hello young Ivor. Long time no see.’
‘Bloody hell! Hello Ray, how nice to see you. Must be a couple of years at least,’ he said as he sat down to join me for a cuppa.
Ray was an old workmate from Titcheners who’d left to try his hand elsewhere. One of life’s good guys, we spent the next half hour or so sorting out the rights and wrongs of the transport industry, and the world in general. Lorry drivers are particularly good at that sort of thing.
‘You don’t seem too happy with the job,’ noted Ray with his tooth-free grin.
‘No mate, to be honest with you I’m totally hacked off. It’s a struggle to earn a decent crack as it’s near enough all day work. I haven’t done any Sealand containers for six months or more. I’m actually thinking about packing it in.’
‘Aye, sounds like you need a change, I don’t remember seeing you this down before.’
‘I know.’ I said despondently. ‘But where do you go Ray? They’re all as bad as each other.’
‘Well . . . tell you what Ivor, how do you like the idea of driving a brand new lorry?’
‘Ha, and pigs might fly.’ I countered. ‘Wouldn’t we all, don’t know when I last saw a new truck in this part of the world. Most of them are as old as Methuselah’s second-hand chariot.’
‘Look son,’ fishing a crumpled bit of paper out of his well-worn jacket pocket and handing it over to me. ‘Try this number. They’re a major building contractor who’ve made a huge amount of money developing these new estates and, so I’ve heard, need to spend a ‘little’ to reduce their tax liability. For some reason or other they’ve decided to invest in transport.’
‘You sure of all this Ray?’ I asked. ‘Seems too good to be true, and you know what they say about that?’
‘Listen, I wouldn’t tell just anybody, but you’ve always been a good lad, and yes, it’s as true as I’m sat here. Money’s tidy as well, £55 a week plus 10% of the vehicle’s earnings and £5 per night out.’
‘Blimey,’ was all I could say, as I stuffed the already crumpled piece of paper in my trouser pocket.
Little did I realise how on such small events one’s life can turn . . .
‘Thanks for that, but I’d better be off mate,’ I smiled, shaking his hand. ‘I’ve still got four loads of timber to deliver.’
By the end of the day the nub of our conversation had slipped my mind, probably because, being a realist, I didn’t think it was true. The following morning, a Saturday, found me turning out my trouser pockets ready for the weekly wash and the crumpled scrap of paper drifted to the floor. Picking it up, rather than throwing it in the bin, I carefully unfurled it and looked at the number. Shall I, shan’t I? Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound and I went out to the phone box and rang the number.
‘Can I speak to Brian please?’
And that was it, done. A truly momentous moment in my life, and I didn’t even know it . . . yet!
As the new depot hadn’t officially been opened, a meeting at his house was arranged for 10.30am the following morning. Brian was going to be my new transport manager and we hit it off straightaway, being offered a start on their first day of trading, Tuesday week. Not only that, he’d collect me from my house at seven thirty. I couldn’t imagine Wilf or any of my previous employers offering to do that! Everything was as Ray had told me, good old boy. Of course, Wilf was less than happy as I gave him the ‘good’ news, running past me all the ‘favours’ he’d done me over the last four years. I’ve never found it a pleasant experience jacking in a job, but sometimes you have to move on and this was definitely one of those times.
chapter four
AT LAST, THE FUTURE BECKONS
The week, which just happened to be Easter, dragged by interminably and as the days trickled past I felt a nervous tension building inside me, one I’d never felt before, and by Tuesday morning I was like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof. Poor Jenny didn’t know what to do with me.
To the minute, Brian was collecting me from my front door and he must have sensed my nervousness; either that or my very sweaty palms gave me away, as he wiped his hands on a tissue!
‘Relax Ivor,’ he said encouragingly. ‘It’ll be great working together.’
Eighteen miles later we were rolling into W. Jackson Haulage Ltd’s new yard. At the top end there was a brand new brick-built office and at the bottom a workshop with some warehousing.
‘No lorries?’ I enquired, feeling a little less tense.
‘Well spotted,’ he laughed. ‘They’ll start to arrive on Thursday. Meanwhile, for the next couple of days, if you wouldn’t mind running a few errands?’
‘No problem, just let me know.’
‘Right,’ said Brian after a pot of tea – well, tea in a strainer with boiling water poured over it. ‘Here’s a shopping list for you to be getting on with. We’ve accounts at most of the places, but here’s a couple of hundred in case you need cash for bits and bobs. Just make sure you get receipts.’
I walked out the door straight into my new boss, Billy Jackson.
‘Well, ’ow do son, tha must be Ivor. Pleased to meet thee,’ as he stretched out a gnarled hand. ‘Tha’s leaving already?’ he smiled.
‘Off to do some shopping Mr Jackson,’ I mumbled.
‘Billy, call me Billy.’
Over the next couple of days I visited every truck-related business in the area, buying dogs and chains, rope, tarpaulins, lenses, bulbs and anything remotely associated with a road transport operation. Oh, and a teapot! Then, on the Thursday morning, this time sharing a proper pot of tea with Brian and Billy, into the yard rolled UTJ 645M, an absolutely brand spanking new DAF 2600 in yellow. I was gobsmacked.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I blurted out.
‘Well, as tha’s our senior employee, it’s for thee,’ said Billy, with a grin on his face. ‘Go on, go and ’ave a butchers at tha new toy.’
Trying not to look too much like a bloke that’s won a million on the pools, I tried walking nonchalantly across to my new wheels. It was stunning, so futuristic compared to anything I’d driven previously. A full double sleeper, proper heater, suspension seat, fitted radio; there was just so much to take on board. Mind you, the gearbox took a little getting used to as it was a back to front six speed ZF with a splitter, giving 12 gears. The cab was vast; with this little beauty I felt I could drive anywhere in the world, little realising that, in less than a year, I literally would be!
The next few months were some of the most enjoyable I’d experienced in the industry. The job was so much more satisfying with a decent seat beneath your backside, and the envious looks of other drivers didn’t dispel that feeling either. There’s no doubt this was a smart bit of kit and Jenny certainly noticed the difference in me. Me and Billy, despite his millionaire status, had become good mates and
