I could never have been one of Hawlett's hell drivers for the following reasons:
1. I do not drive like a maniac.
2. I respect other road users.
3. I do not behave like an animal in cafes and guest houses.
4. I do not start fights in dance halls.
5. I was only three in 1957.
Only drop-outs, down and outs, drifters and the utterly desperate need apply. The impossible demands and ridiculous schedules imposed by the firm, would have pushed even The Beatles, with their eight day week to the limits of despair and distraction. Enter new kid on the block and man of mystery, Stanley Baker, who quickly falls foul of feisty foreman, Patrick McGoohan. This perpetually petulant pest (whose strategy for keeping death off the road is to drive on pavements, grass verges and any available rough ground) is entrenched as top dog and a fierce rivalry soon develops between the two.
Largely grim and gritty, there are moments of hilarity, watching these lumbering, over-laden trucks, clodhopping plodders at best, hurtling along their remote, rural route, partially shedding their load, cutting each other up, striking fear into oncoming motorists, annoying local residents with the relentless rumble.....and not a policeman in sight.
The growing acrimony, the increasingly reckless driving and vehicles which are dodgy rather than Dodge, precipitate an escalating danger, set to spiral way beyond "Look Mum, no teeth!" territory. Roadkill in some form appears ever more inevitable. Simultaneously, a wider picture of penny pinching, corner cutting corruption begins to emerge.
This absorbing, abrasive yarn is both memorable and engrossing, especially for David McCallum and Jill Ireland, who met on the set and married in next to no time.
2. I respect other road users.
3. I do not behave like an animal in cafes and guest houses.
4. I do not start fights in dance halls.
5. I was only three in 1957.
Only drop-outs, down and outs, drifters and the utterly desperate need apply. The impossible demands and ridiculous schedules imposed by the firm, would have pushed even The Beatles, with their eight day week to the limits of despair and distraction. Enter new kid on the block and man of mystery, Stanley Baker, who quickly falls foul of feisty foreman, Patrick McGoohan. This perpetually petulant pest (whose strategy for keeping death off the road is to drive on pavements, grass verges and any available rough ground) is entrenched as top dog and a fierce rivalry soon develops between the two.
Largely grim and gritty, there are moments of hilarity, watching these lumbering, over-laden trucks, clodhopping plodders at best, hurtling along their remote, rural route, partially shedding their load, cutting each other up, striking fear into oncoming motorists, annoying local residents with the relentless rumble.....and not a policeman in sight.
The growing acrimony, the increasingly reckless driving and vehicles which are dodgy rather than Dodge, precipitate an escalating danger, set to spiral way beyond "Look Mum, no teeth!" territory. Roadkill in some form appears ever more inevitable. Simultaneously, a wider picture of penny pinching, corner cutting corruption begins to emerge.
This absorbing, abrasive yarn is both memorable and engrossing, especially for David McCallum and Jill Ireland, who met on the set and married in next to no time.