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a superb website


Snapper

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A good little site. If anyone knows of any scrapyards in the Normandy area, with maybe interesting stuff for sale please post up the details. as we plan a family holiday later in the summer it would be nice if we just happened to be passing one! ;-)

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Amazing to see all that stuff still rotting away. I liked the Drago Wagons and the Brockway - surely (along with the Dragon Wagon) the most imposing WW2 truck. Strange that the DW's were not for sale. I wonder if that was because they are armoured and fall foul of the new French laws as opposed to the owner thinking that they will go up in value - as they rust slowly away. Anybody know for sure?

 

Tim (too)

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I saw a couple of Brockways at Southsea back in 94. I think that both had come over from france, one had a crane mounted on it, the other had a weasel where the pontoons should be. I will have to have a look through my old photos for them. I am off into the attic, i will see you in a couple of days.

 

Tim (too)

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I saw a couple of Brockways at Southsea back in 94. I think that both had come over from france, one had a crane mounted on it, the other had a weasel where the pontoons should be.

 

Tim,

 

To save you going through the attic, the Brockway with the Weasel belonged to a friend, it was known as a Bridge Erector. On the '94 Normandy tour, he towed a US army plant trailer with his Half Track on it. The parade through the centre of Bayeaux was tight for it and a few of the Bars had to move their tables and chairs to get it through.

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A lorry driver I know, has told me about a place in France with heaps of old military vehicles in it, shoulder to shoulder with grass growing up through them. He thought there were Diamond T wreckers amongst them, along with Jimmys and smaller trucks. Next time he is passing there, he will try and take a photo.

It is situated down towards the South of France, on the N92 between Romans sur'Isere and St.Marcellin.

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Yes - this is the Brockway 666 pontoon vehicle. I did snap it, but due to issues of blood, honour and the Indland Revenue these snaps are in the hands of a certain publication pending hopeful appearance. When and if they appear I will put some more up on this site.

 

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  • 10 months later...
Good idea. I still have it in my favourites but hadn't visited for some time. Not sure if he's added anything new. Quality fun. The military scrap yard near Grenoble looks amazing.

 

MB

 

It is a great site but I am kind of thinking that Dave is you Snap - anything you want to tell us?

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Listen man,

 

Back in the sixties when my dad was a bus conductor and my mum was a...bus conductor; we abandoned all for a life of equality in East Germany.The workers paradise.

 

My dad was sick of the class system, the price of beer, the nouveau riche and all those damned prols. So we boarded the boat train at Liverpool Street and sailed from Harwich of the Konigin Juliana to the Hoek. Then we boarded a succession of steadily ageing trains to Berlin; by the time we arrived we were on a huge black steam engine which had red flags fluttering on the front; I kid you not. At the iron curtain we had a bit of a problem because my mother wouldn't come out of the loo for the goon with the gun. But after that, all was well. We moved into a little hotel off the Ku-Dam in west Berlin and my dad met his contacts, a cockney bloke and another odd fellow and there we were - across the border in to East Berlin to stay....or rather not. My mother was horrified to see people queuing for plums and other rotten fruit at a stall with an armed guard. She decided she preferred Marks and Spencers and my dad was completely outvoted, regardless of his class consciousness. We went back to West Berlin and frolicked around the city. We saw the famous Wall museum and fresh memorials along it. Then we came back to Stoke Newington. My dad went on to work for Rupert Murdoch. What can I say.

 

I was never a class warrior or had any notions of travelling/hippyness. I wanted to be soldier and defend my country (prat). I was 24463988.. until they found me out. Now I am here. I have never been called Dave. Sometimes people call me Martin. People call me Marcus at their peril.

 

MB

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