HELPING HAND
Page 10
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It looked huge: I had parked my Austin Metro facing uphill only moments before, when I called in the Metal Yard office to collect their 2002 calendar.
On returning it was dwarfed by a new sort of khaki coloured Magnum, front bumpers nearly touching, apart from the height difference, but it was so close the Renault number plate was invisible and a kerb-long glance at the pristine triaxle tilt trailer gave no nationality clue.
Cab door opens, driver descends the wheelside ladder... "Can I help you, driver?"—no reply.
"Parlez vous Francais?'"— nothing. "Sprechen sie Deutsch?"—nein, but a small piece of paper comes out of a breast pocket, and fingers pointing to his heart, he spoke: "Polski, non Engleech."
His delivery point was close, but around a complex circulatory system, including a long queue of familiar rigs waiting for the privilege of access to B&Q's Goods-In gate. Our Pole was already in quite a state, and I thought the sight of that could be the last straw although it wasn't for him anyway.
Strangely enough he had no understanding of left or right in any language so there was nothing for it, I turned my car around and led him, little and large, to his consignee.
The driver alighted again, this time with a smile despite a two-vehicle queue ahead and the clock ticking at 16:00hrs.
Would you have trusted some 1.80K worth of tackle, let alone the value of your customer's load, across the water to a foreign land with a driver having only his native tongue?
I would not have done, but perhaps that is why I never progressed from owner-driver!
Somehow I enquired "Where next?"
"Wundrop!" he said. He is learning, I thought...
Neil Peet (retired), Ex-Southern BPS, Northwood, Middlesex.