Trucks, tracks, tall tales and true from all over the world

[spardo]

B.T.W. Did you know that tomorrow is the start of The Mount Isa Rodeo, should we put Spardo’s name down as an entrant as he has got a lot of experience handling those big beasties.

You can mock, but there was once when I went to a rodeo, may have been in the Territory but I have a feeling it was in Queensland but not the Isa (one place have never been ) and I had a thought ‘that doesn’t look too hard, I might give it a go’

But then the cow turned into a chicken and the thought left me as quickly as it had arrived.

Talking of big beasts, this was Bernie, almost as big as a small cow, who stayed with us for a while and here he is being cajoled into playing by my Beauceronne, Ramona.

And the ensueing wrestling match when he gave in

[star_down_under]

mushroomman:
Thanks for that S.D.U. it’s surprising how many of these story’s remind me of something similar that I experienced over my driving career.
For some reason I copied and downloaded this photo from a newspaper about 20 years ago, as it shows just how much rain that area can get after a couple of days. The coloured photos are what I took the year before, somewhere between Mount Isa and Camooweal on The Barkly Highway.

I once fancied getting a Ford Falcon Fairmont like the one that you mentioned but at the time, I could only afford what you described as “a common or garden Falcon”. I.I.R.C. it was a four litre, straight six cylinder and unfortunately, I only have one picture of it when I was driving to work, one dark morning.

3

2

1

Not my photo. Photo courtesy of the Queensland Police Service.
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B.T.W. Did you know that tomorrow is the start of The Mount Isa Rodeo, should we put Spardo’s name down as an entrant as he has got a lot of experience handling those big beasties.

Things must have changed as you are not allowed to take an Esky to the venue now, which doesn’t sound very Australian.

Many years ago, I worked with a young lad called Terry whose best mate was offered a job in the mine at Mount Isa. He invited Terry up for the rodeo so Terry booked a fortnights holiday, threw his swag onto the back of his Ute and set off to go to The Isa. It took him three days to drive the 1,800 kilometres and on the first day of the rodeo, he could not understand why so many people were pulling wheelie bins along the main street.
When he arrived at the show grounds, he realised that people were using the wheelie bins as Eskys, which were two thirds full of Grog, one third full of crushed ice. Is that why they call Queensland “The Smart State”.

isarodeo.com.au/mount-isa-mines-rodeo/

Just to make it interesting, MRM, I’ll nominate Dig. We can have a side bet on who will get closest to eight seconds.

A BA Falcon eh, I’ve got a BA Fairlane in the shed here, gathering dust. I can only drive one car at a time and am already paying rego on a Range Rover and Discovery.
We must be jogging each other’s memories. Your photo reminded me of another yarn. Watch this space.

[star_down_under]

Spardo:

B.T.W. Did you know that tomorrow is the start of The Mount Isa Rodeo, should we put Spardo’s name down as an entrant as he has got a lot of experience handling those big beasties.

You can mock, but there was once when I went to a rodeo, may have been in the Territory but I have a feeling it was in Queensland but not the Isa (one place have never been ) and I had a thought ‘that doesn’t look too hard, I might give it a go’

But then the cow turned into a chicken and the thought left me as quickly as it had arrived.

Talking of big beasts, this was Bernie, almost as big as a small cow, who stayed with us for a while and here he is being cajoled into playing by my Beauceronne, Ramona.

1

And the ensueing wrestling match when he gave in

0

You’d be disappointed if we didn’t mock.
Beautiful looking dogs.

[dig]

Star down under.:

Spardo:

B.T.W. Did you know that tomorrow is the start of The Mount Isa Rodeo, should we put Spardo’s name down as an entrant as he has got a lot of experience handling those big beasties.

You can mock, but there was once when I went to a rodeo, may have been in the Territory but I have a feeling it was in Queensland but not the Isa (one place have never been ) and I had a thought ‘that doesn’t look too hard, I might give it a go’

But then the cow turned into a chicken and the thought left me as quickly as it had arrived.

Talking of big beasts, this was Bernie, almost as big as a small cow, who stayed with us for a while and here he is being cajoled into playing by my Beauceronne, Ramona.

2

And the ensueing wrestling match when he gave in

1

You’d be disappointed if we didn’t mock.
Beautiful looking dogs.

Hate to disappoint you I might be talked into running an assist while the youngsters had rides on the poddy calfs and then on the windup day the Two Up took priority

Dig

[dig]

DIG:

Star down under.:

Spardo:

B.T.W. Did you know that tomorrow is the start of The Mount Isa Rodeo, should we put Spardo’s name down as an entrant as he has got a lot of experience handling those big beasties.

You can mock, but there was once when I went to a rodeo, may have been in the Territory but I have a feeling it was in Queensland but not the Isa (one place have never been ) and I had a thought ‘that doesn’t look too hard, I might give it a go’

But then the cow turned into a chicken and the thought left me as quickly as it had arrived.

Talking of big beasts, this was Bernie, almost as big as a small cow, who stayed with us for a while and here he is being cajoled into playing by my Beauceronne, Ramona.

And the ensueing wrestling match when he gave in

You’d be disappointed if we didn’t mock.
Beautiful looking dogs.

Hate to disappoint you I might be talked into running an assist while the youngsters had rides on the poddy calfs and then on the windup day the Two Up took priority of course soon the long week end was over and a 300km drive to home to be on the wharf first thing to load to come back to Fitzroy it was good the no 2 driver was there to keep us on time.

Dig

[mushroomman]

Sorry David, my intentions weren’t to mock anybody so I apologise if I did cause offence.

I was hoping that you would jump on board and let us know if Katherine, being in ‘cattle country’, had a rodeo of their own but Google has just given me the answer.

This would have been after you were up in the Territory but I thought that you might find it interesting.

truckinwithkermie.com/blog/ … cking-life

[star_down_under]

mushroomman:
Sorry David, my intentions weren’t to mock anybody so I apologise if I did cause offence.

I was hoping that you would jump on board and let us know if Katherine, being in ‘cattle country’, had a rodeo of their own but Google has just given me the answer.

This would have been after you were up in the Territory but I thought that you might find it interesting.

truckinwithkermie.com/blog/ … cking-life

MRM, I think Spardo is having a go back. We’re all grown up here and can take a bit of friendly teasing (I hope, or I’m in trouble).
My motto is Don’t take yourself more seriously than others do.

[spardo]

mushroomman:
Sorry David, my intentions weren’t to mock anybody so I apologise if I did cause offence.

I was hoping that you would jump on board and let us know if Katherine, being in ‘cattle country’, had a rodeo of their own but Google has just given me the answer.

This would have been after you were up in the Territory but I thought that you might find it interesting.

truckinwithkermie.com/blog/ … cking-life

Don’t be daft, no offence taken, it wasn’t you anyway was it? I took it as a joke and replied in the spirit. BTW the rodeo I mentioned must have been in Queensland because I never had time off enough in the Territory.

Had a quick look at that long link and will take time to read it later when I am less busy. Looks very interesting though. Can’t do anything this time of day as Fran has no less than 3 visitors and only one of them has a scheduled time. One down now, 2 to go, and I have to be on hand for the next couple of hours, then the bread and butchery run, too late for the bar and all the oldies there for my customary double espresso (only recently learned that word ) trying to keep up with their rapid and locally accented, French. Despite my having acquired it myself.

Talking about local habits and customs, my first introduction to 2-up that Dig mentioned was as a Sydney taxi driver. Early evenings I would be taken on a magical mystery tour, no address ‘just follow my directions, mate’, down a bush track to a clearing with lots of blokes already in attendance. It could have been worrying the first time if it wasn’t for the fact that there were loads of other taxis going in and out. Some of the participants went there in their own cars though, and these were drawn in a circle, headlights facing inwards, this was going to go on after dark. No room to park and watch I nevertheless got the drift but never participated myself. My gambling came later, in Townsville when, during a period of unemployment my mate and I sustained ourselves by deeply studying the horses for the weekly meet at Brisbane. Then on Saturday morning down to the Tote with the fruits of our labours. We never made big money but it did buy the groceries.

Taken me a long while to write this, 2nd visitor arrived while I was doing it, just left, only one to go now. We’ve had the Aide, then the Nurse, only the Aide Soignante ( Nursing Assistant) to come now.

[star_down_under]

Okay, as promised some wet season tales. I can’t remember what order they occurred, or even which year, but they would have been around the turn of the century.
I was never overly concerned about hours, driving when I was fit and sleeping when tired. It’s quite amazing how many hours you can drive using this method, as long as there is no pressure to drive when when you want to sleep. We had (and still have) paper log books, a bit of creative accounting keeps it looking healthy. I was carting fuel from Townsville to Karumba, 950 km apart.

It was always a race against the weather to get a reserve into Karumba before the wet season (summer), in case the roads were flooded.

Loaded with 100,000 litres, I was west bound toward K. The road was flooded at (IIRC) Little River, in the Littleton National Park. I pulled up on the high ground, where a ute with an old fellow and his dog were stranded. With the river at least a kilometre wide, we couldn’t see the other side, we weren’t going anywhere for at least a day. We were soon joined by Tony, who worked for a fuel haulage company and was carting fuel to our terminal, a young couple with a nicely set up camper trailer, another fellow whose name escapes me, carrying grog, groceries and general from T. to K. and Black George, who strangely arrived bobtail. He normally had two trailers of general out of Cairns for K.
Introductions were conducted over the few hours it took for the compulsory campers to assemble. BG was a man who kept very much to himself, he looked at the river and said we won’t be going anywhere soon, then returned in the direction from which he came. The rest of us made ourselves comfortable and helped the young couple set up their trailer, complete with awnings. We would have had about 20’x20’, less sleeping area, of shade to lounge around in.
Just before the sun set, BG returned and surveyed the river, leaving a rock at the water’s edge. He then disappeared east again.
I never carried alcohol in my truck as to me, drinking is a social activity, I never drink alone. Everyone else had various amounts and types of beverage. Tony and the fellow whose name I can’t remember (I’ll call him A), shared their megre supplies of drink with me. The bloke in the ute was ill prepared for the conditions, only having a couple of packets of biscuits and a six pack of beer. We truck drivers had emergency supplies of food, which we cooked on the couple’s barbecue. We all shared what we had with each other.
The next morning, at sunrise, BG returned sans trailers. He checked and relocated his rock to the new edge. The water as still raising. Realising that we were not moving for at least another day we did a stocktake of sustenance. We reckined we would last a day and a half, or two days before the worms started to bite. BG came to check his rock at sunset, sunrise and midday. After two nights it was no longer coming up, but neither was it receding. We were running short of food and had run out of grog.we exercised the only option available to us, raiding A’s trailers. He had enough food and drink to last us til winter.
We slept there for four or five nights, BG visiting us three times a day. On one of his visits, I asked him why he didn’t park with us, his reply was that where he was, he could turn around and go home. Not an option for me, I lived on the western end.

[spardo]

Interesting tale SDU, as I landed in Darwin right at the end of the wet and left Katherine before the next one I never actually got held up with floods with a wagon. I did though, as I may have mentioned before, get stranded with, like you, a load of other travellers in southern QLD somewhere at a river that wasn’t wide but had submerged the road and was running way to fast to cross safely in my mate’s ute. We were lucky, there must have been some kind of settlement nearby because we had a small village hall to sleep in and they lowered some supplies by helicopter to tide us over.

The only other time, again in a car, with my taxi friend, Tony one-fur-one (141) when we headed west from Sydney to Broken Hill and then south into Victoria where he hailed from and where his parents still lived. That was very wet at the outset and I remember, though we didn’t get flooded we were slipping and sliding in the mud all over the track avoiding the stranded semis along the way. The other excitement was that, in his old Holden, the wiper linkage fell apart but we were able to unscrew part of the dash so that the passenger could poke his hand through the hole and operate them manually.

It was also on that trip that I was once again reminded that, although Australians had a reputation for being free and easy cocking a snook at convention, in some ways they were more conservative than their UK relatives. Tony’s parents dressed for dinner and were deeply disapproving of my 2 week old beard. I was persuaded to put a tie on but was buggered if I was going to have a shave. I was on holiday for goodness’ sake. A similar thing had happened when I first arrived in Sydney. I was invited to the house of an Aussie mate with whom I had travelled overland from London to Lahore. Again, very prim and proper with correct attire at dinner.

Back in England, my brother had married an English girl who had a brother with learning difficulties. We didn’t call people like that in those terms then but you get the picture, and the only work he was trusted with was as a lift attendant in Debenham’s. Imagine my amazement when I was looking for work in Sydney and was told that to be a lift attendant I had to have a licence.

Doesn’t gel somehow with sitting in a bush pub wearing mucky old shorts and a sweaty singlet, does it? I loved the contrasts. Almost as if the cream of English society had been lifted straight out of the 19th century and plonked down on the other side of the world.

Forgot to ask, your paper logs, I suppose that was QLD rules was it and was it a similar thing in the other states? I ask because nobody showed me anything like that in the NT.
I remember when it was like that in the UK, before even official sequentially numbered log books when each company designed and printed their own. My introduction to the practice was at Ilkeston Haulage when I ran with an old hand who wouldn’t let me order dinner in a caff until we had sorted into order all the logsheets spread all over the table. Like you we stopped when we were tired, and if we were, and did, there was no pressure at all from the management. Even the police were anxious to keep us moving as we carried whisky roped and sheeted on flat trailers. I was once woken up in a lay-by by a copper who insisted I move on over into the next county in case I got hijacked on his patch.

[star_down_under]

Again, westbound loaded with three trailers, only this time I got further. My progress was halted by an early monsoon, cutting the road at the Norman River.
As the crow flies, I was probably only ten kilometers from Normanton, twenty by road. At least I was in phone range, unlike 99% of the road between T. and K.
My boss owned a seagoing barge, capable of carrying fuel and freight.
The mouth of the Norman is in K. and the flooding made it possible to sail the barge to N. but the road bridge prevented any further progress. My boss had rustled up every tinnie (a small aluminium boat typically under 15’ with an outboard motor) and forty-four gallon drum in N. and K. He also loaded our local delivery, ridged tanker onto the barge.
I’d arrived at the river late afternoon and the mission was set to commence at first light. I’d been promised breakfast would be delivered to me first thing.
I’d driven be the edge of the water, leaving two trailers on higher ground. The tinnies had three or four drums, depending on size. The largest vessel had a thousand litre ISO. As the boats arrived I gravity fed the containers through a 75mm hose and nozzle, what we referred to as a garden hose, because discharge was so slow.
By mid-morning no food had been delivered to me. I wasn’t a happy player and when my boss arrived with the ISO, I enquired as to if I had the low calorie breakfast. I wasn’t forgotten for any more meals over the course of the exercise.
The unloading took cooperation from most of the residents of N. and K., apparently it was a carnival like atmosphere in K. with a sausage sizzle at the barge.
Once the fuel arrived in K. it was pumpd into the barge, which held 60,000 litres. When the barge was full it was pumped into the body truck which then went and stashed it temporarily around N. at the council depot and three service stations.
It took two and a half days to empty all of the trailers, but on the second day, unbeknown to me at the time, an aeroplane or helicopter had flown over me taking photos. The pictures were published across multiple pages of the local rag with an accompanying article praising and naming me for saving the two communities, the other participants merely rated a nameless, honourable mention. I was not impressed, if the escapade had come to the attention of the Environmental Protection Agency, eyebrows would have been raised, I also imagine the Australian Institute of Petroleum, the body who issue fuel passports enabling entry to fuel terminals, would have taken a dim view of the antics.

[mushroomman]

Spardo:
It was also on that trip that I was once again reminded that, although Australians had a reputation for being free and easy cocking a snook at convention, in some ways they were more conservative than their UK relatives. Tony’s parents dressed for dinner and were deeply disapproving of my 2 week old beard. I was persuaded to put a tie on but was buggered if I was going to have a shave. I was on holiday for goodness’ sake. A similar thing had happened when I first arrived in Sydney. I was invited to the house of an Aussie mate with whom I had travelled overland from London to Lahore. Again, very prim and proper with correct attire at dinner.

And it wasn’t only The Aussies David.

Around Christmas 1976 I found myself hitch hiking from Salisbury, Rhodesia, down to Cape Town in South Africa. I had an evening on my own to spare so I thought that I would pop into a cinema, to watch a Mel Brooks film called The Silent Movie. I went dressed in what I thought was smart casual, a clean pair of jeans and an open necked shirt and I was surprised to see that there were loads of people who were wearing suits and nearly all the ladies were wearing long evening gowns.

To top it off, a ‘master of ceremonies’ type of guy got up onto the stage wearing a [z.b.] smoking jacket before the start of the film, to thank all the local businesses who had sponsored the film.

I mentioned this to one of the locals the next day and they replied " yes, that’s about right".

Apparently, lots of farmers around the district would drive into town for the night with their wives, have a meal at a restaurant and then go to watch a film at the cinema. They would often stay in a hotel for the night before driving back to the farm, the following morning.

S.D.U. and Dig might still remember this ad.

youtube.com/watch?v=ElXg0YLCyIE

As Dennis was asking the other day on 'Oily’s thread about camels, I thought that I would add this anecdote from Trucknet member ‘Trubrit’, which he shared with us many years ago.

Another urban myth…with a camel
Postby Trubrit » Sat Sep 13, 2008 5:23 pm

My story is from the early 80’s when overland freight transport from Europe to the Middle East was in full swing. A driver from one of the leading UK based companies on the run had an interesting altercation outside of Jeddah in Saudi Arabia.

It was late afternoon when driver (let’s call him John) passed thru the small town of Bahrah, about 18 kilometers from Jeddah. After passing the town John noticed something looming in the middle of the road.
Starting to slow down for the obstruction John saw local tribesman numbering ten or so back off the road, as though they were waiting for the lorry to hit the road block.
As John approached the block it became apparent that a fully grown camel had been tied by its haunches and dumped in the street. As the tribesmen moved towards the roads edge John deciding discretion was the better part of valor floored the Volvo F89 and charged through the camel.

John realized that the old camel put out to sacrifice was probably a ploy by the locals to force John to buy a new younger camel to replace the old one he had run over. It was about the time John was having these thoughts that he noticed the Volvo’s temperature gauge was climbing rapidly into the red. It seems the camels head had punched a sizeable dent through the vehicles grill and into the radiator. John had the Volvo fixed the following morning after he had unloaded in Jeddah at a newly opened dealership.

A few weeks later John returned to the headquarters in the UK of his employers. Before going home John was asked to drop his trailer and put his unit over the pit in the workshop for service. As John got his gear down from the cab the company fitter came charging out of the pit and threw up across the workshop floor. It seems as well as returning Volvo and trailer safely home he had also brought chunks of green rancid camel carcass lodged into the underside of his vehicle.

And the moral of the story is this…………when you are trying to sleep at night and can’t make out what that smell is…….don’t blame it on your socks!!
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P.S. Keep them coming S.D.U.

[spardo]

Yuk. There is no way I would have done that, quite apart from the fact that I don’t even kill flies if I can usher them outside (doesn’t apply to Oz, obviously, where they could be a major export earner if only anybody wanted them ), a camel is a bloody big and solid animal. You would be mad not to avoid it if at all possible.

[star_down_under]

My last wet season yarn, unless someone again prods my failing grey matter.
This one could almost be made into a movie. It has eliments of endurance, fear, tragedy, only lacking romance.
Usual story, three trailers of fuel into Karumba. Apart from the service station in K., I only carted bulk into our own small terminal. For the comparatively small quantities the servo used, it was senseless to pump the fuel into stock, then transfer it back into the local truck for him to take it a couple of kilometres to the retailer. It was my habit, when I had to load product for the service station, to load that fuel inro the front trailer. I would make the terminal my first drop, then run up to the servo with one trailer. I had come through floodwater at Twelve Mile Crossing, between Normanton and Karumba and because there was a degree of urgency to get back to Townsville, I took all three trailers to the last delivery, with the intention of high tailing it out of town as soon as the single compartment was decanted. With three trailers I had no hope of getting in or out of the two lane, single island forecourt. I drove past the servo and turned around at the boat ramp carpark. Pulled up on the road, outside the service station, I joined every hose I had, to reach the fill point. I had the the fuel running and started on the paperwork when a mature gentleman (I thought he was an old ■■■■ at the time, but now that I am about the same vintage as he was then…) approached me, asking if I would be staying in town or leaving as soon as I was done. I thought he was just an old bloke who had forgotten how busy a working fellows life could be, looking to pass the time. I was short, but polite, telling him that I was going to get the latest information on Twelve Mile and hopefully get the hell out of Dodge, while I could. He then asked if I would take his wife. It appeared to me that he hadn’t taken the hint and was still trying to engage in conversation. My reply was along the lines of “If you don’t want her, why would I?” He explained that his wife’s brother was dying of cancer, in New Zealand and due to the rain the grass airstrip in K. was closed and the road out was too deeply flooded for light vehicles and 4x4s. If I could get her to either Cairns or Townsville (both have international airports), she could possibly see her brother before he passed. I could hardly say no, but I stressed that I couldn’t afford to wait for her. Within the tenish minutes it took to complete the paperwork and stow my gear, the couple had returned. He assisted her to ascend awkwardly, into the lofty altitude of the Stratosphere cabbed 6900 Western Star, the sight was amusing.
We got underway post haste, with me explaining that I could make no guarantees, but I would do my utmost to get her to Townsville ASAP. I further explained that Twelve Mile was going to be flooded and likely scary to the inexperienced but any of the numerous rivers or floodways could promptly impede our progress. To ease her trepidation I told her that the further east we got, the less the rain would jeopardise our quest.
Upon arrival at TMC, the water had risen higher than expected! All that was visible of the guideposts was the reflectors on top. The four sealed beams were semi-submerged, regularly dipping totally underwater. Fortunately, the driving lights were mounted high on the bullbar, giving enough light to make the reflectors do what reflectors are supposed to do. Lucky that, as the water was too deep to see the centre line, keeping me on the crown of the road. I had to judge the highpoint by centralising the truck between the guideposts.
The cavalier confidence that I exuded before reaching the crossing suddenly abandoned me upon entering the water. Whilst it had obviously cosseted my passenger, I was genuinely fearful. The water was washing over the top of the fuel tanks, meaning that the chassis was just under water. All that I could think of was if these empty barrels start to float, the whole combination will be washed off the causeway. The best case scenario if that happened, was we would be in the drink, in the dark, looking for high ground amongst the crocodiles, who had a distinct advantage in this environment.
Once clear of the crossing there were no more major flooding issues.

I had a personal rule not to work after midnight, when I would go to bed without setting an alarm. My usual routine would have me eating and sleeping at Georgetown. This night I was on a mission, so rolled through Georgetown without stopping. After another three and a half, or four hours of driving I was getting doey, so apologised, explaining that the risks of me driving further were tooo high. With the truck parked opposite the small roadhouse at Greenvale, I told the old dear that the ladies’ toilets were never locked and the shop doors were opened at 7.00am, I would grab a takeaway coffee and we could be on our way. The alarm was set for opening time and I was off to bed. I slept soundly until the alarm woke me. The adrenaline fix from TMC must have worn off.
My poor passenger had sat up all night and when the alarm woke me I was confronted with her holding a takeaway coffee. She’d been to the shop as soon as they opened the door. Hmm, hint taken. I did a quick walk around, while having a smoke, then got back into it.
It suddenly occurred to me, that in all the commotion and change of routine, it had totally slipped my mind that I had the truck booked in for a wheel alignment, in the afternoon, at Charters Towers.
Strewth, two commitments, miles apart, how am I going to get myself out of this dilemma? There was no way I was going to let this poor woman down, but conversely, the wheel alignment was also important. I hadn’t shared my problem until I worked out the solution. Thank to the extra hours I’d put in in the wee hours, I would be in the Towers hours early. I could park the truck at the big roadhouse, I was reasonably confident that they hired out utes. The old couple weren’t short of a bob, going by the money he was offering to me, before departure, money that I refused, so she could stump up the hire charge so I could drive her to the airport. A four hour hire would give me plenty of time and I would still be able to keep the mechanic’s booking. Bloody hell, I’m a logistics expert!
While I was making enquiries about the ute, she was phoning New Zealand. Unfortunately it was too late. It was rather awkward, this woman who I’d known for less than twenty-four hours, only had me for comfort and support. All I could do was give her a hug, as she wept into my chest. I try not to do emotion, but her grief brought a lump to my throat. From Charters Towers she managed to get a lift with a couple going to Cairns. The rest of the day was pretty sombre for me, but no doubt worse for her.

[spardo]

Emotional. Did you hear from her or the husband again?

[star_down_under]

Spardo:
Emotional. Did you hear from her or the husband again?

No, although they were residing in and managing a business for a few months, in Karumba.

[mushroomman]

That was very interesting Western Star Down Under, you certainly have the ‘gift’ of writing great stories.

And once again you have reminded me of a strange incident from my past but after doing a bit of ‘Google research’ just now, I don’t think that I should go into too much detail, other than to say that this story involves one of the places that you have just mentioned.

When we first moved up here, I started working with a bloke called Colin and it was about a week later when Colin mentioned to me that he had just started his own business. He told me that he was also a part time funeral director and that he had a place out by the airport, so then it all made sense to me why he came to work in a white, Ford Falcon hearse.

About two months later, Colin asked me if I was interested in buying a large chest fridge freezer. I wasn’t interested at the time but just to keep the conversation going, I asked him what size it was. He told me that it was about six feet six long and about three feet deep. As I nearly spat my cup of tea out all over the rest room I said jokingly, “what do you use it for, keeping the bodies in”.

Colin was not amused and assured me that it was good one and that he had paid over $1000 for it, less than five months ago. Another week went by and Colin was very quite and looking rather sad so I asked him what the problem was. He told me that he had to close his business because the local council had some petty rule about running his business from a lock up near the airport.

Another couple of weeks went by and Colin came into work one day really excited and told me that he had read in the Funeral Directors News, about a family of undertakers up north who were retiring and selling their business. He had made them an offer which they had accepted and so he gave us a months notice.

Within a month, Col had sold his house and moved lock, stock and presumably his six feet six fridge freezer and moved 1,120 kilometers up to the old gold fields.

And charlie one shared this post with us, many years ago.

Postby charlie one » Mon Feb 04, 2008 5:12 am

Well here goes the saga of my sacking from Jameson Europa.Dont know if it’s of any interest except to TIR Original.I waited a long time to get a job there as there was a long waiting list .However being a wheeler dealer in those days,I had a few contacts there.I had a phone call to tell me that a few drivers were being sacked for fiddling expenses. Shock horror !! Did drivers do that? So I phoned and said that I was available.Two days later I was offered the job. Start next Sunday night. So away I went. Cracking job.Running straight.Very difficult to get into when you had been working bent. However I soon got in the hang of things.The only problem was the company had taken on a load of complete novices and they all needing nursing. So these are the events I left on a Sunday night for Milano.Closely followed by this ex copper from the Isle of Wight.Nice guy but panicking We arrived at Aosta.Him having taken the wrong turn and gone through the town.I sat at the Autoporto and when he turned up he had taken the side out of his tilt on a balcony.I got on the blower to Angelo Bavinoni the manager at Italmondo and gave him the trailer numbers.He told me to go directly to Milano and the other one to go to Concorrezo.The other driver nearly had a baby.How do I get there.What do I do in the morning etc After about half an hour of his bleating I said I would take him.What a prat.When we arrived at Concorrezo we parked up. I told him to pull his curtains and put the bunk light on.I then took him to the in gate and told him what to do in the morning.I told him I was going back to Milano so I could have a lay in.As we were walking back to the park I looked across the park and saw there was only one motor there. Please God let it be his.No way There on the park was the rear glass of the volvo.They had put a nipper in through the window and it was away.I’m standing there in my shorts and vest and flip flops.Phoned the Italmondo manager and he came out and got me and took me to the Policia Centrali inMilano then to an hotel.Following day sat in office…Angelo is on phone to Soton.When he put the phone down he said"When you get home they are going to sack you" The following day the truck was found minus the load.I loaded out of the Magasini and off I went back home.On arrival at Soton I was marched into the office My stripes were cut off and I left.However in my pocket was the 300 quid running money which had been stolen out of the truck.Started for Jimmy Rawlings the folling day.Alls well that ends well.

Talking about Jameson, here’s one from Harry Gill.

Re: nottingham bus firm( middle east work
Postby harry_gill » Sun Nov 08, 2009 7:44 am

hiya,
Took some groupage into Jamesons Heywood more years ago than i care to remember, they used to have a very nasty Alsatian but this particular morning just police in force, a trailer laden with brandy had been stolen all the locks chopped off the gates the trailer just hooked up and gone, where was the dog?? faithfully trailing a flea ridden ■■■■■ which just happened to be in season and it’s believed dropped over the fence by the thieves so they could get on with their job in hand without getting the arse end ripped out of their pants.

Thanks Harry, long retired.

[dig]

I can’t match either of SDU and MRMs trips but I did have a bit a delay on one occasion on the the great northern hwy between Halls Creek and Fitzroy crossing,I had taken a 2 trailer r/t of fuel tankers loaded with aviation product to the Wyndam Mobil depot from Broome as they supplied fuel to the Argyle’s Diamond mine plus the local air port etc.
Travelling north around nightfall south of Halls Creek I caught up with a heavy storm fortunately no problems arose other than it rained for most of the trip to Wyndam from Halls Creek sealed rd , I had camped at the Kunanara turn off and like SDU had some concerns about creek crossings so it was only a 3 hour stop thankfully no problems and I arrived at opening time at the depot and unloaded without any delay I then used one of the 3inch fire hoses and filled the lead compartment with 6000 litres of water for weight over the drive axles for the return on the gravel parts of the hwy.
All went well but I was ducking through storms pretty well all the time so I only grabbed a meat pie and fill up of my trusty thermos plus 500 litres of fuel for the lorry and away ,the weather forecast was pretty much what I was experiencing more rain forecast the wet had arrived in earnest.

100 kms out of H/C i creased the Laura river now sports a bridge then again at the Mary river this was low level and was flowing but only about 2feet deep after that the next one was called Mosquito Creek and it was well and truly dark plus it was a gravel crossing it was running a banker, I approached with caution and as soon as the steer axle entered the water I felt it drop the bank was gone so I reversed out and did the usual found a rock and put it at the edge of the water to give me an idea if it was rising or falling the retired for a sleep.When=n I switched the engine off and the A/c with it I found out why it was called Mosquito creek so I wasnt long I fired the truck up again filled the cab full of repellent while I walked around the gear retiring to the sleeper after 20 mins or so.
I awoke at dawn the creek had dropped quite a bit so after a coffee and a tin of dog camp pie got the shovel off the hungry board and set to work making a ramp to drive down then wading across to the other side and repeating the reconstruction operation. All I was worried about was it was raining up in the catchment area for this creek but I could only work as fast as the shovel would let me and after a couple of hours I reckoned it was as good as I could manage without a grader.
The main thing now was to not be too cautioss but also not be to heavyish on the pedal the main thing was to get the truck safely on the other bank I could then try and pull the dog through as gently as possible if I spun out while it was still in the creek I could unhook and use a wirer rope on the front of the dolly [we all carried wire ropes and a push pull bar in those days.] and give it a solid jerk but fotunately not this time the truck was starting to spin out but had enough to keep going and get the whole unit clear of the creek.Phew.
I made my way to Fitzroy and once across the bridge[the one that got washed away this year] I was on the bitumen and home to Derby in time foe Christmas I forgot to mention it was Christmas eve.

Similar conditions on the Fitzroy Halls Creek road before it was sealed Mosquito ck is about 40km behind me in the photo

DIG

[spardo]

It’s a long time since I was troubled by a river crossing, well never happened really, because at Buntine’s there was always either George with his double drive body truck or the Boss, Noel, with his double drive R-Motor on hand. they could drop the necessary number of trailers and hitch us up with a wire rope to pull us through. Just remembered the one I mentioned earlier, in south QLD, and there is a niggle at the back of my mind of another somewhere, but not in Oz.

However, mention by MRM of his mate the funeral director brought back an incident of mine many years ago. When I was doing the Bristol night trunk for Stirlands back in my old home town, Nottingham, it was such an easy and well paid job that I had lots of spare time during the day.

A mate of long standing had inherited the funeral firm of his uncle when he retired and I used to do casual shifts driving a limmo for him from time to time. On Chapel Street, Bramcote there was a small Methodist chapel and the job one day was to collect the coffin from there and take it the 15 miles or so to Derby Crem. I had not been there before but my mate Rob, who now owned the business and was driving the hearse, had been many times so all I had to was follow him. How hard could it be?

The ‘client’ must have been quite popular as 2 limmos were required as well as half a dozen cars. Another mate was driving the second limmo with all the other mourners following on behind. No-one, apart from Rob had been to Markeaton Crematorium before, so all would follow on in respectful convoy the dearly departed.

The hearse drew away from the chapel down to the bottom and turned right on Town Street. Now back in the '50s, what had been a large junction of Town Street, Ilkeston Rd. opposite, and the A 52 Derby Road was a relatively easy concept to deal with. Around 1960 it was decided to by-pass the border towns of Stapleford and Sandiacre and drive a dual carriageway through the hills behind where I used to live. I had a hand in that, as a chainman (surveyor’s assistant) to the engineers (surveyors) on the job and I like to think I made a pretty fair contribution to the enterprise, but that didn’t mean that I knew if a respectful cortege would glide sedately through the old towns or join the brash new by-pass (now Brian Clough Way), to hasten the beloved to eternity a bit quicker.

The junction had been replaced by a a massive new roundabout, called after the pub which still survived to one side, the Sherwin Arms and it had no less than 5 exits. Joining from Town Street the first one was the by-pass, the second the old A 52 then round the others to where I was waiting for the heavy traffic from Nottingham to decrease. Eventually it did and I entered the flow, but where was Rob? He must have got straight out, no waiting, but did he take number 1, the by-pass or number 2, Derby Road? No time to think, the by-pass was immediately on me so I decided to stay on the roundabout hoping that I would glimpse Rob in the near distance. Nothing, he had gone, so I carried on, all the way round, once, then again. By now I was no longer trying to spot him, I was trying to read his mind, speed or respectful glide? I had no idea, so I went round again, and again, panicking now and desperate, what I wouldn’t have given for a cb, or devine intervention. I glanced in the interior mirror, my passengers seemed unfazed, in fact they seemed to be enjoying the magical mystery tour but I sensed that, any moment now they might realise the the sights weren’t changing and I might be faced with a revolt. So I made an executive decision.

By-pass, I chose by-pass, at least then I could arrive about the same time as the stately hearse. Our slow moving convoy which by now completely occupied the roundabout, peeled off obediently at my lead and I got my foot down 40, 50, 60, 70 mph. Have you ever seen a cortege like it? We swept past lorries and cars, all intimidated by our blazing headlights, over the valley that was soon to give itself wholeheartedly to the rapidly advancing M1 (I had a hand in that too later, with George Wimpey) I daren’t go faster, has a funeral cortege ever been flashed down for a mass booking with blue lights? I knew that if we got to the end of the by-pass at Spondon we were doomed. Can you imagine the scene, 2 limmos and half a dozen cars full of men and women in black, pulled up at the side of the road to ask directions?

With a heavy heart I approached the roundabout, but then, joy, a hearse, a real live hearse, I had caught him up right at the 11th hour. All I had to do is keep it firmly in my sights, only as we snaked through Derby seeking the A 52 again towards Ashbourne did I have a fleeting niggle, was I following the right hearse? It could be going all the way the Stoke!

As we pulled up at Markeaton and I then did my bit shouldering the coffin indoors, I muttered to Rob ‘that was a close run thing’. ‘Really?’ he said, 'was it? All innocence. Not once had the silly sod glanced in his mirrors.

[star_down_under]

Thanks MRM, I’m an avid reader and merely try to emulate the style of writing, that I enjoy reading.

Dig, you’d be surprised what people find interesting. Just look at Outback Truckers, what we consider to everyday, mundane work, the directors turn into a drama of epic proportions.
Somewhere between what they present and we do, lays some interest to those who have not experienced it, especially once you head north from Wubin.
I used to enjoy the Diaries, articles in one of the English truck magazines. Driving around Europe is interesting and different from anything I’ve done.