Spardo:
Star down under.:
Wow David, I didn’t know containerisation was around that long ago.You youngsters, can’t tell you anything.
You’re my new best friend. 
Star down under.:
Spardo:
Star down under.:
Wow David, I didn’t know containerisation was around that long ago.You youngsters, can’t tell you anything.
You’re my new best friend.
Don’t get too chuffed, its comparative, I am really old you know, and Fran catches me up tomorrow on her 80th. I blame her for the war in Ukraine.
CHRIS ,thank you so much for all you information i got what i was looking for ,i had no idea they came recruiting ,i left transport in 2002 so no idea what was happening and had no connections to transport ,no doubt a lot of work and time was involved obliviously they trained all men that had no left hand drive experience medical etc,and a lot of vetting or not, any way thank you again lots of other questions including status in a different country but i will leave it there thanks you.
i am posting another part of my life history ,really it does not bear any resemblance to the good trucking stories but there it is thanks if you read it.
Mr Greenwood asked me about all the work i had done in my short life all manual work so in theory i was practical, and was going to join the[deck department] as a Deck boy training eventually to be a able seaman .A.B.I did not know what that mean he said they will send papers for mum and dad to sign also instructions on what I would need for the sea school and all the required clothes and equipment that will be available once I arrive at the sea school .
It was the correct choice little did i know they could have put me as a steward or trainee cook,[catering department]if I had failed my color blind test ,luckily for me they had their own training school right there within the works ,it had not long opened if i had been months earlier i would have to had gone to the Outward bound school in Abadovey wales Opened by the ALFRED HOLT family between the wars for young men to get some discipline then go to sea in their ships. all ranks went there first then off to their departments once they left and went to sea ,you had to be 16 before you were allowed to go sea and receive your discharge book ,that meant that while I was at sea school I would have my 16 birthday i am pleased i did not go there as they had some silly discipline i have read about, but who knows i might have liked it but i will never know.
Me leaving the timber yard was no big affair not like my friend i just left on a Friday no collections ,but it did not matter as i know my friend did not have a lot of clothes etc so it was well deserved for him.
I had a date to go to BIRKENHEAD it was the start of March 1960 I was 15 years old, my birthday is on the 26th of April born 1944 it meant my 16 birthday would be at the training school.
The day arrived for me to go to Banbury and catch the train to Birkenhead I do not recall how I got to BANBURY ,I have no recall at all, I know the last think mum said was now you just look out for number one.??no tears ,hugs or kisses ,off I went and to this day I have never felt homesick what so ever why .
All the boys training like me stayed just a short walk from Woodside station it was the Y.M.C.A. i had heard of them that was about it it must have went all ok as I am here now 56 years later…
I do not have much recollection of that time at all, I know I enjoyed it there were about 10 of us staying at the hostel we had to catch a double Decker bus every morning down to the training school at Odyssey works next to Victoria dock ,seeing all the ships ■■■■■■■ alongside not really comprehending what was in front of us for the rest of our young lives I was just learning everything I could,
We all got on in the training school it was all about the workings of a ship and all connected to the deck department that was what I was going in to there were no education type lessons it was all about the sea and what the deck department do on a ship also about the ships we would be working on later?
We had life saving at a swimming pool, myself and some others had to learn to swim ,also to swim with overhauls on saving one our class mates , I had only been to a swimming pool about 5 times it was learn quick ,as we had to we did not know if you did not pass their test you would have to go home ,but it was not like that we all passed.
We did not know if at the end there would be exams,[not my strong point] but I found out a lot of the lads were just like me, could and would work leave all the education to others ,I learned to go into pubs drink beer in Birkenhead also, go in to a bookies, I already smoked,
In the day time we would all walk up the road to a dockers roadside canteen,[ they all knew who we were as we had a beret and a jumper with blue funnel on] the break time was called smoke o ,and also at dinner time, and in the afternoon “smoke o” .they got used to us ,as they did all the recruits they served.
Smoke o was the term for a mug of tea and ■■■, also in the afternoon smoke-o you would have a “Tab-nab”, ie a cake or iced- bun made by the baker on the ships ,they only ever made enough or gave each mess room enough for 1 per person, no matter what watch the men were on they would get theirs,[if they were lucky] some cakes would sit on a plate for more than 12 hours before being eaten as men were sleeping different hours .
Before they let you loose on a ship you had a sort of revision type exercise on most of what we had supposedly learned but it was not a exam.
We were told by some of the local lads who were presently deck boys that what you have learned in the school ,forget it, it was different on a ship they were just coming back to see Mr Obrien the teacher he was a ex Bosun and very typical, a very fair man, a bit scary ,it was his voice and accent tough sounding, as I found out, most of the local Birkenhead, and Liverpool accents were the same sort of growly, but not as hard as it sounded ,I got very used to it and it never bothered me .i spent a lot of time around BIRKENHEAD and LIVERPOOL joining ships…
Iam sure you would not want me to go into all the ships I sailed on, however if anyone would like to know I will write about them sometime ,I will just tell you about my first trip and then it is replicated, all ships worked the same type of system
,I can only quote the deck department, on a normal 10.000ton[net]without cargo in it. cargo ship
ONCE the training school for all of us was finished , we dashed back to the hostel, cases already packed ready for home ,I had looked up the train times and at 2 pm a straight through train to BANBURY how lucky was that it was a limit stop BIRKENHEAD to LONDON the western region line…STOPS at CHESTER, BIRMINGHAM ,BANBURY,LONDON…
I would catch a local train to Woodford Halse from there only 8 miles by road and about the same by train, only one bus in and one out at 5pm so I would wait for the later 9 pm train my parents had no idea that I was on the way home ,no phone those days.
A ll were pleased to see me as I was them mother soon got the washing on the next day Dad and my brother went to work as normal and my sister went to school what did I do I cannot remember it had been such a different way of live the past 6 weeks and now in a village with nothing to do, I was sixteen now and in my eyes grown up however they would not serve me in the pubs different to Birkenhead.
I did have friends but they were working and at night we just wandered around like “what do you do ”it was not too long before one dinner time ,we were all sat at the table ,as we had our main meal at 1230 because of dads work someone was knocking at the front door, now that was out of the normal, no one ever used the front door only for weddings or funerals or the police mum jumped up and said ill got to the back and see who it is, she walked round to the front and our local post master from the village post office was there and said a telegram for victor and I need a reply ,she asks him in so mum and him come in and she hands me the telegram and it said
“””victor stowe -stop, join mv Patroclus stop- Victoria docks Birkenhead stop-Monday 2nd”[ I forgot the date” ]position deck boy stop reply. stop.
Well I had no idea that was the way they contacted you as no one said at the school. so yes was the reply ,I bet within 10 mins it would be circulating around the village and it did.
All my clothes were packed and my sea bag all my sea gear ,wellies sou-wester wet gear hats winter clothes ,what I did not relies the £36 that dad had paid was to buy the gear for to set you up also for the accommodation but I found out later ,it must have been about 2 weeks at home and now I was off on a new life [voyage] no hugs or kisses mum said look after your self I caught the early workers bus to Banbury I knew most of the people on it ,and got off at the station, mum and dad must have given me some money because I never earned any for the ticket
There I was just turned 16 on my way to Birkenhead to go to sea .once on the train I was grown up so I thought able to smoke legally .
Once off the train at Woodside BIRKENHEAD station ,taxi to VICTORIA DOCK I was dropped at the gang-way there she was the” Patroculus”I remember struggling up the gangway with a suit case and new kit-bag ,other people up and down the gangway, they took no notice of me whatsoever, once I stepped over the weather step, the smell of a ship hits you i have always said it is the smell of fuel oil…
I located the deck boys cabin the door was open and two other lads where there sitting on a bunk bed cases all about there did not look room for mine anywhere so it was hi and they said are you other deck boy then I said yes my name is” vic”, theirs were Alan, and Barrie ,they both were from Birkenhead aea.
The room had 2 portholes 2 double bunks ,a small table 4 small type wardrobes ,rubbish bin, two chairs small runner type carpet, 4 chest of draw type draws at the bottom of the bunk beds there was no air conditioning it had not come in yet well not in ships I was on just air blowers from metal trunking that went through all the cabins and blew air in from god knows where it came from it was never cool just air.
.No lock on the door just a clip that you would clip in so the door is about one foot open not enough for someone to get in the cabin unless they unclipped it in port at was always hot if you were in the cabin asleep, very rare you hung an metal bucket on it to stop anyone coming in…i Knew that later on…our cabin was next to the Bosuns bulkhead so we had to be quite and next to the main door that went out to the decks that every one used but you got used to use sea at all people were veryquite within the accommodation area as there were always watch keepers asleep and believe me you never wanted to wake them up even by accident
.one trip not this first one we had 2 new deck boys, and I was senior although that did not matter, I showed them the ropes but they was always arguments between the new lads both from Liverpool but different religions and football teams so they would never see eye to eye,.[I will elaborated later about differences] especially in the cabin I told them keep the noise down and go out side and sort it out ,No they just kept making a noise one night the BOSUN come in and told us to keep quite if you were there you were all to blame …they did not next thing… the chippy come round and there and then he unscrewed the door and took it off, we had no door, that did the trick but we were a lot of days without a door, ,you live and learn, you can ■■■■ people about some of the time, but not all of the time…got ahead of my self there.
We had to sign on the next morning I think it was in the ships in saloon ”restaurant” ,there you made your allotments arrangements “how much money you sent home a month ,TO YOUR MUM ,we were on £13 a month1960 that would be the only time you ever got to get near the saloon until you paid off at the end of the voyage out of bounds for the deck department crew.
I just forget how much I sent but a weeks wages was the norm so we were told at the sea school so you had some money at home, also you were able draw a cash sub if needed[from your wages you had not earned yet] we all did that .we were told to sleep on the ship that night as the Bosun would see us in the morning as the rest of the crew would not be here until the morning, we had to get things ready you could still go home if you wanted ,some did but not this trip.
A deck boy was the bottom of the crew in RANK with the galley boy. within BLUE FUNNEL as a company you had to serve 9 months sea time as a deck boy no matter how long a trip was ,then you would be promoted to J.OS .junior ordinary seaman at least a year then S.OS senior ordinary seaman at least a year then you had to pass a ticket by the BOARD OF TRADE CALLED E.D.H every one had to do it ,you were passed as a certified lifeboat man, plus a Efficient deck hand, that was A.B able sea man, all so you had to do a steering ticket to show you had done at lest 10 hours steering the ship by compass,
That was a Blue Funnel stipulation then you would be able to take a watch steer the ship.no automatic then…all manual different companies had different rules however the board of trade was the most important, I found later on the some men had short sea time but took the EDH because they were 18 years old and studied …
Our duties I will be brief 3 deck boys =2 mess rooms one for the seamen…and one for the petty officers that consisted of the Carpenter, Bosun, leading seaman called “lampy” as his official title was “lamp trimmer ”also the chief cook.so [4] men
The sea men s mess consisted of 3 fixed to the floor tables, with enough room for 22 or 23 men ,also chairs not fixed to the floor, the tables were laminated tops ,with wood all around the edges called a fiddle so as to stop all the cutlery sliding off the table tops when in rough seas
A days duty for me was for 7 days,a week as for nearly all the crew the whole trip, my first trips were scheduled 3 months 3 days and they were just that.
Duties 1 week sailors mess, 2nd week petty officers mess.
3rd week deck training with the deck crew learning the working of the cargo handling gear maintenance cleaning, painting, all seaman’s duties…
First week sailors mess ,up at 6.30 am every day,
Get the morning tea made, and toast. Clean mess room from the night watchmen, wash up.
8 am collect all the ordered breakfasts from the GALLEY and put in the hot/warm [press]large oven type cabinet, 3 shelves holds most of the plates.
9am wash all dishes, make the cutlery draws tidy, and clean, put the plates all in a rack, empty gash bin[rubbish bin including tea slops [ wet ] it goes over the ships side down a Shute provided .no one needs to be in the mess after meals …untill10.30 when the men have a tea brake and just use the tea urn for hot water, they never stay in the mess as they know it will be a captains inspections at 11am.
Clean all services, scrub floor, last thing the hot water boiler gets polished with a salt and vintage mix as it is copper it shines brilliant but the shine only lasts about 2 ,1/2 hours.
Then on to the seamen’s toilets clean everything ,scrub ,showers and all floors, then scrub the length of the alleyway ie “corridor” outside all rooms, then do our own room beds made all clean etc…
11 am captains inspections, with the chief officer ,chief steward ,chief ngineer, and the Bosun they do all off the accommodations and go into whos ever room they like and they do,to see all clean and tidy except for sleeping watch-keepers.
1 hour off.
12-15 go to the mess lay out the cutlery, get the hot water on, put bread rolls out , start bringing in the starter from the galley to put in the press, always a fish dish.[ontray], men start coming in to eat, as the plates go out of the press, you start bringing in the main dish ,then the puddings, all meals are 3 courses. Nearly all over by 1 pm, you are washing up as quick as you go as you have to be ready for deck work for 1. 30 pm, to work with the seamen [learning] on deck, if its rough to work out side you/they have to clean down interior bulkheads [walls]…ceilings [deckheads]…
2.30 pm, get the hot water ready, and fetch the “cakes” called TAB-NABS from the bakers, there is just one each every one knows that and if you are lucky you may get one given you, but very rare and there has to be 3 left for the men who are sleeping, kept for later. This time of day morning and afternoon is called [SMOKE-OHH] JUST WHAT IT IS…EVERY ONE SMOKED…but not when working on deck…
3pm out on deck,4pm get cleaned up ,off till 5pm
Back in the mess room lay it up [cutlery]
5.15 start bring the starter in,… also a cauldron of soup… .then dinner, then [pudding]sweet, some times cheese or fruit.
Normally you were washed down, cleaned up all put away by 6.30 pm
7 pm you would do a BAR watch where the 2nd steward whos in charge of all sundries [■■■■ ,beer ,toothpaste etc] [like a little shop]you would collect orders off all the seamen with a paper chit they would sign. Give the steward , some would only give a man no spirits just 2 beer cans a day, some ships more, Then you would take it to their cabins.
The room was very small so the steward would not let more than one at a time so that is why it was done,
also there was linen change ,towels etc. it would be put out side their rooms and we would collect it all and put clean inside.
The deck boy had it easier for the petty officers however we used to muck in together when possible ,because he had to clean their 3 rooms for them ,make their beds, clean their toilets,also the brass work in the rooms and all so clean the crews [lounge]wreck-room ,it had a dart board, some soft –ish seats ,sometimes a radio gram,[bingo would be played there ]or a film shown [that was rare.
That was it every day! but I loved every minute of it.i could go on and on.i will just tell you the ports of the scheduled run we were on.
BIRKENHEAD, ROTTERDAM PORT SAID ,SUEZ CANAL, ADEN, COLOMBO[NOW Sir Lanka ] MANILA [PHILIPPINES’] SINGAPORE… MALAYSIA= PORT –SWEETNAM Ke ELUNANK , HONG KONG.[kawloon] JAPAN=KOBE. YOKOHAMA ,SHEMITSU. NAGOYA. Then same ports on the return leg…You could see mount fugi from one of the ports not bad for a 16 year old from the middle of ENGLAND I did 3 trips on the same ship with most of the same men, and I got used to living in a small cabin with two other men /boys…
.
Once I had finished the deck boy training I progressed to a higher rank however I realised that some of the men stayed on the same ships for years so there was no chance of getting to a A.B. until men started to leave or retire.
I decided after a time to spread my wings and try other companies and leave BLUE FUNNEL.
The organisation called the SHIPPING FEDERATION was where all seamen, not on a special company contract went for work [like a job center for seamen] all major ports had one…once you trip was over and you had used all you leave up ,well you did not need to take your leave if you did not want to you could leave a ship one day and ship out the next if they needed the rank you were and there at the right time…
Spardo:
Star down under.:
Spardo:
Star down under.:
Wow David, I didn’t know containerisation was around that long ago.You youngsters, can’t tell you anything.
You’re my new best friend.
Don’t get too chuffed, its comparative, I am really old you know, and Fran catches me up tomorrow on her 80th. I blame her for the war in Ukraine.
^^ so you’re an OBE (over bloody eighty 
)
Best wishes to Fran for tomorrow, or is that today here?
Star down under.:
^^
Best wishes to Fran for tomorrow, or is that today here?
Never thought of it that way, I could start putting that after my name, if I didn’t disapprove of empires that is. I’ll pass on your good wishes to Fran for tomorrow, but sadly she is lost in a world of her own these days, vascular dementia and alzheimers for good measure. Just emptied the post box and she has been granted morning and evening health care visits 7/7 thanks to the excellent French health care system. All free, we have to pay but the Departement then sends a transfer which covers the cost. I expect they are desperate to avoid clogging up the fulltime care homes. Never have I been so glad of my 3 years working here which I am sure has a lot to do with it.
During my time in the Royal Navy one of the postings I had was to the staff of the Flag Officer First Flotilla who at that time was the most senior sea-going admiral. My job was to be his driver when he was ashore but I could also, hopefully, be helpful whenever we were at sea. Before me the driving task was allotted to civilian staff from the local dockyard pool.
In June 1977 we were making a 4 day visit to Helsinki and an Audi 80 was hired locally for me to use. Part of the visit was for the admiral to take part in a wreath laying ceremony at the local cemetery which was to be attended by all the local dignitaries, military leaders and the British Ambassador. As it was a formal occasion a full dress uniform was required by everyone and the ambassador turned up in all his finery looking like something out of the 19th century. My admiral was accompanying the ambassador and all I had to do was take two junior officers from our ship and a Finnish Commander who was acting as the group interpreter.
We got to the cemetery and all the important people got out and walked into the graveyard whilst the drivers waited outside. The ambassadors driver came over to me and asked how long they would be and I told him that according to my schedule they would be about 2 or 3 hours. My schedule had been prepared by the Flag Lieutenant (who was also there) so I had no reason to doubt it. He asked me if I had seen much of Helsinki and I said not really. Let’s go on a tour of the city then he says. He told a few of the other drivers what was happening and some of them drove off as well.
So off we go with me sitting in the back of the ambassadors car. His car was a maroon Daimler Princess with electric windows and official flag on the front. I felt like royalty. We were away for about 45 minutes and the driver suggested we head to the beach for a beer as it was an extremely warm day. Great idea. Due to the heat I had already taken off some of my uniform and as a bit of a laugh I had put the windows down and was waving to people in the street.
The journey to the beach involved us returning along the street where the graveyard was but I obviously didn’t know this. Suddenly the car comes to a halt and I look over to see we were outside the cemetery gates. Unfortunately so were all the dignitaries (about 40 in total) - the ceremony had only taken 10 minutes.
I hear the ambassador in a big booming voice shouting out “who’s that in my car” followed by my admiral telling him “that’s my driver”. I knew I was in big trouble as they walked over to the car so I had to make a choice, wait, let him open the door, salute smartly and take whatever was coming or do something else. For me the something else meant grabbing the bits of my uniform I had removed, jumping out of the other door and making a bee-line for my car. The ambassador, admiral and flag lieutenant got into his car in what was obviously an awkward silence and drove off. The two officers and interpreter were standing at my car and one of them nervously asked me “what’s happening?”. Just get in the car I said. We got in the car and the Finn said to the officers “have you seen much of Helsinki?” I replied “no but they would love to” as I wasn’t in any hurry to get back to the ship to find out what punishment awaited me. We drove around Helsinki for about an hour and then I dropped the Finn off and we made our way back to the harbour. We got to our ship which had two gangways (one for officers and the other for plebs like me) and waiting at the top of theirs was the flag lieutenant. I made my way up my gangway and walked up to the next gangway holding my hands out in a “cuff me” position. I said to him “I might be in trouble but so are you. You wrote out the programme”. He just looked at me, shook his head and walked away.
I don’t know how he squared it with the admiral but it was never mentioned again.
A trip from the diary dated January 2012, when I was driving for Flying Eagle; pulling dry freight trailers with a Peterbilt 386. The DEF emission regulations had just come into force with this truck being very unreliable and check-engine lights became a way of life. Most frustrating for the boss who had put twelve new trucks on the fleet, all of which gave problems.
Day 1: No Customs and Border Protection Officer wants to be responsible for letting the next murdering terrorist into the USA and that justifies their intimidating, no-nonsense approach to the job. But also in their code of conduct; they are required to be helpful and give assistance when asked. I have a load of fabric that has to be bonded for transit through the US, from Canada to Mexico. I know that I need three copies of the manifest; signed and dated, but it hasn’t happened. It takes a series of polite questions from me to ascertain that I need to sign the papers first! Then they will sign and I good to go; dodging the inevitable bullet that would have come my way if I had arrived at Eagle Pass with useless customs clearance papers.
Day 2: It was nearly mid-night when I reached Sioux Falls due to some trailer repairs causing a late start on the Friday. But this whole trip has been pre-planned and needs to get back on track with a full days driving; south to Oklahoma City’s Flying’J along the familiar Highway 81 and Interstates 135 and 35.
Day 3: Sunday morning breakfast at McDonald’s and some guy is hitting on me for a hand-out. He is through my defenses; which makes me think that he could be genuine. He has to get back to Wichita and needs money for gas [petrol]; he has slept in the car with his wife and child. The car is on Kansas plates and he is not the normal type to be begging; otherwise I would have seen him coming. I give him $20 and he gives me a place in his prayers. I can afford it and I owe it to all the people who have shown me kindness, over the years; but I do hate being conned. Back to work; into Texas, all Interstate 35, through Fort Worth until Exit 111 and the two-lane highway, westwards, to Eagle Pass on the banks of the Rio Grande.
Day 4: Backed onto an unloading bay overnight, it’s lunchtime before I am empty and heading for a reload at Alpine, Texas. Running alongside the border and past the Amistad Dam, where the Rio Grande becomes Lake Amistad. Through endless scrubland with occasional groves of pecan trees, no country for old men. Then, despite the near-desert landscape, it starts to snow; which is probably why it’s called Alpine. The pick-up is 60 miles south of the town, so with supplies for an evening meal and breakfast, I push on down to the Cowboy Mining Company.
Day 5: It was here that Pete Young loaded Bentonite in May 2009, hours before being arrested as an illegal alien at a border checkpoint as he headed back to Canada. I have no such problems, but do have trouble with the weight of the load. After sliding the axles as far forward as possible; it takes a borrowed pallet-truck, from the TA workshop at Santa Rosa, and a lot of effort to move 3 one-ton bags to the back of the trailer. Not much weight allowance left for diesel and no chance of dodging the scales as I head for Calgary, Alberta. So far, so good at the day’s end; Thaxton Rest Area on Interstate 25.
Day 6: “Port of Entry” is another name for a glorified scale-house and is found at the border of all the states I cross on my way north. It will be a cold day in Hell when these places are closed and don’t call a Canadian truck into the office for a document inspection. I plan my fuel-stops after the scales in Colorado and Wyoming, but running through a blizzard, south of Denver, plasters the rig with ice, snow and more weight. I get a “Watch your weight” warning at the Cheyenne scale but no ticket. Wyoming’s Interstate 25 is a mixture of shiny hard-packed snow and sheets of ice; four and a half hours of ups and downs which leaves me with severe aching in my neck and shoulder muscles. Caused by the tension of letting 80,000 lbs of machinery roll down-hill at 75 mph on a thin white sheet of glass.
Day 7: Out of Buffalo and into Montana at dawn where the roads are bare and dry. Fuel at Billings and the final push for the border at Sweetgrass; taking the two-lane short-cut across to Grand Falls. With an early Thursday morning appointment booked; I need another 1000Km day which gets me to the Petro-Canada truckstop at Okotoks.
Day 8: Bentonite gives flexibility to plastics and a north Calgary plastics factory soon has me unloaded. Then it’s part three of my planned triangle tour: south to Lethbridge for a load of flour; destined for Winnipeg. Another heavy load, but with Canada’s liberal axle weights, the extra 6000 lbs is legal. The country’s liberal driving-hours laws also work in my favour; in the US, I would need a re-set but in Canada I can push on to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan and within reach of home.
Day 9: Snow flurries greet my return to Manitoba, but the mildest Winter in decades has continued while I was away. Back to the yard at Niverville by mid-afternoon; completing the triangle.
Overall Distance: 7878 km.
I am really enjoying hearing about other people’s memories, so thanks to everyone who are sharing their stories.
Dennis Javelin, how about you reposting about your trip from Scotland to Portsmouth via London, just in case anybody missed it the first time around.
There were some great recollections on this thread. 
Blood, Sweat and Broken China (the Removals thread)
Postby ParkRoyal2100 » Tue Nov 01, 2011 3:02 pm
Probably a bit presumptious of me having been here only five minutes creating a new thread, but here goes…
There’s a few threads on specific companies and one or two on wagons (e.g. the Vanplan) but none where those of us who survived doing removals for any length of time can swap (tall) stories. [note to moderators - feel free to merge if there is one]
I am absolutely sure there are some stories out there so here’s somewhere to put them.
I’ll kick off with a few comments about the job, which let’s face it almost everyone here would have been a part of (if only unwillingly), some may even have been paid to do it.
Dislikes - Hot weather. Stairs you can’t fit a carboard box through without skinning your knuckles. Pianos. Customers who pack their own boxes and fill a tea chest sized box with books (Me to them: “Can you lift that?” Them: “No.” Me: “So how do you expect me to?”). 6th floor flats with broken lifts, or no lifts at all. Rubbish packing tape that won’t stick or won’t hold (lift box, watch contents - usually fragile - hit floor). [zb] MFI/ IKEA chipboard or MDF furniture that seems solid enough when you pick it up but falls apart on the stairs or just as you’re passing the customer (we used to call this rubbish “suppository furniture - you put it up yourself 
). That dreadful sinking feeling when you’re almost buttoned up and about to close the doors (the lorry is almost full anyway) when the customer comes out and says “Oh, there’s just one or two items in the shed…” (usually consisting of 3 wheelbarrows, a greasy BBQ in 7 pieces, 19,426 plastic pots part full of soil, a 6’ x 4’ bird cage with dead rat, a 1:10 scale model railway of the entire Western Region and dad’s well-thumbed collection of gentleman’s magazines)
. Estimators who couldn’t estimate what day it is - “It’s only 900 cube, you’ll be done by 1.00” they say and you get there and it’s filled a 1600 cube wagon and you’ve still got the shed to tackle and it’s 2.30 and you haven’t had morning tea let alone lunch and it’s a 2-hour schlepp across town to where you’re dropping off. Estimators who forget to mention that the flat is on the 4th floor, or the house is down a residential side street with 6’6” barriers both ends. Finding the street where you’re picking up or dropping off has cars nose to tail all down both sides so even if you can get the wagon down there you still have to try lifting the fridge over someone else’s car (we occasionally failed spectacularly). Realising some people (irrespective of income or status) live in conditions the RSPCA would prosecute you for if you put your dog in them 
. People who redecorate the inside the week before they move. 
And don’t start me on some of the things you find in, under or behind wardrobes, under beds, or the array of lifeforms found in fridges that are unknown to science…
Likes - getting the last box/ chair/ 16cwt worth of shredded chipboard that was once a wardrobe off the wagon. Tips (some folk could be very generous. Usually the ones with least themselves). Meeting and getting to know people you wouldn’t in the ordinary course of life. Tea (lots of it). Laughs (working with good blokes on your team took much of the grind out of a day). The odd job that looked a nightmare on paper but turned out easy. Customers going out of their way to help. Picking a good agency porter (hint - don’t pick the ones that look like they work out for the sake of big muscles, pick the skinny runt cos he’ll still be going after 10 hours whereas the big boofheads will have thrown in the towel before monrning tea). And being part of a club on the road - you could almost guarantee the crew of another removals company going the other way would always wave as you passed. And last, being able to solve a giant 3-D jigsaw puzzle in your head as you walk round the house for the first time figuring out what items went first/ middle/ last.
Anyone else?
Re: Blood, Sweat and Broken China (the Removals thread)
Postby brookie » Tue Nov 01, 2011 8:42 pm
Hi ParkRoyal2100,
I’ve done a bit of removals when working for a remover/general haulier in my late teens/early 20’s. If “general” work was quiet, you’d be put on removals with the regular boys. What a bloody hard job! Had some right laughs too and a lot of good nights out. A couple stick in my mind, one was the first job I went on. Two elderly alcoholics moving from Eastbourne to Hove. 2 bed flat, first floor, no worries we thought. Just me and regular man Ray Angel, who was a master at his craft. Turned up at 0800 to find them still in bed. Got them up and out of bed. First thing they offer is a whiskey. I declined, but they didn’t. They were ■■■■■■ by 10.00. All loaded by 12.00 with the usual nightmare kitchen appliances covered in [zb] (you know that feeling of taking the bottom end of the cooker and feeling slime!!). They head off in their car (!!) with us heading to Hove via the cafe. Arranged a 13.30 meet with (hopefully) the keys after contracts are exchanged.
The time was now 14.00 and no sign of the pair of them. Another hour and a call to the estate agent who confirmed the pair had collected the keys at lunchtime. Luckily the door to the flat could be opened with a “nudge”, so we started to unload stuff in to the logical places. At about 16.00 the pair of them appeared on foot. She couldn’t stand and he’d ■■■■■■ himself. They couldn’t remember where they had left the car, and had trouble finding the flat!! Offloaded all the gear and left them both sound asleep on the settee with stuff piled round them What a baptism that was!!
Another one was having to drive an old couple from Eastbourne to Lincoln in their “DAF Variomatic” whilst following the removal lorry. Through London (pre-M25) was a bloody nightmare. The thing wouldn’t change gear properly and kept overheating, and the old couple stank of used nappies. Finding toilets for them en-route was the biggest task!!
Another was doing a politicians’ move to Northern Ireland. The deal was I was the only driver prepared to do it as 1) it was shipping out on Boxing Day, 2) the lorry had a big Union Jack emblazoned on the side and 3) it was a politically sensitive move!! Off we went up to Liverpool to ship out next day to Belfast. Off the ferry to a village called Portaferry. Got stones thrown at us on the way, then greeted with armed guards whilst we unloaded. We were just about to head back to the safety of the docks in Belfast when a bomb had gone off in the city centre. Hammer it we did and into the docks for safety. After calming down we thought a little beer or two would be a good idea. Into a bar we go, ordered a drink from the barmaid who says “oh you’re English then?” Now, some people in the bar took offence to this, so luckily for me and my mate we were both fit enough to outrun them!! Never again.
The best one was another Ireland move, this time Eastbourne to a place called Youghal near Cork. All loaded and straight to Fishguard for the night ferry. Over to Rosslare and down to Cork. I was driving this leg, and Roy,a “hired hand” from a local removal company was driving back. Down to the drop in pouring rain, unloaded within 2 hours into a bungalow in what seemed like a monsoon. We were both saturated, so the idea was to dry out our clothes a bit by hanging them around the cab. Roy changed into fresh ones, but I decided to sit in my shorts with a removal blanket wrapped around my shoulders to dry myself out.I would learn to regret that decision!
We set of back towards Rosslare in still-pouring rain along a winding single carriageway. The heaters were set by Roy (who was now the pilot) to hot, so we could dry out the sodden clothes dangling around the cab like some chinese laundry. I was dozing in the heat of the cab with my blanket around me, the bends of the road rocking me to sleep. The problem was it did the same to Roy. I awoke to him screaming like a Banshee and seeing a big mud bank accelerating towards me. Bang! Mud everywhere, and hitting my head on the cab passenger door. Then quiet. I looked across to see Roy frozen in his driver seat, clutching the steering wheel with locked arms.I didn’t realize, but we were on our side, my side being at the bottom. I said “[zb] hell,you ok mate?”. This had the effect of loosening his grip on the wheel and gravity took over! He landed on me with a bang, smacking my head again. Miraculously, all the glass was intact, so the only option was to climb out the drivers door and jump down to the ground. Which we did. The problem now was we were blocking the entire road, and I was standing there bare-foot with a pair of boxer shorts on, clutching a removal blanket in pouring rain! What a bloody sight I must’ve been!
Within minutes the Guarda arrived, but they wouldn’t get out their car as it was raining, so sent Roy one way up the twisting road and me the other, removal blanket in hand, to direct traffic down a narrow lane in order to avoid our carnage. A few minutes went by as I was directing traffic and all of a sudden a hunched figure shuffled up the road towards me, draped in a raincoat but carrying something. “Would you like some tea and biscuits?” a womans gentle voice asked. A Nun from a nearby Convent had walked up the road to me with a tray of 2 mugs of tea and a plate with rich-tea biscuits on!! Manna from Heaven!
An hour or so went by, and eventually we had a crane to lift us upright. Amazingly, the only damage done was a lot of scraped side bodywork, a broken mirror and Roys damaged ego. I got my trousers and shirt back on, then with a once-over at the recovery yard garage for an oil check etc, we headed back home. Roy would never admit to falling asleep at the wheel, and considering we had gone over after hitting the bank on the offside, we were very lucky. The nearside of the road was a steep, wooded drop down to a small stream. He didn’t even get prosecuted, I think the Guarda had felt we had suffered enough.
Roy quit soon after that and I went on to the haulage side on artic distance work, so I could never be put on removals again. And I wasn’t!
Regards,
Mark.
Mushroomman, your wish is my command.
"I can probably top that with a story from my navy days. I picked the Admiral up at Glasgow airport at 7.30 in the evening after he had been visiting a ship that was exercising in the Firth of Clyde. He had been dropped off by helicopter and I convinced the security to let me go into the airfield to collect him. This was in 1977 so there wasn’t as many fears about terrorists etc but the Admiral was still perplexed to see me waiting right at the heliport for him. Anyway we had to go from there to Chatham as he had another ship’s visit down there so I drove overnight arriving around 3.30am. Dropped him off at the Port Admiral’s house and managed to get a couple of hours sleep before picking him up and taking to the ship for 8am. I had to pick him up again around 2 o’clock so didn’t manage to get any sleep in between. Picked him up to go back to our place in Portsmouth (he had a house in the dockyard). This was before the M25 so going from Chatham to Portsmouth was a bit of a trek. Got to around Guildford and he asked me how I was feeling. When I replied that I was nackered he simply said “stop the car”. I did as I was told and he swapped places with me. So there’s me sitting in the back dressed like jolly jack tar and him in his full uniform driving.
When we got to Portsmouth the look on the gate security guys faces was unbelieveable. Normally when an Admiral drove in or out of the dockyard they would all stand to attention and salute him sitting in the back. He would then return their salute. However as he was sitting in the front driving they didn’t know what to do. They just looked at each other not knowing whether to challenge him or salute and let the car go through. They took the course of least resistance, saluted and waved us on. I’d like to have been quick enough to have saluted them back but didn’t have the energy. Needless to say I slept well that night."
I should also add to this story that the flag lieutenant used to accompany the admiral whenever we went on any official visits. Naturally he would sit in the back alongside the boss. It would be fair to say that he wasn’t best pleased to have me crashed out beside him as we drove through the dockyard gates. I have a few other stupid stories about my time as his driver which I’ll post over the next few weeks - don’t want to hog the thread.
This the last bit of my story no where as good as the last 4/5 posts but it was what i did.
I decided after a time to spread my wings and try other companies and leave BLUE FUNNEL.if they needed the rank you were and there at the right time… The first thing was you had to have all your union dues fully paid up it was
stopped from your wages while at sea but when home on leave it was not The organisation called the SHIPPING FEDERATION was where all seamen, not on a special company contract went for work [like a job center for seamen] all major ports had one…once you trip was over and you had used all you leave up ,well you did not need to take your leave if you did not want to you could leave a ship one day and ship out the next
as a base then went down to LONDON it was within the docks at KG5 dock. also one at Prescot street west India docks London. I used LIVERPOOL
so that was a expense when you joined a ship or before that is why when signing on a ship you were given the chance to have a SUB from your wages to come ,also for beer, that was a big part of shore-side life.
At all major ports there were a lot of seamen missions with lots of accommodation , mostly run on a religious back ground but that was never enforced also you got to know what ships were recruiting and where they where going to within the world so it help make your choice. also you met lots of different men ,some good and some to steer clear of,it did not take long to suss men out once you had been around a while,I think the background I had a sea ,gave me a sceptical view of everyone in fact still today I am aware of most things and people around me .
I have been with men for months then all of as sudden they will change and want to knock you head off normally after drink ,I have seen the very best of mates fight ,then the next day have no idea how or why…
I have visited most of the major continents of this world [yes on ships] been around the world on one ship, a years trip[called the manns run] never regretted one minute of sea time . it was one of the jobs that you either did it for life, and ended up as ■■■■-head,or got out after a time like I did however mine was not planned at all…i can only talk as what I did…
most deck officers used to make a career of it and a good one however they had that extra bit of education and they used it correct ,I was one of the lads however if I had ,had the educational ability to have studied, and been a deck officer I thing I would have made a good one I will never know…
My sea time came to a not planned ending more of a embarrassed time for me.
After paying off after I year away the next thing was a beer, then make your way home I eventually arrived at BANBURY station around 8 pm worse for wear but not relay knowing it [ ■■■■■■■ ,however at that age and what I was used to it never mattered
I continued drinking on the station ,yes beer on the stations then ,I was waiting for the local train, one stop to Woodford-halse around 9 pm the last one how I got on I do not remember however I arrived and was shaken awake by the local porter at wooodford, I was told to leave my suitcase and bag at the station until the morning they knew me I went to school with the porter there were about 45 steps down to the pavement from the platform, I made my way home very merry and apparently as I was in my street I could see lights on in the neighbors house and I stated shouting their names that I was home,
My mum and dad heard the commotion coming up the street ,and they new who it was, ,whoops double whoops eventually I got in the house, my mum and dad were absolutely furious, I was, as you do, got emotional, at seeing them it had been a year , cut to the chase, the next day my dad said to me [IF YOU EVERY COME HOME LIKE THAT AGAIN ,I WOULD NOT BOTHER GOING AWAY…]
I remember throwing a hundred pounds up in the air in £10 notes, they had not seen such money in one go ,mind you that was all I had until I went to the post office at Banbury to collect the balance of my pay-off from the ship, it went down hill from there for me ,I should have had the next week at home packed my bags and gone back to London once there I would be around people in the Seamens missions where we all stayed ,Merchant Seamen you would soon find new mates also I could have gone and joined another ship ,there was nothing stopping me ,you did not have to take the leave you had accrued but I never did as I had about 5 weeks leave …the rest is history. You can read about it if you like to stick with me…
The first thing I learned to do was learn to drive and get a car ,I realized you needed transport living in a village with little bus service and limited rail service at that time driving lessons were 19/shillings and 6 pence, for one hours driving tuition, 2016 value =95 pence…That was quite a lot money back then petrol was not even 5 shillings a gallon= 25 pence, 2016…value…
First I had to find a instructor, then get there ,I went to the renowned best the B.S.M.in Banbury ,and used the rail transport .
I told the driving school I had as much time as they did, and I could come every day and take a lesson, also wait for any cancellation ,we did not have a house phone ,I would ring at 9am every morning from the public call box they would tell me when time was free for a lesson form e .i had the choice of two morning trains and going home was the same ,it all worked out well by the 4th day I had had 10 hour driving lessons and they told me that they are going to put me in for your driving test [it was a different system then each town had their own test centre] it worked out that by the time I had 19 driving lessons in the same car a Austin A 40 [make and model] within 8 working days, I had passed my driving test for the sum of less than £20…also I used to wait in a “PUB” and drink beer for the later in the day lessons sometimes I would have had 4 pints over 3 hours there was no such thing as Drink driving back then .
A diary entry from this day five years ago when I was driving a Kenworth W900 for Ruby Trucklines. I know what you’re thinking. “If the Winters are so bad, why are you still there?” You would be right if you thought there was a woman involved.
The truck had been standing out in the bitter cold for three nights and although it started, it would not rev-out due to frozen filters. I got it into the workshop and aimed the space-heater at the tanks and put some additive in. While I was sitting about for two hours; I got to thinking why are there people living in the barren, ice-covered tundra that is Central Canada? How did it all start? Years ago, the First Nations followed the buffalo herds and moved South in the Winter. The first white pioneers were self-sufficient; trappers, hunters, miners and loggers, all looked after themselves. Farmers and ranchers didn’t have much need for the towns and cities that have sprung up in the desolate area between Vancouver and Toronto. So how did they get here?
“School teachers” is the answer. They are to blame and the reason that thousands of truckers have to service a country that should not have any population living in a totally inhospitable environment. When some do-gooder noticed that farmers had lots of children, they thought it was a good idea to set up schools in all the remote parts of Canada. Then they sent in school teachers who are the most useless bunch in the World and can’t look after themselves any better than a three-year-old. Teachers needed a care-taker for the school, a house keeper for their lodgings, a local shop to supply their needs and all the other services to help them live an easy life.
Suddenly, a whole community had sprung up just because of the introduction of a school and a teacher who needed looking after. Of course, that meant more kids in the village and, after a while, more ruddy teachers. Villages became towns, towns grew into cities, roads joined the cities and the whole lot needed supplying with everything all year round. This situation would never have happened if useless school teachers had been kept off the Prairies. But now we have a drama school teacher as Prime Minister in Canada and nothing is going to change.
Teachers have no practical skills but they are not stupid. They have engineered an excellent pampered life-style. Short working hours, no weekends, long holidays and good pay while making themselves seem invaluable to the community. In truth, they are brain-washing generations with bull-pooh when the only good education is experience and travel. I know what teachers are like; I dated a Latin teacher for a short while. She was not only useless but totally pointless; but I got to do to her what the Prime Minister/Drama Teacher is doing to Canada. Rant over.
Day time temperatures are no warmer and still pretty cold at night. After thawing-out, I have more early Sunday morning trouble when I find the trailer is frozen to the ground and the drive tyres are spinning on a sheet of ice. With a little fore-thought, I should have put on a couple of snow-chains before backing under the trailer. Luckily another Ruby driver is also leaving at the same time; he pulls the Kenworth out of the puddle of frozen snow-melt. A snow storm is forecast for later in the day but I manage to stay ahead of any bad weather; even with the bad luck of being selected for a DoT vehicle inspection at the Sisseton scale in South Dakota.
From the Coffee Cup Travel Plaza at Vermillion to the Choctaw Travel Stop at Thackerville is an uneventful second day; followed by more of the same as I reach Hidalgo, Texas, on Wednesday morning. A quick cross-docking of the peat-moss onto a Mexican Dub’ya Nine and I am away to Laredo for a trailer switch at the new yard. Stopping for fuel at the new Pilot Truckstop at Falfurrias; mid way between Hidalgo and Laredo. After a few years of stagnation, there seems to be an explosion of new travel plazas at the moment. Love’s open a new site every month and Pilot/Flying’J are expanding too. Big investments in what must be considered secondary positions as all the prime Interstate locations have long gone. But good news for truck-drivers as more parking spots and facilities help ease the burden of working with ELDs.
For the third time on the trot, the destination of the triangle’s second leg is Calgary, Alberta. Shop fittings of only three and a half tons which helps enormously with the journey; as I am expected to make a Monday morning delivery and get back into Canada in less than 70 hours of driving time. Another brand new Pilot Truckstop is the over-night halt at Lamar in Colorado but not before I have re-fueled at the Rip Griffin Travel Centre, Tulia. Rip Griffin started building truckstops in 1962, sold eleven sites to Truckstops of America in 2004 but kept nine in the Lubbock area of West Texas. Mr. Griffin died in 2017, aged 87. Old style service and new only a few hours apart.
Northbound and onto higher ground, the wind picks-up and leans on the lightly loaded trailer. Interstate 25 in Wyoming is notorious for the gales from the West but I make it through to Sheridan; just keeping out of cruise-control and easing back on the exposed bridge-decks. At the third brand new truckstop of the trip, I wake up to heavy snow on a Saturday morning. Common Cents is the name of the truckstop and common-sense tells me to sit-tight until the weather front blows through. I’m away just after Noon; five hundred miles to the Canadian border and on to Lethbridge, Alberta, with a couple of hours left of my weekly 70 allowance.
Sunday is a day of rest and round to the new Calgary supermarket on Monday morning. Unloaded and the re-load is something I have done before; Acheson, near Edmonton, to Niverville, near Steinbach. But it might of helped if I had read the text message correctly! I get up to Acheson only to find that I should have been loading at the company’s other packing plant at Prince Albert in Saskatchewan. My mistake adds about a hundred miles to the empty dead-head but the wood-chip people give me a load from Acheson to help me on my way. The punishment load is to Fort Saskatchewan; which would have been nice if it was in Saskatchewan but it is only the other side of Edmonton.
It is frightening that I can still make such stupid rookie mistakes after being a truck-driver for over forty years. Crack-on; I’m sure the office will have noticed but as they never say anything when I do a good job then I don’t think they will bother much about a faut-pas. Eventually loaded in PA and on to Niverville for a quick unloading before running back to the yard. Eleven days for the trip; the longest of a trio after triangle trips of 10 and eight days.
Hi CHRIS another good trip.did you get about 2 a month in,the amount of milage you do in one "triangle " average 16.000miles that would have been like say 5 trips from DOVER TO ROME AND BACK that would have been about 5 weeks work ish ,just sort of average however that never worked out like that some trips further on wold take longer etc so what i am saying is that you certainly earned your crust .
DID you do European before you migrated ,as i would have though a driver who only did UK work would get a surprise when in CANADA was that taken in To consideration when being interviewed by recruiters.
peggydeckboy:
also one at Prescot street west India docks London.
That was my pool to start with when I was sailing from Tilbury with my first, and best ship, the St. John of South American Saint Lines. The only bad thing that happened on her was being attacked by a crewmate who kept blathering on about his time in the Foreign Legion. I finally snapped when, both of us in our cups, he said yet again, ‘look at those boots that have tramped all over Algerian desert sands’. All I said was ‘■■■■■■■■’ and that was it, soon parted by the rest of my mates though. I later moved to the Southampton one which put me on the Queen Mary for my nightmare trip to New York, but if I thought I was hard done by on that old Queen I hadn’t bargained on my 3rd, last and worst ship, the San Gaspar/Vertagus. She was an old Eagle Oil tanker, a line that had made famous history during the war when the San Demetrio was torpedoed and set on fire. The crew abandonned ship into the boats and drifted for a day and a night until they came upon her again, still burning but still afloat. They reckoned if she could make it that long they might be better off back on board and history was made when they finally limped her back into port.
No such fame for me though, the San Gaspar was now under the Shell flag and had to have her name changed to a Shell/shell name. All Shell ships are named after them and so it was as my new crewmates and me, passengered out from London to join her in Rotterdam ascendered the gangway to board her as the old crew, ■■■■■■■ with laughter at our bad fortune, joyously bounced down it freed at last from 18 months of pure boredom shuttling between Venezuella and Texas.
Tanker men are a very insular lot and only the chippy, a refugee from Union Castle, and me were true newbies. Cleaning sludge from the tanks all through Biscay we then spent 2 weeks with no money in the ship in Scaramanga, near Piraes for dry docking. The most notable things that happened were getting ejected from a Wales/Greece football match because Taffy had staged a one man pitch invasion to kick hell out of the Greek players. We got back in though via the Welsh dressing room trotting back down the tunnel with them after half time. The other was when we all went on strike due to the manky mess the Greeks had left our accommodation in, threatened with a mutiny charge by the captain (a hanging offence, though only at sea we later learned), it was only solved when the British Ambassador came aboard and backed our complaints.
After that the next stop was Kuwait. A wonderful place, not, what seemed like a mile long jetty for shore leave to arrive at a bloody desert as far as the eye could see and just a wooden hut which served as duty free and where I bought a very nice Kodak camera. My heart wasn’t in the job after that and so, after a slow cruise across the Indian Ocean I wasted no time jumping ship in Sydney. Shell who were blamed by the local authorities were forced to pay for my stay in the Seamans’ Mission and I nearly got slung in gaol for trying to pawn my Kodak on William Street. A free ride home on a Greek Liner, the Ellinis, met a great girl and had a romance which lasted long after we got to England and I never went back to sea again, other than as an occasional passenger.
WELL,WELL ,SPARDO,DAVID really enjoyed reading you piece I had no idea ,what a surprise,that old M,N.gave a young man the adventure of a lifetime although i think after time i got disillusioned with the job but still loved it .
SYDNEY was a magnet for women they were all like whores but never charged just stayed on the ship after ■■■■ up parties as long as they could , Did you get hooked into one and decided to stay like lots of other seamen, you took a chance fair play to you , or was it another reason [personal understood]
one ship i was on we had a DBS from BLUFF[NZ]and he had to work his way back with us on deck…i also missed the ship on purpose in NZ but only in the WORKING clothes i stood up in not quite sober A DINNER TIME SESION and was soon arrested and put on a ferry from LITTLETON TO WELLINGTONBACK TO THE SHIP what i can never understand i never had anything [reprimanded] 2 VGs at the end of the trip but never got asked back well it was on the MANNS run 1 years trip a FEDERAL BOAT.
It is one of those things looking back saying to yourself why did i do that etc, and that followed me although my driving,like ships i would do one trip then off,transport companies were the same to me once something to me was not correct i would be gone ,however some companies i went back to more than once but i knew where i stood.
all though my time on a tanker was very short one short trip ,i think it was shell [THE KENT] i never had the pleasure of tank cleaning. not enough deck work for me derricks etc.
I think being at sea or any other service where you are in confined quarters with other men that you cannot get along with and not get away from gives you a acceptance of other peoples behavior where others have not had that kind of early life.
however others would say ,well you chose it .
i have never believed that old chestnut[the grass is not always greener] once you walk up a new gangway on another ship its how you adapt and you have done pretty well for your self.
As you were a fridge man like myself we could have well been in RUNGIS or some other abattoir /or ferry.
you are 6 years older than me so the MN.would have been that much more harder than when i went in in 1960 at 16years old and with a good established company BLUE FUNNEL. .Birkenhead.
I GET THE BONDI TRAM now
tout va bein DBP.
,i
No, no women in Sydney itself, I met Sue on the Ellenis on the way home, she was going for a European holiday and 4 of us made friends. The other 2 were Pat, another Aussie girl, and a Scotsman on his way home after working in Oz. They all took care of me as I had only a small amount of money provided by Shell’s reluctant hand forced by a sympathetic Australian immigration. They would have been happy for me to stay but their hands were forced by the Italian and Greek governments who were losing seafarers hand over fist by ship jumpers trying to get a free passage to immigration. They said there were 2 ways I could stay without them getting into trouble. First one was to go down to the Mildura fruit growing area near the Victorian border, work hard there and keep my nose clean and then come back and I would get my papers. The other was to get a ship to NZ, then book a passage back which would mean I was arriving from a non restricted country and be an Australian. The first was a nono as fruit picking sounded like harder work to me than wandering the world on a tanker, and the 2nd was, I had no money to get to New Zealand and back.
That was in 1964 I think, may have been '65 but about 3 years or so later I was back, via Darwin and what immediately followed was what I described at Buntine’s earlier in this thread.
Later, when I finally arrived in Sydney I rang the bank where I knew Sue worked.She answered the phone and as soon as she heard my voice she said ‘what kept you?’ We had lunch that same day and she told me that she was off the next day to Surfers’ Paradise with a woman friend who had won a beauty competition and the prize was a fortnight for two up there. ‘Ring me when I get back’ she said, but I never did, by that time I was always between one day jobs and never enough money and then I jumped a freight train north to Townsville and never got around to it. Often wondered what happened to her after that, can’t imagine her as a little old Granny now though somehow.
One last thing, I am no fridge man, can’t stand the rattling things. After 40 odd years on the road my first fridge was when I started with Gauthier’s here in France in '99. If I was loaded and parked up for the night I used to drop the trailer and park the unit behind it.
@ DBP; yes I did European work before Canada. 1982 until 2004 when the EU expanded and all the rates were cut to shreds by all the old Commie Blok coming in. At that time I was living in the Dordogne with a French woman but Spardoland was short work for drivers and after a couple of years of casual handyman work, I came West. Here is one of my longer trips if not the longest.
DAY 1: South, out of Steinbach, on a Sunday morning with red cedar bark mulch bound for Harrisburg, South Dakota. Crossing into the US at Pembina, North Dakota and onto the Interstate 29 all the way to Sioux Falls, a stones throw away from my delivery. At the Flying J truckstop is Bob from Kelowna in Big Freight C601, also with bark mulch. He was the last of eight to get unloaded at Castlegar when I was first away. This is his first trip into the US for BFS, so far he is unimpressed.
DAY 2: I’m in the right street, but I’m damned if I can find out who wants the bark mulch. Eventually I track it down to the Ready-mix Concrete plant, who unbeknown to some of the staff, are branching out into landscaping with slabs and mulch. While I’m reversing back down the road to get in the plant, I carelessly knock over another factory’s mailbox at the kerbside; right in front of the company boss who has just turned up for work. I say, “Sorry”. He says, “Don’t worry about it, if that’s the worst thing that happens today then we’ll be fine, I’ll send someone out to fix it, I hope it didn’t rip your tarps.” I quickly decide that I like this guy. Unloaded, I wait for instructions at a gas station back at the Interstate. At four in the afternoon, the reload arrives, trailer change in the morning at Valley, Nebraska; lampposts going to Ste. Julie, Quebec.
DAY 3: The satellite message was addressed to Bob and Chris and I find two trailers, loaded with 10 lampposts each, both going to Quebec, but no sign of Bob. I’ve strapped down the load, faxed the customs papers and cleaned myself up; but at 10.30, still no Bob. Being his first journey back through customs into Canada, I thought he might like to run together. But as he had plenty of time to do the same as I did, I figure he ain’t coming. You can only drive the one behind the one in front. I’m already thinking about making myself available for reloading on Friday morning so I push on to Sawyer, Michigan.
DAY 4: The lampposts only weigh 30,ooo lbs and the truck holds top gear all the way on a very flat 1,300 mile trip. The steepest incline being the ramp onto the Bluewater Bridge at the Port Huron/Sarnia border crossing north of Detroit. The Greater Toronto Area is experiencing a thunderstorm as I go through on Highway 401, amazingly everyone keeps it together and I make it to Napanee under ever threatening skies.
DAY 5: French-Canadians delight in being different; speaking French differently and doing most things in their own quirky way. Having a long rich heritage and passing traditions down through the generations is fine, but a lot of Quebecois seem to enjoy being bloody awkward when it comes to strangers. Many truck-drivers just don’t want to run east of Ontario, simply because of all the hassle. But doesn’t that all change when you have something they want? Urgently. At a place, where before I had been parked in a corner and ignored, I’m waved into position, straps pulled off and unloaded in under twenty minutes, all in the pouring rain. A guy even comes up and asks, in English, where the other truck is. “Demain matin”, I reply in French, I’ve heard that one enough times over the years when trying to get unloaded.
DAY 6: In this job, you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you get a chance to stick your tongue down the throat of a Princess. I can count on the fingers of a Vee sign the number of trips I have done of more than 3000 miles. But Vee is for Valcourt, Quebec, 3174 miles to Vee is for Vancouver Island. Sixteen jet-skis and 2 three-wheel Spyder motorcycles, loaded by 9 o’clock and a good days driving to North Bay; catching both Montreal and Ottawa at there traffic-free best.
DAY 7: Highway 11 through the Canadian Shield and a chance to see some wildlife; disappointingly, it’s a dead Black Bear, a roadkill victim. One live moose and two foxes in 1000 kilometres to Nipigon; where I dine with Neil and Neal, one current and one former driver of sewer green Kenworth T800s. Most of the ex-pat British drivers in eastern Manitoba keep in touch via Facebook; but it’s always good to sit down face to face and gossip. Find out who did what, where, why and how much they were fined.
DAY 8: An early start, not the usual thing on a long trip when even if you drive all day you are not going to make up much time, but I’m going to be home in my own bed for the night and the jet-skis can have the security of the BFS electric entry-gated, video-camera watched, floodlight compound.
DAY 9: Regina is the first drop, just one machine, then the Trans-Canada highway onto Medicine Hat, Ab. Time to plan ahead and with a log hours reset seemingly inevitable, I decide to push on with the drops as quickly as possible, leaving more time for myself on Vancouver Island.
DAY 10: Today is all Highway 3, Lethbridge, the Crowsnest Pass, Cranbrook and to Crescent Valley, just north of Castlegar, BC. 15,ooo lbs of big boys toys doesn’t slow the rig too much as the ups and downs of the Rocky Mountains are splendid in the sunshine.
DAY 11: Osoyoos, for fuel and a shower at the Husky Truckstop. A town by a lake and in the mountains, quite beautiful, but I could never live there. Not with a name like that, I remember when I lived in Ware, Hertfordshire; always having to repeat myself. Two drops close together at Aldergrove and Surrey, a traverse of Vancouver City in the evening rush, then Highway 99 towards Whistler, a road extensively worked-on for the 2010 Olympic Winter Games and my first chance to use it without endless roadworks as I head for my last mainland drop at Squamish, British Columbia.
DAY 12: Manitoba time is two hours ahead of BC time, so when the dealer opens at 9.00, I’m thinking 11.00 and half the day is nearly gone. Things get better at the ferry terminal at Horseshoe Bay when I barely have time to switch off the motor and I’m called forward onto the 10.30 crossing. Ninety minutes of smooth sailing and I’m off into the hustle of a very busy Nanaimo looking for the Cam-Am dealer. Next, an hours drive north to Courtenay and the last four Jet-skis arrive at their new home. Where to take a break? Port Alberni; and just before the town I stop at the awe-inspiring Cathedral Grove, the biggest trees I’ve ever seen. At the biggest tree in the forest, a young lady in a party dress is having a photo-shoot to celebrate her college graduation. I need some perspective to show how huge the trees are in my photos, she gladly obliges; such finery in the forest.
DAY 13: Friday, on the Quay at Port Alberni, I book a day trip on a boat and am assured I will see whales, orcas, sea lions and sea otters. It leaves at 08.00 Saturday morning, returning at 17.30. I spend the rest of the day, at the dockside, watching the loading of a freighter. Cedar tree trunks are floating in the water beside the ship, being nudged about by sturdy little tug-boats while a dozen men are walking about on the logs, putting slings around the wood and then standing to one side as it is craned aboard.
DAY 14: The most important rule in whale-watching is that the boat must not go within 100 metres of any whale. During my time on the MV Frances Barkley, I don’t think it was ever within 100 miles of any bloody whale. But it was a bit out of season, the northern migration past Vancouver Island is best seen during March and April. Also, I was on a working boat that carries mail, cargo as well as passengers and tourists; it doesn’t go chasing after the whales. An interesting day, even with the no-show sea mammals, we called in at Canada’s last floating Post Office, delivered some fish-food to a salmon farm, dropped off some Vicwest roofing to a new holiday home and a whole load of groceries and house-hold goods to some of the alternative life-style types who live by the Alberni Inlet and the Pacific Rim waypoints.
DAY 15: An early Sunday morning drive down into Victoria, the capital of British Columbia, where I find the Black Ball Ferry Terminal right next to the Parliament Buildings in the centre of Downtown. I’d booked a space on the 10.30 sailing to Port Angeles in Washington state. A direct route into the USA, possible because I was empty, convenient because I was reloading in North Plains, Oregon; $40 cheaper than BC Ferries and they take debit card payments. Built in 1959, the MV Coho has sailed the same route under the same flag for over fifty years, but it is very clean and tidy with a nostalgic aire. Every piece of metal looks like it’s had two dozen coats of paint and the driving through a door on the side, using a 10 foot wide dock leveller was a first for me. Just two 18 wheelers, some cars and a huge host of Harley-Davidsons; many making a roadtrip on Highway 101 which starts its legendary southbound route to Los Angeles from Port Angeles. I one-oh-one’d it to Olympia, Washington, then Interstate 5 to Portland, Oregon, before going east to my pick-up.
DAY16: A load of top quality lumber, destined for top quality window frames and I don’t mind tarping it when you can see the point. Then one of my favorite Interstates, 84, east out of Portland and along the south bank of the mighty Columbia River as the gorge teases you with glimpses of spectacular Mount Hood. Oregon on the south, Washington to the north, crossing at Umtilla. Onto Spokane, home of Martin Penwald’s ex-wife, she must have got the kids off her hands by now, I wonder if she’s still on her own.
DAY 17: A three thousand mile trip and I was only scaled once, within 30 miles of the last drop. There is something about this run, back through the Rockies, all the scales seem to be always open. Sure enough, I equal my previous best, five in a row. Not a problem, all axles are good, but it sure makes the log-book look neat and tidy. I figure I need to get back to Medicine Hat, to give me a chance of making Steinbach by the next evening. Didn’t I say? The window company is only half a mile up the road from where I live.
DAY 18: Wednesday, the load is booked in for 07.30 Thursday, so it’s just a job of keeping it together, nursing the trailer tyres on this year’s hottest day so far. There are a couple that look like they haven’t got another three thousand miler in them.
Overall Distance:- 11,770kms.
I had only a small amount of money provided by Shell’s reluctant hand forced by a sympathetic Australian immigration. They would have been happy for me to stay but their hands were forced by the Italian and Greek governments who were losing seafarers hand over fist by ship jumpers trying to get a free passage to immigration.
SPARDO was that money that you had left in the ship [your earned wages] you certainly have been about…
CHRIS and SPARDO two excellent posts from both of you it makes what i have done very small compared to you both.i have some many question’s to both of you it would take to much up.so i will fill the gaps myself…as i sort of envied what both of you have done and are doing however by 1965 i was married and we had 3 boys,11months between 2 of them, so i sort of clipped my own wings but never regretted it still married to the same lady57 years i know i could not have migrated anywhere that is why i like reading and sort of like to know the whys and ifs of men s life stories .DBP.
peggydeckboy:
I had only a small amount of money provided by Shell’s reluctant hand forced by a sympathetic Australian immigration. They would have been happy for me to stay but their hands were forced by the Italian and Greek governments who were losing seafarers hand over fist by ship jumpers trying to get a free passage to immigration.SPARDO was that money that you had left in the ship [your earned wages] you certainly have been about…
CHRIS and SPARDO two excellent posts from both of you it makes what i have done very small compared to you both.i have some many question’s to both of you it would take to much up.so i will fill the gaps myself…as i sort of envied what both of you have done and are doing however by 1965 i was married and we had 3 boys,11months between 2 of them, so i sort of clipped my own wings but never regretted it still married to the same lady57 years i know i could not have migrated anywhere that is why i like reading and sort of like to know the whys and ifs of men s life stories .DBP.
No, the money I had left in the ship was kept by them till I got to Blighty and it was all paid up to date. And that was the way it should be sending me home with my own money when Immigration told them it was their fault and their problem would have been actionable. All the stuff from my cabin caught up with me eventually, nothing was missing. I don’t pretend I didn’t jump, but I was helped, and could have been excused by the Captain’s incompetence. The chalked board at the top of the gang plank gave 13H as the time of sailing, but it was changed very late before that to 12H They were changing it as I walked down to the quay and I did see it but worked it to my advantage. I sat under the Harbour Bridge and saw the ship sail under it and down the harbour. I gave myself up to immigration just before they went home at 18H. By nightfall I was tucked up in a comfortable bed in the Mission. I did make efforts to ship out again over the next few weeks, always looking for a Scan ship. You could register at the Danish, Norwegian (my favourite choice) Swedish and Finnish embassies, and get the first berth that came free but, due to the good conditions on those ships vacancies were rare. Also even though I was top of the list, a Scan seaman fronting up always took priority.
My opinion of the Scans was born in Buenos Aires when I genuinely missed the St. John as she sailed up river to Rosario. Until the agent got me on a train to catch her up a Norwegian seaman offerd to share his cabin with me. I ate in their mess and it was the best ever. The cabin was spacious with one double bunk and a long settee. I was a bit surprised to be sharing it with him but there was plenty of room to keep a respectable distance so my surprise was placated. However half an hour into the night I felt a hand creeping over my legs. That was it and he graciously spent the rest of the night on the couch.
But it was a very good cabin and the grub was excellent, both facts which I remembered later in Sydney.
Oh boy Chris, did this really strike a chord for me
French-Canadians delight in being different; speaking French differently and doing most things in their own quirky way. Having a long rich heritage and passing traditions down through the generations is fine, but a lot of Quebecois seem to enjoy being bloody awkward when it comes to strangers. Many truck-drivers just don’t want to run east of Ontario, simply because of all the hassle. But doesn’t that all change when you have something they want? Urgently. At a place, where before I had been parked in a corner and ignored, I’m waved into position, straps pulled off and unloaded in under twenty minutes, all in the pouring rain. A guy even comes up and asks, in English, where the other truck is. “Demain matin”, I reply in French, I’ve heard that one enough times over the years when trying to get unloaded.
We have our own pet Quebecois in our village, Igor, usually pronounced by some of us as if he was in a Frankenstein film ‘Eeegooor’, with a low growl. A dozen or so years ago we were both on the same Committee des Fetes which organised communal meals etc. but also the Lotto now and again. One night the President (no not him, the President of the Commitee) got a sore throat calling out the numbers so they looked around for a substitute. Not me, I was running the bar, not my friend Brian because he was operating the ball machine, so it fell to Igor. As soon as he started the ripples of laughter were barely suppressed, nobody takes the ■■■■ out of my English accent but they really went to town on Igor. C’est quoi ca?’ (what’s that?), ‘C’est quoi il a dit?’ (what did he say?), ‘Repetez’ (repeat) etc. then they started imitating his accent ‘C’est qui est wit?’ (what’s wit?) this because of his strange annunciation of huit (8 and normally pronounced like wheat). I almost felt sorry for the bloke but managed not to because he was such a moody, miserable git. I never spoke English to him, just as I wouldn’t to any French person, but some of them that can do try out their English on me, but not Igor, I knew he could speak it but not with me.
There were also a couple of Marches des Producteurs (local producers markets) in our square a year and some of them were meat producers, one runs a Bison (Buffalo) farm and sells the meat there. There were tables and benches provided for those who wanted to buy and eat, along with the wine they had bought from another producer so we ran a barbecue where they could have their purchases done to their perfection. This was normally Igor’s job but for some reason one year he couldn’t do it so I was volunteered. I was terrified, I have never been a barbecuer and quite apart from keeping this very large drum going for several hours at peak heat I knew I also had to contend with a population who requires their meat bien cuit, a point, saignant, or bleu (well done, medium, rare, or, not quite dead yet ). I enlisted the help of an English friend who was good with such things, though more in operating the fire than becoming a Michelin starred chef but somehow we did alright and there were no complaints. Except by Igor, who turned up late in the day simply in order to criticise. Fortunately we had plenty of loyal local support so his nose was put out of joint. I saw him only yesterday in the supermarket and remembered just how ugly he was, and so was his wife, and I softened a bit towards him, I reckon if I looked like that and had a wife that looked like her, I’d be pretty miserable too.
But I aint finished with the Quebecois yet. When I was still working we did a lot of deliveries from the big Lidl warehouse near Bordeaux. I could see how they sold their stuff so cheap. Hardly any workers, all the loading had to be done by the drivers using unfamiliar electric pallet movers, no licence required. They extended the warehouse to make a frozen store but there was no outside entrance for the drivers, well there was but it was 5 feet up in the air, with no steps. Somebody had fetched a pallet and leaned it against the wall, as I stepped on the lowest plank it flipped towards me cracking me on the shin and drawing blood. I went to the office to put a report in the book. What book, no book, the bloke was clueless, but he was a bit of a mate of mine so he agreed to get some headed notepaper and let me write down what happened and we both signed it and took a copy each. Anyway it was getting late but the routier was only 10 minutes away where I would eat and park up for the night, so I got round there and took out the tacho. Had the barest minimum of legal rest and set off next morning for one of the 2 Lidl shops in Brive la Gaillard, no autoroute in those days so getting on for a 3 hour drive with lots of towns and villages along the way to go through. I arrived an hour after my rdv time. I knew what was coming because the manager was, you guessed it, a Quebecois, and he didn’t like the English. ‘You’re late’ he said so I explained that I was as early as the law would allow. 'Well you’ll have to wait, I haven’t time for you now, pull your truck off the dock till I call you. Sadly I shook my head ‘I have already put it on rest and can’t move it for another 45 minutes’. ‘Well wait there then, but it won’t be soon’. ‘Oh thank you, thank you’ I said ‘I hardly had any sleep last night due to all the trouble at Cadaujac and I’m going back to bed’. With that I got back in the cab and closed the curtains. 10 minutes later there was a knock on the door ‘On y va’ ( let’s go) he growled, and I was soon tipped.
With both of these fine specimens I was always comforted by the fact that, although a staunch republican myself and objector to having a queen as my Head of State, how much worse must it have been for them to have her as their official Monarch as well.
BTW Chris, if you have got this far, whereabouts in the Dordogne did you live? I bought this place in '93 and came to live here in '99, so we must have been here at about the same time as each other. 
SPARDO, Thank you for the information ,just what i was looking for i was puzzled how the immigration got involved now i know ,well planned lucky you was not sent home as DBS…