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

[mushroomman]

Another great post from Steve Gray.

Re: M@C ,STEVE AND JAMIE TRUCKING FITTERS STORIES

Postby M&C steve » Wed Mar 05, 2014 12:49 pm

As requested by Keith 2, here is a tale from my days working for M & C TPT.

Baby’s heads and white washed interiors.

As near as i can remember, it was September / August 1981, just a few short months after my trucking debut taking the trl to Belgrade as told in my story in the thread “Your first load after passing your class 1”.

Mervyn had a 19-321 MAN 4x2 unit, specially ordered from Barking Vehicle Engineering in LHD. It was the only one in the UK at the time, only about 6 months old, VAR 854W. The designated driver for this truck was Ray Usher “Norman” as he was known by many. Now Ray was VERY protective of his truck and hated anybody else driving it, even when it had to go for MOT he would come in on his time off to drive it there and back himself, it was his ‘baby’. ( Mervyn had 2 more on order, which when they arrived had Behr a/c’s on the roof which peeved Norman off somewhat, not that Tony Baker ever wound him up about that !! )

( Jamie has recently posted a pic of VAR on this thread )

I can’t recall the details, but in a factory somewhere Norman was unfortunate enough to have his foot run over by a forktruck, the result was a few broken bones and a plaster cast up to his knee.

We all took great delight in showing Norman no sympathy at all.

Mervyn was very busy at the time and the truck was already booked to take one of many loads of flourecent light fittngs and tubes to Baghdad. Iraq was at war with Iran at the time, but there was still lots of trade being done and loads going there. As most all the trucks were away and no MOT’s up for a while Mervyn asked if i would like to take it, also as John McClung also had one of the same loads i could follow him down. My passport was always kept fully visa’d up in the event of a breakdown somewhere, so that was not a concern.

It was agreed, so off i went home to pack a bag and get some supplies to keep me fed on-route. After having seen the contents of many trl boxes and under-bunk larders i had a good idea of what was good stuff to take. I arrived back at the yard that same evening and after being given a stack of paperwork and money John and i made our way to Dover. John had his favourite truck, an F89, STW 383R. He was, at the time, in talks with Mervyn about buying it, although in the end it did not happen.

No problems or delays at Dover, it was onto the ferry and away on another, for me, adventure.

Belgium and Western Germany were covered in what seemed like no time at all, then into East Germany (DDR) via Helmstadt, this place seemed even more dire than when i went into Czech before, it’s culture shock time again…

We drove for hours, and most all i could see was forest, trees, dirty cars, dirty roads and the very few people i happened to see where equally dirty, and not a smile in sight. We eventually reached the Czech border north of Prague, and our first problem. Norman had not mentioned that he had had a minor scrape with his trl and that a small number of the TIR cord staples were missing / broken loose. I believe that you are allowed a small number, but not together, we were in the ‘smelly stuff’.

John, being the veteran that he was, spoke to a few chaps and we were free to continue into Czech, but not until after they had cancelled the Carnet for my load/trl. He assured me that is was not great problem and as Mervyn normally always gave him drivers a spare one to carry John had one with him which we could get filled in and usable a “bit further down the road”. By that he meant the customs in Bratislava, which is actually quite a bit further…

The next day, after a night parked up somewhere and far too many beers, we arrived in Bratislava, John said all we have to do now is find the Customs, now much to John’s surprise i had a pretty good idea as to where they were as i had made use of their services just a few months earlier, so it was my turn to say ‘follow me John’. Luck was on my side and we duly arrived at the right place. That luck soon finished when we were told they could not start a new Carnet there !!

A quick call/telex to Mervyn, and it was decided that we would go to LKW Walter in Austria, as it was known for certain that they could do the required paperwork. Off we went to the border, spoke to the powers-to-be there, John’s trk/trl were left at the immigration there and we doubled up to go to Vienna. It was soon sorted by LKW, and even a small repair to the trl to make it TIR worthy again. I was amazed by the size of the depot there, i had never seen a warehouse / offices and workshops of such a huge size, and everywhere was spotlessly clean. We were taking advantage of the staff canteen there, which in itself was the size of a motorway services, and just about to leave when a chap from the office came running out with a new telex from Mervyn. It seemed that Mick Chinnock, who was on his way home from the M/E, was broken down in Tenaloe ( spelling ■■ ) truckstop in West Germany and he wanted us to go up and to endevour to get him sorted. So my trl was parked up out of the way and off we went bouncing along to Mick.

We arrived there during the evening, to find a Mr. Chinnock in a somewhat drunken state and about to declare war on Germany all over again !!! Luckily he was pleased to see us, i always got on well with Mick, he forgot about the conflict and we went to look at his truck. “Shag, summut wrong with the trl Shag, the wheel was smoking and it keeps locking up Shag, f*****d if i know Shag, i only want to get home Shag” . It did not take alot of working out as the wheel/hub that Mick pointed to was sitting at a strange angle in relation to the others. I suggested we go to bed and tackle it in the morning. My first night sharing a cab with McClung and his feet, not to be recommended…

At first light we were woken by Mick bashing on the cab door, it was a relief to see he was using his fist and not some poor Kraut’s head !! He had a kettle on the go and tea was enjoyed by all. Out come what tools we had and i started to work in what was after all my real trade. As soon as i jacked the wheel clear of the ground it fell at an angle with a dull ‘clonk’, i could push on the top of the outer wheel and the whole wheels/hub assembly would move about 3". Hub bearings collapsed Mick, lets hope one has not spun on the axle and we can get them off the axle tube ok. All Mich replied was " Dunno shag, dunno, let’s have a drink Shag, might still be hot Shag ". The fact it had be sitting there for almost 2 days did not seem to be long enough to cool down for Mick ■■

I took the axle cap off and was greeted with a few bent and misshapen rollers, it’s not looking good. To my surprise the adjuster nuts undone, after loosening them with a few ‘taps’ with a hammer and chisel. Then with the brake wound off the whole hub and wheel assembly pulled off and we could see the state of things. To my amazement it was not too bad, the outer bearing was completely collapsed, but it had not siezed or jammed up so the inner cone was still a sliding fit on the axle beam, what a result !! Now time to cross my fingers again, when i serviced the trl’s and had to change bearings at all, i would put a pair of the best used ones in a grease filled bag and put them into the trl box. Was this a good day or what?? there was some there, deep joy…

Mick donated one of his tee shirts for me to use to clean things up as best i could, i fitted the new/old bearings to the hub, cleaned up a bit of minor damage to the threads on the axle tube, fitted everything together again and adjusted all the trl brakes. Time to find the loo block and get cleaned up. Mich and John cleaned up the ground where we were working, the Germans get funny about that sort of thing.

" Shag, Shag, well done Shag, that was a bit of luck Shag, Good that you were passing by Shag, see you back in Tiptree Shag " Mick was happy to be mobile again.

John and i made our way back to Vienna, collected my trl, then to the border where John’s '89 was waiting. Off we went to the Hungarian border. Hungary, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria all passed by with no problems or hold-ups. Whilst in Bulgaria we stopped at a big duty free shop, John said " Buy 200 Malborough and a bottle of Johny Walker, conceal the Scotch under the bunk. " John also told me that when we get to the border at Kapic it is likely to be busy, so i must try to stick as close as i can to the rear of his trl so no other truck can bully his way in, then we can do the customs there together and enter Turkey. Sure enough, it was as busy as any border i had seen in my very limited driving experience. Trucks of all nationalities jossling to get to the narrow gate asap. But, as instructed, i stayed glued to John’s trl and no amount or horns or revving of trucks would shake me off. We entered the Customs building, and there too it was bedlam. But as M & C used Little Turk as an agent, we only had to have over the papers to him and follow him about, he was only a little chap, but had no fear of elbowing his way through the many sweating drivers who were also trying to get the required stamps on their papers. Eventually we were done, then pull the trucks forward, and a brief inspection of papers and trl’s, all ok and we were free to procede.

Last edited by M&C steve on Thu Mar 06, 2014 12:37 am, edited 1 time in total.
Spannerman to some of the nicest chaps you could ever wished to of met .

To be continued…

Zinnwald, probably the border which Steve used on this trip. Not my photo.

The National Hotel in Belgrade with an M.& C. Volvo F12. Not my photo.

[5thwheel]

mushroomman:
Another great post from Steve Gray.

Re: M@C ,STEVE AND JAMIE TRUCKING FITTERS STORIES

Postby M&C steve » Wed Mar 05, 2014 12:49 pm

As requested by Keith 2, here is a tale from my days working for M & C TPT.

Baby’s heads and white washed interiors.

As near as i can remember, it was September / August 1981, just a few short months after my trucking debut taking the trl to Belgrade as told in my story in the thread “Your first load after passing your class 1”.

Mervyn had a 19-321 MAN 4x2 unit, specially ordered from Barking Vehicle Engineering in LHD. It was the only one in the UK at the time, only about 6 months old, VAR 854W. The designated driver for this truck was Ray Usher “Norman” as he was known by many. Now Ray was VERY protective of his truck and hated anybody else driving it, even when it had to go for MOT he would come in on his time off to drive it there and back himself, it was his ‘baby’. ( Mervyn had 2 more on order, which when they arrived had Behr a/c’s on the roof which peeved Norman off somewhat, not that Tony Baker ever wound him up about that !! )

( Jamie has recently posted a pic of VAR on this thread )

I can’t recall the details, but in a factory somewhere Norman was unfortunate enough to have his foot run over by a forktruck, the result was a few broken bones and a plaster cast up to his knee.

We all took great delight in showing Norman no sympathy at all.

Mervyn was very busy at the time and the truck was already booked to take one of many loads of flourecent light fittngs and tubes to Baghdad. Iraq was at war with Iran at the time, but there was still lots of trade being done and loads going there. As most all the trucks were away and no MOT’s up for a while Mervyn asked if i would like to take it, also as John McClung also had one of the same loads i could follow him down. My passport was always kept fully visa’d up in the event of a breakdown somewhere, so that was not a concern.

It was agreed, so off i went home to pack a bag and get some supplies to keep me fed on-route. After having seen the contents of many trl boxes and under-bunk larders i had a good idea of what was good stuff to take. I arrived back at the yard that same evening and after being given a stack of paperwork and money John and i made our way to Dover. John had his favourite truck, an F89, STW 383R. He was, at the time, in talks with Mervyn about buying it, although in the end it did not happen.

No problems or delays at Dover, it was onto the ferry and away on another, for me, adventure.

Belgium and Western Germany were covered in what seemed like no time at all, then into East Germany (DDR) via Helmstadt, this place seemed even more dire than when i went into Czech before, it’s culture shock time again…

We drove for hours, and most all i could see was forest, trees, dirty cars, dirty roads and the very few people i happened to see where equally dirty, and not a smile in sight. We eventually reached the Czech border north of Prague, and our first problem. Norman had not mentioned that he had had a minor scrape with his trl and that a small number of the TIR cord staples were missing / broken loose. I believe that you are allowed a small number, but not together, we were in the ‘smelly stuff’.

John, being the veteran that he was, spoke to a few chaps and we were free to continue into Czech, but not until after they had cancelled the Carnet for my load/trl. He assured me that is was not great problem and as Mervyn normally always gave him drivers a spare one to carry John had one with him which we could get filled in and usable a “bit further down the road”. By that he meant the customs in Bratislava, which is actually quite a bit further…

The next day, after a night parked up somewhere and far too many beers, we arrived in Bratislava, John said all we have to do now is find the Customs, now much to John’s surprise i had a pretty good idea as to where they were as i had made use of their services just a few months earlier, so it was my turn to say ‘follow me John’. Luck was on my side and we duly arrived at the right place. That luck soon finished when we were told they could not start a new Carnet there !!

A quick call/telex to Mervyn, and it was decided that we would go to LKW Walter in Austria, as it was known for certain that they could do the required paperwork. Off we went to the border, spoke to the powers-to-be there, John’s trk/trl were left at the immigration there and we doubled up to go to Vienna. It was soon sorted by LKW, and even a small repair to the trl to make it TIR worthy again. I was amazed by the size of the depot there, i had never seen a warehouse / offices and workshops of such a huge size, and everywhere was spotlessly clean. We were taking advantage of the staff canteen there, which in itself was the size of a motorway services, and just about to leave when a chap from the office came running out with a new telex from Mervyn. It seemed that Mick Chinnock, who was on his way home from the M/E, was broken down in Tenaloe ( spelling ■■ ) truckstop in West Germany and he wanted us to go up and to endevour to get him sorted. So my trl was parked up out of the way and off we went bouncing along to Mick.

We arrived there during the evening, to find a Mr. Chinnock in a somewhat drunken state and about to declare war on Germany all over again !!! Luckily he was pleased to see us, i always got on well with Mick, he forgot about the conflict and we went to look at his truck. “Shag, summut wrong with the trl Shag, the wheel was smoking and it keeps locking up Shag, f*****d if i know Shag, i only want to get home Shag” . It did not take alot of working out as the wheel/hub that Mick pointed to was sitting at a strange angle in relation to the others. I suggested we go to bed and tackle it in the morning. My first night sharing a cab with McClung and his feet, not to be recommended…

At first light we were woken by Mick bashing on the cab door, it was a relief to see he was using his fist and not some poor Kraut’s head !! He had a kettle on the go and tea was enjoyed by all. Out come what tools we had and i started to work in what was after all my real trade. As soon as i jacked the wheel clear of the ground it fell at an angle with a dull ‘clonk’, i could push on the top of the outer wheel and the whole wheels/hub assembly would move about 3". Hub bearings collapsed Mick, lets hope one has not spun on the axle and we can get them off the axle tube ok. All Mich replied was " Dunno shag, dunno, let’s have a drink Shag, might still be hot Shag ". The fact it had be sitting there for almost 2 days did not seem to be long enough to cool down for Mick ■■

I took the axle cap off and was greeted with a few bent and misshapen rollers, it’s not looking good. To my surprise the adjuster nuts undone, after loosening them with a few ‘taps’ with a hammer and chisel. Then with the brake wound off the whole hub and wheel assembly pulled off and we could see the state of things. To my amazement it was not too bad, the outer bearing was completely collapsed, but it had not siezed or jammed up so the inner cone was still a sliding fit on the axle beam, what a result !! Now time to cross my fingers again, when i serviced the trl’s and had to change bearings at all, i would put a pair of the best used ones in a grease filled bag and put them into the trl box. Was this a good day or what?? there was some there, deep joy…

Mick donated one of his tee shirts for me to use to clean things up as best i could, i fitted the new/old bearings to the hub, cleaned up a bit of minor damage to the threads on the axle tube, fitted everything together again and adjusted all the trl brakes. Time to find the loo block and get cleaned up. Mich and John cleaned up the ground where we were working, the Germans get funny about that sort of thing.

" Shag, Shag, well done Shag, that was a bit of luck Shag, Good that you were passing by Shag, see you back in Tiptree Shag " Mick was happy to be mobile again.

John and i made our way back to Vienna, collected my trl, then to the border where John’s '89 was waiting. Off we went to the Hungarian border. Hungary, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria all passed by with no problems or hold-ups. Whilst in Bulgaria we stopped at a big duty free shop, John said " Buy 200 Malborough and a bottle of Johny Walker, conceal the Scotch under the bunk. " John also told me that when we get to the border at Kapic it is likely to be busy, so i must try to stick as close as i can to the rear of his trl so no other truck can bully his way in, then we can do the customs there together and enter Turkey. Sure enough, it was as busy as any border i had seen in my very limited driving experience. Trucks of all nationalities jossling to get to the narrow gate asap. But, as instructed, i stayed glued to John’s trl and no amount or horns or revving of trucks would shake me off. We entered the Customs building, and there too it was bedlam. But as M & C used Little Turk as an agent, we only had to have over the papers to him and follow him about, he was only a little chap, but had no fear of elbowing his way through the many sweating drivers who were also trying to get the required stamps on their papers. Eventually we were done, then pull the trucks forward, and a brief inspection of papers and trl’s, all ok and we were free to procede.

Last edited by M&C steve on Thu Mar 06, 2014 12:37 am, edited 1 time in total.
Spannerman to some of the nicest chaps you could ever wished to of met .

To be continued…

Zinnwald, probably the border which Steve used on this trip. Not my photo.

1

The National Hotel in Belgrade with an M.& C. Volvo F12. Not my photo.

0

The DAF looks like it’s a Jenkinsons from Salford.

David

[mushroomman]

5thwheel:
The DAF looks like it’s a Jenkinsons from Salford.

David

You could be right David, I have a strong feeling that the blue and white D.A.F. belonged to Falcongate, who had a depot in Birkenhead, Aberdeen and Great Yarmouth. There is also a chance that the D.A.F. may have belonged to EuroRoute who, I.I.R.C. were from the Northampton area.

Not my photo.

Not my photo.

Re: M@C ,STEVE AND JAMIE TRUCKING FITTERS STORIES
Postby M&C steve » Wed Mar 05, 2014 12:49 pm

Baby’s heads and white washed interiors.

PART TWO.

Now i feel like i am really far away from home, even though still in Europe, the Mosques, the people and their dress, the architecture, even the smells i could pick up driving along, so alien to me.

Oh, and it’s getting hot…

We had a leisurely drive toward Istanbul and pulled into the Londra Camp, still on the European side of the city. We had made good time getting here from the UK, even though things had not quite gone to plan, so John said we will have a bit of a break here and not leave until the next morning. We went into the restuarant and had a good meal and my first taste of EFES in it’s native country. I can’t recall who it was now, i will have to ask John, but we met with another driver who was a good mate of John’s, and they decided it would be good to take me into Istanbul and show me a few things. We showered, changed into ‘not-so-dirty’ clothes and jumped into a taxi. We done a bit of a tour about the city, usual things were pointed out such as the Blue Mosque, Pudding Shop a Fortress or two, John took me for a walk down in the Grand Bazaar then we stopped in some not so touristy area. ‘Come on Steve, this is Pig-Alley, let’s have a look down here mate’. So we were slowly walking down this grubby backstreet somewhere in Istanbul, women sitting in the front windows like a sleazy version of Amsterdam ( dirtier too ). John told me that the further you get down the street, the worse / more ugly ( but cheaper ) the women get, as we had but gone a short way, and the street went as far as i could see above the heads of the people walking, i really could not imagine how bad they must be further dawn !!! The ones that i was seeing here would of taken many an EFES before they even looked remotely attractive…We soon came across a small bar / cafe, at which a few English drivers were sitting at, John and his mate knew some of the chaps so we sat down, more beers then the Raki came out. We did not venture any further down the street, but i was happy for that. Whilst getting happy on EFES and Raki, i did notice many men of kind of Arab appearence walking past quite fast seemingly to get further down the street before being beaten by someone else, each to their own…

Not too sure what time we returned to the trucks, but it was mid morning before we arose to have ham and eggs and some super strong coffee. Time now to leave Europe and enter Asia.

After looking over the truck and trl tyres and wheel nuts, checking the oil and water levels we were on our way again. Next destination the Telex Motel in Ankara to see if Mervyn had sent any instructions and to send him a quick telex to confirm all was ok

Up and over Bolu, a few scary moments avoiding Turk buses and other drivers with what seemed like a death wish, and eventually we arrived at the Telex. No news from Mervyn, so a quick one sent to him confirming all was well.

From what i remember, we passed by Aksaray then started climbing again, maybe Tarsus ? We stopped by the side of the road and John fired the kettle up, i said i was going to walk down to a river which was alongside the road and wash my ( then long ) hair, he said ‘i bet you don’t’, i had no clue what he was on about, well not until i had gotten down to the river. I took my boots off and had a hard time walking out on the boulders to get to some water as they were burning my feet. When i got to the flowing water i had a BIG shock, it was ICE cold, i tried to wet my hair with it but it was instant headache, big pain, John was totally right, i suspect he had tried this before !! So admitting defeat it was drink the tea and down to Adana, we stayed there for the night. Adana was a most interesting place, full of shops selling handicrafts, everything from antique guns to jewelry, and the most memorable thing was,frogs, 1,000’s of them, everywhere, more than anyone could possibly count, in the streets, the shops and homes, everywhere. The passing traffic produced constant ‘splat’ type noises as they were running over them. Frogs frogs frogs…

The next morning was hot, like really hot, and oddly enough not a (live) frog in sight !!! We are on the way again. This is where the ciggies come into play ( as i do not smoke ) At various places from here to Iraq John told me there will likely be kids by the side of the road, brick in hand, which the little burgers would throw at your screen unless you threw them a ciggy out the cab, i saw a number of these Brats, but escaped any damage to the truck, i saw many who were not so lucky !! Soon Gazientep, Urfa, lots and lots of dust and grass fires by the side of the road, sometimes even the asphalt road was itself on fire. On and on we went, many things along the way which i really wanted to stop and explore, but i had to keep John within sight, not always easy with the dust he was kicking up !! After what seemed like an age we arrived in Kiziltepe. A ramshackle hut, but they had showers, well, it was an old trl belly tank up on two brick piers, no walls or screens, no worries i’m not shy. Strip off, stand under the tank and turn the tap on, heaven…Not much available in the way of food, but what they did have seemed good. Sleep here said John, early start in the morning and hopefully not too much of a queue at the border. Not much beer tonight, need a clear head for the early start. Bloody hell it’s hot, i’m beginning to understand why Norman was less than pleased when he learnt the new trucks were coming complete with a/c’s.

Very first light in the morning and we are off again, dust, potholes galore, but used to all that now, i don’t know how the truck tyres and suspension take all the punishment ■■

Something is wrong…my truck is LHD, the large bottle of Kaolin + Morphine that i was advised to take with me was in the glovebox above the windscreen on the RHS, it’s boxed and was well wrapped up, or so i thought. First a few drips which then became a slow dribble, then more and more. it was leaking from a couple of small holes which are for a sunscreen not fitted to this model, also from around the small door. With the roughness of the roads it is being shaken everywhere, withing minutes i cannot see the mirror on the passenger side, the windscreen is slowly turning white, it is like someone is sitting that side and spraying whitewash all over the inside of the cab. Even the dark brown carpet, not rubber mats but real carpet, is turning white. but i cannot stop, i have to keep John in sight, also need to keep my eyes open for the stone throwing lads. The couple i did spot, when i wound the electric passenger side window down, the turbulance blew the white stuff ALL over the cab. Norman would NOT be amused !!!

When we reached the border John tagged onto the end of the queue, he walked back to tell me we were about 4 klms from the customs and to keep moving up behind him as and when, then he noticed the inside on my cab " What the f****** ■■ " then burst out laughing… When the queue was stationary i looked to see what happened, of course the bottle had broken, but the sharp pieces of glass had cut through the box and wrappings and as such the glovebox was awash with the liquid. It is one of those mess’s that no matter how much you wipe or try to wash it off, all you seem to do is spread it further !!! I decided to just let it fully dry and tackle it later. The truck was in a right mess, sorry Norman.

The queue kept moving along, 3 or 4 truck lengths at a time, until we were at the front and soon we were ourselves in the compound and doing battle with many Turks and Arabs to get our papers processed. Wherever John went i was glued to his back, pushing and shoving but never leaving a gap between us, some of the drivers smelt like the dead donkeys we had passed along the road !!! Soon John declared that all was done and we could return to the trucks and proceed. We were now in a country at war and soon we were seeing evidence of such, there were many military vehicles and personal on the move. We were heading south through Mosul, the heat was becoming unbearable, it was more comfortable to keep all the windows closed as when open the wind was like having a hairdrier blowing on you on the hottest setting. I had a small Baby Bio spray bottle with me, the design meant that it would hook into the handbrake slot in the dash but still allowed the handbrake to work as normal. I kept it full of water from the container i had in the passenger footwell, HOT water, but when i felt the need i would spray it onto my face or chest and the atomised water felt like an iced towel being put on my skin, but only for a second or two after which i would be dry again !!! I was drinking lots of water, but never felt wet from sweat, but never felt the need to pee either. We were not far from Baghdad when John pulled over and stopped, time for a brew again. I jumped out the truck and even with it feeling like an oven inside it was alot hotter outside. John was boiling some water and i grabbed a can of Fray Bentos finest from beneath my bunk, 2 new shocks for me, first the chrome door handle of the MAN was so hot that when i grabbed it i reeled away, not hot enough to burn but enough to make an inexperienced novice like me to let go, then when i opened the FB the spoon i had was not needed as it was like soup / gruel and i just drank it out of the tin !! The tea was duly served and John explained that we will make our way to the Custome at Falluja which was some way south of Baghdad.

Can’t recall how long it took, but when we arrived at Falluja we parked up with many other trucks in an expance of open land, not sand as expected but just hard dirt punctuated by small mounds no doubt produced between peoples trl axles, i shall say no more. The Customs was just a collection of portocabins and another one was a canteen of sorts, they served the most lovely orange juice, maybe a 1ltr jug with lots of ice for 1 Dinar ( 2 Pounds at the time ), i drunk many of those…

We were there for i think 2 days, then suddenly John announced that we were to go ‘into town’ to tip, again i am following on behind. One thing that sticks in my mind was the sound the tyres made whenever we started moving, if we were on an asphalt road they would soon ‘stick’ onto the surface and when you first moved it was a bit of an effort to break that ‘suction’ and the sound was hard to explain, a rubbery sort of squelch, the road would be a mass of squares of tyre tread patterns. Also the heat had made the MAN dashboard like a soft plastic and not the hard surface it was in Europe. I noticed like a clock tower somewhere and on the top was displayed the time and temperature, it was 52’c.

We arrived at a factory in a Baghdad back street, John was to be unloaded first and i waited a bit further down the road, right next to an army tank which was reversed into an old house with just the muzzle of the gun pointing out, dunno what he was expecting to shoot at from there ■■ It did not take long for the workers to handball all the lights and tubes off of both trucks, and to my surprise there seemed to be very few signs of breakage. Papers were stamped and we moved on, i had a feeling of accomplishment.

Once we left the city John stopped again and explained we would head south toward Basra to a place he knew where we could buy fuel. Some time later we arrived at another queue but John drove slowly past until we were at the front, he shouted " get the bottle of Scotch Steve" and we walked over the speak to the man sitting at a table by the pump. It was 2 Dinar per tank, regardless of the size of the tank it was still 2 Dinar, plus a bottle of Scotch and we were soon being filled, truck tanks and trl belly tanks. Then we are heading back and towards a distant home.

Again John pulled up somewhere and it was time to try another of my cans, but this time it was a Fray Bentos steak and kidney pudding " Babies head" as TonyBaker used to call them. No need to cook it as it had been hot for many days now, just open the tin and eat it with a spoon, i kept expecting to find a small ear but never did !!!

The next day we were back into Turkey, and although still super hot, i could at least not need the rag i had each time to open the door or trl box lid.

During the time in Iraq i had many attempts at trying to clean the white powder from mainly the passenger side of the cab, i had bought a few rolls of like kitchen roll which when damp would wipe it off of the hard surfaces, but it was not easy, like trying to mop up spilt paint. the carpets, seat and bunks were proving to be much harder and a small stiff brush i had found under the drivers seat was proving to be the best way, it covered everything in white dust but that was easy to blow away. I kept thinking of how Norman would react.

The journey back was quite uneventfull other than seeing a few bad crashes and again having to dodge various kamacaze bus drivers. We stopped in the usual places expecting to find a telex from Mervyn with reload instructions, that eventually arrived when we were at the National in Belgrade. Once again i was to return via Austria and reload near Munich, i cannot recall where John had to go ? So after a night being served many beers and the obligatory mixed grill by a waiter called George we finally parted company and i was now driving alone.

A few days later John and i were in the local near Tiptree and apart from my new found sun tan things were pretty much back to normal. I really enjoyed the trip, especially Turkey as i love castles and that type of history and Turkey is overflowing with all that. I promised myself to return there one day on my motorbike, i did so a couple of years later, but that’s another story…

To the real drivers who may read this, i admire you all and i’m sorry if any of the names / places / whatever are not exactly accurate, but it’s the best i can remember them.

Spannerman to some of the nicest chaps you could ever wished to of met .

M&C steve
SENIOR MEMBER

Posts: 180
Joined: Thu Mar 18, 2010 7:25 pm
Location: Pattaya Thailand

STEVE AT FALLUJA, IRAQ.

KAPIKULE, TURKEY.

[mushroomman]

A couple of stories from the U.K.

One from Mr Suede.

Re: undue care and attention
Postby Suedehead » Thu Feb 05, 2009 3:52 am

I swear this is a true story.
When my cousin started his own business in the mid 80s, he had a Vw lt Luton van and a low floor box trailer on removals.The “roadtrain” was parked on the road with the trailer shutter up and as me and my cousin was carrying a chest of drawers out to it we heard a bang . . . and found a bicycle with crumpled front wheel and a bloke in a crumpled heap in the back of the trailer.
He had been pedalling that fast with his head down, he didnt see the trailer and went straight in
Think he was more embarrased than hurt.

“At least ■■■■ Turpin wore a mask you French [zb]”

Postby Little Al » Tue Jun 03, 2008 10:40 am

jcs.

During the good old days, it was all rope and sheet work, on flat trailers, and nearly everything had to be handballed on, i.e. no pallets, just hard graft, 4am starts, to your pick up , load of 20 ton in hundredweight bags, hump them on and stack them properly so they didn’t move, then you had to rope and sheet your load, lift the sheets to the top of the load, unroll them, if the wind and rain didn’t take them, then rope it all up, get in your old Atki, with no power steering, heating, or any other power anything or other luxuries, and then drive 200 miles to wherever, undo everything, and hump it all off again.

In those days you loaded it yourself, no help, and the other drivers will tell you as well, if it was in the docks, especially London, no one helped you, they stood there laughing at you these Dockers, they all had strong unions and “Jobs for life” and most had other employment as London Cab Drivers, that used to pop in for there, pick up there money and then ■■■■ of.

So along came the Tilt, and this in our eyes was the future, everything under cover, and easily strapped up and loaded through any part of it, as it could all be stripped out or used in anyway, on Continental work, (Before Europe, mainly) you could load it and seal it, as the straps went through thousands of these little buckles, and all up an down and over the tilt and ended up at the back, the customs man would seal it, and you had a book called a Carnet de Passage, which was a book with tear out strips in it, he would stamp the first one, make a note of the number of the seal, and off you went, and every border post you crossed they would do the same, check the seal number against the Carnet, stamp it, tear out there bit and off you went again, when you reached your destination, he would again check it and if correct, sign and stamp your book, and if OK, he would break the seal and let you unload you.
When we joined Europe, they done away with seals and Carnets, and every customs post could if they wanted turn your load out, and a lot of them did, we now had T forms, and because of the language difference, there where misunderstancings and constant delays, at most of the borders, you see they now knew what you where carrying, it was all on the T form, and if it was shoes or wine, or something nice, you knew there sticky fingers would want some of it.

Now back to the tilt, it did have its bad points, especially if it had to be sealed, as i didn’t have many ways off keeping your load secure, there where a couple of hooks in the floor, and then there where huge drop sides, and then these flimsy wooden slats that always broke, it was also a nightmare to strip it out, if you had to do it yourself, I remember there wasn’t much in the way of restraining these loads, I was always thinking of ways of keeping the load secure, as I am of the “Chuck it in school” of driving, here’s a couple of photos when it didn’t work out, you can also see that the wooden side boards nearly always got broken, and you had to juggle them about the trailer for the best results.

Re: Whats the strangest load you ever carried
Postby rondavies » Sun Oct 24, 2010 4:48 pm

Yonks ago when I worked for ‘Kensal Haulage’ near Hanger Lane, Acton. I was given my loading instructions for the next day which was a zoo transfer. I thought that the transport manager was pulling my leg at first. Anyway I had to transfer a white rhino from Chessington Zoo to Whipsnade Zoo and to do the same in reverse (in other words a swap). The first leg of the journey went without a hitch but whilst I was waiting at Whipsnade for the other rhino, the crane driver had to lift the crate from the rhino’s pen over it’s ‘house’ to my waiting vehicle. They hadn’t used any spreader bars and when the crate was directly over the roof of it’s house the ropes crushed the crate and the rhino slid out the end, hitting the roof and then falling to the concrete floor!It was laying there thrashing about in pain and bleeding. My first thought was that it was going to be an early day for me assuming that they wouldn’t be taking the animal anywhere that day. I was wrong, they sedated it, got it into a new crate and placed on my wagon. I was most surprised but I gave the poor beast the smoothest ride I could give it to it’s new home at Chessington.

Re: Whats the strangest load you ever carried
Postby stan-the-man » Wed Oct 27, 2010 6:21 am

hi, guys, stan-the-man again,(JUSTNIP)

1962, yes!! old sentinel four wheeler, without the drag, brs dunfermline, sent me to lossiemouth to pick up a crate for portsmouth,
on arrival a crate for a marine engine was duly put on, great no sheets needed, at 29 mph flat out it was going to be quite a long run,
two and a bit day’s later i arrived at the navy dock, wait over there driver while we sort out what it;s for,

2 hours went by and then they appeared, captains, admirals, petty officers, i had em all, sorry driver the ship that the engine has to come out of has sailed to PLYMOUTH, you’re to go there, my own depot in stoke said see you next week, get going,
1 more day travelling and turn into the naval dockyard, i’ve brought this box (by now it looked massive 8x8 x20ft) for HMS--------,

NOT HERE, SHE,S ON HER WAY TO GLASGOW, this being friday, i won’t get home till sat’ morning, rang gaffer, he says bloody hell, i hope they are going to pay us for these cockups.
back home sat, away again sunday morn, glasgow mon, afternoon, got rid at last, looked on body for woodworm, then fled out of the docks like a bat out of hell, all 29 mph,

ta-ta stan- the-man,

it’s only a piece of metal
don’t fall in love with it

A bit more from the old ‘Red and Rust’.

youtube.com/watch?v=gxuwKg3wgUE

[star_down_under]

youtu.be/15TqHyTcCNo?si=7umQGDUXQvRWNH9a

Years ago I was following a car that stopped abruptly in front of me. He parked illegally, only about six feet from a double white, centre line. This forced me to cross the double centre line. Fortunately, the oncoming traffic appreciated the situation and moved over allowing progress for all, albeit being tight.
After the prime mover and three quarters of the forty foot trailer had passed him with a gap of twelve inches, he decided to open his door into my trailer, genius!
Seeing the door bounce off the front wheel did amuse me but I was concerned about damage to the trailer. I stopped to survey the damage and exchange details, in that order. My damage was minimal and did not interfere with the functionality of the trailer. The other bloke was off his face on drugs, ranting and raving that I was at fault and refused to give his details.
I did the only thing I could, I called the cops. They were apparently on a meal break and would be a while. I waited about half an hour, twenty minutes longer than the idiot. When he bolted, I phoned the law back stating that hed gone and they may as well just accept a verbal report over the phone. They showed no interest, particularly as my damage wasn’t worth worrying about.
They phoned me back the next day, showing far more interest, the car was stolen.
Too bad, so sad, if they’d done their job the previous day, they could have had the grub for theft, drug driving and whatever else they turned up.

[star_down_under]

Unashamedly stolen from another forum, originally posted ten years ago.

That reminds me of the day I took one of our Neoplans from the Bayside Whites Road Manly depot, over to the Sunliner workshop (now Scania Aust. Brisbane Branch) in Richlands for a looksee at the A/C( If your reading this Jas (Boss) your the first one from Bommerang/Sunliner Iv’e ever told this too! ) I lived in Salisbury, which was more or less on the way, so decided to go via Tarragindi- Birdwood /Marshall/ Toohey Roads and up through the Toohey Forest Park to take a short cut and grab a quick bite to eat at home.

Now I had seen the federalies with 2 patrol cars at the base of the hill on the way up and thought to myself " I bet these bandits have got a speed trap over the top somewhere"… so comin’ over the top in the 70k/ph zone…sure enough, there’s 3 of these gobblers, hidden in the trees, right beside the road with a dish on a tripod pointing in the other direction…so I decided to flick on the exhaust brake and and lift off the throttle and give them a quick ‘wakey wakey’ (looked back in the mirror and see the bloke sittin’ behind the dish tumbling backwards and the other joker talkin’ into the radio)…so with a confident smile on me kisser,I decide to do the civic minded thing and flick my lights at the oncoming traffic as a gesture of good faith, to fellow motorists as an advisory that 3 blueys with a wok on a tripod where behind me takin’ names.

Now thankfully, before I got to the bottom of the hill, I ceased flickin’ the headlights (left hand stem on a Neoplan) but I still had my arm out the window in a gesture for oncoming traffic to slow down!. Now back then, Toohey Road was a 2 lane carriageway and as you came out onto the flat, there were cars parked along the side of the road that belonged to workers in the local businesses. Well here I am with my arm wavin’ out the window just out of the downhill curve doin 70ks…and a Bluey (that I had not seen) jumps out from between 2 cars about 20 metres in front of me with his hand in the air for me to stop!!!..

Now for those of you who have not driven a large 13 tonne passenger vehicle, I’ll explain it very simply…in 20 metres, at 70k/ph…this is NOT going to happen!..I don’t know where this clown in blue, doing the Superman pose ever got the idea from, that he could just jump out and I WOULD instantly stop!? So with tires smokin’…me standing on the brake and clutch pedals, to the point were I thought I was starting to put impressions of them in the floor panel and the nose of the coach almost touching the bitumen, I managed to pull her up in about 40 metres.
Ex Sunliner-Boomerang 161 324 AKK.jpg
Ex Sunliner-Boomerang 161 324 AKK.jpg (232.91 KiB) Viewed 2829 times

I took a quick look in the mirrors and couldn’t see a mangled copper on the road, only cars locking up behind me with smoking tires. I punched the door switch and the door jolted open.

Now Neoplan doors disengage outward (with a distinct slow movement) and then jolt forward with a very pronounce jolt to stop at the end of the disengage. They also have a very pronounced jolt when closing, with a distinct pause before they shut ( a gap of about 6 inches and then they slowly pull in to close) so I jump out of the seat and look back out the door to make sure plod is not wrapped up in the nearside Duals…nope…nothing there…thank Christ for that!..so I decide to move the coach off to the side of the road to let the traffic behind me go past. I get back up the steps and hit the door button and go to sit down in the drivers seat and I hear a “HEY YOU” from behind me.

Now this is where it really gets interesting!.. Its the cop who jumped out in front of me in the first place!!! …and his day is about to get a whole lot worse!..his first attempt at killing himself under my wheels failed…so…you guessed right! he tries the same stunt… only this time by letting the coach door jolt backwards squashing him as he is trying to come through it, in his efforts to nab me (I remember thinking about this stage that there must be a God, and he is getting back at me for putting the wind up the other 3 plonkers on the hill with the exhaust brake, either that or it was Friday the 13th…which ever one it was…I was surely in the sh*t for this!!!

Now the Neoplans also had a pressure sensor on the door closing mechanisim…for events such as this, but it was a lottery as to whether they worked properly, or at all for that matter, so while I was fumbling for the door switch, this plod was getting the wind squeezed out of him as the door had caught him right across the chest. Now…like I said, there is a distinct pause before the door opens…this time it opened partially and then closed again…WTF■■? (it turned out that the door had not reached the sensor to allow it to engage to the open position) F**K ME…now by this stage, his mate had arrived also and had seen the whole thing…so he started pulling on him from outside . So he’s pulling on the trapped cops belt and trousers with great force and I am reaching into the door void to try and flick the sensor switch to open it…I flicked it and they both fell backwards onto the road with a huge grunt from both of them (Oh SH*T…this is number 3)

Well cop number 1 is lying on the pavement gasping for air…and now cop number 2 is giving me a verbal tirade yelling: “dont you know it is a FKin offence to wave down motorists in a speed recording zone" so I yelled back at him…"what the Fk are you talkin about”…he shoots back at me “we saw you wavin ya Fkin arm out the window" …I then yell back "what the FK are ya talkin’ about…I was wavin’ at me Fkin neighbour… I live in that street right there" (Fairlawn Street…which is the truth!) …he yells back "Bullst”… I yell back " here’s me Fkin license…and here’s the fkin address( Unit 1 - 55 Fairlawn Street Nathan 4111…)
…“in fact, how bout we ring my neighbour and she can confirm it!!!” (by now, cop number 1 is on his feet and staggering and gesturing at cop number 2 to flag it, as he needs to sit down for a spell) Cop number 2 turns to me and yells…“well fk off then"… I yell back… " well ok… I Fkin will…and you have a f**kin nice day as well”…

…I would suggest God liked my side of the argument better that day…as I never heard another peep about the whole incident

[mushroomman]

You’ve got my mind in ‘walkabout mode’ again S.D.U.

Twenty five years ago last Sunday we arrived in Brisbane and a week later, I was going around to a lot of the transport companies looking for a driving job. It wasn’t easy, especially when somebody asked me how long it took to drive to some place that I had never heard of before. I was surprised how many companies asked me if I held a ‘Forkies Ticket’ as that seemed to be the norm, especially if you were delivering to The Brisbane Markets. I ended up doing a one day forklift driving course and managed to get a job two days later at the Queensland Mushroom farm, about five miles from Jimboomba.

Their two main customers were, Woolworths R.D.C. fruit and vegie warehouse on Fulcrum Street in Richlands and at The Rocklea Markets on Sherwood Road, about three miles from where you used to live at Nathan.

E.T.A. I have just reread your last post Ian and I now realise that it wasn’t you who lived in Nathan.

Re: Ghostly experiences
Postby mushroomman » Sun Mar 30, 2014 5:05 pm

Hi Wendy, I am sure that most of the old lorry drivers have a story to tell of a time that had an eerie feeling or something that just didn’t seem quite right.

In the late 90’s we moved over to Australia and I was really pleased that after a couple of weeks I had got myself a driving job at a mushroom farm to the west of Brisbane. The Scania 112 that I had been given was a few years old with many miles on the clock but it had been well looked after. It had quite a few extras including an air conditioning unit on the roof, tinted windows, long range fuel tanks on both sides of the chassis, a large galvanised Roo bar and it was sprayed in a very smart gun metal blue livery. It had no problems pulling a forty foot refrigerated trailer full of mushrooms with its ‘Mighty Mushroomman’ logo painted on the side.

One of my drops was to the Rocklea fruit and veggie markets not far from the Brisbane city centre and it must have been on my second night that this incident happened. It was just after midnight after I had unloaded myself and I then started my journey back to the mushroom farm. Shortly after I had left the metropolitan area of Brisbane and was heading through the countryside something caught my eye on the drivers side of the window.

Three lights appeared in the distance which looked like they were flying along vertically in a straight line. I could see them fairly clearly, a white one, a red one and a blue one. I watched them for about a minute and then thought that I would have to have a better look. I looked up to switch the radio above the windscreen off and to wind down the window but as I looked out they had disappeared, just as quickly as they had arrived. It started me wondering what on earth they could have been flying around at that time of the night.

I knew that there was a big Royal Australian Air Force base at Amberley, which would have been less that fifty kilometres away so maybe it could have been a couple of their Chinook helicopters on a night exercise somewhere out in the bush. Whatever it was had now gone and so I wound up the window to keep the colder air in the cab and to stop the warmer outside summer air from getting in.

For the next ten minutes or so I drove along with one eye on the road in front watching for any kangaroos that would unexpectedly jump out in front of the truck just as you were about to pass them. The other eye kept glancing out to the right just for anything unusual and after a couple of minutes those three lights appeared again. They were definitely there, I wasn’t imagining it and so I pulled the truck up to a quick stop and leapt out of the driver’s door.

By the time my feet had touched the ground the lights had disappeared again and I stood there scanning the horizon for a few minutes. All I could see in the far distance was a white strobe light flickering away from an aircraft to the north of Brisbane, which was probably a delayed flight to Singapore or Hong Kong or even The Flying Doctor on one of his call outs but that was defiantly not the three lights that I had seen in a line minutes before. I could make out Brisbane behind me in the distance, the warm orange glow from its streetlights were reflecting on the sky above it but wherever I looked there was no sign of those three strange lights.

I had heard a bit before about the mysterious Min Min Lights, those bright white lights that the Aboriginal people of Eastern Australia had supposedly talked about for thousands of years but I didn’t think that there was ever any mention of a red and a blue light.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Min_Min_light

After a few minutes I decided that I would probably never know what those three lights were and more importantly in about an hours time I could be home in bed and so I decided to carry on back to the farm. As I was driving along, I just couldn’t stop myself from glancing over to my right just in case they made one more appearance.

When I had turned off the sealed road and stopped at the farm gate, I had to get out of the cab to take the chain off the gate. It was never locked, the chain was just drooped over the gate and the gatepost. I scanned the horizon one more time trying to think what on earth it was that I had seen twice that night before climbing back into the cab of the Scania. As I was driving over the cattle grid next to the gate those three lights appeared again in the driver’s side window and straight away, I realised what they were.

The bulb which illuminated the heater controls inside the dashboard was probably not sitting in its holder properly or there was a loose wire somewhere. As the bulb had come on intermittently probably as the truck had gone over a bump, it was the reflection on the driver’s side tinted window that had caught my eye, blue at the bottom, white in the middle and red at the top.

I still remember that hot summers night wearing only a pair of shorts, a tee shirt and a pair of flip flops. The smell of the night scented Jasmine, the chirping of the cicadas, looking up at the zillions of stars that stretched along The Milky Way into infinity and thinking to myself, “Wot A Wally”.

mushroomman
SENIOR MEMBER

Posts: 3687
Joined: Sat Dec 08, 2007 11:55 am
Location: QUEENSLAND AUSTRALIA

[spardo]

I was way ahead of you MRM on the 3 lights, I too have seen them before and it is amazing how the mind never settles on the obvious cause till much later when you are well and truly spooked.

Twenty five years ago last Sunday we arrived in Brisbane and a week later, I was going around to a lot of the transport companies looking for a driving job. It wasn’t easy, especially when somebody asked me how long it took to drive to some place that I had never heard of before. I was surprised how many companies asked me if I held a ‘Forkies Ticket’ as that seemed to be the norm, especially if you delivering to The Brisbane Markets. I ended up doing a one day forklift driving course and managed to get a job two days later at the Queensland Mushroom farm, about five miles from Jimboomba.

It was about the same time as you that we emigrated here, but I did not have the same trouble finding a berth as you. For 3 months I drove a ■■■■■■ box van back and forth to England after picking antiques up all along the south coast of France. Then one morning coming out of a local shop a man who I vaguely recognised crossed the road towards me with his hand outstretched for the traditional handshake.

I was still trying to place him as he started talking and wanted to know if I was working, ‘just casual’ I said, at which point he said ‘come to the office this afternoon as I have something you might be interested in.’ It was Paul Gauthier and for the next 3 years till I retired I drove my brand new Magnum for him.

But my experience of Oz was similar to you. Not in the north where they are a bit more laid back, started the same day I got off the plane at Darwin for S.C. Eyles, a wholesale grocers delivering goodies with a bonetted Bedford (the No. 1 driver had the TK ) to various cafes and milk bars in the area. The lady in the labour exchange, on hearing I was a driver said 'here’s one, driver required MUST KNOW DARWIN. I was honest and said I had just got off the plane and she shrugged and said, giving me the ticket ‘should be ok then’.

A few weeks of that and after a strange journey on a Redline bus (it broke down wouldn’t start at the first stop out of Darwin, we all got out and push bumped it to get going again, and this bloke was doing 1500 kms to The Alice like that ) I walked into Buntine’s yard and he said ‘have you driven a twin stick?’ I thought he said twin steer and wondered what was difficult about that so said ‘yes, of course’. So that was it, my next steed a B61.

A long time later after many adventures via The Alice and Melbourne to Sydney I then came up against the same brick wall as you. I was amazed that in what I thought of as a very laid back country with an easy attitude to life, you had to have a ticket for everything, even to drive a lift in a department store. I walked the whole length and back again of Burrows Road, Alexandria, where all the transport companies were, and all I heard was ‘we don’t employ drivers mate, they all work for themselves with their own units pulling our trailers’. I was offered one job, as I have mentioned elsewhere before, co-driving an Oshkosh with its owner driver who was sitting in a side road about to set off for Melbourne. Sitting chatting to him in that cramped little cab, I declined.

After nearly starving with one day jobs for months (painting fences, driving beer down from Resch’s to Darling harbour, all handball, flipping pig iron in a foundry and turning lumps of gold into rings with a hand operate press (couldn’t believe nobody searched us going out )) and briefly re-kindling an old flame, I cut my losses and jumped a train north to the Sunshine State. Even the Israeli’s had knocked me back, it was during the 6-day war and they had set up a volunteer centre in Kings Cross and, in answer to the question about my skills, I proudly strutted, Road Train Driver. They got very excited for a few minutes till they realised I hadn’t said Crane Driver and, as they needed all of those they could get their hands on to unload Yankee tanks at the docks, I was rejected for a free passage but they would find something to get me shot at if I would pay my own fare. No chance, then, or now.

I loved it up north but the jobs were equally hard to come by, that I really wanted that is, and I never got anything steady till my return to Sydney and my long time piloting of a Yellow Cab Co. Falcon. Great mates, great times. My only regret was never being able to find my way back again.

[mushroomman]

David, I have been meaning to ask you this for years, it will probably be a million to one shot but did you ever come across a lad from Widnes called Alan Jones, who was in Sydney around the same time as you were. It’s just that some of the stories that he told me 40 odd years ago sounded similar to some of yours. I know that many young overlanders often ended up sharing houses with each other, even if it was only sleeping on the floor until somebody moved on and then you might get a bed.

Many of the Rhodesian and South African overlanders who were heading over to the U.K. in the seventies usually tried to get to the Earls Court area of London where they knew that something would turn up. I met a girl in the Sahara Desert back in 1975 who was travelling from South Africa back to the U.K. and she gave me an address in Jo’burg where she told me I could stay. The address was ‘The Gasworks Gang’, the rent was cheap and you had a good view of the gasworks.

As regards pushing a bus I was asked by my old boss if I would go back to South West Africa for a year in 1990 when they were getting their independence. We were able to buy a ‘round the world’ air ticket which was valid for twelve months, the conditions being that you had to travel East or West from London but you had to keep travelling in the same direction so we chose London, Johannesburg, Harare, Perth, Sydney, Brisbane, Cairns, Singapore, Bombay to London.

As my wife had never seen Victoria Falls before and I had been on about it for years, we planned a trip after our working holiday to hire a car on our way up to Harare. The problem was that they wouldn’t allow us to take the car into Zimbabwe and so after driving from Windhoek, across the Caprivi Strip into Botswana, we were able to drop the car off at The Kubu Game Lodge in Kasane.

We were told that ‘The Zebra Bus’ ran a couple of times a week from Kasane to Vic Falls, you couldn’t miss it, it was painted like a Zebra.
The old Bedford bus was about a twenty seater, which had an area at the back just for suitcases and chickens. After we had crossed the border into Zimbabwe, the driver stopped to pick up a young girl carrying a basket on her head and you have guessed it, the bus wouldn’t start due to it having a flat battery.

As we were still on a dirt road somewhere in the bush, the driver didn’t seem to have a clue what to do so I told him that we might be able to bump start it, if everybody got off and pushed it. An old American guy sat in the driver’s seat ready to let the clutch out, while we were out trying to push the old bus. My wife asked me “are there any lions out here”, no, I replied trying to assure her. We eventually got the bus going, we all got back on board and just around the corner there was a pride of lions sat on the road.

We are sure that back then that journey took us over three hours.
I have just looked on ‘Distance Finder’ and it says Kasane to Victoria Falls, 84 kilometers, time 1 hour and 6 minutes via the A33.

VICTORIA FALLS, RHODESIA.

And I know that there are a few people on here who like trains.

[spardo]

A nice sequence of pictures MRM, love those falls but the icing on the cake is that photo of what I think is a Bayer-Garett loco.

Alan Jones, no, the nearest to that name I know of is an Australian ex racing driver and the nearest Pom I know to come from Widnes was an old mate from Liverpool called Ray Nelson. I met him again, many years later, in Liverpool.

Talking about digs and stuff, I shared a room with Ray at No.2 O’Connell street in Newtown (Sydney). It was a cafe run by a Palestinian and his mate. He did food down below and there were rooms up above. Also a line of brick built sheds out the back, each with 2 beds. Later I was promoted upstairs and shared a larger room with an Aussie who was fascinated by only 2 things in life. A boxer called Bobby Dunlop, and the book called The Carpetbaggers. The main character was called Nevada Smith and I spent hours trying to get that pillock to pronounce it right. He simply could not stop himself saying Neva instead of Nevada. It is such minor and unimportant irritations in life that have kept me alive this long.

Other blokes at the cafe were a tall skinny one called Pete Mobbs, from Kent, and a short skinny one, a local Aussie whose favourite phrase when anyone played a joke on him was ‘you’ll get yours’, as if it was a dire threat. Joe, the owner was fed up running the cafe that he brought in a married couple to run it for him when he fancied following Pete and me into the taxi business. The Sydney version of the London ‘Knowledge’ was not nearly as strict as its namesake but still a lot to learn to get your licence. But that was the easy bit. First day on the road the first bloke that flagged me said one word, a suburb I’d never heard of and he had to direct me the whole way. ‘It’ll soon get easier’ I told myself, for days, if not weeks, but I needed the money. Not for Joe though, he came back to the cafe after the first day and said ‘never again’.

[5thwheel]

Spardo:
A nice sequence of pictures MRM, love those falls but the icing on the cake is that photo of what I think is a Bayer-Garett loco.

Alan Jones, no, the nearest to that name I know of is an Australian ex racing driver and the nearest Pom I know to come from Widnes was an old mate from Liverpool called Ray Nelson. I met him again, many years later, in Liverpool.

Talking about digs and stuff, I shared a room with Ray at No.2 O’Connell street in Newtown (Sydney). It was a cafe run by a Palestinian and his mate. He did food down below and there were rooms up above. Also a line of brick built sheds out the back, each with 2 beds. Later I was promoted upstairs and shared a larger room with an Aussie who was fascinated by only 2 things in life. A boxer called Bobby Dunlop, and the book called The Carpetbaggers. The main character was called Nevada Smith and I spent hours trying to get that pillock to pronounce it right. He simply could not stop himself saying Neva instead of Nevada. It is such minor and unimportant irritations in life that have kept me alive this long.

Other blokes at the cafe were a tall skinny one called Pete Mobbs, from Kent, and a short skinny one, a local Aussie whose favourite phrase when anyone played a joke on him was ‘you’ll get yours’, as if it was a dire threat. Joe, the owner was fed up running the cafe that he brought in a married couple to run it for him when he fancied following Pete and me into the taxi business. The Sydney version of the London ‘Knowledge’ was not nearly as strict as its namesake but still a lot to learn to get your licence. But that was the easy bit. First day on the road the first bloke that flagged me said one word, a suburb I’d never heard of and he had to direct me the whole way. ‘It’ll soon get easier’ I told myself, for days, if not weeks, but I needed the money. Not for Joe though, he came back to the cafe after the first day and said ‘never again’.

It is indeed a BG loco David,there is a fine example of the white painted loco in
the Museum of Science and Industry Manchester.

David

[star_down_under]

Definitely a Garrett design. Beyer-Garrett was a loco designed specifically for low axle weights with good power and traction, by Garrett and built by Beyer. Other companies built to Garrett’s design and hyphenated their name too.

On the subject of pushing busses; I was driving school busses, as a second job for a small, local service. My youngest daughter was in Brownies and the troop leader asked if I could supply transport for the Guides and Brownies, to a weekend camp at a horse riding venue.
The bus industry was tight knit and cooperative in the provincial area in which I lived and worked. I had no problem dry hiring a coach at a favourable rate, from another operator.
I was to pickup the coach in time for a departure an hour after the kids got out of school. We had to drive through Brisbane, heading south to Bestbrook, just short of Warwick. That put us in peak hour traffic and by the time we were through the city the winter darkness was well set in.
With the built up area behind, it was pitch black when I realised the headlights were getting duller. I diagnosed a non-charging battery and figured if I turned off the saloon lights and stayed on low beam I could make the destination. By the bottom of the Range the adult leaders were becoming concerned at the shortage of illumination so I stopped at Warrill View and dragged the local auto sparkie out of the pub to fit a new battery.
The new battery gave enough power to get to the destination. The proprietors were most helpful offering to charge the batteries the following morning, at the on sight workshop. I drove to the cabins and disembarked my charges and all their bags. I parked the coach on the top of a knoll, hoping it would hold enough air to release the brakes so I could clutch start it in the morning, then drive to the workshop.
In the morning the brakes released but the damned coach wouldn’t roll. I had to round up all my passengers to get it rolling down the hill. All the kids and leaders pushed with all their might, but there wasnt enough air to release the brakes a second time.

[mushroomman]

Hi David, I am pleased that you like the photo of the train and after having a closer look at it, I now realise that I must have taken that photo in 1976. If you enlarge the picture, then you can see the R.R. insignia for Rhodesian Railways, when we did that trip in 1990 Zimbabwe had already gained its independence and I have no idea of what markings they put on their trains. I don’t think that they could have used Z.R. which would have clashed with Zambian Railways.

The arial photos were taken on a trip called ‘The Flight of Angels’, a thirty minute joy ride over the falls which included a bit of game spotting in this I.I.R.C. a Piper Cherokee.

The guy who I mentioned the other day Alan Jones, who used to live in Sydney, was working at a place called Katama Mulilo on the banks of The Zambezi. Our company had a contract to build five army bases along the South West African border at the time and Alan was working there for about three months. I had to transport all the tools and materials up there from Windhoek so I did about a dozen trips in the summer of 1976. The road through The Caprivi Strip adjoining The Angolan border was impassable during the rainy season and I had on a couple of occasions had to move our smaller vehicles on the back of our Nissan truck.

As Katima Mulilo was just over 200 kilometers from Victoria Falls, Alan and I decide to travel over there for a bit of R.and R. one weekend but that’s another story.

Sorry if I have already posted these pictures before.

I remember Alan telling me that after he had finished his boiler maker apprenticeship, at one of the I.C.I. Widnes plants in the late sixties and after a long, cold winter he decided to apply for the £10 Pom scheme to Oz. I think that he said that it taken him six weeks to sail from the U.K. to Oz. He ended up in Sydney where he shared a house near Bondi Beach and he met other youngsters who had travelled overland from the U.K. He enjoyed some of their tales of travelling through Europe and Asia and decided that that was what he wanted to do.

The first job that he was offered, was working in the Sydney shipyards on the night shift. It was a 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift, ‘job and knock’ which meant that after the job that he had been allocated for that night was completed, then he could go home and still get paid for the full shift.

Alan told me that it was easy money and that he was often on his way home by 2.a.m. so he decided to get another job on a construction site. He worked these two jobs at the same time for over six months and had saved enough money to travel back to the U.K. overland.

It sounded David that Alan did a similar trip to yours in reverse, traveling to Adelaide, Alice Springs and then up to Darwin, where he sold his car and managed to get a boat over to Singapore.
He then travelled up through Malaysia, Thailand, Burma and India where he then got a coach tour back to London, arriving back in the U.K. nine months after he had left Sydney.

I have often wondered David if Alan did the same trip as you or Dave Sheeter, back in the sixties

India
Postby Sheeter » Tue Aug 31, 2004 1:31 am

I also drove a coach from London to India in 1968 and as Bondi did, went on to Australia from Delhi. The vehicle was a 1948 Maudsley with a Leyland engine and a four speed crash box and vacuum brakes. In those days almost 2000 (in total) miles of dirt road had to be covered of the whole distance, starting after Skopye in Yugoslavia and on and off through northern Greece, Turkey and Iran.

Afghanistan roads were concrete to Kandahar then tarmac to the Pakistan border and from there to Delhi. I did this on and off until 1977, by then all the dirt roads had been gradually upgraded and it got easier every year. In the early 70’s the international truck traffic picked up a lot, Asian Transport (Astran) artics and drawbars were to be seen, I remember one of their drivers who was coming back from Lahore, Pakistan after delivering personal property for a British Consular Official to the Embassy out there. That was the furthest I ever heard of them going to.

In the 70’s another company who did a lot was ICC (Iran Container Company), they ran Macks, double manned from Tehran to Germany and back and hardly ever stopped. The trailers had belly tanks from the leading axle to the landing legs, not surprising when diesel in Iran used to be about 13 or 14 gallons for a quid. A couple of other Iranian firms were Marand and Shams Express, they both ran up to eastern Europe.

Technically it has never been easier to drive from the UK to India but all the road improvements have been negated by international politics. The fastest I ever did the trip was late 1971, Delhi to London, in 27 days in a 1959 AEC Reliance bus, with no co-driver.

Somebody has asked the question “Who on earth would want to drive to India?”. If somebody else said to me, “Would you like to go back and do it all again?” then there would no hesitation about taking up the offer. Driving a lorry here is hardly an adventure, I would rather queue at an Asian border now and again rather than UK distribution centres or docks every day.

This is not a trip for someone who has domestic shackles, or who expects to make financial gain in these times. The weather in winter is hard to believe after the mild British climate. Apart from the summer heat the real killer is a Turkish/Iranian winter, when it can drop to -40C in the mountains at well over 7000 feet and all the usual problems that come with that, like fitting and using snowchains, freezing fuel and so on. There were times when the engine was left running all night, otherwise the whole lot froze solid, let alone the diesel.

But don’t be put off by all this, do one trip if possible and report back.
Sheeter
SENIOR MEMBER

Posts: 172
Joined: Tue Nov 04, 2003 1:48 am
Location: March, Cambridgeshire

Postby Sheeter » Tue Mar 22, 2005 4:01 am

The Tahir Pass in Eastern Turkey must be one of the worst stretches of road I’ve driven over. Truckyboy has not mentioned that it was a dirt road and at the top is over 8100 feet up and depending on the time of year and the weather it used to be either mud, snow or dust and there was no good time to go over it.

Between 1968 and '77 I drove Overland buses over this pass on trips from London to India and Nepal and back. I once drove over the Tahir at night in the summer of '71 and vowed never to that again, the dust from other vehicles, in the headlights was blinding. I’ve done it in snow with chains on and without.

The photo below shows the AEC bus I was driving just after I went off the road after a oncoming local truck refused to get off the centre of the road. This was early October 1971 and the first snow was melting on top of mud. The crowd on the left were my passengers. Later I realised that I had been extremely tired having driven every day since leaving Delhi about three weeks before. I took it easy going to Istanbul where we stopped for a few days and had the bus cleaned and serviced. This used to be done in Teheran and New Delhi as well. The last place to have that done was in London, the cost was too high and the quality of work questionable. Aydin in Istanbul was an excellent mechanic, another guy, a Eurasian called Lee, in Lahore, Pakistan was also good.
Image
Turkish drivers just ignored us, roaring past blaring the air horns. Eventually an English 4WD Bedford arrived and dragged the AEC back on the road with a steel cable, no damage just a bit heavier with mud. I thanked the Bedford driver with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label whisky which I released from the stache carried for smoothing out sensitive or difficult situations in Asia. In the background is an Asian Transport Scania 140 drawbar outfit which turned up as well. This was driven by a Mr. Snow who also offered assistance, he was on his way to Iran. I’m sure he thought he should have got a bottle as well since he had stopped. Last I saw him was at the Yugo-Austro border going the other way away four years later.

Another hundred yards or so and I would have reached the tarmac, the worst part of the journey was behind and the altitude was down to about 6200 feet and not far from Horasan. A few miles further back and it would have been yet another Tahir Pass incident with thirty-odd people dead.

Some people called the Tahir the “Mud Mountain”, I suppose the Erzerum to Agri road over the Tahir Pass still is in use, the fact that the military road was never far away was ridiculous. I’ve driven over higher passes in Kashmir and Nepal but that Tahir was a bleak desolate place in a troubled part of the world and it seemed to bring out the worst in Turkish drivers, the Mercedes and Setra bus drivers were suicidal kapitans of their vehicles. They all appeared to be moustached with gold teeth and cigarette as they hurled buses aound blind bends and down mountains. Turkish truck drivers weren’t much better. Whether it is now a tarmac road I don’t know - perhaps someone here has been there recently.
Sheeter
SENIOR MEMBER

Posts: 172
Joined: Tue Nov 04, 2003 1:48 am
Location: March, Cambridgeshire

Unfortunately, all Sheeter’s images have now disappeared.

[spardo]

I can see why I might never have met Alan Jones in Sydney because I left there in about 1970 I think it was and from your description it may have been later than that when he was there. I too ended up on Bondi Beach, in both senses of the words, but I shared a flat overlooking the bay, not with other Brits, but with an Aussie mate from Yellow Cabs.

As regards Dave Sheeter I think I know him without actually us meeting although I do not remember that that was his surname or username but he did live in Cambs. and probably March.

I think he worked for the same bloke at one point on the buses to India which I used, and drove partly, on my emigration east. We had quite a bit of correspondence and we decided that we knew the same man but neither of us could remember his full name, but it was John. Later Dave told me that he had actually met him and although he couldn’t remember me agreed that I might have been on one of his runs. It was him, John, not Dave, who had panicked when overheated brakes sent us careering downhill. Our bus was a 1956 AEC but I can’t remember the model at the moment.

Dave, if it is he, later in retirement, drove a mobile library in Cambridgeshire and posted a picture on TN. He later was very helpful to me after I had bought a Romahome caravan and answered an advert to buy an awning that doubled its size, from someone who lived near him, and he kindly offered to go and check it out and sent me some pictures. I did buy it and he re-doubled his kindness by taking it to a rdv on the A1, to transfer it to the car of friends of mine from Sunderland who delivered it to me here.

I haven’t seen him on TN for a long while so I hope that he is ok and perhaps posting in threads which I don’t follow.

BTW, his reference to ‘Bondi’ is me. Bondi Tram was my original username on here but one day I couldn’t get in and, despite all the help and investigation that Rikki could muster, never could. The only answer was to re-register under another name, hence Spardo was born. This means that when I post it shows me joining in 2004, when in fact it was quite sometime earlier. Frankydodo recently had the same problem and now posts under the pseudo of ‘Geordielad’.

[spardo]

Just re-read this from Dave Sheeter that you re-posted

I also drove a coach from London to India in 1968 and as Bondi did, went on to Australia from Delhi.

I wasn’t on the same trip, mine was earlier, 1967 I think. Some idea can be got from my reference the other day to volunteering for the 6-day war. That was in June of '67 and I was destitute in Sydney at the time. Remind me when ‘The Wet’ is in the Territory because my driving for Buntine was well before that throughout a Dry season, starting at the start of it. A mate that I first met in Darwin, and shared 2 digs with, had just battled his way in through it, abandonning his Landy on the way.

Don’t remember the Dave I know saying that he had carried on to Sydney like me, as he was an employed driver I assumed he would have gone back to London where I started from. Perhaps John used to sell his buses and fly home?

[star_down_under]

Wet season is Christmas time, David.

[spardo]

Star down under.:
Wet season is Christmas time, David.

So when I stepped out of that plane in Darwin to meet a solid wall of damp, it must have been April time then. And my soon to be roommate had just struggled out of the water. So, if I spent a season there and skedadelled south to eventually be stranded in Sydney in June '67, I must have arrived in '66 fresh from the last time I was interested in football in England.

[mushroomman]

Spardo:
I can see why I might never have met Alan Jones in Sydney because I left there in about 1970 I think it was and from your description it may have been later than that when he was there. I too ended up on Bondi Beach, in both senses of the words, but I shared a flat overlooking the bay, not with other Brits, but with an Aussie mate from Yellow Cabs.

I believe that Alan was in Bondi in the late sixties and I presume that he left to do his overland adventure after he spent two years in Oz which was, I think a condition of being a £10 Pom. As I mentioned before, I met him in 1976 in Africa and he told me about getting a bus from India back to the U.K.

After being back in Widnes for a year or so he decided to return to Australia and went back to the Australian Consulate in Manchester to reapply for the assisted passage scheme, where he was told “sorry mate, you only get one stab at it, you will have to pay the full fare if you want to return”, or words similar to that.

Somebody told Alan, “You can apply to go to South Africa as a £10 Pom and you will be halfway to Australia if you decide to carry on”, which is what he did and as far as I know he is still out there. We lost touch about twenty years ago but the last I heard from Alan he was building his own houseboat on a lake, somewhere in The Cape.

As regards Dave Sheeter I think I know him without actually us meeting although I do not remember that that was his surname or username but he did live in Cambs. and probably March.

I think he worked for the same bloke at one point on the buses to India which I used, and drove partly, on my emigration east. We had quite a bit of correspondence and we decided that we knew the same man but neither of us could remember his full name, but it was John. Later Dave told me that he had actually met him and although he couldn’t remember me agreed that I might have been on one of his runs. It was him, John, not Dave, who had panicked when overheated brakes sent us careering downhill. Our bus was a 1956 AEC but I can’t remember the model at the moment.

Dave, if it is he, later in retirement, drove a mobile library in Cambridgeshire and posted a picture on TN. He later was very helpful to me after I had bought a Romahome caravan and answered an advert to buy an awning that doubled its size, from someone who lived near him, and he kindly offered to go and check it out and sent me some pictures. I did buy it and he re-doubled his kindness by taking it to a rdv on the A1, to transfer it to the car of friends of mine from Sunderland who delivered it to me here.

I haven’t seen him on TN for a long while so I hope that he is ok and perhaps posting in threads which I don’t follow.

BTW, his reference to ‘Bondi’ is me. Bondi Tram was my original username on here but one day I couldn’t get in and, despite all the help and investigation that Rikki could muster, never could. The only answer was to re-register under another name, hence Spardo was born. This means that when I post it shows me joining in 2004, when in fact it was quite sometime earlier. Frankydodo recently had the same problem and now posts under the pseudo of ‘Geordielad’.

Yes Spardo, I know that you were the ‘Bondi Tram’ from years back, if you remember you very kindly sent me a book out to Australia so have you fixed that Grandfather clock yet or does it still only tell the correct time twice a day.

I don’t know if any of your old taxi pickup places are on here.

youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=ZM4FKbkoupY

Acid Drops at 4 pence a packet on the van at 5mins 52 secs, I haven’t heard about them for donkey’s years. I suppose they mean something completely different nowadays.

And I reposted a couple of 'Sheeter’s old posts mainly because I thought that somebody might enjoy reading them and find them interesting, which I certainly did.

I also never met Dave, (Sheeter) I wish I had, as I am sure that he would have one or two more fascinating tales to share. I hope that he is well and that he looks in on Trucknet now and again but it is sad to see that he has not logged on since October 2019.

[spardo]

Yes Spardo, I know that you were the ‘Bondi Tram’ from years back, if you remember you very kindly sent me a book out to Australia so have you fixed that Grandfather clock yet or does it still only tell the correct time twice a day.

I don’t know if any of your old taxi pickup places are on here.

youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=ZM4FKbkoupY

Yes, I have a copy of that book beside me. It was never written for sale but a few on TN asked for a copy but mainly only enough were printed to distribute for family so if you still have your copy intact look after it well, it is a first edition of a very limited edition and one day will be worth thousands. Grandpa’s clock is still here, just behind me, and is extremely reliable, at 20 minutes past 3 afternoon and morning. I have thought of getting it repaired but I have an heirloom of a ship’s chronometer from my Grandfather who was a Master Mariner and also stopped working even after a local ‘expert’ repaired it, so you can understand my reluctance to put the big one in anyone else’s hands.

As regards the video, really enjoyable but I have to admit that non of it was familiar to me except for the shot of what I believe is Ben Buckler, the north side of Bondi Beach. If I am right you can see my flat, one of the second ranks of blocks of flats, which had views over the first rank, of the bay. I used to swim in the sea there after finishing my night shift every day at around 3am, even after someone told me that dawn and dusk were the sharks’ favourite feeding times. The confidence of youth.

Many of the scenes are almost exclusively tramways and they had disappeared from Sydney before my taxi days in the late 60s, and maybe even before my enforced sojourn there in '64, but then I had no opportunity to wander from the centre and King’s Cross. The pseudo ‘Bondi Tram’ I later adopted was from a common saying in those days, possibly in nostalgia for the loss of the trams and I was told that they were extremely ricketty, and noisy especially in their later days. The common description of anything that was past its best, and coming apart at the seams while making its presence heared from afar but nevertheless maintaining great speed was ‘going like a Bondi Tram’. I must have thought it was appropriate because I had come across a good many such vehicles in my early days in road transport.

As a footnote to all that, I am not personally a fan of trams. I prefer trollybuses as being more flexible and, of course, quieter. I remember in Nottingham back in the 50s, watching the conductor retract the long pole from underneath the bus at the back, in order to unhook the poles from the overhead wires to allow the bus to divert from its normal route for a time on battery power to avoid an obstruction, be it an accident or roadworks for example. You can’t do that with a tram, the whole thing becomes a silent roadblock.

Nottingham and my own home town nearby of Beeston suffered for years the disruption to traffic and business while the roads were wrecked to lay the lines for this renewed mania for trams. Not a single one of my family and friends still living there was in favour of them and I don’t know of anyone that uses them now. The buses are still running so what on earth has been gained? On a visit back some years ago for a family wedding in the city centre we were looking forward to a tram ride, leaving the car in Beeston. But our Grandson insisted that we were to be delivered in a limousine. Just as well really, they tell me you have to pay before you get on and then get your ticket punched in a machine on board. There are no conductors but woe betide anyone who fails to navigate the system if an inspector appears.

[mushroomman]

Armistice Day 2023.

Not My Photo.

Not My Photo.

youtube.com/watch?v=W6Wvijm9Pks