Among the unsung heroes of wartime England are the lorry-drivers who deliver the goods in fair weather and foul and are not deterred from driving through nightly air raids. Mc. Campbell Dixon, the “Daily Telegraph” reporter, who spent a night with northbound drivers, wrote the following note of appreciation of their work.


Kipling should have written this story. He loved machines, the traffic of high seas and highways, and men in greasy overalls doing a brave job of work. Yes, Kipling should have ridden in my place the other night and seen how the lorry drivers of England are pounding nightly through blitz and fog and darkness, carrying food for the housewife, spare parts for the factory and raw materials to keep a million wheels turning.
The lorry I rode in was one of Tillings said to control more lorries and vans than any other company in the world. It weighs seven tons and carries a 15-ton load from London to Manchester between darkness and dawn. It was bright moonlight when we crossed the Thames, shimmering like a Whistler Nocturne, passed the blind houses of northern suburbs, and roared through sleeping villages set in a fairyland of oak and grass, silver beneath the moon. Soon came disenchantment. At one place a board at a junction said, "Air Raid" Sirens and even gunfire were drowned by the roaring Diesel engine, but there was no mistaking the import of the searchlights.
Often the lights followed a plane along our road. Then the driver would reach under the seat for a steel helmet. Nothing dropped and one by one the lights went out.
These night drivers know the roads of England as most of us know our street. Every now and then my driver would indicate a local landmark: "Sleepy hollow"; “Our boys have supper there"; "Cafe on the right is where I saw two girls fight with razors. Bit rough" At a half-way house at 2 am with frost biting sharply, we met drivers from the North. Hot tea, sausage and mash, and I was on another lorry, London bound.
Five more hours pounding through moonlight and ground mist, with the barrage of London now glittering silently, and I was back in the West End, full of admiration for the unknown army that delivers England's goods.

Daily Telegraph. 1940