Is every transport haulier's wife a
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"Go out," said the editor, "find a normal haulage contractor and his wife and we'll tell her story this Christmas."
I was lucky; I had gone only as far as south-east London, in the docks area of Bermondsey, when I found Jim and Jean Halpin.
"Normal haulage contractor, mate? There's no such thing as a normal haulage contractor," said Jim.
"S'right," said Jean, which proved to be one of the few points of immediate accord in the next two hours of dialogue.
Jean went on: "If a woman wants a normal man who goes out at eight every morning and comes back at five in the evening, remembers birthdays, takes a holiday every year, and puts family before business then she doesn't want a transport manager."
Jean then struck a pose like a vicar who has just passed judgment on his congregation and fixed Jim with a stare which said "Go on, deny it".
Jim lit another cigarette, watched the smoke curl lazily to the ceiling and then, as if he had not heard the wifely pronouncement, said: "You see, transport is all about moving and it needs men who are always moving about, to run it".
I wanted to hear more from Jean and at the same time retain Jim's interest. "Well, of course," I said, "transport is a demanding business but at Christmas time Jim will be like any other man."
"Like any other transport man", said Jean. "Let me tell you what happens.
"He brings home box after box after box of assorted items to be made into customers' Christmas parcels. He sits back with the list, calls out the names and items and I make up the parcels."
She obviously enjoys doing this, I thought.
Jean read my thoughts. "Yes, I enjoy doing it but there's more to come. After the customers' parcels have gone and the packaging material has been removed, I begin to tidy up the house for Christmas. Within hours of me dusting, Jim comes in again with a supplementary list, more gifts, more wrapping, more straw and more sawdust. I could kill him."
I don't think she meant it, because her next tale demonstrated the real bond which exists between the haulier and his wife.
"I was round at the yard yesterday, at lunchtime, with a snack for Jim," she said. (The yard is about three miles away.) "And his secretary was saying that she liked life better when the company was small."
Can you imagine the wife of a 9-to-5 type slipping up to his office with a snack?
That secretary's remark was interesting. When she first joined Jim he had three vehicles; today he has 20 units and 150 trailers, a London office and another in Zeebrugge.
It was the same secretary who said in the early days when Jean went in to tidy the office; "I think it's terrible, Mr Halpin, that a director's wife should clean the office". "What's the matter," retorted Jim, "she does it for nothing, doesn't she?"
That anecdote reminded Jean of the
time they were returning from Holland via Southend where Jean's "clapped out jalopy" (her words, not mine) was parked. "It packed up in the middle of Rotherhithe Tunnel with me driving," she said. "And it was only when we were being towed home that I gave a thought to his seldom-used Rolls which was parked in the garage and the dozens of company cars, all in good shape, which the staff were running about in. There's no doubt about it, Jim's a good boss," she said.
Jean nodded her head as I pondered over that last remark. Jim poured another cup of tea and said: "You know this is the worst game in the world to be in?"
"Some days the worst, others the best," said Jean: "When he has a good day he's home rubbing his hands and all chatty. On a bad day, God help us."
He never joined
Jim and Jean have not had a holiday together in years. They have a lakeside holiday house in Italy but Jean last occupied it four years ago. Off she went, with Jim promising to follow later that week. "I hung on for eight weeks with a
promise every other day, be out in a couple of days dear'. But the funny thing is something always turned up to stop him."
"That's the story of a haulage contractor's life," said Jim, "something is always turning up."
"I wonder how many of them have to be out till four in the morning buying trailers?" Jean asked.
"Well it's always a good excuse," said Ern, unabashed.
"I don't think I mind that too much," countered Jean, "but when he wakes me up to say he's brought me home a couple of pals to sleep and that they'll need breakfast at six, that's when I go on the turn."
To keep the temperature down, I thought we should return to Christmas.
"With any luck, Jim will get into the loft this year," said Jean.
I was glad when she volunteered an explanation. Apparently the Halpins store their Christmas presents in the loft of their house in Bermondsey and on Christmas Eve they are brought down for passing out next morning. "Every year Jim promises to go up and get them down but he never makes it. The trouble all starts on Christmas Eve when his customers, his
friends and his staff say thanks t; him. He would never make the third step f that ladder", said Jean.
This year Christmas Eve falls on a Sunday and that is the one day in the week when Jim doesn't meet customers and staff, so Jean is hopeful.
This could be Halpins last Christmas in Bermondsey where they have spent all their days. In July, Halpins Continental leaves its home at Surrey Docks and moves to a vast new transport l'nd warehousing complex at Erith. So the Halpins are house hunting at the moment — well, Jean's house-hunting, Jim goes along for the ride.
Brown doors "He doesn't want to leave here," said Jean. -Do you know, we saw a lovely place last week and the only fault Jim
could find was the doors don't like all these brown doors' was his excuse."
"The thing is," said Jim, "I don't want an hour's drive home after I finish at the yard."
"No, that's no use," said Jean sympathetically. For the first time we had a three-way conversation and a note of unanimity, so I guided the conversation back to Christmas.
"When you're so tied up with the business, Jim, how do you manage your Christmas shopping?" I asked, Jean answered: "He doesn't. I don't ever remember Jim doing any kind of shopping in his life. Sometimes when we go over to 'Brugge on business, he'll go window shopping and all he says is 'God, aren't things dear here!' " "I went shopping two years ago at Christmas," said Jim quietly, making a good point, I thought.
"Yes, you did," said Jean "at eight o'clock on Christmas Eve to get a doll for Tracey that you forgot to get during the day."
How had he managed to get a doll for his daughter at 8 pm on Christmas Eve? Apparently Jim had persuaded the manager of a large store to open up after hours, on the old pals principle. "You make a lot of good contacts in this business," he said.
"On the subject of children" Jean said, "Jim loves kids. There was one time when he brought home a driver's little daughter whose mum had 'gone away'. It was only after the youngster was installed that he thought to tell me that she had measles."
Don't get the idea that everything Jim does displeases Jean. "We've died and revived a few times," she said identifying herself for the first time with the company. "And really we've had miles of laughs." The only one she could recall on the spur of the moment was during a recent trip to Jim's office in Zeebrugge when the phone rang, he grabbed it quick and in a crisp and highly efficient voice announced, "Halpins Continental". He was shocked that the French-speaking gentleman at the other end "didn't understand bloody English".
Jean has no real complaints about domestic life with a haulier husband — she's not at all fussy about these nights when he hurries in from the yard and delivers his one-man party piece: "Hello dear — what's in the oven? Don't bother, I'm going out and you can't come — they're all men."
Snap !
This immediacy of Jim's often works the other way. Ten years ago he had a few vehicles parked in a yard behind a house in Francon Road, Bermondsey. This was the home of another haulier, John Harris, and as Jean and Jim passed the house every day they never ceased to admire it. One night Jim came home and told Jean that Mr Harris wanted to see them.
"Down we went," said Jean, "and Mrs Harris was so kind, she showed me all round the house." When they left Jim asked Jean how she liked the place. "Oh Jim, isn't it beautiful, I love it." "You'd better," said Jim, "I've bought it,".
It's snap decisions like this which set transport men apart from most others.
"Well, we don't have time to hang about," explained Jim.
Most hauliers I meet have either made their secretaries their wives, or their wives their secretaries. In this respect at least Jim and Jean Hatpin are different. Before she was married. Jean was a welfare worker in South East London. "As a transport manager's wife," says Jean, "I'm still a welfare worker," There are many Jim and Jean Hatpins in transport, and according to Jim most of them are just completing one of the worst years in the business since 1946. "But I don't think I'd want to change my life," says Jim.
In time-honoured fashion the woman had the last word, "And I wouldn't want to change my Jim," said Jean. "Please wish all other transport wives a Merry Christmas from m