Why Memories Matter

One of my greatest regrets in compiling this website is that so many of the people who helped build the recovery industry never recorded their experiences. Over the years countless operators have promised to write down their memories, but sadly very few ever do.

That is a great shame because many of the most remarkable stories from our industry's past will never appear in trade magazines, company records or official histories. They exist only in the memories of the men and women who lived through them.

I know from personal experience that my own story is far from unique. Similar events were taking place every day in recovery yards, police garages and workshops throughout Great Britain. Many operators of my generation will recognise the situations described here and, I hope, remember similar stories of their own.

The history of vehicle recovery is not just about organisations, equipment and technology. It is also about the people who answered the telephone in the middle of the night, the recovery drivers who worked through the worst weather, the police officers, ambulance crews, mechanics, control-room staff and countless others who quietly kept Britain's roads moving.

If these recollections encourage even one other person to write down their own memories, then this page will have achieved one of its main aims.

Please help preserve the history of our industry. If you have memories worth telling, write them down. Too many stories have already been lost because the people who lived them assumed somebody else would record them.

How It All Started

To understand the way of life back then, you must first remember that motoring was also very different.

The Fire Brigade were not the professional rescue service they are today and all over the country police forces unofficially relied upon the specialist knowledge and experience of the 'just passing' recovery truck driver to help them at the scene of accidents.

That help could range from dragging a casualty clear of the carriageway to using breakdown equipment to assist in freeing trapped occupants. With such a close relationship, it is fair to say that many coachworks also monitored the police radio network, just to make sure they happened to be "just passing" at the right time.

Of course this was not entirely public spirited. It was also a way of earning a living and, for many operators (myself included), it became a way of life.

When I started in recovery there were really only two motoring organisations that mattered — the AA and the RAC. Membership numbers were small by modern standards and, importantly, neither covered accident recovery.

As a result, coachworks received most of their work direct rather than through the motoring organisations. Accidents were also far more common than they are today, which is a tribute to the many road safety improvements introduced in the intervening years.

National Rescue's Kingston office alone could, at peak times during the 1970s, deal with between five and ten road traffic accidents in a single day. Unlike most people working shifts in the official emergency services, a recovery driver might be on standby and attending incidents twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

The result was that we often learned more than most about the causes of accidents, the worst locations and, sometimes, which vehicles you would rather be travelling in when things went wrong.

The accidents we dealt with were often spectacular and most frequently occurred shortly after the pubs and nightclubs closed. The image below was taken early one morning after Ringo Starr and the lovely Barbara Bach somersaulted over the A3's Robin Hood roundabout in his Mercedes.

The car was later crushed and, according to industry legend, ended up as a coffee table in Ringo's house. If anyone has a photograph of the table, I would love a copy to display here.

Learning the Trade

Most of my early years were spent working the A3 between Putney and Guildford, particularly along the Kingston and Esher bypasses. They were busy roads then and provided a first-class education for anyone entering the recovery business.

The first real recovery company I drove for was the legendary Windmill Coachworks of Molesey and later Staines. Next came Instant Service of Surbiton, followed by Cambridge Coachworks, so named because it occupied the old Sun Engineering site in Cambridge Road, Kingston.

Before long I was promoted to Recovery Manager and later became a director. It was there that I eventually formed National Rescue — although only after a certain television puppet organisation had pinched the name I really wanted: International Rescue.

National Rescue would ultimately grow into the National Rescue Group, operating depots across London, Surrey, the Midlands, Sussex, Middlesex and Devon. At the time, however, all that lay in the future. Like most people entering the trade, I still had a great deal to learn.

Helping the Police with Their Enquiries

In those days virtually every road traffic accident was reported and managed by the local Traffic Division, so it was inevitable that recovery operators got to know the officers who attended the same incidents day after day.

Let's not kid ourselves, I remember the occasional brown envelope floating around when a traffic car called in to see my governor at the coachworks, but it was nowhere near as common as some newspapers would have had people believe. The reality was that you often became good friends with the police because you worked alongside them in difficult, dangerous and sometimes unpleasant circumstances.

In the event of a serious accident involving trapped casualties it was often the recovery operator who carried out the cutting work. I remember carrying far more cutting equipment than the Fire Brigade did at the time. For three years I drove a Bedford CF fitted with a large compressed air cylinder purely to power rescue equipment.

At the other extreme I have lost count of the number of times I held one end of a tape measure while a PC or traffic sergeant recorded skid marks.

Our local police garages were TDV at Surbiton for the Metropolitan Police and the Surrey Police Traffic Division based at Burpham and Chertsey. The photograph below shows some of TDV's finest — all good friends — dealing with a PolAcc, back in the days before they became the more politically acceptable "Police Vehicle Collisions".

Our local police garages were TDV at Surbiton for the Metropolitan Police and the Surrey Police Traffic Division based at Burpham and Chertsey. The photograph below shows some of TDV's finest dealing with a classic PolAcc — an overturned Metropolitan Police Black Maria. The officer responsible is sitting patiently inside the vehicle while the Traffic Sergeant completes the necessary enquiries.

Sadly the Traffic Sergeant shown in the photograph is no longer with us, but the friendships formed during those years remain. Several of the officers and myself who worked together at the time still meet twice a year at the TDV curry nights, where memories of incidents such as this are regularly revisited (and exaggerated).

In the case of a rollover with debris scattered across the carriageway it would often be the recovery operator, police and fire brigade working together to clear the scene. As a rule everyone simply got on with the job.

There was far less concern about sticking rigidly to a duty roster or waiting for the correct department to arrive. Perhaps the rule book was still being written. Whatever the reason, roads generally reopened much more quickly than they do today.

On the Kingston Bypass there was once a crossroads at South Lane. Everyone knew that an accident on one carriageway often led to another on the opposite side as drivers slowed to look. If the second accident was not cleared quickly enough, there was every chance of a third occurring back on the first carriageway.

Today we call it rubbernecking. Back then we called it a hard day's night.

The recovery industry attracted some remarkable personalities, as did the police officers we worked alongside. Many would probably last about five minutes in today's highly trained and politically correct world, but if I were facing a major emergency tomorrow I would still be happy to have any one of them standing beside me.

One of the traditions of the time was that everyone had a nickname. In fact it was perfectly possible to know somebody for years without having the slightest idea what their real name was.

Some that I remember (and that are printable) include:

• Red Setter – Had red hair.
• Hyphen – Had a hyphenated surname.
• Paragraph – A very short recovery driver.
• Shetland Tony – Another short recovery driver, who also happened to be Scottish.
• Little Legs – Yet another very short recovery driver.
• Jaws – Because he had a very big mouth (but with a matching big heart).
• Corpse Breath – A certain PC with particularly bad breath.
• BD – An inspector whose officers thought it stood for "Brain Dead".
• General Belgrano – A recovery driver who was something of a disaster.
• Sunshine – Because he greeted everyone with "All right, Sunshine?"
• Jim the Snake – Every recovery job he was given, he tried to slip out of.
• Four on the Trot Bot – He claimed it was a card came, but perhaps we won't go there.
• Spot – His name was Mark and after months of trying that was the best we could do.
• Doctor Death – You had to see him in his leather motorcycle gear emerging from the mist at 2am.
• JPG – Just Passing Geoff. He always seemed to arrive moments after an accident had occurred. (What radio officer?)
• 3M's – There were two officers called Malcolm on the same relief. This one had a slight stutter: MMMalcolm.
• Lofty Norman- A big man in all senses of the word. (I recall that he laughed at everything because that was his defence against the tragedies he saw each day).
• Q- Plate- A person with parents of mixed race (when running recovery vehicles on trade plates was stopped, the council issued ‘Q’ license plates meaning ‘vehicle of questionable origin’).

Beneath all the humour there was, however, a more serious side to the job. It is easy to forget that compulsory seat belts, modern crash protection, motorcycle training and many of today's road safety measures simply did not exist.

Some of the accidents we attended were truly horrific. Recovery operators, police officers, ambulance crews and firemen regularly found themselves dealing with scenes that would remain with them for the rest of their lives.

Like many people who work in difficult circumstances, we all developed a dark sense of humour. It was not intended to be disrespectful. More often than not it was simply a way of coping with things that were otherwise difficult to process and a way of helping one another get through the day.

Fortunately it was not all tragedy. Off duty we often met socially with our police colleagues and occasionally even enjoyed ourselves.

The TDV Raft Race

One of the best off-duty events I can remember was the Metropolitan Police Raft Race, organised to raise money for the Falklands Fund.

The surviving police officers and recovery drivers who took part will no doubt have their own memories of this wonderfully chaotic event. National Rescue was commandeered to build and transport the TDV raft, which can be seen below, complete with its crew in green healthcare uniforms.

For a few glorious seconds they even appeared to be leading the competition — shortly before capsizing.

Looking back now, it is the people I remember most. The vehicles, incidents and locations all tend to blur together over time, but the characters, friendships and occasional madness remain remarkably clear.

Waiting for the Next Job

One of the great on-duty recreations occurred while waiting for the next call. If a police car chase came up on the radio, everyone immediately became interested.

Because it was often your colleagues — and sometimes close friends — who were involved, it was not unknown for one or two recovery vehicles to join in the chase. On a particularly quiet evening an interesting incident could attract almost as many recovery trucks as police cars.

There were plenty of other distractions too. I vividly remember one night, or more accurately the early hours of the morning, helping round up a number of horses that had escaped from a field near Chessington.

Three teams of police officers armed with tow-rope lassos clung to the backs of four-wheel-drive recovery vehicles as we chased the horses across the fields. Throughout the operation we received a constant stream of free advice and encouragement from several ambulance crews who had arrived purely to enjoy the spectacle.

The ambulance crews were also known for their hospitality. After a particularly long or difficult night, recovery operators and police officers would often find themselves congregating in the casualty department at Kingston Hospital, enjoying warm toast, tea and the company of some very understanding nurses.

Before the Rule Books Arrived

One of the best things about those days was that there were very few directives explaining what was correct and what was not.

A police officer was perhaps not supposed to use a passing recovery vehicle to clear a road quickly, but everyone accepted that it happened. Equally, recovery operators had very few formal rules to work with.

We knew little about gradients, winch calculations or safe working loads. What we did know was that if a vehicle did not want to come back up the bank, you found a couple more willing hands to help turn the winch handle until it did.

Try finding that procedure in PAS 43 or ISO 9000.

Later, with the introduction of PTOs and powered winches, a skilled recovery operator could hear the tension in the cable. He could feel the crane move, listen to the note of the engine and PTO and know instinctively when he was approaching the limit.

Modern equipment is undoubtedly safer and more capable, but much of that instinctive feel has been replaced by hydraulics, electronics and safety systems. I am not suggesting today's methods are worse, merely that they require different skills and, if I am being honest, are perhaps not quite as much fun.

Risk assessment was often carried out in real time. When you suddenly heard the squeal of tyres behind you, there was no need to consult a manual. Without even looking round you climbed onto the central reservation barrier and got as high up as possible.

Communications

Anyone who worked in recovery during the 1960s, 1970s and beyond will remember just how poor communications could be. Today's operators have mobile phones, satellite navigation and instant data links. We had radios — when they worked — and red telephone boxes when they didn't.

The AA and RAC had only recently begun equipping patrols with radios, most of which suffered from limited range. Before that, patrols had to find a patrol box and telephone in to collect their next job.

Independent recovery operators were gradually adopting valve radios such as the Pye Vanguard and later the partially solid-state Pye Cambridge. Compared with what came before they were revolutionary, although by modern standards they were extremely basic.

National Rescue's first radios were Pye Motafones, compact transistorised AM sets. Unfortunately our base station was located at the bottom of Kingston Hill. From there we could communicate as far south as Epsom and almost bugger all to the north.

When we opened at Brooklands we tried moving the base station there, but the results were little better. Eventually we installed one base station at my brother Geoff's house in Ewell and another at my house in Ripley. Both properties sat on high ground and were connected back to Brooklands Control via private telephone circuits.

The arrangement allowed us to talk to vehicles operating north of London through one station and south of London through the other. We also modified the system to provide a second simplex channel so that recovery vehicles could speak directly to each other when within range.

This proved particularly useful when escorting damaged vehicles. If the driver following noticed something coming loose or looking unsafe, he could immediately tell the lead vehicle to stop.

Not long afterwards we became involved with a very forward-thinking company called Socom Services of Croydon, run by Stephen Marsh and Denis Stanton.

Over the following months they helped us join a repeater station on Reigate Hill and later supplied and installed another on Turners Hill near Dudley to support our Birmingham operations.

The effect was transformational. With only a few blind spots in the bottoms of valleys, National Rescue could now communicate from north of Portsmouth to almost Stoke-on-Trent. At the time very few recovery operators could match that capability.

It may sound unimpressive in an age of instant mobile communications, but at the time it felt little short of a miracle.

Why Radios Were Better

I always felt that two-way radio had certain advantages over mobile phones because everyone could hear the traffic.

Drivers knew how busy the operation was and it largely removed the feeling that "control always gives me the rubbish jobs just before I am due to finish".

More importantly, everyone shared information. If a driver could not find an address, somebody else would often come back with "I was there three months ago — the entrance is behind the post office."

Likewise, if a vehicle would not start, another operator might suggest checking a hidden fuel cut-off switch or point out a common fault.

Radio operators even developed their own language. One of the most useful phrases was:

"I am POB."

This meant "Passenger On Board" and warned everyone else on the network to be careful what they said next.

My own interest in communications went beyond recovery. Having started my working life in electronics, I passed the Radio Amateur's Examination in 1972 and was issued the callsign G8HER. That background undoubtedly helped fuel my fascination with radio systems and their potential for improving recovery operations.

Airbags and Things

My first introduction to recovery airbags came during a rollover near Esher that simply refused to come back onto its wheels without them.

Faced with a problem and no airbags of my own, I urgently telephoned one of my recovery heroes, Chris Cox of C&S Motors in North London and arranged to purchase a second-hand set.

Chris immediately appreciated the situation and set about getting them to us as quickly as possible. The details of exactly how they crossed London in such impressive time are perhaps best left to the imagination, although I seem to recall a certain amount of assistance from some very helpful traffic officers.

Once the airbags arrived, Chris's partner Stuart Histead provided the full training course there and then at the roadside, using the casualty vehicle itself as the demonstration aid.

Today, quite rightly, you would attend a formal training course before using such equipment. Back then the industry often learned by sharing knowledge, experience and practical advice between operators.

The photograph above was taken on that very day and appears in the late Alan Thomas' excellent book Wreck and Recovery.

The reflective jackets, protective eyewear and safety helmets that would be mandatory today must, of course, have been removed only moments before the photograph was taken.

More importantly, it clearly shows the impressive quantity of black hair that Stuart and I still possessed in those distant days.

Here we are together again at a trade show in 2005. Chris, leaning casually on my shoulder, still appears to be waiting for payment for those airbags.

A Three Fag Job

The cost of a recovery for an insurance company was often determined by a highly scientific formula. At least, that was my theory.

I was never entirely comfortable with the traditional method of pricing a difficult recovery based on the maximum amount you thought you could get away with charging. Instead, I developed a far more accurate system based upon the number of cigarettes I smoked while completing the job.

A particularly difficult recovery might be classified as a "Three Fag Job". At the accepted rate of fifty pounds per cigarette, that meant a final bill of £150.

Looking back, I remain convinced that my pricing structure was considerably more scientific than some of the alternatives available at the time.

Like most operators, any money we made went straight back into the business. Recovery companies rarely seemed to operate without an overdraft and there was always another vehicle, crane, winch or piece of equipment that needed buying.

Much of the equipment used during those years was built by the operators themselves. Recovery vehicles were often purchased at local auctions before being transformed in workshops and coachworks into something entirely different.

A typical conversion involved removing the original body, designing a recovery bed and fabricating the necessary equipment between call-outs and recovery jobs.

There were, of course, exceptions on the heavy side. Ex-military machines such as the legendary Diamond T and the large Leyland recovery vehicles arrived with serious capabilities already built in.

Nevertheless, the industry developed an extraordinary culture of innovation. One operator would devise a useful feature, others would copy it and improve it, and before long the original inventor would be copying the improved version back again.

Even when buying a "new" recovery vehicle, it was common for the equipment to be brand new while the chassis itself had already enjoyed a previous life.

The photograph below shows one of our Ford Transcontinentals dealing with a skip lorry that had come to grief after meeting a bridge in Kingston.

This would certainly have qualified as rather more than a three fag job.

It was later pointed out that had I smoked king-size cigarettes, the charge would have been considerably lower. Curiously, no insurance assessor ever asked what length cigarette had been used when calculating the final bill.

Recovery Vehicles Evolve

In the early days our fleet consisted mainly of Land Rovers and Ford Transits, many fitted with Ford Zephyr V8 engines, which explains the distinctive diesel-style front panels seen in many photographs from the period.

Later we acquired several ex-Wandsworth Council Bedford CFs and converted them into recovery vehicles. Many operators built their own equipment and there was tremendous ingenuity throughout the industry.

I remember one of our local competitors, Windmill Coachworks, running an Austin Champ fitted with a fully tuned Austin Healey 3000 engine. It certainly wasn't lacking in performance!

Most lifting was carried out using crane equipment, particularly Harvey Frost, although Mann Egerton cranes were also popular.

A skilled recovery operator could chain-lift a brand new car using nothing more than a block of wood and the rear seat from a scrapped Mini or Austin 1100 for padding, before towing it a hundred miles without leaving so much as a scratch.

Later came the Dodge 50, still one of the best-looking recovery vehicles ever built in my opinion, together with the Ford Cargo. We also introduced Spec-Lifts for non-accident work after the ever-enthusiastic Doug Maltby of Easylift convinced us the Scandinavian approach was the future.

The Spec-Lift was soon followed by the underlift, making it considerably harder to damage a customer's vehicle... although we still managed to employ the occasional person who could.

The Growth of National Rescue

As I mentioned earlier, the company I originally joined was Cambridge Coachworks. The recovery side gradually became National Rescue, a name that remained only because a certain television organisation had already claimed the one I really wanted.

Around this time I was fortunate to have two very good friends who also operated recovery vehicles. John Dyos of Sunbury Salvage — famous for the gyrocopter on the roof — and Bob Hunt of Langley Vale Garage.

Between us we formed an informal alliance, sharing work, helping one another and, perhaps most importantly, recommending staff. It worked remarkably well until John eventually moved on to greater things at Dudley Autobase.

National Rescue itself continued to expand, largely driven by my belief that the Drivers' Hours Regulations would eventually apply fully to the recovery industry. My answer was to establish a network of local depots so that no driver would need to travel excessive distances.

Ironically, those regulations took many more years to arrive and even today contain so many exemptions and loopholes that opinions remain divided about how effective they really are.

At its peak during the early 1990s the National Rescue Group operated from:

Birmingham (2 depots)
Corby
Gatwick
Epsom
Kingston
Leatherhead
Okehampton
Shepperton
Brooklands (Weybridge)

Looking Back

During the late 1990s my own interests increasingly turned towards the recovery management software we were developing under the name Motor Trade Software.

As a result I retired from the Board of National Rescue, allowing the company to take a new direction. Many of the branches were sold or closed, enabling the business to become smaller but considerably more profitable.

Today the original National Rescue company remains in the family and is owned by my nephew Martin Lambert, Geoff's son. The business now concentrates on car and light commercial recovery.

The Birmingham operation, originally established by Kim and the late Peter Coles, has been owned by Mark Macklin since 2012 and has followed a similar path, specialising in modern vehicle recovery.

It gives me great satisfaction to know that, despite all the changes over the years, both companies continue to build upon a heritage that stretches back over half a century and still serve the public today.

Finding New Work

Everything I have described so far centres largely on accident recovery because that is where many of us began. The trouble was that accidents were wonderfully unpredictable and recovery vehicles had an unfortunate habit of standing idle while waiting for the next "shout".

Like many operators, we started looking for other ways of keeping the fleet busy. During the early 1970s we were approached by Red Rovers to become one of their breakdown agents, soon followed by National Breakdown.

These new Yorkshire-based organisations recognised that motorists wanted a more flexible form of breakdown cover than the AA and RAC then provided. Before long we found ourselves working for a growing number of motoring organisations, and our fleet gradually evolved to meet their changing requirements.

Out of those organisations came some remarkable people, many of whom became good friends over the years. Among those I remember with particular affection are Phil Briercliffe, Bill Diegutis, Brian Hagan, Tom Johnson, Bryan North and, of course, Ernest Smith.

The Favour Bank

Recovery operators also found themselves performing all manner of unofficial favours. Looking back, some were probably best left undocumented...

Police cars occasionally acquired small dents or scratches that somehow disappeared before the end of a shift. A stranded Panda car might quietly be winched out of the mud with a slightly embarrassed officer and an equally embarrassed lady colleague still inside.

On one memorable occasion I discreetly rescued a Police Inspector and his companion from Ham Common after what was officially described as a "stake out".

We also supplied recovery vehicles for local fêtes, organised mock recovery demonstrations and, perhaps most memorably, provided flatbeds for the annual Kingston College Rag Day processions.

Aircraft Recovery

The greatest challenge, however, came from our neighbours at Brooklands Museum.

What began with moving the occasional motor car gradually developed into transporting aircraft components and eventually complete aeroplanes.

During more than forty years associated with Brooklands I have been involved in recovering and transporting an extraordinary number of historic aircraft.

One particularly memorable movement was delivering my friend Brian Angliss' beautifully rebuilt Hawker Hurricane to Blackbushe for its maiden flight.

Tragically, only a few years later the aircraft was lost in the Shoreham Air Show accident, bringing an unexpected sadness to what had been such a proud day and and foretelling what would tragically happen again a few years later, at that tragic airfield.

Not every aircraft was destined to fly again. Many were making their final journey to become part of Britain's aviation heritage.

The Vickers Viking shown above was rear-lifted into its permanent home at Brooklands during 2010. Today it sits alongside Concorde, the Vimy, the Viscount and many other historic aircraft that National Rescue helped preserve for future generations.

In Closing

So, what happened to me? During the early 1980s I became convinced that computers could transform the way recovery companies operated. After successfully computerising National Rescue and significantly improving its efficiency, I began sharing the software with fellow recovery operators. What started as a few programs written to help friends soon became something much bigger.

Eventually it became necessary to form Motor Trade Software and, together with Ian Lane, we developed systems such as Garage Manager and later Turbo Dispatch, helping to introduce computerised control rooms to recovery operators across the country. Those years brought innovation, fierce competition and, on occasions, more than a little skulduggery. If that part of the story interests you, you'll find it covered in the Control Room Technology section of this website.

I officially retired in 2007, although retirement proved to be a rather flexible concept. I was honoured to become a Trustee of RISC, the Recovery Industry Support Charity, and was able to devote more time to Brooklands Museum. Even then I found myself borrowing recovery vehicles from my nephew at National Rescue and from old friends across the industry whenever another interesting project appeared.

Looking back over more than half a century, I have been fortunate to work alongside some remarkable people. I have seen vehicle recovery evolve from an industry that relied largely on experience, ingenuity and handshakes into one built on professionalism, training and technology. Both worlds had their strengths, and I feel privileged to have been part of that journey.

When we first joined AVRO in the late 1970s, the industry was only just beginning to recognise the importance of professional training. The standard reference books were Bill Jackson's We The Professionals and Ron Grice's Vehicle Recovery.

Ron opened his book with a line that has always stayed with me:

"Nowadays, vehicle recovery is a very important business; it is even almost respectable."

That perfectly summed up how many of us saw ourselves back in the 1970s—and perhaps, in some ways, it still does.