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

[spardo]

The Bakehouse was a regular stop for us, both on Cheverall’s and WhiteTrux. The favourite was to ship out on a Friday night and spend the weekend there. It was one of those very rare routiers that was open on a Sunday, though it closed after lunch as everybody was revving up early evening to jump the ban gun to head for the Blanc. Always amazed me that with so little official parking it was always packed. I have been there in recent years, a shadow of its former self and no longer a routier. The parking, such as it was, has been turned into little bays with pretty flowers between them. When I was last there, perhaps 8 years ago, the grandson of the Patron we knew in the '80s was running the place. I had a nice lunch there, the only customer in the place. It was so sad and I didn’t bother to go round to see where the showers were that I shared with my now wife and all the cockroaches.

Carisio too had a memory. I suspect weekended again as Fran and I decided to spoil ourselves and get a room. We were treated to a steady stream of drivers taking advantage passing through to use our lovely shower.

Mainly my time in Italy was Concorrezzo and the resto outside the customs. All good memories there.

[star_down_under]

Names, dates and specific details omitted, to protect the guilty.

Long before we’d ever heard of Y2K, a mate got me onto a job with a now large and reputable company. The company was neither back then, but my mate and I were no angels either, so a match made in heaven; three battlers doing what needed to be done to get the job done and make a quid.
We were moving mining and construction camps in the remote north and north west. Each building was 40’ x 10’ or 40’ x 12’, wide, but not wide enough to require a pilot.
The law at the time restricted overdimentional loads to daylight travel. It also restricted overdimentional loads to single trailer operation.
These draconian restrictions did not bode well for the logistics, or our financial desires. Many great ideas are found in the bottom of a rum bottle and we hit the jackpot. We were going to road train the dongas, half the time, twice the profit! In the cold light of sobriety, the plan didn’t seem so flash to my mate and I, but the buildings’ owner loved the idea. He was a drinking mate with his local sergeant and told us to front up at the local cop shop, to collect the paperwork to legitimise our enterprise.

To be continued, because I hit the submit button whilst trying to multitask.

[star_down_under]

Part ll continued.

With much trepidation my mate and I (voluntarily!!) attended the police station to ask for a note, exempting us from from complying with the law of the land. We really expected to be chucked out on our collective arses. We got to the counter and asked for the sergeant by name. He came out carrying a permit each, authorising us to travel with overdimentional road trains, 24/7!
As he handed us the coveted but unbelievable permit, he added the caveat, that if a smart copper read the permit, it wouldn’t be worth the paper it was typed on, but his signature may buy us some latitude.
A bit of a disappointment, but still better than running totally hot. We discussed our modus operandi, with my mate deciding to sneak around in the dark, when there was less chance of being seen or what he was doing. As a further precaution, he would have all the overhang sticking out the left side, claiming that anyone apart from another truck driver, would assume it was just a couple of fridge vans. Truckies never give each other up.

My theory is that if you’re upfront and in plain sight, looking as if what you’re doing is legit, most people will assume you are legit. It also mitigates the action, if you can claim ignorance, something quite unbelievable when you’re obviously furtively sneaking around. I had my permit to reinforce my claim of ignorance.

In the almost twelve months we spent flouting the law, I was never questioned, result!
My mate was pulled up in a one horse hamlet, once, by the only constable within a hundred kilometres. Said copper was known to be, “not the sharpest tool in the shed”, (probably why he was there) and easily baffled with bulldust.
He recognised that the truck was overwidth and checked my mate’s licence, book and permit. His book was in order, no flags on his licence and the copper had done three laps of the double road train, when my mate innocently asked “What’s up mate? That permit’s not out of date, is it?” (knowing it wasn’t, but nor was it worth a pinch of the proverbial). The copper replied “No, no the permit’s fine, but there’s something odd about your truck, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
He then let him carry on.

[star_down_under]

Another one that a thread in Bully’s jogged my memory. Not truck or transport related, but I don’t think the thread title specifies it has to be.

My father joined the RN (Real Navy according to him ) as a boy sailor, soon after WW ll. His father worked for the same company for over fifty years, from leaving school until retirement in the mid 60s. He was disappointed that my dad didn’t want to follow in his footsteps.
Grandad used to send Dad the quarterly works magazine, in which each publication would profile an employee. One of the volumes portrayed a young, attractive office girl. Using a flimsy excuse, my father started a brief correspondence with her. He asked her out for dinner, on his return to the UK, which she accepted. She was asked to choose a venue, as Dad had been at sea for two years.
A flash and painfully expensive restaurant, in London, was chosen. Before the meal was complete, it became obvious that she was only after a night at a posh joint, that neither she nor any civilian boyfriend could ever afford. It cost my old man a months pay.
She was ordering top shelf champagne and tucker as if she was royalty. Dad decided to embarrass her and ordered a Newcastle Brown Ale, the waiter had to run down the road to a more down market pub, to procure the common, blue collar beverage.

[spardo]

My father joined the RN (Real Navy according to him )

Grey Funnel Line, according to my mates and I.

Nice stories btw.

[mushroomman]

You’ve done it again S.D.U. your tales of ducking and diving with a road train and your dad ordering a bottle of “ ■■■■■■ Broon” in a posh restaurant in London, had me tittering and grinning like a Cheshire cat.

It reminded me of three brilliant lads who I had the pleasure of working with in the eighties, Tony, Ken and Jimmy.
All three of them had been doing continental work since the early seventies and Tony had worked for Allen’s Transport in Trafford Park, doing mainly Italy and France.

As Tony was coming up to his fortieth birthday, his wife had reserved a table for six, at a “posh” Italian restaurant. Tony, his wife and their four best friends were sat at their table, when the wine waiter came over and asked “what would they would like to order.” The group decided that as Tony was the only one who had ever been to Italy and after all it was his birthday, that he should select a good Italian wine.

Tony asked the waiter for two bottles of Frizzante and the waiter, looking very surprised said, “what.”
Frizzante, said Tony, it’s very popular in Italy, it has a picture of a blue elephant on the label, all the British and Dutch drivers drink it in Carisio, that’s a town between Turin and Milan, he explained to his friends.

The waiter assured Tony that he had never heard of it but he said that he would check with the manager, who was an Italian. A few minutes later the waiter, along with a snotty looking manager wearing a Penguin Suit, came over to their table and informed Tony that Frizzante, in English, meant fizzy wine.

At the time we all thought that Frizzante was a great wine for less than £1 a bottle. It must have been good because they sold crates of it in Carisio.
Come to think of it, I don’t think that it had a cork and instead, had a steel cap and it came in what looked like the old, plain, British sterilized milk bottles.
And then I remembered this thread.

trucknetuk.com/phpBB/viewto … 35&t=40319

[star_down_under]

So Frizzante is like Fosters, a drink that Australia is famous for, but is so bad no native will drink it.

[erf-ngc-european]

Frizzante in Italian just means fizzy. You ask for aqua frizzante and you get fizzy water

[paul_motyka]

Star down under.:
So Frizzante is like Fosters, a drink that Australia is famous for, but is so bad no native will drink it.
0

Star down under.When I was on holiday in Sydney back in 2000 I asked for a pint of Fosters.
Barman said we don’t drink that crap here,why do you think we send it over to you in England.
I had too laugh & cant remember now what I had to drink.

[spardo]

paul motyka:

Star down under.:
So Frizzante is like Fosters, a drink that Australia is famous for, but is so bad no native will drink it.
0

Star down under.When I was on holiday in Sydney back in 2000 I asked for a pint of Fosters.
Barman said we don’t drink that crap here,why do you think we send it over to you in England.
I had too laugh & cant remember now what I had to drink.

Never tried it, is it not good then.

[paul_motyka]

Spardo:

paul motyka:

Star down under.:
So Frizzante is like Fosters, a drink that Australia is famous for, but is so bad no native will drink it.
0

Star down under.When I was on holiday in Sydney back in 2000 I asked for a pint of Fosters.
Barman said we don’t drink that crap here,why do you think we send it over to you in England.
I had too laugh & cant remember now what I had to drink.

Never tried it, is it not good then.

Spardo,just drank what the local’s had.Wish I could remember what it was.

[spardo]

paul motyka:

Spardo:

paul motyka:

Star down under.:
So Frizzante is like Fosters, a drink that Australia is famous for, but is so bad no native will drink it.
0

Star down under.When I was on holiday in Sydney back in 2000 I asked for a pint of Fosters.
Barman said we don’t drink that crap here,why do you think we send it over to you in England.
I had too laugh & cant remember now what I had to drink.

Never tried it, is it not good then.

Spardo,just drank what the local’s had.Wish I could remember what it was.

Did you get a pint though? When I lived there the glasses were much smaller, something to do with not having a chance to get warm I think.

[star_down_under]

Schooners (15 fl oz) in NSW and pots (10 fl oz) in Queensland. Spot on david,larger receptacles are warm by the time they are half consumed.

afar.com/magazine/how-to-or … 0territory.

[paul_motyka]

Star down under.:
Schooners (15 fl oz) in NSW and pots (10 fl oz) in Queensland. Spot on david,larger receptacles are warm by the time they are half consumed.

afar.com/magazine/how-to-or … 0territory.

Midi I think it was for the wife & a schooner for me.
Barman got the glasses out of a freezer from behind the bar,ice cold beer lovely jubbly.

[paul_motyka]

paul motyka:

Star down under.:
Schooners (15 fl oz) in NSW and pots (10 fl oz) in Queensland. Spot on david,larger receptacles are warm by the time they are half consumed.

afar.com/magazine/how-to-or … 0territory.

Midi I think it was for the wife & a schooner for me.
Barman got the glasses out of a freezer from behind the bar,ice cold beer lovely jubbly.

Just remembered what beer it was.Castlemaine xxxx

[spardo]

paul motyka:

paul motyka:

Star down under.:
Schooners (15 fl oz) in NSW and pots (10 fl oz) in Queensland. Spot on david,larger receptacles are warm by the time they are half consumed.

afar.com/magazine/how-to-or … 0territory.

Midi I think it was for the wife & a schooner for me.
Barman got the glasses out of a freezer from behind the bar,ice cold beer lovely jubbly.

Just remembered what beer it was.Castlemaine xxxx

I worked for Resch’s in Sydney.
For just one day.
4 wheel short flat, pallet loaded with beer crates, 250 metres down the hill to the rail sidings, find a wagon with empty pallets, handball them across, find a wagon with empty crates, handball them across, back up the hill where the forkie gave me a chit for a pint (yes, a pint) of beer in the brewery bar while he tipped and reloaded me, back down the hill, same again, back up the hill, same procedure into the bar, down another pint, dack bown her pill, same again, up her again, down her again till linchtume. Into a milk bar, downed a pint of milk, big mistake, I was dehydrated, not starving, massive crippling stomach cramps, felt like I was pedalling that bloody truck up to the top again.

I survived the afternoon, don’t know how, only my body was there. Finally ‘See yer tomorra mate’, cheery grin, 'not bloody likely mate, let ‘em go thirsty beyond the black stump’.

Next day, looking for work again. Oh here’s one ‘flipping pig iron in a foundry’. Should be easy enough. In Sydney summer heat? In a bloody foundry? My brain must have been frazzled by Resch’s because I went and signed on.

Another one day job, now, what’s next. Hmm.

[mushroomman]

OK You wanted a story.
Postby hlb » Tue Sep 27, 2011 8:14 am

As I said, I did alot of work internally in Saudi.

So I gets this trailer and got as far as Tiefe. But it was Ramadan and I could not find any diesel any where.

Well, I was not about to set off across a desert, without a full tank of juice. So I then remembered a Lockheeds camp, that I’d passed a good few times, so thought I’ll see if they have any.

They welcomed me, like all the camps did and could not be more helpful, But said they were a training camp and did not have any fuel.

They showed me to a nice bungalow, that they said I could have for the night, because some one was away on leave.

Then they showed me the restaurant, the bar and the swimming pool. Having done allot of work for British Airospace, it was always like that. I mostly had some welcoming bar I could go to, if I had the time.

So in the morning, two of the guys called round to my bungalow. They said they could find me some diesel.

So we all jumped in the truck and off we went.

We look after the Saudi Airforce Early Warning System, they said, we can get some out of their generator tank. :shock

So as we arrived, they said, dont stop, just keep going very slowly and leave it to us.

There were a couple of police type guys there with machine guns, the two guys in the cab kept waving there pass cards at them, but course the guards kept pointing at me. So more waving of cards and we got in.

Inside, we drove to this humungus diesel tank. But course it was plumbed into the generators, so no real way of getting some out.

One of the guys went off and came back with a bucket. So we unscrewed the bung at the bottom of the tank and smartly put it back in again when each bucket was filled. All this with two armed guards looking on puzzled.

So after umpteen bucket fulls, the tank was full.

Dropping them back at camp, they asked if I could help them out.

They were running out of malt to make their beer and asked if I could collect some Blue Label malt from there depot in Damman.

No probs I said, so off I went. Nothing illegal about carrying malt.

At damman, it was same as usual. Pub, swimming pool, restaurant and room.

Bit of a shock the next time I went there, there was a queue of arabs at the back door of the pub, all with jugs in their hands.

I told them that they had better be more carefull, but they took no notice.

Next time I went, they were all very glum, the bar man was in jail for two years and the bar closed down.

Re: Astran / Middle East Drivers.
Postby Efes » Tue Jan 31, 2017 6:56 am

Ali Baba roundabout in Sadoon Street, Baghdad. I sometimes stayed at the Adam down the road when I took freight to the Baghdad expo.

I remember that someone had spilled heating oil (not a dribble but REALLY spilled - gallons and gallons of diesel) in the foyer and that we had to hold our breath fetching our room keys because the diesel fumes in the heat were just too terrible. Poor old Abdul had to stand all day breathing in the fumes…

Having a meal at the Adam one day with my boss, Peter Calderwood of Promotor, I saw a huge rat as long as your arm go under the table opposite where a group of Austrians were eating. Peter scoffed when I told him I’d seen a giant rat and when the waiter came over he asked him “Are there rats in this restaurant?” The waiter said “No, no. Only little kittens. Lovely fluffy kittens”. At that moment the entire table of Austrians leaped to their feet with chairs crashing backways and the rat slowly headed towards the staircase and went at leisurely pace up the steps…

Re: Astran / Middle East Drivers.
Postby Efes » Tue Jan 31, 2017 8:51 am

PanX wrote:
Having been out of this strange, sometimes surreal but compelling job, because that is what it is, the experiences of, drivers, trucking firms and companies and the Middle East job iteself for such a long time, I am staggered and saddened by the names that I see on here that have passed on. Posts on here from back in the day, when you say to yourself… I remember him…a good bloke or I wonder what so and so is doing now. We’re all a lot older…but lest we forget.

Does anyone remember a guy who was on for Eric Vic’s he hadn’t been out of the para’s very long.( circa 1980) We were all waiting in a seething mass of people waving paperwork in 40 degrees in Habur. There was a sign…“NO NOISEY” and “KEEP OUT THE DIRTY” (not sure what that was about). Everyone was pushing and shoving to get to the front. There was a Bulgarian /Turkish chap who tried to push in front of us all, after a brief conversation and a swift left hook, order was restored. Oh and a few people dragged off a Bulgarian/Turkish driver to the back of the queue. Funny how everyone was happy to stand in the queue after that.

Thought that sign at Habur said PREVENT THE DIRTY !!!

Re: Astran / Middle East Drivers.
Postby Efes » Tue Jan 31, 2017 8:51 am

I remember Habur well; “STOP THE NOISEY” and “PREVENT THE DIRTY” neither of which notices apparently had any effect on the assemblage. Then out into the carpark queue and squeeze through the mass of jostling trucks with everyone in a bad temper having waited days and days. I think I had waited 3 or 4 days one year in a queue from the far side of Silopi going towards Baghdad. Grim.

A Turkish soldier was stopping the queue going through the town of Silopi. I joshed with him and I took a few photos as he pointed his gun at me… Then a bit later he got into an argument with a Tonka driver and whacked the driver round the head with his rifle ■■■■ and knocked him out and started putting the boot in while the poor fellow was on the ground… Really brutal, I was quite shocked watching and then he came back to me and demanded my camera. Well I wasn’t going to give to him and I started shouting at him as aggressively as I could (all 5’ 6" of me) to make him understand that I wasn’t having any nonsense… Happily for me - because he was getting really nasty - an army jeep turned up just in time - and he was driven away… I was rather grateful that it arrived.

One night later as I slowly edged closer to Habur during the night 3 Austrian trucks went flying past in the dark flat out… People in the queue were stoning them as they drove past. Next morning as the queue slowly moved forward we saw the three Austrian trucks at the side of the road with every bit of glass gone, windscreen, side windows, headlights, and every panel dented. No sign of the drivers. Mind you typical that it was Austrians trying to jump the queue. I often wondered what had happened to them. I can’t help thinking they might have been badly beaten or worse. After 3 or 4 days queuing in the 40 degrees heat and having to stay awake to edge forward every 15 minutes tempers are very frayed indeed.

Somewhere I have the photos but the T&S has tidied everything of mine so I can’t find anything.
Efes
SENIOR MEMBER
Posts: 230
Joined: Thu Dec 01, 2016 9:14 am
Top

I believe that the Eric Vick driver who had just come out of the army in the early eighties was called Andy Ashley and I.I.R.C. he was a Paramedic. M.M.

[spardo]

No new posts at all since yesterday afternoon, did the site go down again while I wasn’t looking? I only come here once a day early doors since the slowness took over, but I thought all that was behind us now.

[mushroomman]

A COUPLE OF TALES FROM “THE SMOKE”.

Re: STREET & ROAD SCENES
Postby robroy » Wed Dec 06, 2023 9:39 pm

Is the old Red Lion at Aldgate still going?
If it is I bet it does not resemble how it used to be …not very pc in those days.

Next to the Aldgate underground station as far as I remember…we used to go down there to get a wash prior to getting changed and out for the night.
Red Lion watch the dodgy strippers then down to The Long Bar, and a couple of others that I can’t remember.
Then back to the park which was a [zb] big roundabout in the middle of the city (can you imagine that happening today? ) a burger and a coffee at the snack van, then to bed across the seats, or in a sleeper cab if you were lucky.

If that park was full, head for ‘The Ramp’ at Bishopgate Whitechapel, tea at the Greek cafe…then round the bars.
Great days when the job was actually good.

robroy
SENIOR MEMBER

Do you mean the ‘dodgy’ Exotic Swedish stripper with the Cockney accent Rob. Probably the nearest that she ever got to Sweden was on the bottom bunk of a Volvo F88. I seem to remember Tubby Issac’s seafood stall being lit up by a couple of Tilley paraffin lamps, I never had the Jellied Eels but I did have a tub of potted shrimps on a couple of occasions.

I used to park up on the Vallance Road car park about half a mile away and walk down, usually with about half a dozen other drivers down Whitechapel Road to The Red Lion in Aldgate. There were a few good cafe’s around Vallance Road and if you didn’t have a ‘cab wash’, you could walk around the corner to The Salvation Army ‘doss house’ for a wash and brush up. M.M.

Re: 1960’s &70’s town centre lorry parks, where were they?
Postby robroy » Fri Dec 23, 2022 5:15 pm

Birdie4x4 wrote:
Bewick wrote:
The centre of Aldgate roundabout ! We used to stop at a Greek run Kebab House great little digs plus there was a few decent boozers around IIRC The Red Lion and The Long Bar? and, of course we would walk down to Leman St. to visit “H”'s favourite haunt “The Brown Bear” !! Happy days Bewick.

I used to stop at Aldgate regularly in the early 70s, if I was the other side of London there was a good park the top side of Putney Bridge, when loading out of Rotherhithe with hazardous materials we weren’t allowed to sleep in the cab so I stopped in digs at Carlo’s on Deptford High Street.

It may have been mentioned in the thread (maybe even by me ) cba to look back, but there used to be a burger van on there that was used by lads coming back from the pub, and a little guy who had a makeshift ‘shack’ on there made out if I think pallets covered in plastic sheets, that was his home poor sod.
I remember there were a couple of clowns (drivers ) aggravating him one night kicking the side of his shed, me and a couple more intervened and told them to [zb] off and leave the poor guy alone.
It did get a bit heated as I recall, but they did eventually go.
Another occasion…again maybe already mentioned by me…
The parking attendant, a little Pakistani guy, I remember one night he was going [zb] crazy screaming away in his own language.
Some dirty 2hat had taken a crap behind a trailer, and the little guy had stood in it…in his sandals and bare feet.
He wasn’t happy.
Good days them when drivers got together, and you got a good social life out of the job…I still do today in fact… but not that good like the old days.
robroy
SENIOR MEMBER

Rockware Av. Greenford (Butler’s Transport?)
Postby Looooo » Tue Nov 04, 2014 11:06 am

It is now Wincanton “shared user” site.
Feels like it dates from the 50’s or 60’s
Does anyone know anything about it? Who it was originally built for/by and when? Looking around there are old signs along one wall saying Butler’s Transport Only and I used to load out of a door with Pernot Ricard signs.
The bakery site next door has been knocked down recently and it is surrounded by shiny new industrial units. Makes me wonder how much time it has left.
It is a good place to work out of and I just wondered if anyone could shed any light on its history.

Re: Rockware Av. Greenford (Butler’s Transport?)
Postby Twoninety88 » Tue Nov 04, 2014 10:09 pm

I am fairly sure it was built as ,and always was a Customs Bonded warehouse. We used to run wine and spirits in and out of there in the 1980’s. We picked up full loads of cased wine from different points in Germany on the Mosel and the Rhine , all handball into our tilt trailers and unloaded the same way at Greenford, if the drivers gave a hand at the German end, you always got a case or two of white wine for yourselves. I also ran full loads of vintage Port in there for deep storage for IDV and Sandemans.

Postby hutpik » Wed Nov 05, 2014 1:31 am

Hi all.If it’s the same Place i’m thinking of [long time ago] wasn’t it called Greenford I C D.[internal customs depot].We used to tip and load bonded loads there in the early and mid 70s.They had there own customs people on place.

Postby dally1 » Wed Nov 05, 2014 2:42 am

If it’s the same Butlers at Greenford that I’m thinking of then I think they also had an outlet at Wigan. Both sites were called Butlers and carried the P&O logo.

I remember the very first time I went into London, mid to late 80’s. I was to collect a load from BRS at Brentford but it wasn’t due in till the evening. The manager came to me and told me that I was to do a London local. My heart sank, I told him that it was my 1st ever trip into London and that I didn’t even know where I was never mind anywhere else.

I think he felt for me as he said, never mind then, it’s Butlers at Greenford and you won’t find it. I couldn’t believe it, on the way into BRS I had seen Butlers with the P&O logo and it had stuck. I told him and took it but of all the places the load could have been for, it was for the only place in the whole capital, that I new the way too. What were the chances eh??

Re: Rockware Av. Greenford (Butler’s Transport?)
Postby bendigonian » Sun Oct 23, 2016 2:24 am

I worked at Butlers back in 1976 - 77 when I was a young fella, new import from Oz. Used to live in West Ealing and catch the little diesel train to Greenford. Back then it was called Butler’s Warehousing & Distribution Ltd, and claimed it was the largest covered warehouse in Europe. All of the warehouses to the left of the central alley, as you faced from Greenford station, were devoted to bulk tea imports, and used to smell lovely, except in summer when the tannin used to be overpowering. I worked as a reach forklift driver in the warehouses on the right which were half devoted to stock for Debenham’s stores (don’t know if they still exist; haven’t been back to Pommie since 1978), which I used to pull out of the racks and assemble into delivery truck loads, and half devoted to bulk biscuits and soft drink. Used to use Monotrol Hysters to load and unload them onto and off 40 footers.
I’ve still got the recommendation they wrote me dated 29/9/1978…it was tucked inside the old passport. They address on it was PO Box 14 Rockware Avenue Greenford.
Drove my first truck for Butler’s too, and wrecked my first parked cars!

Looking on Google Maps I can see that the warehouses are still there and are called Wincanton at the front, but I can’t see through the trees to see who’s using the rear end where I used to work. They were certainly built to last; I think they were 30 years old when I was there in the '70s. Memory plays funny tricks though, and I can’t even recall that pub on the corner, and I’m sure I would have gone in for a beer or two. I also thought there was some sort of hospital where Tata Beverages is, because I used to sneak into its staff cafe late at night. I blame lead in petrol fumes and anno domini.

But Butler’s was a strange company then. So was England too!! James Callaghan and 50 quid for 50 hours. Nobody wanted to work, except for Ozzie and Kiwi imports. Butlers had a penny a pallet bonus for forkies, but then refused to pay it to me because I loaded and unloaded every truck that came in while the other forkies played dominos. They put two extra Debenhams trucks on to load on night shift and added two hours of overtime to the start of the shift, because it was load and finish. I found that if I worked hard enough I could finish all the trucks inside the two hours overtime and go home before my shift actually started…They didn’t like that much either.

All of Debenhams electonics were kept in a security cage, but that didn’t stop pallets of them going missing. So being Australian and on night shift, they sent the Ds around to turn my house over. Wasted time, I knew how the pallets were getting out, on their precious day shift. Still, enough was enough, and I didn’t mind when they started retrenching in 1977. I moved onto Joseph Lucas (Prince of Darkness), at Acton, until the time came to go home to Oz and reacquire my true accent.

Still driving 40 years later, but now it’s something a bit bigger than a TK Bedford. It’s 25m bdoubles now, Melbourne, Victoria to Moree in NSW Australia, 1220 km in 15 hours (for AUD556 a leg or about GBP330 per day). I blame my career choice on Butlers. The smell of diesel gets into the pores and never comes out. Still it’s a good life if you like listening to music and talking books, swearing at motorists and caravanners and running over Australia’s national emblem. Got another one this week. The roos are a bit young and silly this time of year and there’s a limit to how far you can swing a bdouble to try and miss them.
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[mushroomman]

Old Trucking tales !
Postby Pat Hasler » Sun Nov 21, 2004 5:06 am

Having seen the coments about ‘Old Gits’ etc and writting down our humorous tales, I thought I would start the ball rolling and reading the Bears coments in his diary, he mentioned ‘Spittlefields’ which brings back some very amusing memories.
Here are couple of tales invoving that place ;-

In the 80’s when I drove for Swifts I often had Maidstone trunk and ran down the road and back with a very good mate from another company, his CB handle was ‘Diesel Dan’, any one from that era who had a CB and ran the M1 at night would of heard of us. The M25 was not complete then and so we used the Blackwall tunnel going south, but because of the low clearance we came through the city comming back and stopped at a burger stand in Spittlefields every time, a few regulars would be there including a driver of a then new company called ‘Federal Express’ The Fed Ex driver was a nice enough guy but we held an amount of jealosy concerning his very good pay and conditions. One night as we stood eating our monster sized grub the Fed Ex driver visited the underground loo’s nearby and during his absence a very smelly bag lady aproached us asking for a lift to Northampton, I said “no way” but my mate said “Yes, my love, go and get in my cab and I will be along as soon as I have finished eating” … I was rather shocked because he kapt his cab so clean, then his reason became clear… “Mine is the Federal Express truck” he said We watched as the old lady climbed into the passenger side of the Sedon Atkinson and closed the door behind her.
The Fed Ex driver returned from the loo, finished his tea and said “I’m off now lads, see you soon” we watched him go to his truck, open the door and then go beserk “WHAT THE [zb] ARE YOU DOING IN HERE ?, GET THE [zb] OUT OF HERE”

We quicky got in our cabs and drove away at speed

On another occasion we were driving toward the same spot and listening to some smooth talking slob trying to chat up a young ■■■■■■■ the CB (I forget which channel) during trying to impress her he mentioned he owned a new Jaguar, a new Porshe, a ■■■■■■ RS turbo… OH! and he also owned an old bedford van that he used as a run around
I keyed the mike and said “What the guy means luv is that he owns an old Bedford van and thats all he has, so if you go out with him he will arrive in the old van”
“Why don’t you [zb] off” said the slob … we soon got into a slanging match and he said he would come an beat the crap out on both me and my mate. My companion agree’d to this and told him to meet us a Spittlefield, near the burger van … I was shocked by the invitation untill my mate went on further, “I’ll be in a Federal Express truck” he said, I had a job to withold my laughter. We had been at the burger bar about 10 minutes when along comes this beaten up Bedord van that screeches to a halt at the Fed Ex truck and the slob gets out looking for the driver, who responds to his abuse by beating the crap out of him (He was a very big driver )

So now all you guys who have some funny tales get writting, I will post some more soon
Pat Hasler (Plasticbag)
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Postby smcaul » Sun Nov 21, 2004 6:55 am

Best we ever did was when mobile phones were first being used, the TM would ring us up every 5 minutes to find out where we were. needless to say we soon got bored and as a result started diverting our phones through to each other so he never got the person he wanted. After we got bored of that game we used to leave the phones on divert to the local massage parlour, he got the point after that and stopped phoning as much.

Postby marlow » Sun Nov 21, 2004 7:14 am

I had to laugh when I saw this post. When I think about old drivers one particular driver comes to mind. (working for Marshalls at the time)

As I started driving Craggy was nearing retirement. (he later earned the nickname Clarence after the blind Ronnie Barker removals man. He was a star but he was as blind as a bat. He would regally get his notes and turn to another driver and say ‘ere have you ever heard of that one?’ Naylor Myers at Brighouse! You pass it every day as you go to the motorway Craggy. O eye! Would come his reply, the truth was he couldn’t see the address.

He was a real character. He once came back to the yard one night and went in to see the transport manager. (he was well used to him taking the odd gatepost etc.)

“Harry, I better tell you before anyone else does, I ran over a bloke today”

Bleddy hell craggy how is he?

“ He’s Dead.”

Harry now in swetting - Dead!!!

Yep he died in 1926 but they buried him on the corner plot in Bradford cemetery. I keep telling them in planning it’s too tight in there for an artic!
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Postby Wheel Nut » Mon May 16, 2005 7:56 am

A short tale about some of the problems encountered during my visits to far off places.

A couple of trips already done to the Eastern Bloc and Greece, in my second hand very old Saviem (Berliet Renault) On this paricular trip I had tipped in the Customs in Pireaus and called home for my reload.

I had to load 22 tonne of prunes for Montrose from Deepest Yugoslavia, so I ran upto to the border at Evzoni and had a beer monster attack me. I had only had my trailer with a belly tank for this trip and had filled it with red diesel in Belgium on my way out. At the garage in Evzoni, Greece, I had the truck washed and greased and then blew the remainder of my diesel into my running tank. I then filled up with brown (white legal fuel)

The next day I ran into Yugo and drove for about 7 hours, to find the factory and found out it was a holiday the next day. More beer consumed and managed to find a restaurant that was open.

Eventually I loaded and made my way to the Hotel National in Beograd, a few beers and a meal then started my way up to the border.

Disaster!

The truck stopped, after suffering a lack of power for a few minutes. I had bought this truck from a scrap yard in Doncaster, it was ex Burtons Tailoring, absolutely spotless and plated at 24 tonne. Until now it had run faultlessly and had only cost me a headlight bulb and a number plate to make me legal.

Of course I had come prepared and I had a bicycle tool kit under the bunk, plus a hammer and several spanners. I tipped the cab looking for the obvious, then looked further into the problem. No problem, but it still wouldnt start.

I decided that it was fuel starvation and as the tanks were full and the pipes connected, it could be a fuel pump fault. By now it was getting dark, so by the light of a torch I took the lift pump off and tried to pump some fuel through it, it was pumping nothing and expelling air.

The next thing I tried was using my water canister as a fuel tank and filled it up, stood it on the roof of my tilt and fed a pipe direct to the injector pump. I managed to get the truck running with a gravity feed, to confirm my suspicions that the lift pump was shot.

Pitch black on the roads by now and hardly any traffic around. I decided that I could do no more. I didnt want to leave my lights on overnight as I would need a good battery to bleed the truck if I got the pump fixed tomorrow. I had bought some petroleum jelly cookers in Germany, these were like a tin with vaseline in them, you couldlight them and they would burn for several hours. I had seen roadworks in Italy and Yugoslavia marked like this, so I lit them and placed them on the road behind my truck, then went to bed.

As I hadnt really thought about my situation, I hadnt worried yet, I was 2000 miles from home with a broken truck and no way of contacting anyone, no breakdown cover and no spare parts.

I must have managed some sleep thoyugh because the next morning I woke up to find the sun shining, and I got out for the toilet, only to find a police car parked behind me with the blue light slowly flashing.

The policeman was fast asleep with his head on the steering wheel. something woke him and he got out and started saying something. It was obviosly not understood, so he tried several things before we discovered we could both speak and understand a little English.

He was worried that a truck may have hit me during the night and decided to park behind me. Now I had a faulty fuel pump and he had a flat battery.

I managed to make some coffee while showing him my fuel pump and trying to tell him I needed a Renault Saviem mechanic.

After this he flagged a car down with his lollipop and with the driver and his passenger, we managed to push the police car to start the engine, he then disappeared with my pump somewhere. 2 hours later, he was back, telling me the man he had seen didnt have a pump like that. After quite a while trying to work something out, I took the pump to pieces and found the diaphragm was split, probably caused by all the rust it had pumped through from the belly tank.

The policeman then flagged a truck down and ordered the driver to tow me to a garage about 60 miles away. This was fine except this bloke had something like a 13 tonne rigid which resembled a Mercedes 1617, built in Yugoslavia and fully freighted himself. I was grossing around 36tonne. Well as the drivers were frightened of being sent to siberia for the winter he got out a bar and coupled my truck to his while I wound the brakes off the unit and trailer.

The copper followed us for a few miles then stopped us and bid me goodbye and good luck. To this point , no one had asked for or hinted about money or payment of any kind. i gave him a couple of cans of warm cocacola and he was happy and left us. Now I have a driver who speaks nothing I understand and I dont even know where we are going, I cant do much else except follow him, slowly I might add!

Eventually he pulled off the main road into a compound and took me into a very small dark shed, he greeted the man in there working on an engine and showed him my truck and pointed to the fuel tanks. I got the pump out of my cab and showed him where the rubber was split. He laughed and went back to his shed. within an hour he had my truck running again, had readjusted the brakes and was asking me for 50 Deutsche Marks (£15) I later found out that my fuel pump was the same as that fitted to his tractor in the garage and he had given me his diapragm.

That evening, I spent a months wages on these blokes in the local bar. A months wages to them, not me.

That would and could not happen in these days of Just in Time deliveries and Sat nav.

The sad thing is that these two blokes who had saved me, could now be at each others throats through a religious war, or even worse. ethnic cleansing
I lost my marbles and got an HGV licence. now I have lost my HGV and still havent found what I’m looking for.
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