It was dark and freezing cold at 4 a.m. when I set off from the yard in Maidstone in a Leyland Clydesdale 16-ton truck. The whole experience was a shock to me. Armed with only a map of England and a few sandwiches, I deliberately avoided bringing blankets and camping gear, fearing the other drivers might see me as a bit of a sissy.
The week prior, I had been reassured, “Don’t worry, lad, we don’t drop drivers in the deep end.” Then, they handed me addresses in Liverpool, Manchester, and Leeds. (How deep is the deep end, exactly?)
Upon starting the engine, it sounded like it had no oil and smoked like it was on fire, and every hill posed an embarrassing challenge. With no M25 yet, I navigated into London, crisscrossing the River Thames several times before finally finding a sign for the North and heading up the M1. I relaxed a bit as I approached my first delivery in Liverpool.
The first night was spent at the M62 services, devoid of sleep, amongst trucks coming and going, lying across the seats in the bloody cold, with no bed in the truck. The façade of coolness and confidence came at a high price. (Night heaters had yet to be invented in 1983!)
The morning saw deliveries in Manchester and Leeds, with my collection of A-Z maps growing. After a call from a phone box to the office for instructions (pre-mobile phones), I reloaded in Immingham and headed back down the A1.
Navigating London was a nightmare, back and forth over the Thames again, before I finally found my way out. The conundrum of being lost in London means that seeing familiar sights equates to being lost again!
That first week was a very steep learning curve. I had no sense of direction; sometimes, I couldn’t even find myself on the map, and I had to ask passers-by, “Where am I?” Road signs with numbers in brackets (A251) confused me; low bridges and high winds terrified me. However, I loved the challenge and my newfound independence. The people I met were mostly helpful and friendly.
At the end of the week, I drove back into the yard, anticipating a hero’s welcome from the motorway to the base. My pride was dented when I was simply told to diesel up and park and informed that my mother had been on the phone to the office, fretting over my safety. Bless her! The drivers often forgot my name and where I was going, but never that!
Transitioning from a local farm job to long-distance driving and being away all week was quite a leap. I started to engage with the outside world, listening to the radio, reading newspapers, and chatting with strangers at snack bars, transport cafés, and pubs all over the country.
Being alone is not the same as being lonely. It is a benefit I have been comfortable with to date. This was a big year for me, and my wages increased from £30.00 per week on the farm to the princely sum of £2.20 an hour.
1983 marked a pivotal year for me, accompanied by the vibrant melodies of Wham!, Duran Duran, and Culture Club. Boy George’s flamboyant style in a frock stirred both controversy and admiration. The airwaves were filled with hits like “Karma Chameleon,” the anthem of the year. UB40 serenaded us with “Red Red Wine,” Bowie urged us to “Let’s Dance,” and Spandau Ballet gave us the timeless ballad “True.” Meanwhile, Michael Jackson’s groundbreaking “Thriller” album continued to captivate listeners worldwide.
In the fashion arena, I sported Hawaiian shirts with turned-up collars, donning sunglasses daily in pursuit of a walk-on role in Magnum P.I. Against the backdrop of cultural shifts, Margaret Thatcher secured her re-election as Prime Minister in a resounding victory.
In the world of space exploration, Sally Ride made history as the first American woman in space. The advent of the internet and the inaugural cellular phone call also marked milestones in communication history.
Sports enthusiasts celebrated as Manchester United clinched the F.A. Cup, and Aberdeen triumphed over Real Madrid in a historic victory. Cinemas buzzed with the release of Rocky, starring Sylvester Stallone, inspiring me to adopt both the hairstyle and voice of the iconic character.
Yet amidst the whirlwind of events, the poignant departure of the incomparable Karen Carpenter left a void, her melodies echoing the soundtrack of my teenage years. On a lighter note, the world welcomed the birth of Amy Winehouse, hinting at the musical legacies yet to unfold.
I feel that the mobile phone and Satnav have sadly taken some of this away.
I was also exposed to various political viewpoints, from militant miners and dockers to Thatcherian entrepreneurs. During this time, I was influenced by a diverse range of individuals, from Arthur Scargill to Richard Branson types.
