On the subject of tolls, Peterm’s home of Bribie Island’s claim to fame is that it was the first or only island in Queensland or Australia, to be connected to the mainland by bridge.
In my childhood the toll was 10c each way. So many people spent their last zac on the island and had to be allowed to leave without paying the toll, that the toll to get onto the isle was doubled, but leaving became free. 
10 cents or 10 Bob S.D.U. 
He’s going to need a bigger bridge. 
youtube.com/watch?v=2_n7hW4Rmeo
Re: How I became a Truck Driver…
Postby Saviem » Tue May 14, 2013 7:36 am
Evening all, so while I was busy reversing pedal cars around the latest bomb sites, my mothers family were running old Austins collecting milk in churns for the Levedale Dairy in Wolverhampton. When I was not at school, (a frequent ocourance), I was off with my little greaseproof paper pack of “sauce sanwiches”, (red or brown, it really did not matter), on churn collection. When we were back, well I had “my” oil can, and tool kit, to help keep them going!
I must have been 12, or 13, when I used to go out to start the engines, and soon was a dab hand at catching them with just a whif of choke! Then it was “just shift that one”, and by about 14 I was quite reasonable at reversing, and manouvering, and the odd illicit drive in the quiet grass centred lanes between farms! Then of course was the touch up painting, folding sheets, coiling ropes, brushing out cabs and bodies…
Few years later, the little family operation had changed, it now had moved into Shropshire, and now ran some diesels, Foden DGs, and S18s, as well as O type Bedfords, and a couple of their Birmingham Cousins. Traffic had expanded, and prospects were rosy! Me, well I had embarked on a career as a Watch Maker, (to which I was singularly unsuited)! still hankered after lorries, but had discovered both motor cycles and girls. One of the jobs that trainee watch makers were given, was to ease rings that had become tight for a customer to wear, by means of a cone and roller set up. Quite a nice earner, for little effort.
It would have been about May time, and a rather large lady entered the shop, proffering a rather small ring, for enlargement. Straightening my three piece suit, (told you I had discovered girls), I checked the lady`s true ring size, and having seated her, retired upstairs to do the deed. Now the apparatus was situated on a workbench beneath a large skylight in our Victorian building, and at that precise hour was flooded with warm sunlight. Now I have always been a day dreamer, that day no better, no worse than any other, but the TT was soon to be run, and of course mentally I was chasing Geoff Duke at full chat along the Mountain Road…the sun suddenly was obscured, and I came down to earth with a bump…the ring on the cone was not quite enlarged, oh no, it was the size of a small bracelet…and of course all hell broke out…the following week I was a lorry driver in Shropshire!
Quite driven me to drink that memory…The Bollinger beckons, Cheerio for now.
There is more to follow.
mushroomman:
10 cents or 10 Bob S.D.U.He’s going to need a bigger bridge.
youtube.com/watch?v=2_n7hW4Rmeo
Thanks for that MRM, brings back a lot of memories even though I never discovered Bribie Island. I did discover Queensland though and all its beaches and it makes me wonder now why I didn’t move north again instead of climbing into that plane in Sydney for a ‘holiday’ in Blighty. All my mates from Sydney taxis came down to see me off, even made a small presentation which, being Ozzies, obviously embarrassed them enough to insist they were only there to make sure I got on the plane.
Fate took a hand though and, while home, I met and married a girl who already had 3 children and when we all fronted up at Birmingham for the 10 pound Pom interview we were told that, sadly, as the kids’ father was absent since gaol and couldn’t be found to give consent to the export of his offspring, we couldn’t go. So that was that and I never went back.
I like it here in the countryside with views over the valley and good people all around, but I can’t help feeling a bit of a tinge of regret when I see those videos. 
mushroomman:
10 cents or 10 Bob S.D.U.He’s going to need a bigger bridge.
youtube.com/watch?v=2_n7hW4Rmeo
10 cents, but back then 10c worth of chips would be enough to feed two people.
Hi S.D.U, I don’t know how we were discussing the tolls in The Mersey Tunnel on another thread and ended up eating chips on Bribie Island.
When we moved up here, our daughter and the grand children were still living on the Gold Coast. It was getting a bit much driving the 360 k’s one way, every two weeks to see them so we decided that we would meet her on the first Saturday of every month at the park, just over the Bribie Island Bridge. I think that it is now called Sylvan Beach but lunch always consisted of the Family Seafood Basket and yes, there was always plenty for everyone, with even enough chips for the kids to feed the Pelicans and the ‘Bin Chickens’.
Re: Fodens.
Postby Saviem » Tue Jan 05, 2016 9:09 am
Oh Gentlemen,
Im just on my way to the land of nod…and then Pete tells of his 1963 adventures, and rigsby as well , then Larry, (who I suspect is approaching my vintage as well)…`63, I was failing in my career as a watch maker, and Jeweller, (perhaps it was the lure of the fair ■■■ that was my influence)… Oh yes it was.
Weekends, oh I was shunting with an S18 Foden, O`rrible little 28 ft steel carrying tandems…and herding sheep into a well shot Bedford O serie! but sadly my incompetence seemed to reign supreme…daydreamer…that was my downfall…
The cataclysmic On reflection, end, was a spectacular incident with a whole window display of chiming 8 day monolithic clocks… (have you any idea of the tremendous gravity of their thunderous chimes…when there are 40 of them arranged on 4mm plate glass shelves)…Down they came…and the Police arrived in black Austin Westminsters with ringing bells…to add to the chagrin of this poor youth!!!
So after the carnage, I was obliged to work for 4 weeks without pay…then I was off to join the family firm up in Shropshire…and the pvc seat of a worn S18 was my perch for a few months…then a promotion, (to one with brakes), a worn S20 4 wheeler…then delight…an S20 4 LK Gardner powered box van…and Scotland bound each week.
Suddenly I was the family`s International Division, same lorry, but no longer “sunny” Scotland, but France, and then Italy, delivering to Prevantoriums, and Hospitals, mainly situated in inaccessible places up in hills far steeper than anything Scotland or Wales could offer! That little S20 was a dream, a real delight, there was nowhere that she could go! Then came mega power, 150 Gardner power in an S21 “Micky Mouse”, and a 33ft Tandem box, (that took some sorting out to back onto a ferry…even worse going to Sicily where the ferry was straight from WW2…and surrounded by excitable Latinos!!!
But 150 hp made light of Cenis, and Cerdon, as fast as anything that the French or Italians drove…(but they were working at at least 6/8 tons more than me)…ah well, I was young!
We lost the medical job! …What a surprise…it paid well…so the Sharks moved in…(and we wondered why)■■?..But it was the start of the “Antiques” for the USA…So mugs that we were , with a brand new S36 day cab, (big power Leyland .680, and 12 speed), I was off to sunny Sicily with a new York Freightmaster Tandem, (and several , nay, many bottles of best Wolverhampton Bankss Beer for an Italian customs man of my acquaintance,.........(did things ever change)......Yes they did......I could power over Cenis on wings of gossamer with all that power, ......must have been nigh on 200 hp........but the dear old worm drive diff, and those paper thin hub seals kept my velocity down to a mid 50s mph......(Boy did I hate changing those seals if they blew.......and they would at 56 mph on a long run)!!!!........And with my hatred of being enclosed I never ever used Mont Blanc even after it opened in 65…but Cenis was oh so quiet after July that year…for a time!!!
IBut in `69 it came to an end, we were chasing dreams…more equipment, more overheads, more pressure…more for less was the mantra…Not for me, I loved my time on the road, I loved, (and still do), my Fodens, but new to marriage, and needing a “proper” job, I went off selling lorries…Atkinsons…and my days of Foden driving were done…but I loved every minute, and I loved those beautiful lorries from Sandbach!
Cheerio for now.
I thought that everybody would have had a tale to share of their time in the transport industry or is it a case of, ‘what happened down the road, stays down the road’. 
I am sure that every driver must have a memory of an unusual experience, or a humorous event or met at least one strange character who they worked with, or they came across during their travels.
Dave Mackie’s story of one of his trips to the Zarafshan Gold Mine in Uzbekistan was an amazing read, along with the Bewick Transport thread which has also disappeared. All Dave’s great photos that he put on here have now been defaced, with the word Photobucket scrawled across them but you can still see some of Dave’s pictures on his You Tube video.
youtube.com/watch?v=ummHBJzzB4E
And a story from Truckyboy Bob.
Search this topic…
6 posts • Page 1 of 1
crushed by transporter
Postby truckyboy » Tue Feb 01, 2005 11:29 pm
Years ago 1972 to be precise if you took your car on holiday abroad and it needed to be recovered and repatriated back to blighty it was done by two motoring organisations.namely the AA or the R.A.C…the difference being was the AA used other agents to bring the car to the nearest ferry and the R.A.C did direct recovery…ie they picked it up from wherever and delivered it to your home or a garage of your choice.same for stolen vehicles and recovered in places such as Spain…
or if you were unfortunate enough to be hospitalised…would send a driver to drive the vehicle home on your behalf…i saw an advertisement for a driver wanted to do this work and applied for and got the job.it was in Raynes Park near Wimbledon, and was a small family run concern.i made a fortune…
the R.A.C. would send the address of the garage and how much storage money we had to pay which varied enormously…for eg i had to collect a car and caravan from the south of france and the fee was £350…but when i got there the fee was £150…and a few francs exchanging hands got me an original receipt so i made £200 on that one job alone…
well after a year on the job throughout the summer and winter the boss decided to buy a double deck transporter trailer to recover the AA work from the various docks…i was about to ship out to switzerland and then Spain to recover a car and caravan when we checked the electric plug for the caravan and found it wasnt working…so whilst it was in the garage the boss told me to take this trailer to newhaven docks and recover a few cars from there…however there was a V.W already on the top deck and i set off for the docks.
As i was going through the docks, and over the very rough railway crossing, i looked in my mirror to see oil pouring out of the nearside ram…so once at the quayside i went to check and found the ram had in fact detached itself from the inner sleeve that normally held it in place…so i called the company (CTS new malden) and they said to lower it gently and see how i get on…well as i lowered it i could see that i would lose all the oil and once down…it wouldnt go up again…so i was told just to load the lower deck…which i did…got back to the yard.and was told my truck wouldnt be ready until the next afternoon…so to come in about 10o/c unload the transporter and the boss would take me for breakfast.
next morning we off loaded the cars on the lower deck and started to prepare to lower the top deck…this deck consisted of 4 upright posts and a ram on either side to lower and raise the top deck…behind these posts were a locking pin…one for each upright…and at the front of the trailer …on the floor was a small hand winch…for dragging up cars that couldnt be driven…the engine was running and the p.t.o. was engaged so as to maintain the pressure needed to pump oil into the system to lower the top deck…the boss loved to play about with things he didnt understand…including the levers for operating the system…
well the deck seemed to be straining against the posts…and needed a bit of persuasion to knock out the safety pins…two were already out…and the front two were becoming a problem…till the boss decided to use a hammer and a drift…well i heard a creaking noise…then i felt a huge pressure on my chest…and saw the light at the end of the tunnel…i dont remember anymore until i woke up in hospital 2 days later…i then found out the truth when the boss came to visit…i wasnt allowed a mirror…and my legs were encased in a cradle…i asked the nurse if my legs were ok…she said the doctor would be around shortly…
so apparently the emergency services were called and the fire brigade arrived first only to say after examination i think hes dead` and proceeded to cover me and the trailer up with an old carpet they found in the yard…luckily…the accident investigator arrived within seconds and wanted a second opinion…so took a look himself…and saw me breathing…but couldnt release me until the ambulance arrived…which it did in seconds afterwards…the fire brigade were by now putting in place hydraulic jacks with which to raise the deck…but the ambulance crew didnt want to touch me without administering Morphine…which they didnt have…and seeing as there was a hospital just over the road…sent for a doctor who could administer it…
and then when i supposedly couldnt feel any pain.would raise the deck and get me to hospital for treatment…it turned out that the small winch had saved my life…along with the strong floor of the VW…the deck had crushed me to a crouching position which in turn broke both ankles…the blood pressure was so great that the whites of my eyes had turned blood red…hence.no mirror…my ankles had been re-set…but were to be broken again…by the hospital.as they were not set correctly…and then a steel pin would be inserted to hold them together…(still there today)…i was in that hospital for 3 months before being transferred to a hospital nearer home…in all i was in hospital for 6 months…and not fully working for another year…
although i was able to work in the office…for a bit extra on top of my benefits…that is until the boss kept getting on my back about the intending court case for my compensation.even though he had very good insurance and kept saying not to worry as i will be compensated…i settled for £4000 in the end.plus all costs to be borne by them…and i made a full recovery.the company went on to deliver caravans to the south of france…then buy the land and supply caravans for the sites…and ended up with an office in mayfair…and a factory making caravans…so it all turned out right in the end…
be careful out there…
have a nice day
one of the old school…whats a test ■■
In the haulage industry since 1963
truckyboy
SENIOR MEMBER
Posts: 6226
Joined: Sun Nov 09, 2003 2:08 am
Location: Chatham and Bulgaria
With thanks to Keith Williams.
Memories.A long story…now even longer!
Postby KW » Sat Jan 22, 2005 9:26 am
This is the story of one quite memorable trip I did back in the early 80’s when I drove for Fred Archer from Ipswich.
One Friday afternoon Fred gives me my running money for the following weeks trip,not as much as usual as I have to take a M/E trailer,the belly tank of which is filled with red diesel.
Monday morning I bounce down to the yard and pick up the empty trailer and set off for Leicester for the first collection.It’s at an export packers and I have to load a 5ton industrial machine shop drill for Sofia,Bulgaria so it means a strip out,which is a good start to any trip.I get them to put it in the middle of the trailer so the weight will be ok and strap it down.Then it’s off down to Fulham,London to load some electrical supplies.I am within a couple of miles of the place when I get pulled over by the police.
They say I am leaking liquid all over the road,so I assume it’s oil leaking out of the drilling machine,only the smell has a distinct diesel odour to it. It turns out the belly tank has split and I’ve lost the lot! I manage to convince plod that the tank was almost empty when I started and they leave me to it.
While the electric stuff is being loaded I phone the office and tell them the good news,they tell me to get some putty or something from Halfords and try and repair the tank,so I walk down to the local Halfords to see what I can get. The only stuff they have is no good for diesel tanks so that’s that. After loading I make my way over to Ilford ready to load the rest in the morning.
Next morning I load at the M&S Shipping depot at Ilford where they tell me that another of our drivers has also loaded there late the previous afternoon and that he has left a message to say he’ll wait for me at Gieselwind truckstop in Germany.He has loaded for Sofia,I have now loaded for Bucharest,Sofia and Zagreb and am ready to leave just after lunch.
I arrive at Dover and put my carnet into customs and wander off for a cuppa.
When I go back to customs they inform me there’s a problem with the papers,the carnet does’nt tally with the manifest,so it’s over to M&S’s office to sort it out.Only it will be in the morning,'cos the staff at Ilford are just going home and it won’t be sorted until around 10am the next morning,great,this is a bad omen,and I’m not even out of the country yet!
Next morning M&S have sorted everything and so it’s back to customs to get the carnet stamped and the trailer sealed.Eventually I get onto the ferry to Ostend at lunchtime and four and a half hours later I’m getting the carnet stamped by the Belgian customs.The rest of the evening is a non eventful drive through Belgium down to the Aachen border where I go through the motions of the tank-shine etc.
It’s now Thursday and I’m a day behind schedule,but in those days it didn’t really matter,there were no mobile phones,no satellite tracking and no fax machines,the only time you contacted the office was when you were empty or in dire trouble.Bliss.
That afternoon I reach Gieselwind and of course the other driver is long gone,so I have a meal and a shower and drive a bit more until I’m too tired.
Next morning finds me bright and early at the Waidhaus border crossing into Czechoslovakia and for once everything goes smoothly and I’m through within two hours.On reaching Prague the TIR route that was signposted takes you to some very low bridges,so you used to have to go through the weight limit to avoid the bridges and hope you don’t bump into the local plod!
The road down to Bratislava is usually going to cost you money anyway,as the police would pull you in two or three times and nick you for speeding.After a few trips I got fed up with giving them backhanders and so told them I would pay at the border,this way they would stamp your visa and when you arrived at the border you had to pay the fine,or they wouldn’t let you out of the country.At least that way you got a receipt!
Later that day I arrive at the Komarno/Komarom border into Hungary and again am through with the minimum of fuss in under four hours.
I drive a couple of hours down the road and park for the night.
Saturday dawns bright and sunny and after making a cuppa I’m on my way and not far down the road I find a fuel station which accepts DKV,so fill up and save my running money till later.
The TIR route just before Budapest takes you miles out of the way and so I continue on the main highway,passing the infamous Hotel Vienna (don’t ask)on the way into Budapest.You have to be very careful traversing Budapest or you could end up in the centre surrounded by low bridges,but,as I’ve been through here a couple of times I now know the way.
The weather is getting hotter and hotter,it’s now 34c,and how I’d love a cab with aircon!
Around 4pm I arrive at Nadlac,the border with Romania,and join the back of the queue of around thirty trucks.It’s a steady crawl,stopping and starting every hour or so until at around 10.30pm I am at the border.All goes well until cabin control,when the half drunk customs man wants to relieve me of all and sundry from my cab! After almost an hour of this he walks off with a couple of cans of Coca-Cola and last Tuesday’s newspaper and me promising next time to bring him ‘Nice Eenglish Parker pen’,and so at around 1am I drive through the border into Romania.
When it’s dark here it’s really dark,they don’t have street lighting except in the big cities and even the houses are pitch black,no signs of life.So I’m driving down the road from the border,very tired,when all of a sudden I have to swerve to miss a haystack!Suddenly I’m awake and wondering where the hell I am,when I realise it’s a horse drawn cart loaded high with hay,not a light on it.
I suppose the horse must know it’s way,because the old boy at the front is sound asleep!
After this I realise I must pull in somewhere and call it a day,before I kill someone,or me.So a little further down the road I find somewhere to park and pull over and set about de-bugging the cab (why are their bugs so much bigger than ours?) and sleep comes quickly.
Sunday morning and the sound of something tearing or ripping wakes me.Then childish laughter.It turns out to be some kids ripping off the GB stickers from the front bumper,such simple things can make these kids happy,after all,they have nothing else,Romania is a very poverty stricken country and is one of the saddest countries I have seen.
So,it’s up and put the kettle on and on the road again,I’ve got a lot to cover today as I want to be in Bucharest tonight ready to clear and unload Monday morning.The temperature is even hotter than yesterday and driving with both windows open as well as the roof hatch just makes it seem like I’m sitting in front of a hairdryer!
I had been told that the road down through Pitesti had been partly washed away a few weeks before by a bad storm,so I will have to go via Brasov and Ploesti to Bucharest,which is a bit further mileage wise but can’t be helped.
It is while driving through Brasov that I get pulled over by plod in an unmarked car,it turns out he’d caught me speeding in a trap,his Kodak is mounted on the passenger seat! He asks for the disc and my passport and studies both intently,though I would guess he can’t understand either! and then says I must pay a fine.Now I don’t have any Romanian Lei,their currency,and so offer him a couple of D-marks.Only by this time a small crowd has gathered round in the middle of town to see what’s going on.Now even the most bent copper is’nt going to accept a bribe in front of so many witnesses and so he insists that I pay in Romanian currency,and so I explain to him (though he doesn’t understand a word I say) that I don’t have any of his mickey mouse money and that he either takes the D-marks or he can get stuffed!The exchange of words is getting quite heated now and I’m wondering if he’s going to arrest me when he jumps in his car and is just about to roar off when I hammer on the roof with my fist and shout ‘Passport!’ at which point he throws my passport out of the window to the ground and roars off.
The gathered crowd cheer and pat my back and say ‘Verr gudd!’ and so I get back in the truck and drive on.
As I reach Ploesti the next bit of fun starts,there is a sign to Bucharest to the right,and another pointing straight on! I’m thinking the one to the right must be another long diversion,so decide to carry straight on and into the town.
I’m driving along merrily minding my own business and looking at the shops, which are empty,when all of a sudden the road goes round to the left and onto a small flyover.Oh god! was that a 1.5ton weight limit sign I just passed!!
It may well have been,for as I drive onto the flyover,which is very narrow,I feel the whole structure shaking beneath the truck and as the road goes round to the right I see out of my mirror dust and bits of concrete falling to the ground,this could be a good time to find religion,but which one?No time for that.
I drive off the other end of the flyover in one piece,and as far as I can tell the flyover is still in one piece too! As I get to the edge of town I reach a T-junction and it is now obvious that the road coming from the right is the one I should have used,but no time to ponder that,there is a sentry hut beside the junction and a bleary eyed soldier has just emerged and realising where I have just come from! So I drive away as fast as possible,despite his shouting and waving.
It is now only 60km to Bucharest and as I drive in to the outskirts of the city I notice a watchtower a few hundred metres ahead where there are some frantic goings on.Sure enough as I approach they all come running out and stop me and start shouting at me about Ploesti something or another,I shrug my shoulders and look innocent and say ‘It wasn’t me!’ and after half an hour they let me go.
I find the hotel where I must park as there is a Turkish agent there who,for a couple of packs of Marlboro and the taxi fare back,will come with me in the morning and sort everything out.
I park amongst some Jordanians who are sitting around their chrome cookers drinking chai.
Monday morning again and the Turkish agent is sitting alongside me guiding me to the customs compound.On arrival I am instructed to drive in and park alongside the ramp,avoiding the crater.And what a crater!There’s a ■■■■ great hole right in the middle of the yard that is about 3 feet deep!
With the papers cleared I am ready to open up the trailer and unload,which doesn’t take long as it’s just a few cases of whisky for the British Consulate and some electrical bits.Getting it sealed again takes longer,as the man has seen my cassette box laying on the seat and tries his utmost to get me to hand over an Elton John tape as he is a big fan.Unfortunately for him,I’m not,and so he goes away empty handed.
With the trailer now sealed and the carnet stamped I’m ready to go.
I drive out of Bucharest and am just on the outskirts when I come up behind one of those bend in the middle loading shovels trundling down the road.The road is straight and there is nothing coming the other way so I pull out to pass him,as I go past he looks across and smiles,so I smile back.It was at this point that he must have realised he needed to turn left.So he did.Straight into the side of my trailer! There was a bang and I saw something fall off,so I pulled up and walked back and found my trailer box sitting in the road with all my food squashed.Luckily that was all the damage,no tyres damaged and the tilt was ok but the shovel driver was in tears and kept saying ‘verr sorry’,I tried to calm him down and tell him it was ok,I wanted to get out of there before the law turned up because pound to a penny I’d end up paying and getting the blame.So I scooped up as much useable food as I could and left.
I arrive at the Giurgiu/Ruse border with Bulgaria and complete the formalities and am through within an hour,not bad!
By this time the afternoon is wearing on and I’m getting tired and start looking for somewhere to stop for the night.It is then that all of a sudden the road stops.It’s a dual carriageway but it just stops! I sit there thinking I must have missed a turning or signpost or misunderstood one,which is quite possible as the Bugarians use the cyrillic script where half the letters look upside down or back to front! Just then I see another truck coming towards me but all of a sudden he turns off,only to emerge on my left from a farmyard! So,I drive into the gate he has just emerged from and follow the tracks and sure enough I am back on the main road again,although now it’s single carriageway.
A few kliks further on another truck is coming towards me,falshing his lights.
It turns out to be the other driver who left a day before me,he’s tipped in Sofia and is heading to Romania to load for home.We put the kettle on and make a few sausage sarnies and have a chat.He tells me there’s a fuel station twenty odd kliks down the road where I can get diesel for a good price.
We wash up and bid our farewells and a few kliks further I pull in for the night.
After a nice cuppa to start the day I find the fuel station and fill up.
I arrive in Sofia and eventually find the customs depot,which turns out to be next to the railway station,and put my papers in.I am told it’s too late today and to come back in the morning at 8am.So I wander across the road to the big hotel opposite and have a couple of beers,not much else to do.
Next morning I am back in the customs office and first in with the papers,and within an hour am instructed to drive in to the compound for unloading,which I do.
I start undoing the tilt when a woman comes trundling out on a small forklift,small being the operative word! I try to explain to her she’s going to need something a bit bigger as the drilling machine weighs 5tons.She takes a look at it and wanders off,returning five minutes later with another woman,well,I say woman.This one looks like one of those East european olympic shot putters with arms bigger than my thighs! Maybe she’s going to lift it off,or push it off!
It turns out she’s the supervisor and speaks pretty good english,so she explains that it’s no problem as they have a small mobile crane for such jobs.
The only problem is that they’ve leant it out to someone and it won’t be back until the following morning!So I do the tilt up and pull outside to the parking again.
Later that evening I again wander across to the hotel for a few beers and meet an English rep for an engineering company who’s trying to cut a deal with the Bulgarians. I offer him a cheap drilling machine but he’s not interested.
The next morning I am once again back in the customs compound undoing the tilt,the crane has arrived,though by looking at it I’m not sure whether that’s up to the job either.It looks like Noah may have used on ark construction!
But it does the job and I am soon sealed up with carnet once again stamped and saying goodbye to the good people of Sofia.
It’s then a short run down to the Yugo border at Dimitrovgrad and sort out the formalities once again.As I only have a couple of small packing cases in the trailer the transit charge is small and I am through within an hour.
Driving in Yugoslavia is an absolute nightmare,and certainly not to be undertaken in the dark,but I must be in Zagreb tomorrow morning or I will be weekended,and so I push on through up past Nis and pull in to the Hotel National in Belgrade for a steak and chips,but no beer as I’ll be driving through the night.It’s almost 800km from the Bulgarian border to Zagreb and I need to be alert.
I leave the National late in the evening and drive on through the night and the fog that is getting thicker and thicker.As day breaks I pull in for an hours sleep,I can hardly keep my eyes open,but am soon back on the road.
A little further on the traffic comes to a crawl and it becomes apparent that there has been an accident.As I reach the scene the full horror becomes apparent,a car has run up the back of a tipper truck and sliced the roof off.I catch a glance at the poor victim still in the drivers seat,his head almost severed from his body,a scene which still makes me shiver to this day.
I eventually arrive at the InterEuropa depot in Zagreb and put my papers in,I then climb in to bed and catch up on some sleep while they clear them
At lunchtime I get up and find out what the delay is,they have been looking for me to put the truck on the bay,so I explain that there are just a couple of small cases which can be carried off,which they do,and I am at last empty.
Time to go off for the reload.
But that’s another story
Last edited by KW on Fri Apr 29, 2011 6:21 am, edited 1 time in total.
To be continued…
PART TWO.
Postby KW » Sun Jan 23, 2005 3:19 am
The reload…
I send a telex (remember them?) to the office and they instruct me to load at a place called Celje,which is roughly 70km from Zagreb,if I make good time I may get loaded today (Friday).
So I’m driving along merrily when I notice the distinct lack of other trucks on the road and then a few kliks further I’m waved into a parking area that’s full of trucks.It turns out that there is a driving ban between 14.00 and 18.00 on a Friday in this area and so after arguing with plod I hand over a modest sum of money and put the kettle on.Well loading today is now a no,no.So it looks like I will be stuck here for the weekend after all,which means finding a decent place to stop with a restaurant handy.
At 18.00 I move off and drive into Celje to look for the factory,but all I find is a furniture shop with the same name as the company I have to load at.
So after parking alongside the shop it’s kettle on again and open a few tins for a bit of camion stew,which consists of a tin of stewed steak and a tin of new potatoes,but it tastes ok.
Saturday morning and I walk into the shop to see if they know where the factory is where I must load.It turns out it’s all the same company,and the shop sells furniture that is made in the factory.
The factory however is some 15km away,and after getting directions I set off to find it,maybe there is somewhere good to park for the weekend near there.
When I arrive at the factory I wander in to see if they have a shower I can use and somewhere to park,but the gateman asks me where I am loading for and I tell him England.He then instructs me to back up to the loading door and within an hour they start handballing packs of flatpack pine chairs into the trailer while I take a much needed shower and shave.
Two hours later I am loaded and driving out of the gates,I have to go to the Intereuropa office in Maribor to make the papers,it’s about 55km to Maribor and the office is open until 5pm,so I should get the papers sorted today.
But all good plans etc.etc. On the way I am pulled over by a motorcycle plod who tells me in broken german that there is a driving ban between 15.00 and 19.00 today. I’m sure they make them up as they go along.But he shows me a leaflet that confirms it and so I park up in the middle of nowhere and await 7pm.To make sure I don’t move he rides past every hour or so until 7pm when I drive into Maribor to find somewhere to park.
Sunday morning I get up and put the kettle on and then decide to have a wander into town for a look around.As I walk into town I pass the offices of Intereuropa,which turns out to be just around the corner from where I’ve parked,and not only that,the office is open! So I go in and tell them where I have loaded and the man say’s if I go back to the truck and get my blank carnet he can make the papers today.So that’s just what I do,and then continue with my sight seeing and partake in a nice bag of chips from a street vendor,complete with mustard(?)
I have to be at the customs compound just on the outskirts of town at 3pm exactly,as the customs man will arrive then and seal the trailer and hand over my carnet,if I arrive any later then it will be Monday morning.
Suffice to say I am there well in advance of the deadline,and,sure enough,the customs man arrives and performs the task.
By 3.30pm I am on the road again,there is another driving ban this evening which starts at 20.00 and so I have to make the border before then.
As I don’t have an Austrian permit it means going back via Hungary and Czecho and so I head for the border at Gorican about 120km away.I reach the border with time to spare and it’s relatively quiet so I’m through in an hour or so,good going.
After driving an hour in Hungary I pull in for the night just next to Lake Balaton and hit the pillow.
Monday morning and it’s another glorious day with the sun up high already and the lake filled with small sailing boats and swimmers,Lake Balaton is a popular holiday destination for many of the Eastern Bloc countries.
A few hours later and I am back at the Komarom/Komarno border crossing at the back of a queue of a dozen or so trucks,mainly from Somat,the Bulgarian state transport company and it takes two or three hours before all the formalities are completed and I drive onto Czechoslovakian soil once again.
I drive up past Bratislava,which is within spitting distance of Austria,what a tempting sight it must be for the Czech’s,all those decadent capitalist goods so near,yet so far.
Driving up towards Brno I decide to pull in at a new services to use the toilet and maybe try their coffee.Parked there is a Mercedes day cab from the company of Davies,behind which is a stripped down tilt on which is a smashed up Merc unit from the same company.There are two drivers there and apparently one of them had left the UK a few weeks previous to drive down to Eastern Turkey to rescue the other one who had been involved in a smash.They were now on their way home but were in a bit of bother,they had been on the beer the previous evening in the services bar with the local police chief and eventually crashed in to bed at around 1am.They had then been rudely awakened by the services manager at 10am who was complaining about the state of his pristine new tarmac.The stricken Merc on the trailer had leaked diesel all over the place and it was making a nasty mess and lifting the tarmac.They were trying to get hold of the police chief to come to their aid,but apparently he was somewhat hungover!
We had a coffee together and I left them to it.
I carried on until the other side of Prague before calling it a day.
The next morning the temperature had dropped and rain was imminent as I headed once again to the Waidhaus border and back to civilization.
The border was very busy and this time it takes me a good six hours before I am through the barrier and back on German soil.A steady drive across Germany see’s me pulling in for the night between Frankfurt and Koln and a decent meal again,camion stew is ok but a nice schnitzel with pommes is much better,along with a large stein of frothing beer!Then it’s shower and bed.
The rest of the trip was the usual mundane procedures at Aachen and then over to Zeebrugge for the night sailing to Felixstowe.
The following morning I drive off the ferry and put the papers in for clearance and phone the office. “Drop that trailer there boy,I’ve got another one here for Greece and you’re booked on the boat out of Dover this evening” came the reply,and so a quick visit home to get some clean clothes and I’m off again.
But that’s another story
To be continued…
PART THREE.
Re: Memories.A long story.
Postby KW » Fri Apr 29, 2011 6:20 am
After dropping the trailer that I’d bought back from Yugoslavia in Felixstowe it was a quick trip home in the unit for clean clothes,food and money.
Then over to our yard in Ipswich to pick up the trailer that had been loaded for Zagreb and Athens.No belly tank on this one as it’s a rental trailer so Fred hands over a wad of cash for running money (actually I had to prise it from his fingers as he doesn’t like parting with money!) then it’s down to Dover for the boat to Ostend.
I never was a big fan of the Dover-Ostend crossing,the cabins were down in the murky,smelly bowels of the ship and as well as the food not being up to much,the crew were downright un-friendly.But such is life.
Belgium was it’s usual-self,nothing to speak about,except to remember to exit the Brussls ring just by the Atomium and re-enter.At that time the bridge at that exit was quite low and there was always a danger of clouting it as you went under so we always went off and on again.
Aachen,the usual sorting out of paperwork and dreading the tank-schein in case you were a bit over,but all went well.
And so after an overnight stop it was down through Germany to the Austrian border at Freilassing and those nice friendly Austrian customs men.
After queueing up for nearly an hour,the curtain draws back and I hand the papers over,and stand and wait.And wait.And wait.
An hour later the curtain draws back again and the papers are thrown out at me and the man say’s ‘Nix Gut’! Before I can ask him what the problem is,the curtain is closed again and he’s gone,so I bang on the window and ask what the problem is.No reply,so I wander off to find an agent to look through them and see if they can see what the problem is,and they say there’s nothing wrong with any of it.
So I go back into the customs hall and queue up again,at a different window this time,and after another hour’s waiting I hand the paper’s over to a different customs officer and within twenty minutes he’s handed them back all stamped and signed!Marvellous!
Apart from the Austrian customs,I find Austria a lovely place to drive through,nice scenery,good roads and the food ain’t bad either.
And so I press on down the A10 turning off on to the 308 and past Schladming.
Schladming is not only famous for hosting the winter Olympics but also for the Destination Doha film,as it was here that John Williams and the rest of the troop spent a weekend skiing on their way to Doha.
The day see’s me moving ever eastwards past Graz and to the Austrian-Yugo border at Spielfeld.
The Austrian side goes very smoothly,the Yugo side is made up of several wooden huts where at the first you hand in the paper’s where they work out transit-tax according to weight etc.they then give you a slip of paper with the amount on which you must pay.You then have to take this to the next hut which is the bank,there you must change either US dollars,D-marks or pounds sterling into Yugo dinars,and it’s no use trying to use any dinars left over from a previous trip,you have to change exactly the amount on the slip of paper,which they stamp,and then it’s back to the first hut to hand over the money and show them the receipt.
When that’s done it’s passport control then cabin control,where they will try to relieve you of anything that catches their eye.Though I’ve never smoked in my life,I always carry a few hundred ■■■■ to smooth things over in just this sort of situation.
The barrier is finally lifted and I’m off down the road to Intereuropa in Zagreb.
The next morning I hand in the paper’s bright and early and am unloading various bits of groupage within a couple of hours,then it’s time to get the trailer re-sealed and the carnet stamped and make tracks for Belgrade.
Tonight I will be feasting on steak and chips washed down with a few beers at the Hotel National.
Arriving at the Hotel National late evening I meet up with several Brit’s who are either going to or coming back from the Gulf and a good time is had by all and I finally creep back to the cab just after midnight,avoiding the ladies of the night of course
The next morning I awake with a headache,I can’t think why?
After a wash and a coffee I bid farewell to the National and start my way east again,passing Belgrade and onward to Nis,where I split right for Greece and the other’s go left for Bulgaria.The sun is out and everything is going well,even if I am a bit behind schedule after this morning’s late start.
It’s late afternoon when I decide to pull in between Skopje and Titov Veles and make a sandwich and have a brew.
And so it’s back on the road once again,arriving at the Yugo-Greek border of Gevgelija/Evzoni in the evening and I decide to do the border tonight as it’s quiet.
Which is a good move as it turned out,because just after I crawl out of bed around 10am a couple of Brits arrive who say it has taken them five hours to get through.
At the Shell station on the Greek side of the border I meet up with some more Brits,two of which are on their way back from Baghdad.They are two oldish guy’s,each with a 2800 DAF,and it turns out they alway’s run together.One of them offer’s to make me a cup of tea,and just as I am going to accept,his mate is standing behind him shaking his head ‘No!’ so I decline his kind offer.
His mate then tells me on the quiet that the pan he uses for making tea is the one he uses for everything else,cooking,washing and even as a toilet during the night
Phew! That was lucky.
And so just before lunch I bid farewell to everyone and start making my way south,yet again behind schedule.
It then takes me the rest of the day and into the night to drive past Thessalonika,Larisa and Lamia to Pireaus and find the customs compound.
The next morning I hand my paper’s in to the agent who tells me to come back Monday morning (This is now Friday morning) so if I hadn’t have hung around so much I may have got cleared today.But what the hell,why worry about it when the job takes weeks rather than day’s!
So it’s back to the parking and say Hi! to some other driver’s who are also there for the weekend.There are a couple of lads from Kelly Freight,one from Lagan Transport,one from Swains of Stretton and a couple of guys from Cammel Wagon,all with fridges,I’m the only one with a tilt!
I get chatting to Tony,one of the Cammel Wagon driver’s,who tells me that the other driver is a Dutchman and it’s his first trip abroad.
“It’ll be his last trip too,if I have anything to do with it!” say’s Tony.
Apparently the Dutch driver has been on the beer ever since they left the UK,even when driving,and has been right up to Tony’s back-bumper all the way down.So Tony has phoned his boss in Dagenham and told him that as soon as they get back the Dutchman has to go.
We all wander over to the bar in the evening to partake in a beer or two,or three,or several as it turned out! While we’re sitting there putting the world to right’s the inn-keeper comes over with a plate of grey matter and say’s ‘On the house,eat!’ to which Eddie,the Lagan driver replies “Ah! Calamari,oi love this stuff” and starts tucking into it,as do the other’s.
‘Aren’t you having any?’,asks Eddie,well it didn’t look very appetising,but in for a penny as they say.It wasn’t bad,in fact it was quite good,but I still didn’t know what the hell it was!
The next morning we decide to walk into town and find a supermarket to buy some potatoes and onions,the guy’s that are still loaded have hanging beef on board for the American bases,so we are going to dine on steak the rest of ther weekend.
On the way to the supermarket we pass the bar we had been in the night before,and outside on chairs drying in the sun are some sqiud,“Ugh! I say,look at that,they’re disgusting!” At which point everyone starts laughing,Hah! say’s Eddie,‘You didn’t mind eating it last night,that’s Calamari!’
Oh god I feel ill
We find a supermarket and pick out some spuds and onions,while we are doing this Tony’s mate,the Dutchman,has picked up a bottle of whisky and stuffed it inside his jacket! Tony tells him to put it back as he’ll get us all locked up,but he just walks out of the door with it as bold as brass!
While we are paying for our groceries,the Dutchman strolls back in,bottle in hand and asks the checkout girl for a bag to put the whisky in,which she gives him.
When we get back to the trucks Tony has a real go at his mate,and as things start getting out of hand we intervene to calm Tony down.But what he say’s is right,we could all have ended up in gaol because of his stupidity.
That evening we cook in the back of one of the empty fridges,steak,chips and fried onions washed down with copious amounts of beer.Luvvly jubbly!
Next morning,after steak for breakfast,the Swains driver and myself fancy a bit of sight-seeing,so seeing as some of the other’s who are empty will be leaving for Patras at lunchtime,we bid them farewell and wish them a safe journey.
I drop my trailer and we make our way across Athens to visit the Acropolis,where I park the truck in the coach parkand have my pic taken
then it’s back to base camp for our evening meal.Of steak and chips.Again.
Monday morning and it’s back into the agent to see how things are progressing.Apparently I will be cleared today and can unload tomorrow.
So I have to spend the rest of the day amusing myself and doing cab-control.
The other’s left early this morning to unload and they will then drive up to Patras for the ferry to Ancona.
Tuesday morning and I’m empty by 10am,telex the office for instructions and am told to reload tyres in Kranj,Yugoslavia.Which is a long way to run empty,but they are doing the planning!
Tuesday evening once again see’s me at the border with Yugoslavia,this time I’m the only Brit here,so no need to hang around.I park for the night near Titov Veles and put a tin of sausages in the pan for a couple of sarnies.
Wednesday see’s me once again at the Hotel National in Belgrade,I just take a coffee and a sandwich as after stuffing myself silly on steak all weekend I can’t stomach another one for a day or two.I check all the telex’s on the reception desk to see if any of our trucks will be passing through,but the only one for us is over a week old,so he must be delayed somewhere or taken another route.
It is Thurday afternoon when I arrive at the Sava tyre factory in Kranj and have to wait until tomorrow morning to load.I find a restaurant in the village and meet up with a Dutch driver who is also loading at Sava,for two drops in Germany and one in Holland.He does the same trip every week.
Tonight it’s chicken,getting fed up with steak and chips.
Friday morning and we load complete with car tyres,and then have to wait until late afternoon for the customs to arrive and sort out the carnet.Or so we thought,the customs man didn’t arrive at all,apparently it was his son’s birthday and couldn’t be bothered.
So Saturday morning he arrives just after 11am and within twenty minutes we are on our way to the Austrian border at Ljubelj where we make the papers
and try to get as far as we can before the weekend ban,which is where we are now.At the border.
It’s a holiday in Austia today so we are stuck here until Sunday night.Marvellous.
The rest of Saturday is spent in a drunken stupor whilst we drown our sorrow’s and once again put the world to right’s.
Sunday night and we are the first ones away from the border as Klagenfurt and Villach speed past the window,and on through the Tauern tunnel
before we make a stop for some sleep.
It’s afternoon before we are cleared and through the German border and time for an overnight stop.For me at least,the Dutch driver has to make up time and so he presses on to catch up on his schedule.
As for me,the rest of the trip went as it should do and I arrived in Dover,cleared and tipped in east London,then home emptyto take a well earned break.Well,for a couple of day’s anyway.
Then it was off again.
Now,quit your whingeing
Nice story MRM, and lots to bring other things to mind too while reading it.
One short experience only. The Austrian customs.
I had loaded shoes in a stepframe tilt of White Trux in Como and, for some reason best known to Michael, was directed to come home via Brenner pass and across Austria. When I presented my papers to the man he asked me for my weight. I hadn’t been this way before and was for a moment puzzled by the request but then cottoned on that he was going to multiply that by my kms in his country to come up with a magic number in order to make me pay something. I calculated the weight of shoes and the tare weight of my outfit and came up with a number obviously way below what he was assuming. The arguement went back and forth for a while and I came to realise, mainly because by this time he was screaming in a very good imitation of another bloke who had been trying to kill me in Manchester in 1942, and who’s most distinguishing feature (apart from the banshee scream) was his little toothbrush moustache, that I should have supplied my total gross permitted weight, 32 tonnes, not my actual, today weight, which was probably much less.
I was still tempted to stand my ground but when he demanded that I go to the truck and come back with the log book I knew the game was up. I gave it to him with an apologetic smile. Instead of being happy and charging me the real due, he refused to accept that this little brown multi-folded bit of cardboard was a real document. He had obviously never seen a British one before, perhaps I was the first dishonest driver he had met. Finally calm was resumed, payment made, and I was on my way, lessoned learned. How could I have been so foolish? It was Mickey White’s money after all, not mine.
Too loyal, too anxious to make the Boss’ life easier, that’s me. Not that it would be appreciated, as I found out on another occasion when ‘arrested’ at Calais, and had to return home as a foot passenger while Micky had to travel across in his Bentley with another driver later on. But that is a different story.
But that was the mantra that some of us grew up with David, ‘you can’t do enough for a good boss’, so let’s hear your other story.
I have quite a few happy memories of driving in Austria over forty years ago and you might remember the first one.
Re: Past Present and in Between in Pictures
Postby mushroomman » Thu Jul 20, 2023 4:46 pm
Spardo wrote:
Amuses me that the word ‘carboy’ sounds very much like the word ‘cowboy’ when spoken in a Nottingham accent. A term much used in the long ago years before tachographs.
True story David although I might have mentioned this before.
I was week ending at The Prater Stadium in Vienna in April 1980, with a lad called Mick who drove for Thompson Jewitts from Nottingham. There were three of us sat in my mate Alan’s Foden Fleetmaster and Mick was sat in the driver’s seat, staring out of the windscreen, looking at the falling sleet, on a cold and drab Saturday afternoon.
Alan said “what would you be doing now Mick, if you were back at home”.
Mick just kept staring out of the window looking lost in thought and then said, “I’d be up our kids aaarse”. 
Alan and I stared at each other, not quite believing what we had just heard and then after a couple of seconds Mick continued.
Well, it’s not really an aaarse,… it’s more like a little cottage that he has been renovating for the last six months.
ALAN.
And in memory of a great bloke called Ken Corrigan, who is now gone but not forgotten.
Re: DOW FREIGHT SERVICES (1970’s/80’s)
Postby mushroomman » Wed Apr 29, 2015 10:44 pm
Hi Paul, I don’t know if your dad ever mentioned to you or your mum this little story but if you get talking to Billy Jones a.k.a. Billy Scouse or Graham Walker at your dad’s funeral on Friday, then they might remember it.
Your dad, Ken Singleton a.k.a. Singo and Frankie Andrews a.k.a. Frankie Scouse were heading for the West German/ Austrian border at Sharding one Saturday evening about six o’clock on a cold, dark, winter’s night. This was about 1978/79 and at the time you couldn’t drive lorries in Austria after 3 p.m. on a Saturday until 10 p.m. on the Sunday night but Singo knew of a place in the village just before the border, where they could get a beer and something to eat so they decided to follow him.
They parked up in what looked like a country lane and they all climbed into Singo’s cab to have a pot of tea. Frankie Scouse said, “we can’t park here, do you realise that there is a graveyard right next to us”. Singo said “it’s alright, he had parked there before and the neighbours never bothered him”, besides it was only a short walk to the pub that he knew. Frank said that he thought that they should park somewhere else as the place was giving him a creepy feeling, besides there was nowhere for them to have a wash.
Singo said, “we can have a cab wash” and Frank replied but I haven’t got much water left. Singo told him that there was a tap in the corner of the graveyard, where they could have a wash and fill up their water containers. Frank said, “why don’t we see if we can find somewhere better to park, we could even go up to the border and park on the bridge”. Corrie said "there is nothing at the border you know that, what’s wrong with you Frankie are you scared of ghosts or something.
Errrr no, said Frankie, not really but you have got to admit that is does look a bit spooky out there with those little candles flickering away in those jars that are on some of the graves. After they finished their brew Singo said, “I am going for a wash get your washing gear Frank and bring you water container with you, are you coming Corrie”. Ken said “no, I shall stay in my cab and boil a pan of hot water, give us a call when you get changed and you are ready to go out”.
Singo and Frankie walked through the graveyard with their torches over to where the tap was. Singo told me that he could tell that Frankie felt scared, as he kept looking over his shoulder every couple of seconds. Just as they were about to finish having a wash, they heard a noise which sounded like OOOOOH, Frank whispered “did you hear that, what was it”, as he grabbed Singo’s arm. “It’s probably just an owl” said Singo, but then they heard it again only this time it sounded a lot closer.
OOOOOOOOH, they heard it again and shone their torches down the path where they had just come from towards the lorries. A figure came running towards them shouting OOOOOOOOOOH, OOOOOOOOOH and Frankie ran off into the darkness but when he heard Corrigan and Singo laughing he turned around and came back.
“I knew it was you Corrigan”, said Frankie, “only you would do something childish like putting a bed sheet over your head and try to scare people”.
When Singo told me this story, he said that what made him laugh so much was that he had never seen a ghost before, under a Candy Stripped bed sheet.
R.I.P. Corrie.
KEN.
FRANK.
KEN SINGLETON.
MRM:
so let’s hear your other story.
Just a little one, between rushing off to the early morning bog,(never miss a chance to have a pee and errr, whatever the other thing is I have to do is ) and the rest of breakfast.
I was on the outskirts of Inverness in my lovely Big J for Rod Closs. Not loading till the morning I pulled into a nice, quiet and deserted lay-by and, after a sandwich or 2 and a cup of tea, set out my stall. Seats built up, thin layer of foam from behind the seats spread across and my comfy sleeping bag in position. I was just settling down to read for a bit when there was a tap on the door. Struggling to screw round and open the door I beheld the head of a policeman and his car just behind.
Now I thought I was in trouble because I knew this wasn’t allowed but he was more concerned for my welfare and suggested a couple of digs in the town itself, but I demurred saying that I was happy where I was and what was the point of digs when you have a nice comfy sleeper cab. He didn’t seem to notice that the cab was a bit thin to be a sleeper but then came back with what he thought was his clincher. ‘But what about all the dead people and the ghosties, are you not disturbed by them?’
For the first time I noticed that my nice quiet lay-by was the small parking area for the town cemetary, but I was comfy and the doors were lockable so I replied ‘Oh no, I don’t think I’ll be disturbed’. With that he turned and re-entered his car, slowly shaking his head. A peaceful night was had by all, all 220 of us.
PS, no, of course I didn’t count them all, do you think I am stupid?.
Of course not Spardo, you couldn’t really do a head count could you.
For all we know King Charles the first could have been buried there.
Lots of British companies returning from the Middle East in the eighties used to reload furniture from Yugoslavia and Rumania. There is a story somewhere here on Trucknet of the infamous Mickey Chinnock, who loaded a tilt full of coffins in Rumania for the U.K.
As you know, drivers were sometimes offered ‘freebees’ from the places where they had loaded but Mick was spotted in Dover with a coffin roped underneath his trailer.
If I can find that story, then I shall try and repost it on here. 
For all we know King Charles the first could have been buried there.
But not necessarily all of him.
It was good to see Norman The Conqueror logged on this morning, I wonder if he was the same bloke who had a problem with a bottle of Kaoline and Morphine many years ago.
Did you work with this fellow Ray.
Re: Mick Chinnick Ex-Middle East - Do you remember him?
Postby benny » Thu Apr 16, 2009 1:54 am
sorry to hear chinnock gone, never a dull moment with him around even if he was a bit nuts. ran home with him one time after bumping into him in hungary, he had loaded coffins in rumo. i think he was drivin for ian snodgrass at time. anyway he had extra coffin on the roof of his cab, when asked he said it was for snoddy when he got back if he did not pay him what he owed. when we arrived in dover the police would not let him out of the dock until he removed it from the top of his cab. he just fastened it under the trailer and carried on.
A couple of great stories coming up from Steve G.
Re: your first load after passing your class 1
Postby M&C steve » Fri Jan 31, 2014 11:37 pm
Many years ago i was the fitter for M & C TPT, owned by a character called Mervyn King.
I ask your forgiveness in advance as many names i cannot recall or maybe i remember them a bit wrong…
I had passed my class one a couple of years before, but my only experience was taking trucks / trls for MOT at Chelmsford, which was about 15 miles away from our yard at the time. I had never been abroad before, not even on holiday.
It was about 1980 or maybe ‘81, a bit over a week before Christmas, Mervyn had an Astran load for somewhere in the Middle East and it needed to be shipped. Trouble was we only had the UK ‘shunter’ in the country at the time, an MAN 16-280 4x2 unit. The reg’ was UVX 840S, ( funny how mechanics remember those things ), also it was one of the first 280’s and had the column gearchange, hence it’s nickname the " Vespa". The driver who’s truck it was was very under his Mr’s thumb and because Christmas was looming she would not allow him to go on a trip abroad.
So Mervyn asked me if i would like to take it to the National, near Belgrade, there i would be met my ‘Tricky’ Ricky Foster who was returning from the M/E. We would exchange trls and i could return back to the UK. I was a bit nervous about taking it on, but after a couple of hours in the local watering hole the Ducane Arms it was duly agreed that i would leave the next morning.
I was to go “Commie Bloc” and return via Austria, due to permit shortages and the fact that Tricky had an Austrian permit with him that i could use.
Now as always, Mervyn did what he could to help me, but also as always Mervyn made things sound far simpler than maybe they were…( that make sense ■■ )
He gave me the running money, much of which i was to pass onto Tricky when we exchanged trl’s. A whole heap of papers inc’ a Carnet TIR, various permits and an old Routiers atlas of Europe on which he highlighted the route i was to take. More about that later…
Early the next day i set off to Dover’s Eastern docks feeling very nervous but with a great excitement too.
I got through the customs ok and the ferry booking was all done as promised. Eventually i drove onto the biggest floating thing i had ever seen, can’t recall the name of the ship but it took me and numerous other vehicles to Zeebrugge.
I was feeling full of butterflies when i drove off the ramp and into the Belgium rain, telling myself to stay on the right side of the road and take things slowly.
The Belgium and then later the West German customs were done without any problems, had to ask other drivers which window i needed to go to next, and i would give the official most all the papers i had and after giving me a dirty look they would return the ones they did not require. Heading across Germany the weather was getting colder…
Finally i got to Waidhaus, the border with what was then Czechoslovakia, my first culture shock !!! The West German customs was very modern, clean, well run and staffed by immaculately dressed staff who dealt with me in a most professional way. After traversing across no-mans-land, around the anti-tank defences etc i came to the Czech customs. I was in a different world, everywhere was filthy dirty, the staff all dressed in misfitting uniforms and peaked caps which seemed to be as large as an average dustbin lid. I entered the building and looked to see where to go, there were no other drivers there to ask. After a couple of wrong windows i was directed to the correct one, but as they were all so old and dirty it was difficult to see who or what was sitting at the other side !! I again passed the person all the papers i thought he may need and while he was sorting them out i remember trying to count the dog ends stamped out on the floor, i had no chance as there were 100’s of them, along with many dubious looking patches of either dried snot / spit / chewing tobacco or some other nasty substance. After a while my papers were handed back and i was ushered out and told to drive to an inspection area, there they looked all over the truck, top and bottom, had a nose about inside the cab and finally gestured that i was ok to proceed.
By now it is getting very dark and i am heading toward Plzen, the ground is covered in a light layer of snow and it’s getting much colder. I pass through villages, but they appear to be largely deserted, i see buildings silhoeted (?) against the night sky but no lights in them other than the very occasional flickering of what i think were candles.
I recall that i got to Plzen and the road took a very sharp turn to the right and up a steep hill, i could feel my drive wheels sometimes break loose and spin up, not the most comfortable feeling…
After a while i came to a large empty parking area next to the road, nothing else in sight, just a piece of empty ground, i drove onto it and parked up, i felt VERY alone…
I looked at the atlas that Mervyn had given to me and got the small stove on to heat up some soup. Up until now the route had been pretty easy to follow and had been true to what he had marked out. I was not far from Prague, but had heard the drivers mention many times before about how it’s full of low bridges and tram lines and as such could be a nightmare to get through, so decided to tackle it the next morning during the daylight hours. I had driven further than i had ever done before in my life and felt quite chuffed with myself, still a long long way to go though.
The next morning i was awake very early, mainly due to being frozen to the bone, no night heater in the Vespa and when at a high idle not much heat coming out of the heater either !! Got my boots on and jumped out for a leak, hit the ground with a sort of muted ‘crunching’ sound, i was knee deep in snow, DEEP JOY !!!
Well, much to my surprise, i drove back onto the road with no problem, even thought the drive axle was fitted with just normal road tyres and not the usual snow / drive type tyres the other trucks were fitted with.
The remaining route to Prague was NOTHING like what Merv’ had marked out and i arrived far from where his route entered the city, but we were there just the same.
Outside Prague i pulled into a roadside coffee shop, well more of a shed actually but there were a few trucks there. I had a coffee, most welcome to feel that heat inside, and chatted to a couple of Bulgy drivers who had a spattering of English, they were heading south and said i was welcome to follow, i breathed a sigh of relief. We finished the coffee and off we went, it was hard to keep them in-sight but i managed to long enough to clear the city of Prague and joined the motorway which took me down to Brno and Bratislava, they soon disappeared from my view. I trundled on being very careful of the places where the snow had blown over the road or the road was in the shadows of trees which meant there was likely a thick layer of ice.
All went well until i got to the Czeck / Hungarian border, Raijka i think ■■ Was told to slowly drive over the weighing machine, the chap came up to me " Problem Mr. Axle 2 ( drive ) 1.2 ton over, big problem " Then he kept saying “Camarno Camarno Mr.”, but i had no idea what he was on about and at the time i was on the route that Mervyn had marked for me.
So another chap said that back in Bratislava there was a customs yard who would be able to re-arrange my load and re-seal the trailer and amend the paperwork, so off i went. I eventually found it after employing a taxi driver to show me the way to it for very little cost i thought. They opened the tilt and we moved 1 pallet from the very front of the trl to the very rear plus another from the front to the middleish section. All was sealed up and paperwork done. Seem to recall it costing about the same as 2 pints in the local at home, plus i gave him a copy of Parade which i had found earlier tucked away in the box above the windscreen, if i had given him a gold ingot he would not of been happier !!
So off back to the border i went, the same chap greeted me and we went over the machine again, the axle loads were ok this time, not perfect but just within the tolerances they allowed, a few questions about changes to the seal number but all was ok and the paperwork was done. We are on the way again, it’s still bitterly cold, even inside the truck cab, and the snow was coming down harder than i would of chosen…
To be continued…
Re: your first load after passing your class 1
Postby M&C steve » Fri Jan 31, 2014 11:37 pm
PART TWO.
The route was again not quite as the marking on my old Routiers, but i could see a few signs and names of towns etc to know i was going in the general direction. I came across a place where there were many trucks, of all Nationalities, i pulled in trying to keep as close to the road and away from any slushy areas i could. I walked to the building there which had steam / smoke coming out of a high chimney, it looked warm and inviting. Before i even got to the door i was called at by a couple of English drivers and i had a big surprise. " Hey mate, are you Steve that is bring the trl for Ricky ■■ He’s at the National now waiting for you. But don’t rush as he’s on the p*ss big time !! " . No surprise for me there, but i was amazed that in the middle of nowhere strangers to me knew who i was, where i was going and what for !! So we had a few big mugs of tea served by one of the chaps from his trl box, i cannot remember their names or even who they were working for, but i do recal them saying that there was a few unsavory chaps in the Truckstop place and they were being astute in brewing up outside. Not what i really wanted to hear as i was still feeling very nervous at the time but also the excitement was still there too. I told them about the chap at the weighbridge and asked them what he meant by " Camarno", they explained that it was another border crossing from Czech into Hungary which did not have any weighing devices, so no problems with the axle loads. ( But BIG problems if caught in Hungary overloaded ) We finished the brew, and we all headed off in our own directions.
I made it across Hungary without to many problems with traction and cleared the Hungarian / Yugoslavian customs without too much bother. Signs to Belgrade were aplenty so the fact that Mervyns route was by now on different roads to the ones i seemed to be on i did not matter. I got to the outskirts of Belgrade and by pure chance opted to turn right ( East ) on the main route there as Mervyn had said that the National was a few k’s outside of the city, but within a short time i saw signs and pulled into the National parking. I recall that i was happy to see a fuel station there as i was running low.
I stepped out into the snow to be greeted by an Scottish chap who informed me that Tricky was asleep in the bar / restaurant, ( another chap who knew who i was ■■ ) i entered the place and there were a number of chaps in a worse for wear state, so i decided the best course of action was to join them !!!
The next morning i was woken up by loud banging on my door, it was another of M & C’s drivers, a chap called Alan Hayes, he was a right nutter when behind the wheel, and he informed me that i was to join him and he would show me the way back via Austria, He was to reload in Salzburg and i was to reload my new trl somewhere in Munich, but first we had to wake up Tricky and get the trl’s and paperwork swapped over.
After doing that we all went back into the National to have a hearty breakfast and loads of strong coffee, it was then that i found out that most every waiter in there seemed to be called George !!
It was not snowing when we left, although still bitterly cold and a strong wind blowing. As i said before, Alan was not a slow driver, plus he had a newish Scania 111 which was LHD and fitted with very good winter tyres, i was in a RHD MAN on not so good summer tyres so it was not easy to overtake and keep up with him. Also the road to Zagreb was, and still is, infamous for being ultra dangerous, not a comfortable journey !! We eventually arrived at Maribor, it was snowing again but not too hard, also by now i was used to the MAN losing traction at times but because i was far more relaxed about it i learnt to let it sort itself out, which thankfully it always seemed to do. Alan got us both through customs in no time at all and off we went, even though i had asked him a number of time to slow down a little it was to no avail…We crossed Austria and i marveled at the scenery, it was a first time for me and i wanted to savour it a little more, but i also had to keep the back of Alan’s tilt in sight too. We entered Germany and now it was quite plain sailing, even for a novice like me.
Alan stopped at a services a little before he had to turn off to collect his re-load, we had more coffee and a big piece of some sausage which came out of a vending machine, lovely stuff. It was a world apart from what i had seen in the previous few days. He gave me directions to where i was loading, and true to his word it was very easy for me to find. They even gave me a meal, some beer (?) and let me phone my then wife back at home. She was very worried as other than a short call from the National she had heard nothing from me. I remember it was the 22rd December and the kids were worried that i would not be there for Christmas. I was soon on my way, but now following the directions that Alan had given me and Mervyn’s ancient atlas was somewhere on the bunk behind. I arrived at Zeebrugge sometime during the afternoon of the 23rd. Again a ferry booking was there in my name, but i had a few hours to wait, so it was in the bunk for a much needed sleep. Once again i was woken by Alan bashing on the door, and soon we were crossing the channel. Through Dover with no problems and back to the yard at Hill Farm Tiptree. From there i called the wife and within the hour she was there to collect me, the kids too.
It was a great experience, un-nerving at times and a little worrying too, but the excitement and sense of achievement made it something that i shall always look back on and smile to myself.
That, my friends, is the story of my first ‘proper’ load in an arctic.
Regards Steve.
Last edited by M&C steve on Mon Feb 03, 2014 9:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.