warts and all
Hi. I'm Gordon Strong, and I'm a retired UK Heavy Goods Vehicle driver. I've spent most of my working life on the roads of Britain and Europe, experiencing the trials and tribulations that come with this demanding profession. Looking back, it hasn't always been a cakewalk but there was a lot of enjoyment too, and overall I'm glad I did it because it made me the man I am. Whether my wife is happy about that might be a different story of course.
I started my career as a HGV driver in my early 20s, eager to see the world and make a living at the same time. I was young and fearless (at least I thought I was), ready to tackle any challenge that came my way. Little did I know what I was in for.
I cut my teeth driving a completely clapped out ex-army truck; I can't even remember what make it was, just that I hated it! I had to carry a couple of gallons of oil for the inevitable regular topups and my clothing always stank of it's burnt residues. There were no cares about pollution and the environment then! Still, it broke down so often that I soon learned more about engine maintenance than any classroom could teach me so it was a good education (although I didn't appreciate it at the time!), which I built on for the next forty-odd years.
Like everyone else, I had my fair share of long hours at work, tight deadlines, and a seemingly endless stream of boredom. A lot of roads were not terribly good in the late 50s and early 60s; the luxury of a motorway system were unthinkable then; and to make life more interesting we drivers also had to battle through torrential rain, strong winds, and even the odd road blocked by floods or a landslip. The physical side wasn't easy either; health and safety was a concept that few employers gave any thought to any many a HGV driver was crippled early in his career (there were definitely no women truck drivers then, they had more sense!) from the constant heavy loading and unloading of heavy cargoes. Did we have mechanical lifting equiment then? The only fork lift truck I ever saw was a human one. Back pain? aching muscles? If we weren't up to the job there was always someone else to take it on.
Perhaps it's a bit masochistic but even though life was tough then I still look back with fond memories (perhaps through rosy coloured spectacles!).
That was then, and this is now. Before I retired I drove an eight wheeler with every modern convenience, with a bed over the cab and even a mini kitchen! No toilet facilities though, but that's what fields were made for. Rules were brought in to prevent us being burnt out by long hours, the schedules we were expected to keep to became more realistic, the dirty lead filled fumes from other people's cars became a thing of the past. Did this mean we were in heaven after all?
I'm not so sure. After a few hours of being sat in my bright shiny cab in a stationary traffic jam on the M6 I often missed the old days when I could tear down nearly deserted country roads in an old Foden with the windows open and Elvis Presley blaring from the eight track stereo to drown out the rattle from the worn out track rod ends. Those were the days. Or were they?
If you fancy contacting me to point out mistakes, suggest changes to the site, or just have a moan about the state of the M25 (my nightmare) then just