Why I Will Never Eat a Watermelon Again
Watermelons can do that!
In February 1977 MGG (My Greek God) and I drove my car from England to Greece, where, upon arrival in Greece, MGG, more or less claimed it for himself.
MMG, not known as being a gentle driver, in no time at all and without much effort, managed to wreck the engine.
It wouldn’t go forwards, backwards, sideways or up or down.
We made the rounds of local garages, no one had any idea of how to fix it, we towed it to British Leyland in Athens, they just did a lot of muttering and threw their hands in the air.
We realised the only place anything was to be done with the car, was England, how on earth to get it there though?
What were our options?
Well, I can’t think of any can you?
I’d only had the car five months, my father bought me it, as a surprise, brand new, before he knew I was about to leave England, in fact, he’d ordered it before he knew and it arrived after I’d told him I was off to Greece…for good.
I still feel bad about that.
I couldn’t just abandon the car, I was beginning to wish I could though, this was the second problem with it.
I had forgotten to bring all the car’s papers with me, log book etc, when I left England and it spent its first month in Greece in the customs at Corinth but that’s a whole other story.
Have you heard the old saying, never buy a green car, they’re unlucky?
Well, my car was green!
Unlucky green car
The Journey Begins
As luck would have it (bad, as it turned out), MGG’s brother-in-law, a lorry driver, was making a trip to England, we would put the car in the lorry and travel to England with him.
And here began the seven day journey from hell!
This way to hell
Our final destination was Camberwell, London, the lorry was carrying watermelons, hundreds, if not thousands of them, now at the time, I was rather partial to watermelon, that was about to change.
We had to be quick about things, the lorry was leaving Greece the next day, I packed up my belongings and quick sharp, made for where the lorry was waiting to load.
Loading up the lorry looked like it could take a while, so I set off for nearby Corinth for a spot of shopping.
When I returned, car, watermelons and my suitcase were all safely aboard.
“But I need my suitcase” I told the driver, “no chance”, he replied; it was in the car, which went into the lorry first, no way was he unloading tons of watermelons, only to have to re-load them.
I set off, on what was meant to be a two, or three day journey, which turned out to take seven, in what I stood up in, a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt.
The three of us clambered into the cabin, which was to be home for the next seven days, the lorry was an extremely old Volvo.
Everything was basic…and old, something akin to the picture below, king of the road!
Vintage Volvo truck
Shades of things to come!
And we’re off, the route was to be Corinth, Athens, Evzoni, (The main border crossing between Greece and Yugoslavia, as it then was), push on through Yugoslavia, Austria, Germany, France, across from Calais to Dover by ferry and home.
Things didn’t get off to a good start, we had arrived at the Greece – Yugoslavia border, it was June, I’d only been in Greece since February, my Greek was not that good, but I did realise we had a problem.
Unbeknown to me, all papers to do with the lorry, visas, etc, even the driver’s licence for goodness’ sake are forgeries!
I’m dealing with Greeks, you’ve just gotta love ’em, I shouldn’t have been surprised!
The main border crossing between Greece and the Republic of Macedonia
To say he’d just been discovered to be in possession of forged papers, Yiannis, the lorry driver seemed rather unconcerned.
Yiannis disappeared around the back of the lorry, reappeared with a large bag, entered the customs shed and we didn’t see him again for what seemed like hours.
Yiannis came back, all smiles, he jumped into the cab and we were on the road again.
Yiannis had been through this before; he had an enormous stash of Greek cigarettes and bottles of ouzo in the back, used to bribe customs and border control!
Why I didn’t leave there and then and head back to Corinth, I’ll never know.
I Want to go Home!
The journey continued, the roads, back then, in then Yugoslavia were little more than goat tracks, the going was slow.
Everywhere we stopped, we were mobbed by beggars, some children, as young as five or six, with cigarettes dangling from their lips.
Young Smokers
Our first overnight stop was Skopje.
After a quick look around the town, we went for something to eat, had a couple of drinks and it was time for bed.
Bed was the cabin, there were two bunks, Yiannis, the driver took the top, MGG and I shared the bottom.
It was hell, sheer hell.
It was June, it was hot, it was smelly, Yianns wouldn’t open the widow, it was not safe he said.
Sleeping quarters
I made it through the night, how I don’t know.
We were now heading for Zagreb, the next night’s stopover.
Now Yiannis has a program, we only bought stuff to eat in the evenings, when we had stopped for the night.
None of us had much money.
Yiannis’ wife had provided keftedes, traditional Greek meatballs, olives, feta and hard boiled eggs, all packed up in plastic containers; this was lunch until we reached England.
Greek keftedes
After another night of hell in the lorry, we pushed on towards Austria and yes, more borders, remember this was 1977, the European union was not open borders, as it is now.
We went through the same carry on with the papers again; out came the cigarettes and ouzo.
This same thing happened at every border we crossed.
A Diet of Watermelons
By now I looked like a tramp and stunk to high heaven, Yiannis assured me that in Germany I could have a shower, luxury!
I had stopped eating the meatballs by the way, I don’t eat olives or feta cheese, so the meatballs were all I was eating.
It was June and it was hot, I didn’t want to risk food poisoning and make this hell more hellish!
Yiannis was making frequent trips to the back of the lorry to bring me watermelon.
I was now living on watermelon alone.
At the next overnight stop, I couldn’t bear the bunk anymore and tried to sleep across the front seats, tried, being the operative word.
We reached Germany, more borders but never mind, I was dreaming of showers; I had the shower about twelve hours later!
We were in Germany now, not so easy with the cigarettes and ouzo, they wanted to open the lorry and they wanted to see the car.
We were directed into the custom sheds, out came the watermelons and out came my car.
Cartons of water melons
But my Car is Green!
We stood and watched the lorry being unloaded, along with the water melons, out came a grey car but what is this?
My car was green when it was put into the lorry.
The load had not been secured correctly back in Corinth, throughout the journey, the cardboard boxes had rubbed off all the paint, it was down to the grey undercoat.
The bumpers, mirrors, anything that could come lose had come loose.
Not only was the engine done in, the outside was also done for now.
After lots more hanky panky with the papers, Yiannis took me for my promised shower.
Clean at last!
The showers were at a truck stop, a communal shower room, for men!
Yiannis gave a handful of cash to the lady in charge, and warned her not to let any men in.
I can tell you, it was the quickest shower I’ve ever had!
I was finally clean but had to put my dirty clothes back on, with the entire goings on at customs, and the shock of seeing a grey car instead of green, I had forgotten to retrieve my suitcase.
Men’s communal showers.
Can Anything Else Go Wrong?
We had now reached France, nearly home but not before another mishap.
Yiannis and MGG had become rather excited about something, not being able to understand them; I had thought maybe they were arguing.
I was told, after the fact that somewhere around Lyon, travelling downhill, the brakes had failed.
Dear God, we had been saved from near death, what else must I endure before setting foot on England’s green and pleasant land?
Now we had to find somewhere to fix the brakes
More hours of delay.
Failed brakes
Calais – I’m nearly Home!
Calais! We had reached Calais, things were looking good.
The last of the “greasing of the palm” stash was handed over and we were allowed to board the ferry.
We had to board in reverse, Yiannis had never done this before, he couldn’t do it, after numerous attempts, with a mile of screaming, angry lorry drivers behind us, he did it, we were on, I was nearly home!
In celebration I had the full English breakfast, it was a rough crossing and I promptly threw it all back up.
Full English Breakfast
I looked out of the widow and there they were, the white cliffs of Dover.
I now know why people become so emotional at the sight of them.
The white cliffs of Dover
Homeward Bound
We docked and headed for London, it was now late Saturday night, the place in Camberwell, where we were to unload was closed, the next day was Sunday, also closed.
There was no way on earth I was spending another night in that lorry.
So, after circling London, looking for the drop off place (I still remember the name of the company, it was Antippes), I left them.
Goodbye MGG, goodbye Yiannis and goodbye watermelons.
I found a taxi and made for Kings cross and a train to Leeds…home.
I arrived in Leeds, took a taxi and I was home sweet home!
The Smelly Pig is Home!
After telling my sister all about this hell, she suddenly said
“Something smells like pigs”
Yes, me and I had sat four hours on a train smelling like that.
And what about the poor taxi driver, in close quarters with me!
Morning all
