CV show lament
Page 30
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Twenty-eight years have I passed since I went to a commercial vehicle show. As a wide-eyed lorry mechanic in my final year of appren
ticeship, I scoured the stands for lapel badges bearing magical names like Albion, Scammell, BMC, Foden, ERF, Seddon and AEC.
It was all so fresh, so free and easy. Wandering around Earl's Court clutching carrier bags laden with the latest technical info, climbing aboard coaches, municipal vehicles and military equipment proudly bearing the Bedford logo. Waiting to dive into the cab of the latest Atkinson, Dodge, Carrier and Leyland.
This year I took my 16year-old son to the CV show at the NEC (see pages 16-20).
We were marched over to a queue to have details pulled like teeth, then ushered over to a second file of bodies to receive identity badges.
Exhibiting our personal credentials we drifted through the ranks where wolves on their corporate stands eyed us up and down, no doubt in search of a quick sale.
Renault. Mercedes, Volvo and Scania were there, but where was old Britain? Presumably lost among the unpronounceables: Aluminium Munchenstein, Carrocerias and Chereau. We spied Laminated Profiles, Knorr-Bremse and Lamberet—so many invaders of this industry.
At the end of an exciting day at Earl's Court, London was waiting to be explored. Not so in Birmingham; it's home in time for tea, wondering if the effort was worth it. Is it me that has changed? Roger West, Sutton in Ashfreid, Notts.