Just read a thread about an old cafe and wondered if you guys have strong memories of trips in a wagon when you were in your teens.
My favourite is when I was twelve, in '73. My uncle lived in Southampton and ran a Guy “Big J” - I remember the letters were SOW on the registration plate, so he called her the old pig! He was going to be loading in Shrewsbury on Monday, so he rang mum Sunday evening and said if she would bring me there in the morning, he’d take me to France for a week! It was only when we got there that mum hadn’t brought my passport, because I didn’t have one… So she rang the issuing office downtown and explained - the bloke said to bring what ID docs you have and some photos and we see what we can do. An hour later, I had a Visitors Passport, valid for a year! We trotted off to Southampton and my uncle set to building a drop-down bunk - it was a day-cab and he was planning on a conversion… I slept across the engine hump and he had a plank suspended on chains and hinges to kip on. My ticket on the Le Havre ferry said “Co-driver” for insurance purposes…and I still have it. We travelled down to Paris into “Les Halles” where all the abattoirs used to be. There was blood constantly running along the gutters, but it didn’t smell that bad, because it was below freezing. There was a bit of a wait to be unloaded, like almost two days and I remember going into a cafe to warm up and having some onion soup. And being advised by a waitress that I shouldn’t say “Si’l te plait” because I was much too young for her… The electric fork-lifts were amazing - we had sides of beef on roof-rails in the trailer and the trucks had hooks which the meat was lifted onto by the unloaders. Then came time to pick up our return load - bone-meal - in Rouen. The wagon hadn’t been started for a while and was a non-starter. When the battery was virtually flat, my uncle organised a jump-start from a forklift - plenty of capacity and off we went. I’ll never forget going past Verdun cemetery and have promised myself a return trip one day… Apparently we grossed 52 tons when we left and the wagon blocked it’s oil breather and was blowing oil back up the dipstick and all over the trailer, so my uncle had to drop the trailer somewhere in France and bob back solo. The growl of that engine at low revs will stay with me for ever. Still love to hear a big diesel at the bottom of its range…
My Dad was and still kinda is, semi retired, a builder/groundworker with his own 7.5t tipper and backhoe always used to love going along with him in the digger or (little) lorry he used to make me hide in the lorry if he saw the police, I’m guessing as no seltbelts back then, but he was never bothered about having me sat bouncing around on the toolbox in the digger cab haa ha! He used to use a regular local company with two 8 wheeler and a 6 wheeler tipper for muckaway or aggregate loads. Got the day off school once as it was being used as a polling station, topical eh 
, and went to work with me dad and he was loading muckaway all day got offered a ride down the tip in the six wheeler never took it as was too shy or whatever back then. Dad started using a bigger company for a while and had a regular few drivers he used to load, driver offers me a trip down the tip one Saturday morning in his new 8 wheeler didn’t say no this time haa ha! May sound a bit sad I know and nothing like a trip abroad or long distance stuff but some of my happiest memory’s as a kid were going to work with my dad on the weekend or in the school holidays and probably the reason I still like plant an lorries today
Too many to recount!
I can’t remember the first truck at all, I was about three, then he graduated to a Commer tipper and then he got the Albion ( hence my username ) Clydesdale. He used to haul lime out of Dove Holes during the day and in potato season, used to run over to Lincolnshire - I think hours were best described as flexible! He used to make a bed for me by putting potato sacks in the footwell so they were level with the seat. Learnt to read from road signs, I was Map Reader in Chief. A kid really couldn’t have had a better childhood. Very, very happy days
Exciting trips were to Guernsey and the Scottish Islands when he had some work from Mirrless Blackstone for ship or hydro electric power station engines.
Went with dad from an early age, Crow Carrying, Courtaulds, Yelloways (coaches), Mancunian (coaches), too many to remember. Happy days/weeks
went with my uncle when 13yrs old to germany in his leyland marathon middle east spec he was usually on uk iran but took me with him on a local as he called it but that was it i was hooked 
I started going with my Dad as soon as I was out of nappies, from then on I went out in the lorry every chance I got, if I wasn’t at school, I was in the lorry with my Dad.
I started out in old British bone shakers and then witnessed and experienced the Swedish revolution, going from noisy, bouncy old Fodens to 110 Scanias and Volvo F88s.
I used to give every driver we passed a thumbs up and we passed quite a few in those F88s!
Best times of my life…
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My dad drove for whitwick granite in coalville Leicestershire. He drove an eight wheeler maudesley badged tipper HAY492 reg date 1951 really an AEC mammoth major mark three one of five…flat out at 35mph no heater and signal lights fitted later. It lasted till 1964 but by then was sadly obsolete 14 ton payload and a pain on the motorways. For a short time when a was a real little kid my dad hurt his arm greasing this beast (99) grease points) so the company put him on a Morris FG (4 wheeler)with a sauer diesel engine these were a poor tool and only carried about 5 ton . My dad covered central England he hauled to the Ross spur and the M1 motorway under construction. I went on the M1 the 4th day it was opened in 1959 it started at junction 17 ( I think ) and ended near Watford quite a trip for a 9 year old !! My dad finished his driving career in a 4 wheel commer TNH265…and died in 2000
I was 5 when i took my first trip will always rember it,lovley summers morn,white van ,blacked out windows 2 very nice rental drivers .
8 oclock in the morn they knock the door, hello bellend are you coming with us today.yippy i said to my self as i got in the van.they said they had 2tone claxons they would put on for me,i felt estatic as the people waved at me behind the dark windows , i think they thourth i was royalty.
We arrived at a big hotel by the sea .there was alot of people in white coat running a round helping with my bags.(very nice people never forgot em) it was a great trip in the van.after 20 years i went in another van. The good old days i loved em.
The wheels on the bus go round and round
the first wagon my dad took me out in was a flatbed dodge k series in red[I was age 6] for graham adams of Kingston upon thames,after that various vehicles over the years,bedford TKs,KMs,Ford d series,BMCs,various leylands,ford cargos,thats where my love of classic lorries came from, also visiting loads of transport cafes up and down the country, they were good days.
First went with my dad, big paper mill with Ken Abrahams , based in skem. Foden was the first wagon I remember.
Fell in love with Wagons then.
I remember one time , I remember my dad putting something ( a tachograph disc) underneath the speedometer. It played on my mind all day, wanting to know what it was.
Get to delivery, dad jumps out to speak to the man, I lean over, turn the key , out comes the tachograph, Meh nothing exciting, put it back in, forget to turn the key.
Unloaded,reloaded on our way. 2 hours down the road "have you messed with my tachograph? "
“Noooooo”
Oooft good job it was Friday, would have made for a long week getting a bollocking of me dad on monday
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Sinclair89 - that story just made my day 
haven’t laughed like that in ages thanks for posting it
I remember going with my dad over the long summer holidays in a Foden S80 I think artic then a Volvo F86 but the one trip that stands out for me was in his fairly new at the time A reg F7 all shiney and new he had tipped a load bricks from Whittlesey down south and we were reloading at Mallinsons wood yard (if I recall correctly) and it was a lovely sunny day. I can’t remember stopping once on the way back to tighten the ropes on the load but that was way before straps were introduced but my memory might be playing tricks on me.
Many years later after dad had passed away I passed my class 1 in a F7 it seemed fitting at the time and I will always have a soft spot for Volvos having driven a few over the years. If I ever win the lottery I would like to restore one.
malcolmgbell:
I was 5 when i took my first trip will always rember it,lovley summers morn,white van ,blacked out windows 2 very nice rental drivers .
8 oclock in the morn they knock the door, hello bellend are you coming with us today.yippy i said to my self as i got in the van.they said they had 2tone claxons they would put on for me,i felt estatic as the people waved at me behind the dark windows , i think they thourth i was royalty.
We arrived at a big hotel by the sea .there was alot of people in white coat running a round helping with my bags.(very nice people never forgot em) it was a great trip in the van.after 20 years i went in another van. The good old days i loved em.The wheels on the bus go round and round
Was it strangeways
Used to go on trips with a chap who drove a KM Bedford 4 wheel tipper (double front bumpers) when i was youngster in the early 70s delivering limestone out of Newlandside quarry above Stanhope over to the steelworks at Consett,had to wait outside the gates as under 16s were not allowed in,i knew there was only one thing i wanted to do when i was older,even though i have mind numbing boring days sometimes(usually in queues on the M6) i still remember riding shotgun in that Bedford with great fondness and i would do it all again if i had a time machine.
I’m sure a few of us had mishaps while we were out with the old man, I had a few memorable ones, the first was sliding off the doghouse of a chinese 6 Foden artic, which was covered with a tartan blanket, as my Dad turned left, I went flying and put my arm through the spokes of the steering wheel, he couldn’t straighten up and knocked the railings down as he went sharp left!
Another was engine hump related, he had a brand new F86, NMC 30R, we were belting back down the M1 and I wanted to stand behind him so I could see how fast we were going, in doing so I kicked the handbrake on, this had three effects, firstly it locked the back wheels, which secondly made my looking at the speedo a waste of time and finally it earned me a clip round the ear and the words I never wanted to hear “you’re never coming in the lorry again”
The best is saved until last, my Dad had a 290 F88 and was on tankers, this particular day we were full of creosote and had a few drops to do around Southampton, at the first drop the cable for the hand throttle snapped, so my old man used a chock under the throttle to get the revs up to pump off, the only way to get the revs high enough was to shove the chock a fair way under the throttle so it had to be at 90deg to the pedal, which meant the driver’s door wouldn’t close, we were pumping into a small tank at a garden center type place and my Dad was watching the level, as it got close to full he told me to jump in, dip the clutch and knock the PTO off, so I did, but first I slammed the door shut, causing the wedge to go further under the throttle, this then turned a slow pump into a high pressure pump and there was a fountain of creosote spraying out of the open vent on the tank until I managed to kick the chock out and knock the pump out, everybody in the place and everything in there got covered in creosote, even the cars on the street outside, my casual remark that at least none got in the cab as the door was closed didn’t go down to well at all and I was once again banned from going in the lorry! I never realised how funny that event was until later that day when my Dad recalled the story to his mates and they all ■■■■■■ themselves laughing, which helped me no end as my ban was lifted before it started and from that moment on we always carried a spare cable for the hand throttle.
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further to my post I remember one long job in horrible weather,my dad was driving a Bedford KM and picked up a load which required rope and sheet, on the way home the sheet came loose so my dad pulled into Watford gap,we undone the securing rope so we could sort the sheet out,me being young I decided to climb on the top to pull the sheet to the front,the load was around 8 ft on the flat bed,as I pulled a huge gust of wind caught it,pulling me towards the rear as I got near the edge to avoid falling off I sat down on top of the load and got absolutely soaking wet on my rear,my dad was really concerned[NOT]doubled up in tears of laughter,still he did buy me a cup of tea once the load was sorted [I was 14 at the time]
First trip for me was in an ERF B Series with no passenger seat. It had a wooden box for storage instead and a cushion to sit on. It did have a fold down bunk though. I remember one trip up to inter city transport in ■■■■■■■■■■■ from the yard in Grimsby…my dad was driving a Seddon Atkinson 300 sleeper cab and he spotted a young good looking female hitchhiker on the A1 just south of scotch corner and being a ‘knight of the road’ he couldn’t leave her standing there…so he pulled over and I was relegated to sitting on the bunk (I wasn’t happy)…anyway she was riding with us all the way to ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ problem was after about twenty seconds of her being in the cab, we realised she bloody stank…musn’t have washed for a year or something, that cab stank for days afterwards (worse than the usual ■■■■ and diesel fumes)!!!
I’m not saying I question my dads morals but the phrase ‘don’t tell your mum about this’ cropped up a lot during my time in the wagon…and he always seemed to know women in every cafe or factory we went to…bet he bloody hated me being there really!!
newmercman:
I’m sure a few of us had mishaps while we were out with the old man, I had a few memorable ones, the first was sliding off the doghouse of a chinese 6 Foden artic, which was covered with a tartan blanket, as my Dad turned left, I went flying and put my arm through the spokes of the steering wheel, he couldn’t straighten up and knocked the railings down as he went sharp left!Another was engine hump related, he had a brand new F86, NMC 30R, we were belting back down the M1 and I wanted to stand behind him so I could see how fast we were going, in doing so I kicked the handbrake on, this had three effects, firstly it locked the back wheels, which secondly made my looking at the speedo a waste of time and finally it earned me a clip round the ear and the words I never wanted to hear “you’re never coming in the lorry again”
The best is saved until last, my Dad had a 290 F88 and was on tankers, this particular day we were full of creosote and had a few drops to do around Southampton, at the first drop the cable for the hand throttle snapped, so my old man used a chock under the throttle to get the revs up to pump off, the only way to get the revs high enough was to shove the chock a fair way under the throttle so it had to be at 90deg to the pedal, which meant the driver’s door wouldn’t close, we were pumping into a small tank at a garden center type place and my Dad was watching the level, as it got close to full he told me to jump in, dip the clutch and knock the PTO off, so I did, but first I slammed the door shut, causing the wedge to go further under the throttle, this then turned a slow pump into a high pressure pump and there was a fountain of creosote spraying out of the open vent on the tank until I managed to kick the chock out and knock the pump out, everybody in the place and everything in there got covered in creosote, even the cars on the street outside, my casual remark that at least none got in the cab as the door was closed didn’t go down to well at all and I was once again banned from going in the lorry! I never realised how funny that event was until later that day when my Dad recalled the story to his mates and they all ■■■■■■ themselves laughing, which helped me no end as my ban was lifted before it started and from that moment on we always carried a spare cable for the hand throttle.
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Sounds like your luck runs the same as mine.
Pete my Mum and Dad were on first name terms with the doctors and nurses at the local casualty dept.
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I’d been riding shotgun for as long as I can remember – I had my first night out in 1953 when I was 5, mother was in maternity hospital giving birth to my little brother, it was a few days in hospital then and I wasn’t at school yet, so I was out with dad every day. He used to have a night out every week in Ramsgate, stayed in the same digs and parked his Bedford “O” type up in Timpson’s coach garage. I remember the digs landlady, Hilda making a big fuss of me, I ate better and got more treats there than at home! It became a regular thing in school holidays, the one that stands out in my memory is going to the pictures with dad in Ramsgate to see the new film “The Dam Busters” (1955). I was lucky as a cab-happy kid. I was always out with dad, then when my big brother came out of the REME in 1957 he went driving, vans at first, then lorries, so I went out with him. And living next door to me was the foreman fitter from the local Esso depot who used to knock at the door when he got called out from home on breakdowns to see if I wanted to go with him – did I? Silly question. I can clearly remember looking on in awe as he changed wheels on the Scammells with balloon tyres they looked gigantic to me as a nipper. Given all that it’s no surprise I’ve been lorry-mad all my life and seized every opportunity I could to drive anything I could get my hands on.
Bernard