickets. The ups and downs of haulage I decided, if we had loaded on the correct day, we may have been in time to see our ferry just leaving and would have had to wait a whole week, this way we were just a little early for our scheduled boat. Justine bade us a good trip and gave me a plan of the port area explaining about the capitania do porto and the protocol to get access. She said she would come to the parking area on Tuesday when her passenger ferry arrived back and make sure we were OK.

The next few nights were spent drinking expensive coffee or weak beer and eating ice cream, but a few more trucks arrived although our Dutchman had left. One English driver turned up who was a veteran on the Greek Run. He weighed about 22 stone and was called Ken, driving a 142 Scania that looked like it was once owned by Wm Mark Young. I met his cousin several years later who told me that Ken had died in his cab. Eventually we were getting closer to our sailing and Justine did as she promised and came to see “her boys” and brought Ken some paperwork and asked him to show us the ropes with the Capitan. It was a long drawn out process and I understood why she had called it protocol, this bloke dressed like a peacock could ruin your day and did so to a few drivers. Fortunately all my paperwork from ICI was spot on, Justine had arranged all my tickets into order and we were soon in and out and waited for Ken, he had a problem with one invoice and would need to go back to the office so we shared his taxi cab. It was soon sorted when they faxed him some amended invoices and were allowed to drive into the port. That was the eyeopener as this ferry pulled onto its berth and disgorged dozens of Greek wagon and drags, many of which were from a time warp. The port was getting busier and more of these vehicles arrived. In the UK a freighter has only enough berths for 12 drivers, not so between Italy and Greece, as long as you are not a tourist, they will pack you on a ferry with more of your ilk along with chemicals, livestock, fuel oil and food. Apparently this old rusty tub had been a cattle carrier in a previous life. We watched dozens of these excitable Greeks reversing these A frame lorry and trailers on board. Eventually it was time for Ken and I to reverse on along with a couple of Dutch artics right in the bow. This is it i decided, no mistakes now and we were on our way to Greece.

Greece

So 29 hours on a ferry, long before Superfast and as I have no pictures have little to report except I learned from a Dutchman how to drink Campari Soda. I also learned how delicious Nescafe Frappe is in hot weather. So the ferry arrived in Patras after a quite hazy crossing. The apparently normal attack by the agents as you drive off the ship to relieve you of money for your clearance, plus a parking fee.

We were soon leaving the port following Ken through the back streets onto the main road. There was no rush as we were not going to make Piraeus before the customs closed. We drove along learning the tricks of the trade, trucks drive on the hard shoulder when you are being overtaken or meeting other lorries, the Greeks apparently were not very good drivers as every bend had dozens of illuminated shrines in the trees and bushes depicting where their dead relatives landed, many of these marked by an old woman in a black veil and dirty grey stockings.

We went over the Corinth canal and looked down on the tiny ships below when Andy noticed Ken had a slack tyre. I flashed him and we stopped at a small bar. I mentioned ken was 22 stone and it was hot. Andy and i were younger and fitter so we sent him in to buy Amstel and we changed his wheel, that was the plan anyway. His tyre was punctured so I lent him my spare and we had a beer and headed to Piraeus. The plan was that he would get the tyre fixed in Athens in the morning but we got separated. He had my spare wheel I had his rim with a flat tyre. The reason we got seperated was that I had to drive to my agents office and meet the boss, when i got there near the milk factory there was another English driver parked up. Carl Ryan from Bolton was another subbie to George and we stayed with him parked with a lot of Russian trucks, we found we had something in common as Carl knew some people we did from the tanker world, day turned to night and in the morning the agents runner took our papers into the customs. Carl was doing “delivery on wheels” while I would be tipping in hazardous customs, we arranged to meet up later at Peters Keratsini.

Ken had gone into customs when we got back, he hadn’t had the tyre repaired because it was bolted to my chassis As for the unloading it was done quickly and I was empty when Carl arrived back, these Greeks did most of the work even helping to put my trailer back together. Andy meanwhile laid on the cab roof sunbathing Carl said we would ring the office in the morning and I learned that Greece is three hours time difference to the UK. He showed us the local streets and a market near the truck park and several British drivers appeared overnight. We had survived the first job, not gone over budget and had a full tank of Greek fuel. I also had a belly tank on my ex Dow Freight trailer which I didn’t use on the way down, green or barmy I still think about it. Carl was running up to Yugoslavia to load and Andy and i had to ring again on Monday as there maybe a load of Copper to load. Monday came, the Copper didn’t come off so George told me to drive to Evzoni and he would send me a Fax.

How far is Evzoni Andy? I dont know yet, but there is some sea here I want to go swimming in, it looks warm. So we stopped on a wide road near a beach, went swimming and finally arrived in the BP at Evzoni about midnight, again quite a few trucks and some we knew. We met Mr McGoo who we both knew from his time working in the UK on tankers. The plates broke and the beer flowed again. I arranged to get the lorry greased and washed in the morning and decided to take advantage of some cheap squirt in the belly. I also had Kens tyre repaired and as it was on a decent black rim it became mine. Because I had the old Dow trailer, many people took us for old pros, when we were really as green as Marks and Spencer.

When’s the next espisode Malc,or are you going to relate it in the Queens?
Whatever,either will do. I take it you are still coming over?

Come on WN it did’nt end in Evzoni did it

fly sheet:
Come on WN it did’nt end in Evzoni did it

He’ll be typing up the next episode, flysheet,may be some time.

Chris Webb:
When’s the next espisode Malc,or are you going to relate it in the Queens?
Whatever,either will do. I take it you are still coming over?

Definitely coming over Chris, we should invite Norman Lewis to the Queens to regale a few tales

EVZONI - GEVGELIA

Trailer D45 with a belly full of apparently subsidised Russian fuel, a terminating & a transit permit for Yugoslavia and a Fax pulled by an ex scrapyard Saviem, so far, so good. Empty into Yugoslavia and a load of dried prunes for Montrose. Carl had told me about this factory and cannot remember where the hell it was. I do remember arriving in the village and it was a holiday but the very old lady gatekeeper in black funeral attire let me park outside and offered her services. these services being coffee and orange juice to wash it down, a company shower and a crusty cob. Andy and myself were out exploring and were invited to a wedding, the whole town were out, it was a special day for someone. We got back to the lorry and having eaten plenty, went to bed.

6am, the black widow was banging on the door, come, come, CMR, Carnet TIR, passport, parking… We went in, took a company shower and I drove the truck inside. I passed a red Scania on English plates who looked as though he had beaten us, loaded and ready to leave. Andy did his chat up lines with some fairly butch women, most of whom had been dressed up at a wedding yesterday, they now looked like coal miners or dockers in corporate workwear. I reversed onto a home made wooden ramp to the direction of a rather butch woman and a couple of blokes, it seemed as though the blokes were just at work to make numbers up, while the girls did the hard graft

Within a couple of hours the trailer was full of paper sacks containing prunes.

Malc, just brilliant that’s what the game used to be all about. Deal with whatever comes at you and have fun as well, oh, and make money.

Paul

Nice one Malc, a real baptism of fire, can you imagine some of today’s nancy boys reaction to the offer of a job like that

My first ‘proper’ trip was similar, I’d done a few trips to Germany, so the mysteries of Dover were not so mysterious, but the part where I had to ‘Find Jack and give him this compressor head gasket, he’s in a routiers in France, somewhere near Macon, all the drivers will know it’ was the bit where it stopped being an easy job At least I found Le Mistral, The Pub at Bourg and the Bakehouse on my first trip, I never found Jack and his broken Daf though, not until I eventually found out about Jayat

So there I was in France in the summer, covered in grease, taking a compressor apart, then a day or so later I was on the beach getting ■■■■■■ in Viarreggio, I said goodbye to my last Brit and went and tipped and reloaded, I then found another Brit when I was clearing customs in Vercelli (I think) Oh good, I thought, I’ll run back with this bloke, he’ll know what he’s doing…Wrong It was Bloxotrix and he was on his first trip too talk about the blind leading the blind

I didn’t have a GV60 for this trailer at the time, so could only manifest a load, which cost money at each border crossing as the documents had to be translated and you paid a percentage of the invoice value. (I think that is how it worked) Even if I had the GV60. TIR was beyond me at the time. So after loading the prunes i was given my documents and the little man on a bike sealed my trailer and off I went to the Hungarian border. Well not directly as Carl had told us about the Hotel National in Belgrade, you cannot miss the place and we pulled in to meet George, we had heard loads of tales about him or Georgina as all the staff answered to the same name. I looked through the old telex pile and read load details of places I couldn’t pronounce. I was hooked, and wanted to go further afield. We had a snack and soft drinks in the National and left for the border at Rajka iirc

When we loaded in Yugoslavia I mentioned the red Scania, well I met this same lorry coming towards me as we neared the border. I flashed my lights and attracted his attention. He stopped and this bloke uncurled himself out of the cab. I handed him an envelope and that was the first meeting with Dave Chamberlain It took some explaining why I had this big bundle of passports and visas. I thought he would be pleased but he had wasted a lot of time and I felt he wanted to kick my arse when in reality I had saved him a trip back to the factory. The result of this was that we were shown through the border with great speed even though i had to manifest my load. A further benefit was that Dave took us to the White House where we called it a day. The stories I had heard about this motorcycle nut from Lancashire were true, he did drink like a fish.

I am at a loss with memory to understand how I managed to get into Czechoslovakia because I didn’t have a visa, so although I could get the Hungarian one on the border, the Czech visa wasn’t as easy!

the good old days of running bent great story

As I mentioned about the Czech visa, it was normal to get one in London or Brussels. I had to do this on a later trip, the first time I had ever been on a red London bus and in a black London taxi. I had loaded up in Birmingham and drove down to London Victoria and parked near the coach station. I took a taxi to the Czech embassy and joined a queue, eventually I was seen and given some more forms. These went through a small window and I waited, I waited and waited and was told to come back tomorrow. The alternative was to drive to Brussels and get one there. London only opened for about 2 hours per day apparently. So I took the decision to drive to Brussels and take my chance there. It was the easiest way and I am pleased I did it that way. I caught a red bus back to Victoria because those bloody taxis know how to charge

So we are the White House with Dave Chamberlain and several other drivers who knew him, we sat back and listened to the stories, mentioned people we knew and heard names that most people had heard of. I hadn’t read cola Cowboys to that day and didn’t read it for about another 8 years. I had learned that Hungarian Goulash is bloody lovely and the name for the local brew was Dreher, Pecs or Borsod, but Pivo Grand worked equally as well. Across the road was a small market or convenience shop and we bought some bread and meat to eat later. Meanwhile work was calling and we headed off, now I dont think dave wanted to really hang about for us so we said we would manage, after all a 280hp Saviem was no match for a 141, besides someone said we couldn’t get lost as he would leave a trail of beer bottles and tins behind him I ddnt do much more that day as we drove through Budapest and must have taken a few wrong turnings and it was late by the time we reached Gyor. I remember a small garage with a restaurant with Castrol signs outside where we parked for the night. Andy was convinced he had pulled because these ladies kept knocking on the cab.

After more Goulash and beer we had an interrupted sleep until the girls gave up, they probably presumed we were gay anyway. So the next day we had to drive to the Czech border and do the manifest thing again. I knew the reasons but it took some explaining as the customs officials just wanted “TIR Carnet” as they kept shouting. As i previously mentioned they must have given us tourist visas or something because we did get through and hit Bratislave. Another steep learning curve as none had mentioned the TIR route and we drove straight through this beautiful city. I didn’t know about any diversion so this cost me about 4 shillings a couple of Marlboro and a can of coke. For the 4 shillings I was handed some confetti with some small denomination of CZ Kr printed on them. We drove on, Brno, Prague Plzen and saw signs for Nuremberg I think, well schoolboy geography and history was enough to tell me that was in Germany. Whilst in Hungary and Yugoslavia we had heard these tales of border crossings, Cheb Hotel, Hof, Furth im Wald and listened enough to work out that Waidhaus would be the best bet.

Rozvadov was the Czechoslovakian border town and no more signs for Nuremberg or Waidhaus were seen or were simply missed. we just sort of fell upon this huge queue of lorries from every country you can imagine. I stopped and moved up when the truck in front did, very slowly, very erratic, but noticed that some trucks were just flying past on the wrong side of the road. After a couple of hours i let Andy jump in and i went off to walk up the queue. I turned back after about 1/2 mile and discovered that there were huge gaps in the queue. I jumped back in the driving seat and went for another gap up the queue, trucks turned out in front of me trying to block the road, me using my bottle and them bottling it, but one thing I had noticed was that there were no UK registered trucks in this queue, but many going for these gaps. Eventually I had jumped about 2 miles of standing traffic and found myself pulling in behind a Falcongate DAF. The gap behind didn’t seem to be closing up much so I walked up to see the driver. He explained the system that many of these drivers just followed each other, as they couldn’t afford any fines and there wouldn’t be any trouble. Some drivers abandoned their trucks and walked with briefcases to the spedition which may have saved them an hour in the office, but lost them 5 hours in the queue

It was this first trip that I became familiar with Josef Bolk as after getting into the Czech border , things went quite well and after a ■■■■■■■■■■■ control and cigarette check, for them not me. They only wanted to read it but used there guns to persuade you to lend them it. These young soldiers were as scared as me, they were 18 year old and seemed as though they had nothing to live for, except ■■■■ and marlboro I had heard stories about drivers removing the CB and sealing it inside a bag, none of those mod cons for us, we didn’t even have a working radio. We were free to go after closing my manifest at CSAD office. Charlie Sad was a huge state owned transport company like Somat, Hungarocamion or PeKaEs They had offices on every border crossing of their respective countries. Romtrans was the Romanian equivalent also known as F Troop.

So after my first trip through the Eastern bloc I was back to civilisation, except the German guards reminded me of the old war films I had seen, intimidating and stern. I bumped into the Falcongate driver again and he showed us the ropes, the different windows and how to fill in a zahlkarte. I had used Schenkers to make me a T form to Dover and after passport control and customs I was directed towards the lorry to be met by a BAG officer with a piece of chalk, he was chalking tyres, looking under trailers and at documents. He passed me but there was quite an argument going off with another British driver about 2 split tyres. I offered him Kens wheel which I had got repaired in Greece but the BAG wouldn’t allow him to change them there. He had to use the garage just up the road. Josef Bolk. I am convinced to this day the local BAG were on a backhander or related to this man. So far this spare wheel had been used as a means of introduction to lots of knowledge and tricks of the trade, that and the fact that Dave Chamberlain had forgotten his passports. I had met lots of great blokes, so time to return the favour. The other driver was allowed to drive up with his unit to Bolk’s garage, I lent him my spare and he had two wheel replaced. In return he took me to Geiselwind and got me drunk again. After my next trip I got my wheel back when it was dropped in George Brookes yard in Oldbury

The next day was a gentle run up to Zeebrugge and I met the bloke who had been driving Chris Brearleys yellow Roadtrain. Andy drove home from Dover, my mate took my trailer up to Montrose and we reloaded it from Forfar to Middlewich with new Tesco trolleys. Loads of lessons learned, one was to refuse anything North of Leeds unless I was paid more money. The little Saviem did another nine trips to Greece before I replaced it with a Ford Transcontinental, all of them overland. I never used the ferry to Patras again.

Great Fun, would I do it all over? You bloody bet I would

Great read Malc,thanks. Especially interesting for me as I never went over the water - well apart from the Severn,Kincardine and Forth bridges. I was offered some Benelux work when I worked for Evans,but the money wasn’t owt special and anyway our lass was getting fed up with me being away - yes,I did have plenty of genuine nights out as well as dodgys.