There were a lot of good times working at Van Maanen,basically because they were a great bunch of guys to work with,and many of them were hard drinkers too.
The drinking was a way to unwind,as the majority of them were away every weekend,either weekended somewhere or on the way to or from somewhere.
For a lot of the driver’s,the only time they had off was annual holidays,and even then some of them worked over Christmas or New Year.
I was asked a couple of times if I would like to work over Christmas,there were loads to be delivered in Italy on 26th & 27th of December,but I declined,as being away most of the year was one thing,but Christmas is a time to be with your family.
There were however some driver’s who volunteered,and they were paid a bonus for doing it.Sometimes casual or retired driver’s were taken on to cover these trips,which included going to Greece over the festive period.
When there were several of us weekended together,it was usually one big party,especially in the summer,when we would sit outside the Paradisio restaurant at Peschiera Del Garda,drinking and putting the world to rights.
After a lie-in on Sunday it was then a stroll into the town to see all the scantily clad young ladies that were frollicking on the lakeside,then to a bar to cool off with a few beers before hitting the pizzeria.
One of our driver’s,Art,was a hard drinker,and a bit of a card shark too.He would often sit outside on the resaurant veranda all Saturday night,with a case of beer at his side,playing poker with a couple of Scottish lads that were often there,and they’d go on till around six ‘o’ clock Sunday morning.
But,there were sad times too.
On one trip,I had gone down with Henk Wentink to deliver fresh fish at Lecco,which was a regular job every week for Van Maanen,loading in Ijmuiden Friday evening then driving through the night,double manned,to clear at Chiasso Saturday morning before tipping in Lecco at lunchtime.
We had unloaded and had gone to Peschiera to spend the weekend ready to load at Verona on Monday.When we arrived,there were three other Van Maanen driver’s there too,all looking very sombre and sad,and we soon found out why.
There used to be an owner driver who was also there a lot of weekends,Jan something,I can’t remember his second name,but he had an MAN wagon & drag.
A few hours before Henk and I arrived,Jan had collapsed and died at the bar,heart failure being the cause,and Frank Kreupeling,a veteran Van Maanen driver,had tried to ressucitate Jan,but to no avail,and he died in Frank’s arms.
Arrangements were made over the weekend with our office,and,Monday morning, Henk set off with Jan’s MAN to tip it in Holland and get it back to his widow,whilst I took Henk’s truck and loaded in Verona for Germany.
Loading at the giant AiA factory,at San Martino Di Lupari,just east of Verona,was our usual reload,they produced poultry produts of all descriptions which were destined for throughout europe.Germany,Belgium and Spain were our usual destinations when loading there,which was normally on a Friday.
This meant driving the whole weekend,to tip in Berlin or the Ruhr area Sunday night,or Malaga Tuesday morning.
Malaga was a good run,it was actually further from Barcelona to Malaga than it was from Verona to Barcelona,but made a nice change.
En-route to Malaga
And the return leg,this time with my Scania
Many weekends were spent at Carisio too,though Carisio didn’t really have the charm or allure that Peschiera had.
Nonetheless,good times were had,and again,when there were a crowd of us,the alcohol flowed.
Carisio has always had a bit of a reputation of driver’s fighting between themselves,especially when the vino has been flowing,followed by Sambucca or Amaretto.But,I have never personally experienced any trouble there,although it came close one Saturday night.
I had arrived there with Steve Firman,who had his girlfriend with him,after we had run down together.Steve was the other brit driving for Van Maanen,and had been there a year longer than me.
We had sat down in the restaurant ready to order a meal,when a very drunk dutchman comes staggering over and invites Steve’s girlfriend to join him and his mate’s at their table.
She politely refused,but the dutchman got louder and louder,and Steve and I told him to go and sit down and leave us alone.
He wasn’t having any of it,and got even louder and insisted she join their table.Eventually,the patron came over to take our order,and seeing the dutchman was getting out of hand,told him to sit down and shut up,or get out.So,he got out.The next morning his truck was gone.
But there were sad times too.The saddest for me being one Tuesday evening late 1993.
I had run down together with another driver,Henk Damkart and his Italian girlfriend,and we were at the bar having a coffee and Amaretto,just having finished our meal,complete with a large jug of frizzante.
I decided to phone my brother in Felixstowe,to see how things were,having been away for several weeks.Now those of you that know Carisio,will know that the phone booth is just between the main restaurant and the bar area.
I can still remember the conversation like it was yesterday…
Him:Where are you?
Me:Carisio
Him:What are you doing?
Me:Just had a meal
Him:Are you on your own?
Me:No,I’m with another of our driver’s
Him:Good,I’m glad you’re not alone
Me:Why?
Him:I’ve got some bad news for you
Now at this point I immediately thought that something had happened to my beloved Yellow Labrador,whom my brother looked after while I was away.
Me:What bad news?
Him:…Dad died this morning.
I stood there holding the phone for what must have been only twenty or thirty seconds,but which felt like hours,with my brother still on the other end saying “Are you still there?Are you alright?Talk to me!”
Eventually I said,yes I was still there.
He said that he’d phoned Van Maanen and they would get me home as soon as possible.
I went out and sat in the truck for the rest of the night,unable to sleep,unable to take it in,I was numb.
I don’t remember much about the rest of that trip,I know I reloaded at Amadori in Forli,I know I phoned my ex-girlfriend on the way home,just for someone to talk to really,but I couldn’t bring myself to phone my mum,that would have been the breaking point.
I stopped at Habay on Friday evening on the way home,and five of our driver’s were having a meal,all of them going to Italy.
They asked where I was going,and I said ‘Home’.They made a joke about it,and I told them that I was going home to bury my father,who had died Tuesday morning.Their faces dropped and they all gave condolences,I just about managed to hold back the tears.
The next morning,when I arrived back in Barneveld,Gijs Van Maanen,the boss,was waiting for me,and he too offered his condolences.Again,I struggled to hold back my tears.
Another regular job we had was loading fresh horsemeat at Frankfurt airport.
We would normally arrive there late Saturday evening,either having tipped somewhere Saturday in Germany,or coming empty from Lecco.
Always loading at the same door meant we could back onto the ramp ready for loading Sunday morning.
The horsemeat was flown in from Canada,and was destined for some very expensive restaurant tables in Paris,after we had cleared at Rungis Sunday night,and would be unloaded at a wholesalers in Livry-Gargan.
It amazed me how easy it was to get in and out of Frankfurt airport,especially since the Lockerbie bombing a few years before,when the bomb was allegedly placed on the aircraft at Frankfurt.
We could go all over the airport terminal,using the free buses that operated within the airport,and I would often take the bus to the passenger terminal,whilst the truck was being loaded,to get an English Sunday paper.
Another memorable trip was to Slovenia,taking pork fat from Rotterdam to a cold store that was,literally,in the middle of nowhere.In fact you had to drive through a maize field to reach it.
But it was nice to go through the Spielefeld border again,not having been through there for more than ten years,when on the way to Zagreb and Athens,a lot had changed.
After unloading,I made my way to Verona,where I met one of our driver’s,Robin (We called him ‘The Turk’,'cos he looked like one) who refused point blank to believe me that I had just come from Slovenia.
It wasn’t until Rein,another driver,had examined my cmr,that Robin eventually conceded that I had indeed come from the former Yugoslavian state.■■■■■■!
Slovenia
Then there was the trip to Grosotto.
I had unloaded half the load of hanging pork near Lecco,the rest destined for Grosotto,way up in the mountains near the Swiss border.
After unloading,I was told to get to Verona as quickly as possible,as I had to load for Malaga,this being Friday afternoon.
So,a quick perusal of the map suggested going all the way back to Lecco and then across past Monza to join the Milano-Venezia autostrada to Verona.But,they had said as quickly as possible,surely there’s a more direct route I could take?
Another look at the map,and I thought,Ah! I’ll go that way!
Back as far as Bianzone,then across country.
I got back to Bianzone,turned left into the village and came to a T-junction,unable to turn left or right as the houses were right at the edge of the narrow road.I then had to reverse,2km,out of the village back to the main road,and have another look at the map,which suggested that I go a bit further and then turn left.
Which I did.
The road climbed higher and higher,going through some very narrow cut-outs in the rock to my right,which threatened to clout the top corner of the trailer if I wasn’t careful!
Higher and higher I went,mistier and mistier it got too,until all of a sudden through a gap in the mist,I saw the drop to my left.Oh! dear,this isn’t mist,it’s clouds!
I was beginning to regret coming this way,hairpin after hairpin,seeing the side of the trailer as I turned each corner,I was getting seriously worried that I may get stuck up here.
Eventually the cloud cleared,well actually,I was now above the cloud line,and I had at last reached the top,at a place called Capo Di Ponte,which was full of people carrying ski’s!
It was all downhill from then on,literally,as I made my way down the other side and past Lago d’Iseo and to Brescia where at last,I joined the autostrada.
When I reached Verona there were several other driver’s waiting to load,and Rein asked me where I had just come from,so I told him.
I then casually asked him which way he comes from Grosotto.
‘Back to Lecco then Milan’ he say’s.
‘Oh!’ I said,‘I came over the top’.
‘WHAT??’
‘I came over the top’
‘Show me on your map’ say’s Rein.
So I did.
He called the other’s over and told them.
‘You’re crazy!’ They all said.
‘Well,I made it didn’t I’!
‘Crazy Englishman’!!!
Van Maanen then started doing more and more fish transport,both fresh and frozen,and bought out a company called GTZ (Grootveld Transport Zwaag) which meant we inherited some very dubious trucks,namely some Iveco Turbo Star’s which had had a high roof conversion,like this…
there were also a couple of DAF Space Cab’s and two F12 Globetrotters,which were kept working for some time.
The Iveco’s however were traded in at the local Mercedes dealer,although one of them refused to go.Frits,the mechanic had tried several times to get it to Mercedes,but the gearbox had packed up on each occasion on the way to the garage,the dealer being only twenty odd kilometres away.
They had to be runners to be accepted as trade-in’s,Mercedes being the only ones who would take them,both Scania & Volvo didn’t want to know.
But,it eventually arrived at Merc’s as a runner and so four new Mercedes SK 1938 Eurocab’s joined the fleet.
For me,the fish work was better,especially the frozen,as it was all palletised and we had clients to deliver to from north to south Italy,sometimes up to twelve or fourteen drops.
One of which was in the middle of Rome,just literally around the corner from the Colissuem,a small Chinese shop where we would tailboard deliver a couple of pallets of frozen plaice.
Now that was a b*****r to get to if you didn’t know where it was,and I can remember the first time I went there,early one Monday morning after having spent a very boozy weekend at Orte.
I had missed a turning somewhere on the way in and was confronted by very high concrete kerbs in the middle of the road,which seperated the bus traffic from the rest,and which were threatening to rip the bottom out of my pallet box!
I was swearing! The Italians were swearing even more! But I eventually got there,and the delightful young Chinese girl in the shop made me some very nice tea,bless her.
Chioggia (above) was another nice place to load,although we didn’t go there very often,but it was a beautiful little fishing port on the Adriatic coast just below Venice.We loaded all sorts of weird and wonderful exotic fresh fish here,caught in the Adriatic Sea and bound for Holland.
There were also some beautiful sandy beach resorts that you passed through to get there,with some very beautiful women,with some very small skimpy bikini’s
Although obviously the weather wasnt always hot and sunny.
In northern Italy during autumn there could be very thick fog which lasts for day’s,and one year in particular it was extremely bad,the autostrada was closed between Torino and Milano for several day’s while they cleared up a multiple accident which had left nearly a dozen people dead.
But that’s Italian driver’s for you,foot down no matter what the weather.
There could also be terrible rain storms too,this pic was taken on the way to Aosta from Ivrea and shows the water cascading down from the mountains and flooding the autostrada…
My faithful Scania,BY-17-DL
In December 1993 I was in Barneveld one day when Nico,the planner,told me that as from the end of the year there would be no more UK work.
The work had become less and less,with perhaps only one trip every three or four weeks,and seeing that Steve or I were usually in Italy,if a trip to the UK came up,they had to send whoever was available at the time,which was usually one of the dutch driver’s.
Van Maanen got paid on a per trip basis for the UK work,which when we were doing one-hitters,would be very profitable,but now,when there were trips,they were up to fifteen drops.
I think on my last UK trip I had started in Bermondsey,then gone on to Bristol,Plymouth,Cardiff,Lampeter,Oswestry,Stoke,Wigan,Manchester,Carlisle and finally ending in Hull.With that sort of distances covered it was no wonder they were going to give it up,and so passed on the work to H.S.Frederiks,who also did a lot of bacon work.
“But”,Nico said,“We have new work”
My face lit up.“Really”? Said I.
“Yes Keith,we have a contract to take 200 tons of meat a month”
“Really”?
“Yes,really”
“To the UK”?
“No,Russia”
“Russia”?
“Yes,Russia”
“But that’s the wrong direction”!
“That depends on which way you look at it” said Nico.
.