Thanks for the Scania pics Franz,they are a great help for my model.
Cheers mate
NZ JAMIE:
Thanks for the Scania pics Franz,they are a great help for my model.
Cheers mate
No problem, I just want to make also a model from it, so once again the question to all:
Has anybody some more pics from this truck above?
Regards
Franz
Is that an illegal immigrant escaping from the tilt at the back of the 2nd picture?
Wheel Nut:
Is that an illegal immigrant escaping from the tilt at the back of the 2nd picture?
No itâs Ian, heâs about to have a spreadder 
.
I think that old 142 is Mr Lyonsâs him and Billy Saddler Bought 1 each from someone in Birmmingham( I Think) they were Dark Blue Cabs with white Zig Zag stipes on them , Both were NON intercooled (Flat fronted 375 not 420 bhp) and Both had Air on the front Axle with a factory Fitted Tag on them , If it is Gazâz old motor Its on Eurowheels gallerys with a high roof conversion that he had done in Turkey and its got a differant plate Gaz somthing
A CHRISTMAS STORY.
Ho Ho Ho itâs that time of the year again, the snow might be falling where you live now so I wonder if any of you reading this can remember a Christmas about thirty years or so ago. We were not all lucky enough to get home to spend the festive season with family and friends every year were we. Our Christmas planning ( or head working ) usually started about the beginning of November wondering how many more trips we could get in before the end of the year. We nearly all had the same goal, that was to get to Zeebrugge before the last boat left for Dover which was the afternoon of Christmas Eve.
Once we were tipped it was then a mad rush up to The Telex Motel in Ankara, The Mocamp In Istanbul or The National Hotel in Belgrade to pick up that all important telex to let us know where we were back loading from. It didnât matter where it was, wine from Bulgaria or Christmas trees from East Germany so long as we were on that last boat.
Some years the boat was already fully booked and so there would have been a couple of trucks left on the dock as their drivers had decided to hitch a lift and go over as passengers to Dover. I heard a few stories over the years of drivers arriving back in the U.K. on the 27th December with a full load of Christmas trees and it probably did happen on at least one occasion. I do know that a mate of mine Ken Singleton once missed the last boat by about half a hour and had to sit for three days in The Fina garage in Zeebrugge with two Bulgarians and a Turkish driver. Ken would of made it home but a heavy snow fall in Czecho put a stop to that one.
Decent companies tried to get most of their drivers home for Christmas, you could forget about Easter or the September Long Weekend they just werenât on the continental calendar but Christmas, well that was something special. If you were lucky enough to get home then there was a good chance that you would be on your way back out by January 2nd. Each company had their different policies about Christmas, with some it was like it or lump it you know where the door is.
Others would give you a bonus and a Christmas party, and some would give you the option of either flying you home or getting the truck back and letting the driver keep the airfare.
If I had to find a whinge then it would probably be about The Company Christmas party and I am sure that it happened at a lot of other companies as well. They always seemed to have it the week before Christmas or the first week in the New Year. Most of the drivers were still away while they were having it but you could always be sure that all the office staff, the warehouse lads and the fitters were there having a great time. In seven years I only ever got home in time to go to one of them and what a great night that was.
I think that it was Christmas 1982, I had arrived back in the yard in Stockport on the 14th December and thought to myself, yes a Germany or an Austria would do me nicely. So when the boss asked me could I turn around and do an Istanbul my high spirits suddenly took a nose dive. I had only just arrived back from Bucharest and I knew that the snow had already started falling in Eastern Europe, there was no way that I was going to be back home for Christmas. The boss explained that Courtaulds who were one of our biggest customers had just phoned through with two priority loads which had to be there within the week.
Somebody had already gone over to Courtaulds at Greenfield on Deeside to load one of the trailers and Alan Morrey would be loading the other one. Alan would be travelling with me, we had been told to get as close to home as we could and we could then fly from Frankfurt or Brussels to Manchester. I always liked flying as I had a keen interest in aviation so the thought of going on an aeroplane again, something that I had not done for over two years was quite appealing. Being a single guy I had spent some of my best Christmases away from home and if it was a case of me being away so that a married guy with a couple of kids could be at home at this time of the year then I didnât really mind.
We left at about 9 a.m. the next morning, we sailed on the Townsend Thorenson from Dover to Belgium and parked up on the sea wall at Zeebrugge about 1 a.m. the following day where we put a new tacho card in. After having an eight hour break we parked up that night at The Lomo Truckstop near Gieselwind which had been a nine hour drive. We put another tacho in as we were going to take another eight hour break, have a shower and a meal knowing that it might be another week before we get the chance to have another one.
The nice thing was that after we paid for our meal we were each given a plastic washing bag as a Christmas present which I used for many years. It was bright green with the words LOMO in white letters and it was large enough to hold all my toiletries.
Just after 3 a.m. we set off and headed for the West German / Czechoslovakian border near Furth im Wald, the snow was falling and I can still remember seeing Christmas trees lit up as we passed through the Bavarian countryside. It was one of those scenes that I donât think that I will ever forget. By the time that we had passed through the border it was mid morning and we parked up near Pilzen to have a late breakfast and an early lunch. The snow was still falling but considering what the weather was like we were still making good progress. Alan who was a good twelve years older than me thought it might be a good idea to have an hours sleep, as all the other drivers who knew him used to say âyou canât hurry a Morreyâ.
We also put another new tacho card in as the one that we were already using shown signs that on the West German Autobahn we had reached speeds up 90 k.p.h.
If we would have been stopped by the Czech Police they would of fined us for driving over the 50 k.p.h. speed limit in the towns. It was always difficult to explain where you had actually been speeding and quite often in the end there was no other alternative than to pay up. Things were going well and after a couple of sixteen hour days which also included clearing borders we finally got through the Yugoslav / Bulgarian border at about two oâclock in the morning.
It was funny sometimes the conversations that drivers had while they were both sitting in the cab making a cup of tea or having a tin of soup. We had just done a long hit through the night something that I never liked doing unless I really had to. I knew that if I would have been involved in an accident and there was always a good chance that you could have been, then it usually turned out to be the foreign lorry drivers fault. It wasnât like Western Europe where you eventually got a fair trial, in some of the Commie Block countries you had a great chance of going for a ride in a police car to some poxy police station before you had even given your account of what had happened.
I had been following Alanâs back lights for hours and started to feel a bit groggy but instead of stopping like we should of done we carried on. The thing that I used to do was to wind down the window and turn the cassette player up. I had heard tales from other drivers about how they had kept awake while doing a big hit. These ranged from eating a hand full of sugar or sucking a sugar cube to eating a spoonful of coffee both of which never appealed to me.
Eventually I saw sense and flashed my lights for Alan to stop, he saw me and pulled into the next convenient parking place. I walked over to his Foden and said itâs no good Alan I am falling off my perch. Well get your cup he said letâs have a hot drink and get a few hours sleep we will probably have plenty of time to catch up on our sleep when we get to Kapic.
I climbed into his cab, we didnât have night heaters but the cabs were nice and warm compared to the freezing cold night air. I remember asking him how he managed to keep awake when he was driving through the night on such crap roads. He told me that what he had been doing was that as his cardboard box that was on the bunk behind the passenger seat was full of tinned food he would reach over now and again take out a tin and place it on the dashboard to break up a bit of the monotony.
So what do you do when you have emptied the cardboard box I asked ?. Well he said, I then take them off the dashboard one by one and then I stretch over and put them all back into the box. You know Alan I said I think itâs time that we really should get our heads down for at least four hours and I am glad to say that Alan agreed with me.
It was starting to go dark by the time that we had reached the Bulgarian / Turkish border at Svilengrad which some of the other British drivers used to call Syphilisgrad . We had not had a good day, the cobbled roads were covered in mud and slush and because of an accident near Plovdiv we had lost a couple of hours waiting for the road to be cleared. Any thoughts of even getting back to Frankfurt were quickly fading as we were now in a queue which wasnât moving and the border would soon be closed for the night. I canât remember how far the queue was but we were parked opposite The Bulgarian Dollar Shop. These tax free shops sold everything from foreign tyres to foreign washing machines but you could only pay in hard foreign currency. It was unbelievable how cheap spirits and tobacco was for instance I can remember a bottle of Johnnie Walker whiskey costing two quid.
While we were sat in the queue three of our trucks came the other way one of the drivers was called Lee Marland and Lee and I used to use the same local pub. He was on his way to reload in Zagreb and told me that there would be no way that I would be in the pub over Christmas. I am going to do my best to get there I told him but I didnât mention about the promise of a flight home. Anyway he said we canât stop as we want to get loaded the day after tomorrow but if you are in the pub on Christmas Eve then I shall stand on the bar, drop my pants and show you my backside he laughed and with that we all wished each other a Merry Christmas. Little did Lee or myself know then that on Christmas Eve the following year that we would both be sat at Kapicule on the Turkish side, with him on his way home and that I would be on my way to Iraq. After Alan and I had a meal in The Duty Free Shop it was a case of getting back to the cab and going to bed.
At about seven oâclock the next morning Alan knocked on my cab and asked for my cup and as I usually slept in a nylon tracksuit and wore a pair of socks in the winter instead of pyjamas, it was just a case of slipping on a pair of shoes and getting out for a pee. After writing my name in the snow I got back in the cab and put my jeans on and a thick pullover. As Alanâs Foden was a left hand drive I sat in the drivers seat while he made the breakfast from the other side. A Scania 141 belonging to Finn Wheels from Finland had pulled in behind us during the night and as Alan and I were having breakfast we watched the driver walk over into the duty free shop. He came back out after ten minutes carrying two plastic bags with about four bottles of spirits in each, he looked over across at us and lifted the bags higher as he smiled at us and shouted breakfast. We watched him walk behind my truck and we saw him climb into his cab. A couple of minutes later there was a knock on the passenger side door, it was the driver from Finn Wheels with a bottle of Snaps in his hand.
Good morning Englishmen he said, itâs my birthday would you like to join me in a little birthday drink. Alan opened the door for him and then Alan moved over and sat on the bunk. The Finnish driver had brought a cup with him and Alan asked him if he would like a coffee. As Alan poured the coffee out The Finn poured more than a generous amount of Snaps into each cup. I think that he said that his name was Lahrs, we introduced ourselves and said happy birthday Lahrs and drank his good health. Before we had even finished our coffee he had put another large tot Snaps into our cups.
After a while the traffic in front of us in the distance started moving forward, Lahrs and I jumped out of the Foden and ran back to our cabs. The queue stopped just short of the Bulgarian customs post and l went back into Alanâs cab. A couple of minutes later Lahrs joined us along with a bottle of Vodka. Do you like Russian Vodka he asked, Alan said that he didnât mind it and I said not particularly and then I realised that the bottle of Snaps was almost empty and it wasnât even 10 oâclock in the morning. The way that things were now beginning to look there was no way that we would be home for Christmas. Lahrs wasnât bothered, he was on his way to Saudi Arabia and he was getting extra money for doing the trip at this time of the year.
Some time later the traffic began to move forwards and we did our Bulgarian customs, we then moved into what we referred to as no mans land which was the area from the Bulgarian customs and the short distance to where the Turkish gate was. On our left hand side which was the lane coming into Bulgaria was a thing that we called the lorry wash or the wheel wash. This was where you drove through a thing like a sunken bath which was filled with disinfectant. As you entered it one of the Bulgarian soldiers turned a tap on and from a couple of pipes that stretched across the road above the truck you could smell the strong stench of disinfectant. Once again the queue came to a standstill and for Lahrs it was a case of handbrake on, Vodka bottle out. Eventually we pulled forward again through a gate with two watch towers that had the word TURKEI on one them. A red Turkish flag with a white crescent moon and a star emblazoned on it flew from the top of a tall white flagpole. Two Turkish soldiers with automatic weapons looked down at us and as they were wearing white steel helmets with the words Aziz or Asis on them you could tell that they were The Turkish Military Police and as rumour had it that these were the guys who you didnât mess about with. As far as I can remember the scene that resembled The Somme unfolded before us as there was mud, craters and trucks everywhere, some of them were leaning at precarious angles. A double drive Bulgarian Volvo F88 appeared to be in a jack knifed position with one of his countrymen trying desperately to pull him out on a rigid towbar but he wasnât going anywhere. Some of the trucks in front of us were parked over ten vehicles side by side and we were all going to try and get to another gate on the other side of the field which was wide enough to fit two trucks at a time. This was where the shunting, shuffling, squeezing and jockeying for a forward position started. The words good manners, politeness and organisation didnât belong here it was a case of everyman for himself. When the Turkish soldiers at the next gate waved several more trucks forward there was a mad dash of drivers going back to their own cabs. The revving up of the engines building up the fallen air pressure, the spinning of the drive wheels in the thick mud and as soon as the truck in front moved an inch forward you had to follow him. You just had to make sure that nobody squeezed in front of you, going down the middle was the way to go. It was no good trying to sneak down the outsides as when you got near to the front nobody except a very sympathetic driver would of let you in and there were not many of those about.
After moving forward about a truck length the noise of the hissing air brakes could be heard from all over the mud filled field and then most of the engines would soon be switched off. You never knew how many trucks had moved through into the next compound it could have been five, ten or fifteen but you hoped that when the next batch moved in, that you had been able to move nearer to the front. I eventually swapped places with Alan, he sat in the passenger seat and I sat on the bed while Lahrs who was sitting in the drivers seat kept on topping up the cups with vodka. Lahrs was explaining to Alan how expensive alcohol was in Finland, there was no way that we could keep up with him as he was having four tots to our one.
Alan and I had each bought a carton of Heineken on the boat and until now we had only drank four cans from one box. Alan offered Lahrs a can and he said no thank you, do you want to get me drunk. He was a big fellow, his English was nearly perfect and he could certainly handle his drink. I must of dozed off while I was sitting on the bed and Alan woke me up sometime later as the trunks in front once again prepared to move forward. After we had moved about another two truck lengths, I sat in the passenger seat Alan sat on the bed and it wasnât long before he also had fallen asleep.
The sleet had turned to rain and our shoes with moving from cab to cab were caked in mud. The inside of Alanâs cabs over the seven years that I worked with him were always immaculate. He was the only driver that I ever met who kept a small pastry brush in a leather glasses case attached to the dashboard. The first time that I ever sat in his cab I asked him what it was for, he took the brush out and started cleaning the rims of the dials and the instruments where a bit of dust had settled. It was handy for getting in those awkward little corners and those tiny nooks and crannies he said. But now his cab was looking a bit of a mess, he had already made Lahrs and myself some lunch. We had made some sandwiches in the cab as it was too wet and cold outside to sit around the trailer box. Alan still liked to keep on top of cleanliness but there was nothing that he could do about the mud on the carpets even though we had kicked off our shoesâŚ
Lahrs had kept the conversation and the vodka flowing all day, Alan and I both liked a drink but this was getting a bit too much although it didnât appear to bother the big man from Finland.
By four oâclock that afternoon we had reached the front of the queue and we were all feeling in good spirits thinking that we were going to get through in the next batch. We thought that we had a good chance of moving into the next compound where the customs offices were in the next couple of hours but we had forgotten about the time difference. Turkey was one hour ahead of Bulgaria so if we didnât move within the next hour we would be sitting here until the next morning and that is exactly what happened. At six oâclock we were told tomorrow by the soldiers, tomorrow at seven oâclock. It was already dark by then and once again Alanâs gas cooker was fired up as we made a camion stew. I was now parked on Alanâs right hand side in my right hand drive M.A.N. 280. We were both able to sit in our passenger seats while we passed tins and pans to each other. Lahrs was still sat in The Fodenâs driver seat, he had donated a tin of potatoes to the meal and asked if we needed a dash of Bacardi to spice things up but Alan was adamant that it didnât need it. The bottle of Bacardi appeared when Lahrs went to get the spuds and like Alan kept saying you sit back, itâs your birthday.
We sat there in Alanâs Foden until ten oâclock when we decided to go to bed, if I remember correctly there wasnât much of the Bacardi left by then. Lahrs got out of the cab to go to bed and I remember saying good night Lahrs I hope that you had a good birthday. He then said no itâs not my birthday today, my birthday is next week.
I think that I was a bit shocked at that moment and it was only then that I realised that he had a night heater in his Scania while Alan had been starting his engine up every now and again so that we could keep warm.
The next morning at seven oâclock the soldiers waved us forward, we parked up near to the customs buildings and we put our papers in, our luck must have been changing as we were cleared by lunchtime. We drove around to YoungTurks office which was just outside the customs compound on the left hand side of the road to pay for his services and while we were there we phoned Taci Kochman who was our agent in Istanbul. We spoke to his assistant who was known as The Colonel and who was a really nice old Turkish gentleman. He told us to drive down to the football stadium in Istanbul and one of his boys would meet us early the next morning to sort out our paperwork. He would then take us to where we had to deliver the load, also said The Colonel I have a telex here where you are reloading from. You are reloading at Taurus Tyres in Budapest and the load is for Bradford, I shall send a copy over to you tomorrow. Alan and I drove down to the Londra camp in Istanbul where we stayed the night and we left early the next morning to drive down to the stadium which was a place where we had cleared customs before.
After we had both tipped we ran up that afternoon and evening to the Turkish / Greek border at Ipsala. We had decided that due to our slow progress through Bulgaria and the hassle we had at Kapicule that we would give Bulgaria a miss.
The weather in Greece at the time of the year could also be terrible but we were prepared to take the chance and we arrived in Budapest in the early hours of December 24th.
As Alan will remember I have left a large part of this story out to protect the innocent, who was Alan. So there will be no mention of the two Irish hitchhikers who I gave a lift to on the outskirts of Thessalonica one of whom had her rucksack stolen when my cab was broken into at The National Hotel in Belgrade but I hoped that they reached Milan in time for Christmas.
Anyway back to the story, the tyre factory looked very quite when we got there in the early hours of the morning but after speaking to the man in the gatehouse he assured us that we would get loaded that day. He told us to pull into the yard and to go to bed and somebody would wake us up when they were ready to load us.
At about eight oâclock there was a knock on the cab and we were told to reverse into a large building. A girl who spoke a bit of English came over and asked us to open up the back of the tilt and to give her our empty carnetâs and a C.M.R.
We asked her if there was a British Airways office in Budapest and she looked them up in the phone book. We were able to have a shower in the washrooms at the factory and after having some breakfast we were told that the customs man had arrived to watch the loading and that we would be sealed and that the paperwork would be finished by twelve oâclock.
We asked at the factory that if were able to get a flight back to the U.K. would we be able to leave the trucks parked in the factory on the car park by the security gate. After she had spoken to the works manager he said that there would be no problem and that the trucks would be safe. Alan and I then took a taxi into the city where we found The British Airways office.
The girl in the office was very helpful, yes we have a flight this afternoon she said it leaves Budapest at three oâclock, it goes to Prague and because of the one hour time difference between Europe and The U.K. it arrives at Heathrow at five thirty U.K. time and yes we have a lot of spare seats she said. I forget exactly how much it cost it was something like 100 quid which was near enough equal to six nights continental allowance.
We asked the girl would it be possible to phone the U.K. she said that it was not a problem and gave us the phone. Alan spoke to Jackie our receptionist who after what seemed like a bit of stalling put another person from our airfreight office on the line. As the boss was not there Alan said itâs about flying home from Budapest. Ah yes, said the airfreight guy, there are no flights from Budapest now until after Christmas. Yes there is said Alan itâs flight number B.A. blah blah blah and it goes at three oâclock local time. Oh that one was the reply but I have been told that it is it fully booked. No itâs not said Alan there are still some seats left. But I donât think that you can book a flight over there he said. Yes we can said Alan, we are sat in British Airways office in Budapest at the moment. Hang on a minute Alan was told there is a call on the other line, Alan said that he had a feeling that a message was being relayed here as there sounded like there were more than two people in the office at that moment. Alan was told now I want you both to think about this you can either fly home or keep the airfare, straight away Alan said we have thought about it we want to fly home, we shall phone the office on the 28th good bye and Merry Christmas and he put the phone down rather quickly.
We booked the tickets and were told to be back at the B.A. office by one oâclock, then we got a taxi back to the factory which was on the main road south out of Budapest. By the time we had arrived back to the trucks the customs man had already started the carnet, the trailer was loaded and laced up and he was about to put a seal on. We drove the vehicles out of the building and parked opposite the gatehouse, we closed the curtains and we both got our holdalls. We had no idea when we would definitely be back but after double manning with two other of our drivers who were going to Greece we arrived back on the 4th of January.
When we arrived back at the B.A. office the girl was waiting to meet us, she locked up the shop and called a taxi and the three of us went to the airport. It had started to snow again and she took us to the B.A. desk to book in, she was a very friendly girl and we had a bit of a laugh and a joke with her. She looked very attractive in her B.A. uniform and I seem to remember that she had a good sense of humour.
Budapest Airport was quite dismal, dimly lit and very drab, we offered to buy our B.A. friend a coffee at the coffee counter which she accepted and she told us that she had upgraded us into business class for the same price. Half an hour before the flight we checked into a waiting room and our friend was still with us as she seemed to be displaying an airport security pass around her neck. There were about twenty other passengers in the room who all sounded English, in fact they sounded like a bunch of Hooray Henrys. Two Hungarian policemen were stood by the doors at the entrance to the waiting room as we were informed that our flight was now boarding. We had our passports and our tickets checked once again as we were ushered into a small room with glass walls where two soldiers with A.K.47âs were stood. The glass door behind us was locked and after a couple of minutes a bus appeared at the other side of the room on the side where the aircraft were parked. The other door was unlocked and we were counted once again as we went through and got onto the bus. We were driven over to the, I think it was a B.A.C. 111 which was parked away from the rest of the other aircraft which all appeared to be from other Commie Block countries. We were counted once again as we got off the bus and walked up the steps and the B.A. girl was still with us. She spoke to the English stewardesses and took us towards the front of the plane, the rest of the passengers went towards the back. She showed us to our seats, wished us a Merry Christmas and said good bye. After talking to the flight crew for a couple of minutes she left the aircraft, they closed the door and the captain made an announcement. He welcomed us aboard and informed us that as they were no passengers to collect from Prague he had been given permission to fly straight to London.
I looked out as the snow was falling and I was beginning to wonder if we would be allowed to take off. For some reason I had remembered reading about the Munich air disaster many years before and it had made me feel very uncomfortable. I felt a lot better when the no smoking and seat belts signs were switched off and Alan and I settled down to a glass of champagne, well it was free. We were the only two passengers in business class and there was a lot of loud laughter coming out of cattle class at the back of the aircraft, in fact it sounded like somebody was having a really good party. We asked the stewardess what was going on and she told us that it was the staff from The British Embassy in high spirits. Alan and I agreed that it was disgraceful, high spirits, it sounded like they had drank more spirits than a dozen Finnish lorry drivers. The great thing was that when we were asked if we wanted any duty frees and we both asked for two hundred cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey they didnât charge us for the whiskey saying that it was a Christmas present from British Airways.
We arrived at Heathrow and made our way to Euston where Alan booked on the six oâclock train to Liverpool which also stopped at Crewe where he lived.
I booked on the six o five to Manchester and as the two trains were on the platform next to each other I could see him sat on the other train.
My train arrived in Manchester and after a quick wash and change at home I dashed down to the local pub at 10.15 p.m. on Christmas Eve. I knew that there was going to be a lock in after time that night and I was certain that I was going to get an invite. When I walked into the pub Lee was gob smacked and I asked him not to stand on the bar and show his backside as I didnât want a sight like that to spoil my Christmas.
Come on I am sure that all you old fellers who did a Christmas away from home have got a similar story to share and I would love to hear it.
Many thanks to everybody who has contributed to this thread over the last year, I have enjoyed reading them all even though I have not agreed with all of them.
Thanks to Rikki U.K. and all the people on the TruckNet U.K. team and to all the TruckNet members I hope that you all have a very Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year.
Now I just hope that nobody has to go to Browns Town to get their Christmas presents like this poor fellow.
Merry Christmas and best regards Steve.
Great story Steve and thanks for your good wishes over the festive season.
Like yourself, there wonât be any snow for me either here in Thailand. Just another ordinary weekday, in fact Iâll be popping down to the local hospital on Christmas day for an ultrasound scan, xray and blood test. A 6 monthly occurance after my surgery for cancer some yearâs ago.
All the best to all the site members and hereâs to a wonderful 2010 and to loads more truckie pics and stories. 
regards Ron
A brilliant story Steve and it was all read in small segments as I was busy cutting little crosses in sprouts and sneaking a drop of cooking sherry to celebrate Llars birthday next week 
. I canât come close to that tale but spent a couple of Christmasâs away and two or three new years eves. One was spent in Evzoni with Joe Toole, I think another one was with Brian (Whispering) Smith. I remember one festive season spent in Ludwigshaven and the only music the bar seemed to own was the incessant Lighthouse Family.
Plate throwing in Evzoni was always fun.
What a great read that is, Mushroomâs Christmas story. And the way you write, you could make a book out of it (or have you already?). In fact, for a grabby title, the book could be named âMushroom in the Middle Eastâ or similar. 
Seems you are a natural writer with many more stories to tell.
A great read Steve and thank you to you and all the other drivers who post thier memories from years gone by when Driving abroad, even into Europe, was more of an adventure than it is today.
I read your stories with a mixture of awe and envy, please keep them coming and along with the pictures.
Hi Steve, that was a good read, thanks for taking the trouble to post it, I have sent you a PM
Cheers, John
Hi all
Goodluck to all, Merry Christmas ,and a Great New Year ,good story Steve bit long winded but you were like that 
love to the Mushroom lady hope one day we will meet again,
Roger(Rita) Haywood
excellent read steve i will ask alan if he as read it when i go out with him after xmas
merry xmas to you and your family steve
regards jeff
Just wanted to say thanks Steve for the time and effort you put in , what a fantastic read,Happy Xmas to you, and look forward to more stories and pictures
Once again another great story. Merry xmas to you all and a happy new year. Oh and dont forget to have a few beers to oil the thinkbox for some more great tales in the coming year.
An excellent read.
As someone who wasnât born in time to even attempt to make these kind of trips,reading about them is the next best thing.
Keep the stories coming please.
Merry Christmas to everyone.
aidey:
Once again another great story. Merry xmas to you all and a happy new year. Oh and dont forget to have a few beers to oil the thinkbox for some more great tales in the coming year.
Well done Steve, put all the stories together and print a book, iâd buy it. Well done hope you got the card, sorry but I did not know your surname.
Best wishes for a Happy Christmas down under regards Big Al
Thanks for taking the time to post that story steve, it must have taken a while, and was much appreciated. Still love hearing these tales and stories from years gone by on the M/E run. I agree with you, there must be loads of other lads on here with xmas / winter tales to tell of the M/E run so lets see them posted chaps!! 
Merry xmas to all those who have taken the time to post their stories and pictures on here, it is one of the most interesting threads going on TN, lets keep it on the front page in 2010!!!
Mike Sargent sent me this story and although itâs not christmas related, Iâll pass it on to you.
He wrote:
âTranslation Problemsâ
During the summer of 1975 a young lad was on his way to Bahgdad. Like so many of us he stopped for a day in Istanbul to relax and practise a bit of horizontal yoga. When he arrived in the area of Zahko he was dismayed to discover that his favourite friend, the pocket python had become ill having a nasty rash and starting to glow like a belisha beacon. Our hero decided that immediate medical help was required before things started to fall off. With this in mind upon arrival at Mosul late in the evening he looked for a hospital. In an area of large buildings he saw what looked like an ambulance at the back of a building. He stopped and went in through a small door arriving in what looked to be a small canteen with half a dozen guys in uniform drinking coffee. Assuming them to be paramedics he asked where the main entrance was and where he could get help. Unfortunately he seemed to have got the âbâ team as no one spoke english. After ten frustrating minutes trying to explain without success he had a brainwave. Unzipping his flies he got his best friend out and showed him to the Iraqis who were now showing more interest. Trying with hand signals to explain the situation still without success. At that moment a dignified Iraqi walked in wearing a full uniform with the Saddam raybans and the full moustache kit. After looking at our man with a bemused expression he said in perfect Oxford english âIt seems you have a problem, how may we assist you?â Our hero gratefully explained the problem after first putting his best friend away. âAhâ said the man smiling âthat is a problem which must be dealt with immediately. I suggest that you go across the road to the hospital where they will help you. Unfortunately we cannot assist you here as this is the fire stationâ.
I heard the story from the unfortunate guy himself so have no reason to disbelieve it. Stranger things have happened.
Very good!!