I have just arrived at the forum today. Plenty of nostalgia here thats for sure. Hope to contribute in the future from my days as a trailer mate in 1960 (20mph) and as a Pickfords driver in the 60s and 70s when we had to average 22mph on a 10 hour day.
Welcome to TruckNet. Looking forward to hearing some of your stories.
Amen to that Tobyjug, always pleased to welcome someone who appears to be even older than me 
Spardo:
Amen to that Tobyjug, always pleased to welcome someone who appears to be even older than me
Older than you David?
How does that work then?
Ah! Belgian humour. I only said appears to be. I suppose he could have started at the age of 16 or 17, but I doubt it.
Come on Toby, I started at 21 in '63, how about you. ? 
Sorry to be able to beat you, I was born in 1941 and worked as a trailer mate in 1960, that made me less than 19. I went on to be a driver but after about eight months I was given the sack for driving a lorry over the 3 ton limit that my license allowed. No-one asked how old I was, they assumed I was over 21 and I never mentioned it.
Remember the heavy locomotive, light locomotive restrictions on a driving licence before the invention of HGV licenses?
Yes I do, where did the ‘Heavy Motor Car’ come in then?
As regards you starting as a trailer mate, do you think that 1960/1/2 was the period that this ‘apprenticeship’ disappeared? It was all to do with a second person, usually a lad, being in the cab to operate the mechanical handbrake which controlled a trailer.
I missed out on this experience mainly because the law changed and wagons and drags went out of fashion, also because I was doing other things in the years since leaving school at the end of '59. It must have given you a good grounding in the industry.
I think the main duties for a Trailer Mate was to quickly hop out on steep hills and unhook the wooden block that hung on chains behind the rear trailer wheels. You had to put the block behind the wheel if you had to stop going up a hill or in front of the wheels if you were going down hill. When the driver got going again it was hook the block back up quickly and run like “whatsit” to get back in the cab without falling under the front axle, or even being left behind.
Of course if the weather was wet the mate done all the roping and sheeting whilst the driver sat in the cab doing his paperwork.
Light Locomotive and Heavy Locomotive disappeared in the mid 70s (I think) when our driving licences came from Swansea and with the introduction of HGV licences.
I can’t claim to have been in the industry as long as spardo or tobyjug, but I can offer some help with heavy and light locomotives.
I’m 50 and started on the 1976 version of a 7.5 tonner, which you could drive on a car licence, if the vehicle was under 3 tons ulw. HGV Class 1 test passed Dec 1979. (Brown book)
Anyway, to the point.
I’m quoting from my first full (red) driving licence dated 3rd August 1973. That was valid for Groups E, F and KR (mopeds, farm tractors and road rollers) and acted as a provisional for other vehicles of group 3, due to me being 17 at the time. It also says that it was issued by Cheshire County Council. No. 5/ 09351 and that I had paid my fee of £1. Here’s what it says in the inside front cover:
Groups of vehicles
List 1: age 21 and over.
Group A: Heavy locomotive, light locomotive, motor tractor, heavy motor car and motor car…
So, there’s the proof that heavy and light locomotives still existed in 1974. I have a doubt as to whether they actually were the forerunner of the HGV, because the HGV licence was in use at the same time.
I remember a neighbour at the time drove artics, who showed me his HGV licence, that was also a brown book exactly the same as the one I had when I passed my HGV test.
If memory serves, There was a government review of transport in 1968 or 1969 called the Geddes Commission. The commission reported, and much of its findings became the Road Traffic Act 1972. I seem to remember my neighbour telling me that the brown book HGV licence was newish at the time.
Around the same time, the UK did away with the quantitve system of “O” licencing (remember A, B and C operator’s licences?) and went over to the qualititive system we have today. I won’t be far out on dates, but I could reseach on the topic if it’s important. My ramblings might stir some memories for you guys, but hey- that’s what forums are for…
Interesting comments Dave, for those who are too young to know what the hell A, B and C licences were for:
A. Anything anywhere (tramping or roaming)
B. Load out for specific customers and load back more or less directly to your own area.
C. Own account.
There were variations I think, no doubt someone will put me right where I have gone wrong. Although holders of A licences didn’t agree with the changes (because it opened the competition up to all in much the same way that the ending of the permit system in European haulage did) it certainly did do away with a lot of wasteful empty running. I understand their position but well remember the frustration of the ‘have-nots’. And regarding permits my own fury at dropping my carefully loaded trailer for France so that someone with permits left could take it, while I did a load of handball castings to Leeds. 
Spardo:
Interesting comments Dave, for those who are too young to know what the hell A, B and C licences were for:A. Anything anywhere (tramping or roaming)
B. Load out for specific customers and load back more or less directly to your own area.
C. Own account.
That’s very intereting from you too.
Your memory of the A, B and C licences is about the same as mine, but equally, I’m always prepared to be wrong as well.
However, we weren’t the only ones to have a system like that. Germany had something similar. Remember the large stickers with “Fern Schnell Gut” and a stripe, which could have been either red, blue or pink? They had two types of authority to operate, either “Lizenz” or “Genehmigung.”
As a slight aside, I once wrote an essay at college for my German “A” level, of around 1400 words, on a comparison between our and their “O” licencing systems. I contacted their Ministry of Transport and obtained a huge envelope of stuff for German CPC candidates. I wrote my essay- then the tutor told me that It looked good, but that he couln’t understand it 
He said the language was fine, but he had no way of verifying the facts. I ended up dumbing it down and turned it into “lorries and their environmental imact in the three German speaking countries.” (Still got a grade “A” for that and the whole “A” level though )
For those who think that you can’t improve yourself, here’s some facts: I was 41 when I went to college. After that I went to university, but that’s another story. I still drive now and again, but carried on with studies and became a college tutor myself. If I can do it then anybody can.
Anyway, the Italians also had a quantitive system, remember the stripes on the front bumpers and back doors? I’ve heard plenty of absolute tosh on that subject. The fact is that a white stripe was for hire and reward (conto terzi) and the red one was for own account (conto proprio) There’s a guy on here offering advice and help with Italy, and I’d bow to his possibly superior knowledge.
However, it remains as a fact that I drove an Italian artic with Turin plates for just over a year on national and international work. There’s guys on Italian firms now, but I’m going back to 1985 ish. Their system was very strange. The vehicle log-book had a photo of the truck with the type of trailer that it was allowed to pull. I was once stopped by the police at Milan and they took my log book off me, because I was pulling a tilt, when I should have been pulling a special trailer for glass Funny old game isn’t it 
You mentioned permits and having to do handball castings. That wouldn’t have happened on some of the firms I worked for. You see, there was this portakabin in Rainham where you could…
Then there was the time that I was captured in Menen. Valid French four-trip permit in my hand, just arrived from Newcastle. Present that to customs- then promptly handcuffed and carted off to Lille by four Douanes. I was charged with entering France without a permit and fined £300 (FF 3,000) My boss was in the RHA and they got the IRU involved, but to no avail. The IRU pointed out to the French Ministry of Transport that what I was doing was legal, but the telex they got back said “we make the rules here matey”
All that after me being so nice to the Douane who found that I had 500 litres of diesel above their limit My wagon at the time? A 111 Scania.
I remember being captured in Calais, and nearly ended up in gaol because I misunderstood a command to ‘go and sit in your cabin and wait for me to come to you’. Thinking a small private ‘contribution’ was required I had the notes ready and was nearly blown away by the fury of the honest douanier.
At that time I had a permit belonging to a subbie and, although I was allowed home on the ferry, the boss had to drive across in his car with the subbie to sort it out and bring the motor back.
On other occasions we were given FTA non-quota permit blanks which stated that the goods belonged to the boss, and made them out en-route as and when required.
But the silliest thing was, in the early part of the permit-year, paying bribes not to get the permits stamped, and then months later paying people to stamp 2 permits so they could be used for next year’s allocation.
A system well rid of although I know there are those who disagree because it allowed everyone and his dog onto the road to drive down rates. But, that is the capitalist way. 
Spardo:
I remember being captured in Calais, and nearly ended up in gaol because I misunderstood a command to ‘go and sit in your cabin and wait for me to come to you’. Thinking a small private ‘contribution’ was required I had the notes ready and was nearly blown away by the fury of the honest douanier.
At that time I had a permit belonging to a subbie and, although I was allowed home on the ferry, the boss had to drive across in his car with the subbie to sort it out and bring the motor back.
On other occasions we were given FTA non-quota permit blanks which stated that the goods belonged to the boss, and made them out en-route as and when required.
But the silliest thing was, in the early part of the permit-year, paying bribes not to get the permits stamped, and then months later paying people to stamp 2 permits so they could be used for next year’s allocation.
A system well rid of although I know there are those who disagree because it allowed everyone and his dog onto the road to drive down rates. But, that is the capitalist way.
Ahh… the non-quota permit. Ho Ho Ho 
the honest douanier
Yes, I too remember the days early in the quota “season” and not getting stamped, as well as the blind panic near the end of the “season” when you’d be paying them to stamp rucks of them at a time. Remember how they looked at us? Wasn’t Ventimiglia nice at that time of year?
Your tale about Calais also has a resonation for me.
Once upon a time in a far away land called Italy, an inexperienced 7.5t driver of my acquaintance was minding his own business in Aosta. His crime was to have loaded spuds in France for delivery to Italy, which was very naughty if you only had ordinary permits and didn’t have an EEC (blue) book.
Anyway, his naughtyness was discovered by Customs, who took a very dim view of the proceedings. His paperwork was captured, including his passport. He then did what any driver would do, the “inducement” having failed, and so he phoned the boss. The boss, being an impetuous type, headed straight to Aosta with all dispatch. He arrived and met the driver, and the pair of them promptly broke into the upstairs part of the Customs office, which was closed whilst the downstairs part was open.
They were discovered in the act during this latest naughtyness, and the Customs took an even dimmer view of the proceedings. They were so impressed by these shinanigans that they called the police, who took their version of a very dim view of it all. There was much shaking of heads and waving of arms by the various officials involved (this is Italy after all ) The upshot of all this was that our heroes were carted off in disgrace and promptly locked up in the nearest dungeon to await the pleasure of knowing their fate.
The boss’ wife (a feisty lady with a large briefcase of folding stuff) then flew to Aosta to recscue our heroes. The heroes were rescued and they all lived happily ever after, although they were a bit poorer for a while.
This is an unusual tale in that it seems that a role reversal has happened. It was men that needed rescuing, and it was the princess that did the rescuing. (Lucy might well like to read this, because I’ll just bet that she’s got an opinion of naughty men in distress. No disrespect intended Ms Admin, Ma’am.)
The moral of the story is that, if you were going to do third country work, and wished to avoid problems, then get the bl@@dy paperwork right
I wasn’t involved in that so, the names are omitted to protect the guilty!
Community licences aren’t as much fun as that are they?
Own account. (Hoping that a statute of limitations might protect me)
[Italian permits were very hard to get] On one firm I worked for, I had the brainwave of going own account via Germany and Austria - it worked EVERY trip. You had to employ the following alchemist’s recipe: A plausible reason, some “creative” invoices, some correctly coloured own account docs, a “creative” CMR and a German speaking driver are the keys to success here! (A detailed knowledge of who to give which bits of paper to, and when, was also mandatory to avoid capture.)
dieseldave:
[ Wasn’t Ventimiglia nice at that time of year?
Ah, Ventimiglia. I fronted up there once when the Blanc was closed by an avalanche and the place was heaving. Trucks of all nations were directed off the autostrada up a road to park in a great big field on the hillside. Then to trudge back, papers in hand to do battle. Diving into the scrum I discovered that, in addition to all this extra traffic, they had just completely changed the system, so that even the local drivers who run back and forth across the border every day didn’t have a clue. Regular drivers, irregular drivers, and the officials themselves were in the same boat. Into this multi-lingual cacophany strode a couple of Dutch and Flemish drivers (never slag off anyone who speaks Dutch, you never know when they might come in handy) and within no time at all (well, within several hours, but it could have been many ) of expert linguistic machinations we were all merrily on our way.
Brilliant story about Aosta DD - I never liked that bloody place, they were so damned ignorant not to mention idle, arrogant and corrupt
you had to laugh - we used to do wool down years ago (mainly to mandelli’s in turbigo) and one day 3 of us used the same handful of wool as our vet sample and they passed with no questions - one was merino tops, one scoured australian white, and the last greasy matress wool, all completely different
jj72:
Brilliant story about Aosta DD - I never liked that bloody place, they were so damned ignorant not to mention idle, arrogant and corruptyou had to laugh - we used to do wool down years ago (mainly to mandelli’s in turbigo) and one day 3 of us used the same handful of wool as our vet sample and they passed with no questions - one was merino tops, one scoured australian white, and the last greasy matress wool, all completely different
Takes me back a bit
That bit about the wool samples is a hoot I did wool now and again, and remember Turbigo. (It had its own Customs but no vet )
I also remember being very helpful to the vet in Aosta. I used to lend him my “replay” pen to make notations on documents…
Remember a Customs guy we used to call "Johnny Three Bananas " so called due to his resemblance to a chimp He had a special way of dealing with paperwok issues, which involved a donation to his favourite charity. Two blue 10,000 Lira notes usually did the trick and you were on your way. An “extra” donation saved you getting nasty black ink on your permit, thereby guaranteeng that you had a job for the week following
The tight #@!$% never bought anyone a drink in the bar either
Frejus was better in my opinion, but the Italian side was a pain on your way down. Sorted now, thankfully. I remember being parked in the market square in Susa on my way out of Italy once. We’d been diverted there by the police, due to exceptionally heavy snow. They insisted upon us NOTsleeping in our cabs, and the Italian Red Cross provided tents with space heaters + food and coffee I’ve still got some photos that show how much snow fell.
Spardo:
dieseldave:
[ Wasn’t Ventimiglia nice at that time of year?Ah, Ventimiglia. I fronted up there once when the Blanc was closed by an avalanche and the place was heaving. Never slag off anyone who speaks Dutch, you never know when they might come in handy and within no time at all (well, within several hours, but it could have been many
I wouldn’t dream of slagging off a Dutch person, they are amazing linguists as you said. A friend of mine has a Dutch wife, she’s amazing too. She speaks English, French and German as well as her own language. I have a detailed knowledge of German grammar, and I’m capable of discussing that very subject in German- but I have never caught her out yet!
I seem to remember a time when Ventimiglia was in absolute chaos. I had my then wife and my son with me. She’s half-Italian with a broad Naples accent; she soon had them sorted The customs agent was very apologetic, and gave my son a T-shirt. (Still got it!)
dieseldave:
[I seem to remember a time when Ventimiglia was in absolute chaos. I had my then wife and my son with me. She’s half-Italian with a broad Naples accent; she soon had them sorted
My then wife-to-be sorted them out at Aosta too. But not with a Neopolitan accent. She substituted a ■■■■■■■■■■■ sweater and, in the middle of the night, with me hiding in the bunk, she drove up to the post and presented herself as the driver. The man was so astonished that he stamped all her papers (except the one we didn’t want stamped) and off we went without a single lira changing hands, much to the chagrin of my mate following behind who wasn’t as pretty as her and probably had to make up the difference.
I’ve just checked with her but the sweater, which forever more was known to us both as ‘the customs jumper’ and saw sterling service repeatedly, is no longer in her wardrobe. Apparently it ‘went all out of shape’. Such is life.