Think of long-distance lorry driving and the images that spring to mind are of burger stands in lay-bys, Yorkie bars and hairy male drivers always ready with a cheery single-finger gesture for a fellow motorist. But next time you are on the motorway, take a second look at who is behind the wheel of that juggernaut in the slow lane. You may be surprised.
Once a rare sight on British roads, women lorry drivers are increasing in number. Better technology has made the driving easier and, along with female-friendly policies from companies such as Asda, is helping to erode what was once a sole preserve of the unreconstructed male.
“Twelve months ago, female drivers represented about 2 per cent of our customers,” says Gary Benardout, who runs the training company AdvantageHGV. “That has trebled in a year and the percentage is growing all the time. Any stigma associated with long-distance lorry driving is long gone. The industry is heavily regulated and the stereotype of the traditional middle-aged, Mars-bar munching male trucker is becoming a thing of the past.”
According to industry experts, demand for qualified drivers currently outstrips supply and there is a deficit of up to 80,000. Although drivers say anecdotally that the recession means there is less work, attracting more women to the job could solve a potential long-term recruitment problem. And more professional women are finding the prospect of life on the road appealing.
Kaz Horrocks, 43, left her job as an advertising production manager six years ago to be a long-distance lorry driver for TDG Logistics. She was bored in her old job, and says: “I enjoy the solitude of driving. Every day is different — sometimes I see amazing sunsets and lambs playing in the fields. I love it when you see the year’s first hawthorn blossom and know that spring is near.”
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Neither hawthorn nor lambs are in evidence when I meet Kaz at six o’clock one dismal June morning in the lorry park at Clacket Lane services on the M25. About 100 lorries have overnighted here. They are in lines, slumbering behemoths on the asphalt, their cab curtains drawn tightly as the drivers sleep inside.
As much as 99 per cent of Britain’s freight is delivered by road, so next time you are stuck behind a lorry, remember that without this workforce there would be no food on the table, loo roll in the cupboard or wine in our glasses.
This morning Kaz is taking me to Eastbourne in East Sussex to deliver frozen meat that she has driven down from a depot in her native Manchester. Inside her 40-tonne Mercedes lorry, the cab is almost militarily neat with bunk beds, lots of ingenious storage and a kettle.
We sail off around the M25 with a mighty view for miles ahead. “Chelsea tractors” have nothing on us — the windscreen is almost cinematic in its scope. Radio 2 is burbling in the background as we glide along A-roads — the speed limit for HGVs is only 58mph — across the South Downs. Sadly there is no CB radio but otherwise it is all much as I had hoped. I am just a tourist, of course — for full-time female truckers the reality of work has its downsides, too. Until recently many truck stops had only male loos, and sleeping overnight in the cab alone would deter many women.
“I’ve never felt unsafe, though,” says Kaz. “There is a certain amount of curiosity from the men about why I’m driving a truck instead of working at a desk but, apart from the occasional snide remark, most of the guys are really friendly.”
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The lifestyle is insular by nature but even more so for women. “There is a male camaraderie that I am excluded from,” Kaz says. “If I walk through a truck stop in a vest top, you can sense them watching — but I give as good as I get. It takes a particular kind of woman to drive a truck. It isn’t something that a supermodel is going to do — you have to be a tough cookie.”
Personally, I enjoy the open road. I feel free when I’m alone in the car, driving far away with nothing for company but my CD collection and talk radio. The journey appeals more than the destination: no bickering children or phone calls, nothing that must be dealt with. And how much more glorious that detachment would feel if you were 6ft above other road users . . .
The only way to test this happy vision against the other realities that Kaz describes — traffic jams, tight deadlines, aggressive drivers and machismo — is to hit the road myself, although as someone who failed her driving test four times years ago, I approach the challenge of HGV training with no little trepidation.
AdvantageHGV’s driving centre is on a pockmarked industrial lot in a desolate stretch of south Essex near the Dartford Tunnel. I am met by Steve Robinson, a trucker turned trainer who looks far more relaxed than anyone faced with the task of teaching me how to drive a bungalow-sized vehicle should be.
The HGV training normally takes five days but Steve has just a morning to show me the rudiments. I climb the ladder into a shiny 17-tonne GlobeTrotter lorry and feel an almost erotic shiver as I turn on the ignition. The roar as its engine awakens sends vibrations through my whole body. The lorry is 27ft (8.2m) long and 12ft6in (3.8m) high. My little Vauxhall Meriva would fit quite comfortably in its cabin — possibly twice over. It has 350 horsepower (I am not really sure what this means but it certainly sounds impressive). There are eight gears and no dual control, which does not seem to worry Steve in the slightest, even when I reveal my chequered driving-test record.
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I thrust the giant gearstick into first and ease my foot tentatively off the clutch. In principle it is just like in a car but in practice the difficulty of everything required — effort, concentration, even aim — has been multiplied many times. I start moving and, for the first time in 20 years, remember why I never go on rollercoasters. The excitement is tremendous but so is the fear of something so powerful. Not only am I in the grip of a monster but, supposedly, in control of it.
Within 30 minutes I am soaring around the training ground, doing nifty turns and even managing to reverse into a tight parking space. I feel like Jeremy Clarkson and Ness, the tattooed, CB-toting trucker played by Ruth Jones in Gavin & Stacey, rolled into one.
From the twinkle in Steve’s eye I am sure that he says this to all the ladies, but apparently I am “a complete natural”.
“Despite all the jokes, women are far better drivers than men,” he says. “That’s why they are cheaper to insure. It’s because they can multi-task. I know it’s a clich? but it’s true. They are better pupils, too — they don’t think they know it all as soon as they sit behind the wheel.”
The national pass rate for the HGV test is 34 per cent and although there are no gender-specific statistics available, Steve reckons that the pass rate for women is more like 70 per cent. Improved technology, in particular power steering, has made it easier for women to drive such large vehicles.
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Yet the driving itself is only one battle in the war to win female hearts and minds — and the easiest. The industry has been male-dominated for so long that life on the road can still be difficult for women, even though equal opportunities legislation has helped.
Kim Croft is only 4ft 11in in her steel toe-capped boots but what she lacks in stature she makes up for in attitude. She started driving lorries in 1982 when it was rare to see another woman at a truck stop, unless she was a stripper or a prostitute.
“There used to be a truckers’ bar in Purfleet [Essex] which had strippers — and even today you get the ‘night ladies’ knocking on cab doors at 3am,” she says. “But it’s not as bad as it was.”
Kim, 44, has observed the profound changes at first hand. “I remember once going to a trucker caf? in the docks and it was like a scene from An American Werewolf in London,“ she says. “Everyone stopped talking and looked at me. There were some male chauvinist pigs who thought that girls like me were taking the men’s jobs — but now the attitude is more ‘go for it, girl’. I think that the boys quite like having ladies on the roads.”
The male lorry driver’s view
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Billy Gilfoyle, 56, from Ellesmere Port in Cheshire, has been a lorry driver since 1970 and has seen the industry change “beyond recognition”. Technology has transformed the job. Pay and conditions have worsened. Fellow drivers have died in crashes and he has witnessed driving that would appal anyone. He has also seen the number of women drivers increase.
“I started in the Army,” he says. “I loved it — the feeling of freedom. There was camaraderie in those days. If someone broke down, you’d pull over to help. Not now. Every minute of a driver’s day is clocked by their bosses.
“It’s a very stressful and poorly paid job. The average pay is around the minimum wage and the hours are long — some drivers work 15-hour days. Everyone wants everything yesterday.
“The other week I noticed a French driver who had a laptop on the dashboard. He was watching a film while he was driving.
“I wouldn’t want my sister or daughter to be a driver. I’ve no problem with female truckers but it’s no job for work/life balance. One night you can be in Manchester, the next Newcastle. That’s not good for family life.
“The truck stops smell of aftershave and stale urine — horrible. Despite the number of female drivers, women aren’t catered for. There are one-sex loos and showers. I don’t know why anyone would want to do this job.”