The 1963 Brighton to Ripon Saga
 

Hi Folks, it has been suggested that I put this little story on here.

It is Autumn 1963, the R E (TA) From Brighton are on their way to Ripon for their Annual Camp. They will be in convoy with about twenty vehicles including: Scammel Constructor with 20 ton Tasker Low Loader, carrying A dozer or the 10 RB digger, brain gone, plus BK Lorry mounted digger on a dennis chasis, Coles Crane, BK Grader, 10 Ton Albion Machinery Truck, 10 Ton Albion LWB Cargo an assortment of 3 tonners 1 Tonners,
Land Rovers and Champs. Not forgetting the Don R's.

Departure from Barracks commences 2359 hrs.
0010 hrs. Clutch gives out on the Scammel, this means it is tea time, we have our first roadside brew up, 10 minutes from the barracks, whilst our own wizard with his battered bucket of tools, cuts up a baked bean tin, the contents already warming someones insides, makes shims for the clutch, which he duly fits and puts the show back on the road in two hours

Not only did the clutch hold out for the trip to North Yorkshire, which as I remember took over two days, including an overnight stop at Bedford AER Camp, but I can never recall it being replaced, though I suppose it must have been.

Our Wizard deserves a mention, he was Pete Newnham whose civvy job was Plant Workshop Foreman for SM Tidy a well known Sussex Haulage and Plant Hire outfit of the Time, Later integrated with Hall and Co. of Worthing and into the RMC Group.

I will not mention the level crossing in Yorkshire that was on an acute bend, and which after an age getting the Scammel Rig around and over it, the Scammel and the rest of us, arrived back at for a second visit, half hour or so later. And that was without Sat. Nav.

If you read this Sir, from your lofty heights of today, I promise I will not reveal the name of the Subaltern responsible.
Oops, sorry it slipped out. Hm no I will not.

Don't miss the next instalment.

Energumen

Hi Energumen - great article and thanks for sharing it with us and look forward to the next instalment.

I Agree. a great read!...roll on the next instalment.

....ditto

Ian

Part Two, The return Journey.
 

Having enjoyed a very successful and eventful camp, where my co-driver, had taken over from a 'Don R', who had broken his leg whilst on despatch Rider duties.
We commence the return journey, with me having no co-driver and nominated as Tail end Charlie, with the recovery bar and an Austin A30 in the back, which belonged to a Corporal, who had driven it to camp, where it had given up the ghost.

The then Plant Troop Sargeant, whom I think worked in a Brewery, ( really, I don't know why I told you that, it probably had no bearing, or did it?). Anyway, he was a very strident and organised sort of fellow, who believed in giving precise orders, with detailed contingency plans, for the event of an emergency, instructed me thus;
"Right, you are Tail end Charlie and will act as recovery".
"If you see any of our vehicles stopped, stop with them to offer assistance".

"By the way N", says I, "I have no route details or maps, and if I get seperated, I could have a problem", " Always the smart ****", he says, "just do as you are something well told".

In this spirit of harmony, mutual respect and shared wisdom, off we go, making our way to joining the A1.

Well everything was going great, cab happy as hell, no co-driver to take over and share the driving, I was made up and happy as a dog with two 'Richards'.

But this was without my being a Party to Sargeant Strident's fiendish little scheme hatched between him and the driver of the BK Lorry Mounted Digger,
" Right Johno" he had said, "this broody (sic), digger is holding everything up, so I want you to follow me on a shortcut so we can get ahead of the convoy, and meet them nearer the A1".

Still whistling and enjoying the scenery, with regular looks astern in my 2inch diameter mirrors, which were usually just filled with the image of the green canvas canopy, blowing in the wind. I digress, yes still happily trundling on and keeping the vehicle in front at a sensible distance, I round a bend into a small town shopping street, and there it is! It's the broody Bk Digger and Sargeant Strident in his Austin Champ. You know the man, the one who said "You are Tail end etc. etc.".

Being a good soldier, I did with all due care, find a place to stop, to offer my assistance, Do you remember that bit?.

Well Sargeant Strident seems to have forgotten our earlier little chat and came barreling up the road, breathing fire from his nostrils and probably his annal orifice as well, then throwing his beret on the road, in a most undignified and unbecoming manner, as he undermined my Parents Prerogative, by re-naming me, in a most disrespectful, voluble but beautifully obscene way.

No point in repeating my response, but it was suitably appropriate and interspersed with my most graphically demonstrated expletives as I followed the next order. "You better put you broody foot down now, and catch up with the rest of the covoy", so that is it. But remember, no route card or map and he did not tell me that the rest of them had taken a left turn, half a mile further on. So I am now barreling along at an enthralling 45mph, for the first time that day, you know, straight on like.

To be Continued, The Don R experience, not to mention the London Circular and PC 49.

Energumen

Great story Energumen and look forward to the next one.

Great story... Keep it comming.

Part three; The Don R's
 

Now, still smarting from the public dressing down for doing as instructed, but nonetheless happy to be free of the impedence of slower trucks for a while, I wend my way homeward again, the whistle and clatter of the V8 petrol and vibration from the all terrain tyres, interrupted frequently with the sharp crack of the canvas tilt as sail like, it fought with the wind, these had become a sort of calming overture to my ears.

Then it happened, as if from nowhere first one, then a second Don R appeared alongside my cab door, the riders appearance resembling some gruesome and macabre ghouls from a nightmare. Goggles, crash helmets, great coats flared out like the wings of Concorde, leather thigh boots and gauntlets, complete with scarves that trailed like ships pennants in a storm.

Here we go, "Wwwuuuwww wwwwwover" shout the ghouls in unison, as they wooble, along, bodies akimbo and left arms flailing the air, "Wwwuuuwww wwwwover yapwat". It was quite clear to me as an astute observer of body language and military speak, that these individuals wished me to stop and exchange dialogue with them, and I did so.

Now something must be left to the readers imagination, so you must insert your own sentences, phrases, grunts, gesticulations and obscenities into the tale at this point.

Suffice to say, it resulted in my doing a five point about turn on this rural road, scarcely wide enough for a vehicle in each direction, now you would think I had been punished enough, wouldn't you? yes?. Not Broody likely, just as I complete the manouvre, up comes a knight in , no not shining armour, a broody Austin Champ, who could this be wondered I, as it approached, then an arm bedecked with three of the most prominent chevrons known to man, appeared from the drivers side, apparently offering to give me some physical ecstasy and relief, now I knew who this was, before the voice became audible, sorry, no prizes.

Sargeant Strident, having sent the Don R's to turn me round, had been advised that if I had carried straight on it was a more direct route to the A1 anyway. He now directed another five point about turn and in his own inimmitable way, sent me to join the A1 South and catch up with the convoy.

On arriving at the A1 with the two Don R's in attendance and Strident having gone goodness knows where, I was instructed to wait in a lay by for the rest of the convoy and rejoin at the rear.
This instruction was valid for about fifteen minutes, whilst the two Don R's Went Northward, after which time they reappeared, telling me to get my boot down as the convoy had already passed.

Now it is fair to point out at this time, that the only means of radio communication between any convoy members was a pair of No.19 radio sets, which were 'netted in' at the start of our outward journey and never spoke to each other again until we got home.

However, delightful, I am coaxing about 51 mph out of this old Canadian Thames, the various noises like sections of an orchestra, each making their own unique contribution to this 1812 overture, with the curtains providing the explosions. Even more delightful, the only vehicles passing me are the 'Tartan Arrows', who remembers them?.

Then in my 2inch mirrors, first offside, then nearside, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an Austin Champ.

To be continued.

Energumen

Appreciate the great stories, must take ages to write them and look forward to the next one. Tartan Arrows are a mystery to me as I was kept in dark places called workshops for too long. Managed to escape the workshops and ended up in engine rooms at sea.

Hello and thanks for the nice comments, I am just trying to recreate a bit of a true but amusing anecdote about a driver/squaddie experience, 40 odd years ago, to encourage more people to join and relate their far more interesting stuff.

New thread started on the bus forum

Regards
Energumen

Tartan Arrows? ... wernt they the fish wagons from Aberdeen to London?

Hi Billyboy, it is over 40 years ago, but they could well have been, the mind plays games now, but I have trucks and single deckers coming into my mind, but I think the Tartan Arrow were trucks, and the single deckers were another name, all I know is they both went like shush off a shovel.

Regards
Energumen

Tartan Arrows
 

Hi G-CPTN, thanks for that, I would have expected to have immediately recognised the vehicles, but 40+ years is taking it's toll on the memory, having said that, with it's forward control configuration and pantechnicon body, that may explain why I have this slight nag going on in my head about a coach.

Regards
Energumen

I think they were 'express' carriers moving between Scotland and Southern England (or at least London).
We used to have 'County Carriers' that operated between Newcastle and Carlisle (from the County Garage). All gone now.

Yes, if they were yellow and the arrow was actually tartan, I am pretty sure they were the ones.

Regards
Energumen

From:- http://www.mremag.demon.co.uk/hpsite...Chronology.htm

Part Four, The Don R's and London Circular.
 

So, the broody Austin Champ is really struggling to close the gap and I, spoiling for another battle of words with my tormenter, decide to pull over to hasten the confrontation.

Now it was my turn to have the puerile tantrum, I leapt, well yes I could and often did in those days, yes, I leapt from the cab, grasped my beret and like a protagonist of yore, thrust it on the ground, (well the Don R's had all the gauntlets). Here was my challenge.
Have you ever been so built up for a fight, that you have actually felt disappointed, when the other party apologises or gives a reasonable excuse?.
Bod it, you know that man, you know, that one , the one in the Austin Champ, well it wasn't him. Bogger!.

Captain K, a most genial and well respected, up through the ranks, Gentleman, greeted me with his warm smile and a twinkle in his eye.

"Well Sapper", he says, "and which front are you returning from today".
Don't you just hate it when you want to be sullen and morose, and some bogger makes you laugh?.

I explain in great detail, my traumatic experiences of the day and close by telling him that I am obeying the last order and trying to catch the convoy.
"Well you are to be congratulated", says he, (this was better, a bit of praise, what a nice man). "Yes congratulations indeed, you have done so well, the convoy is at least ten miles to your rear, and what news have you of the Don R's "?.

I explained that when last seen, they were heading South Like two angry bees who had flown through a line of washing and come out bedecked in Grandfathers World War one Military attire.

I will be brief, who are you kidding?, who me?.

Well, the convoy duly became caught up with, after I had waited about forty minutes. We all had tea and set off South. The Don R's?, we came across them somewhere North of Watford.

Now, how about the London Circular, ah, indeed, that is a story for another time.

Energumen

The London Circular
 

Now, I was never any good in London and that has not changed to this day.

However, I was not the Shepherd, the modern day equivelant of whom, do not carry crooks, but rather, carry 'pips', and are crooks.
No that was not true, but it just came into my head. Seemed funny to me.

So this sheep in Olive green steel and canvas attire, is faithfully tagging on to the end of this noisy gas guzzling chain of similarly housed humanity, as each with their own thoughts, they roar, clank and crack their way through the shadowy streets of the Capital, in that half light that signals a new dawn.

It is at this time, that I, always thinking myself 'the wit', happened to spot a Metropolitan Police Officer, swathed in his cloak and with the reflection of our passing headlights, playing little dancing patterns on the chrome of his helmet badge. Well, could I keep my tongue between my teeth ?, so to speak.
Well actually, yes, but only because I needed it there to whistle the theme to Dixon of Dock Green. You know the one; dah de dah - de dah de dah- de dah de dah dah- dah dah dah dah. then it came loose, as I shouted, 'Evening All'. Then, "have you got the time Mr. Policeman", we had slowed to a crawl, as the 'pips' studied the 'charts'. Well I was only young. Would I be that silly today? You bet.

Good old boy, he waved and took it in good part.

The dawn fully unravels and the road sweeps are out, the Daily Mirror vans are flying round disgorging bundles of papers every so often, without stopping. (how did they do that?, there must have been two of them).
I digress.
So London is awaking to a new day, and we are still about 55 miles from home, I say about, because, just then I thought, this street looks familiar, you ever had that deja vu feeling when finding your way through an unfamiliar town?, yes?, well I had it now, as into view, not twenty yards from where I had last seen him, came a vision in dark cloak and tall helmet, standing on the opposite pavement and doing an Acadamy Award rendition of 'The Laughing Policeman'. Alright, It's not that funny. The poor bogger was absolutely hysterical as 'The pips' asked him the way and I tried to get down between the pedals with embarrassement.

We did get back to Brighton about four hours later, having had our ten minutes break every two hours.

Don't get too relieved it is over. I was in the TA for about sixteen years in total. Ha ha.

Energumen

Ha ha ah.... Great stuff

Good job that there wasn't a war on . . .
Dad's Army?

Yes, absolutely correct of course, but then again, is that not the whole point of the training excercises, and who among us after years on the road has not had a circular tour of our own, or has not, in whatever field of employment, dropped a clanger or three.

I certainly cannot make that claim, and though I have made light, I was and am, certainly not ashamed to have been part of that group of people, from all walks of life, who came together on weekends and a couple of weeks a year and actually, for the most part, were very successful in what they did.

I had and have great respect for the Military, Full and Part time.

Well done all the lads and lasses.

Regards
Energumen

Thanks Energumen very entertaining.