Tales from the open road, #281; sometimes it’s best not to ask. A familiar-looking lorry inches its way into the yard, stopping outside the warehouse. The engine was cut, and a bleary-eyed and weather-beaten Stan steps from the cab. On hearing the motor our benevolent boss emerges from the warehouse approaching his employee. He eyes the unshaven, dishevelled Stan up and down before inspecting the wagon. He stops briefly to glance at the flatbed. A lone pallet with several bags of animal feed perched on it sits against the bulkhead dollied down. He continues to the back of the truck, giving it a cursory glance before making his way back towards the cab. The boss looks Stan straight in the eye and asks: “Where is the trailer?” For the best part of two years during the 1980s, I drove for a small family business delivering farm machinery, pallets of feed and bedding, and other tools of the agricultural industry. Customers included farmers, retail outlets and wholesalers across the south of England.
A fleet of Iveco Ford Cargo two-axle rigid flatbeds were supplemented by a single two-axle drawbar trailer…with an A-frame. I manhandled a Ford Cargo 1615 that had a 16-tonne gross vehicle weight. Powered (I use that term loosely) by Ford’s own 148hp engine it worked tirelessly (and often in vain) with Ford’s own six-speed synchromesh transmission. What speed was generated by the engine was lost with a single gearchange. Occasionally, it would be hooked to the trailer grossing out at 26 tonnes to maximise potential. Now, I know what you are thinking. Skin and rice pudding; bed and blanket. And you’d be right, the Ford Cargo 1615 couldn’t separate any of them. From the warehouse to Cornwall and back was pretty straightforward; a two-day job. Down in the morning to make two-or-three deliveries, the first couple off the trailer that is then left in a layby. Next day would be one-or-two drops at most, collect the trailer and then trundle back empty. There was always enough time. However, in the summer Cornwall represented something of a challenge. Tourism. In the 1980s Cornwall was a very different place. Although there was less traffic the roads were single-carriageways. Everything backed up as families of four in aged motors towing caravans sought poorly-signposted campsites, or directions to the ‘seaside’. While the South Hams in Devon was already popular with second-home owners, Cornwall was less so. There were genuine local communities living in fully-equipped villages and there were more working farms with smaller acreages. Today…well, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again; Cornwall is ruined by the flood of affluent Londoners buying up houses to use for a fortnight every other summer, misguided wealthy second-generations bringing their artisan business concepts to sell to fellow outsiders, all the while choking up the impoverished road network with large, powerful SUVs, sports cars and aged Volkswagen campervans. Anyway, I partially digress. Stan had been taken on a fortnight before. He’d been shown the ropes, and how to rope. His dolly wasn’t bad, but you couldn’t play a tune on it. Initially his role was local work. On the third Monday of his employment he was handed several detailed maps of Cornwall – many with notes as to procedures for farms – and the keys to the 1615, my wagon, which was attached to a trailer. With five drops, one more than usual, he was sent on his way. That would have been me; instead I spent two days traipsing to London and Warwick collecting tractors, machinery and animal feed bound for the warehouse covering a holidaying driver. By Wednesday morning I was to have the keys to the 1615 but Stan had not returned. The boss got on the phone. The feedback was inconclusive. The farmers were out baling but retailers said they had received their parts – so at least two of the five deliveries had been made albeit out of sync. The boss waited all day, but Stan didn’t reappear. He got back on the blower. Stan had not yet been to two of the farms he was meant to deliver to Monday afternoon. It was now Wednesday evening. The boss made efforts to get to the bottom of why it took Stan so long. Seemingly he couldn’t find the first two farms at Yeolmbridge and Treneglos. He made two deliveries of tractor parts to retailers in Bodmin and Helston then showed up at a farm outside St Austell where he spent an afternoon reversing the A-frame trailer back down a lane because he’d missed the turning. To Stan’s credit, and without any experience of using one, he successfully reversed an A-frame trailer 150 yards. The farmer said as much. He got the farmer to transfer the remaining two loads from the trailer to the prime mover, then dropped the empty trailer in a layby to make the last deliveries back at Yeolmbridge and Treneglos. Out of time, he parked up and bobtailed back on Friday morning…without the trailer. No one knows what happened to the maps, why he couldn’t find the farms, or why he transferred the load. Stan took his bollocking without question, then walked to his car and left never to return. However, Stan’s experience did force change on the company. The benevolent boss got rid of the wagon and drag concept and went to an all-articulated fleet. Out went the Cargos and in came second hand ERF B-series 4x2 tractor units previously used to haul milk tankers. As he stated: “Less chance of you buggers leaving the trailers behind!”
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AuthorAging proletariat with face, teeth and body to prove it. Archives
August 2021
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