I’m Gen-Z, how hard can driving a lorry be? The average driver starts earning more than a graduate – and there’s a shortage

‘Just relax,’ says the instructor. If only! I am holding my breath perched behind the wheel of a mammoth HGV, a 44-tonne articulated lorry that could comfortably raze a small house if I take a wrong turn. And we’re so high up I can’t even see the road directly beneath me.

My hands are clamped to the steering wheel, knuckles white, as the monster lurches forward – and swerves into the curb. Here in the cabin, which you almost need climbing ropes to get into, I peer down over the sharp drop ahead of me – and drive on.

A slight turn of the wheel and the 16-metre-long truck veers alarmingly to one side, its trailer juddering behind.

And don’t even start on my reversing technique. Mirrors are sticking out in every direction but none offers a clear view. I count six of them, some the size of computer screens. It’s too many to choose from.

Then there’s the fact that when I turn the wheel one way, the trailer behind goes in the opposite direction, which means I over-correct. So my Goliath goes backwards in a zigzag motion.

Not so reassuring for passing pedestrians – and a menace to nearby vehicles. But, fortunately, there aren’t any about. 

I’m on a vast parade ground at barracks in Croydon, south London, learning to drive this ginormous lorry because there’s a shortage of truckers. My country needs me.

Never mind that the only car I’ve ever driven is a Ford Focus and I passed my test just four years ago. Or that the sheer size of this dreadnought of the roads, with five rows of massive wheels, is impossible to comprehend.

Last month, the Road Haulage Association (RHA) warned that 200,000 more HGV drivers are needed in the next five years. 

More than 81 per cent of our goods are transported by road yet driver numbers have dwindled to 266,000 – 20,000 fewer than before the pandemic. This is a full-blown crisis.

It started back in 2021 with Covid when an older generation of drivers gave up, online shopping boomed and Brexit saw an exodus of European truckers. 

Suddenly, supermarket shelves emptied and petrol pumps ran dry. Remember those queues for fuel, the panic buying? Wetherspoons even announced it was facing a beer shortage. The Army was on standby to assist.

The Government issued 5,000 temporary worker visas for truckers to ease the problem while HGV drivers’ pay rose by 27 per cent. It all calmed down again; we could get our groceries and our petrol.

But the problem never went away. Not least because even more truckers have retired since then – the HGV fraternity consists mostly of male drivers between the ages of 50 and 59. Just 1.6 per cent are under 24 and only 2 per cent are women.

And so, once again, there’s talk of empty shelves and looming shortages at the pumps.

That’s why, aged 22, I am at the National Driving Centre, lurching around in a Heavy Goods Vehicle. My instructors look nervous. 

Laurence Bolton, 32, the managing director, and Paul McIntyre, 42, the chief inspector, have trained everyone from vicars to pilots, even those who have never even driven a car before.

The women they’ve taught have been mostly from the families of hauliers. But there’s no reason young women from outside the trade shouldn’t join in.

Firms want more of them in this male-dominated industry, and to encourage the trend there have been campaigns for better facilities and surveys of the best truck stops for female drivers, assessing showers, loos and changing rooms, as well as parking, restaurants and garages.

Nottinghamshire haulier firm Mitchells suggests another reason to sign up: the opportunities on social media for women truckers.

A quick glance on my computer shows plenty of women have become trucking influencers, such 22-year-old Amelie who posts about here experiences on TikTok as @truckeroak. 

Could I be one of the new female tribe? In the cab, I try to remember the basic instructions that Mr McIntyre had given me.

My attempts to steer around cones and avoid flagpoles on the parade ground at about 5-10mph are not a marked success. At one point the speedometer nudges up towards 20mph and it’s a little scary. 

‘Safety over progress,’ says Mr McIntyre as we weave our way. ‘Practice makes permanent – not perfect.’

When I stop the vehicle with relief, the seat decompresses without warning. It feels as if I have suddenly dropped three metres. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘It’s just the air suspension system.’

My driving experience until now had been limited to my parents’ decrepit Ford named Gimli (after the dwarf in The Lord Of The Rings). Gimli was small, squat, prone to breaking down, smelt of mould and had to be retired last year for failing its MoT but, crucially, was easy to drive.

Yet after a day in the HGV, I did manage to reverse through cones and to execute turns with some ease. As time progressed, it became more and more fun. Perhaps I’d found my calling.

None of my friends has considered lorry driving as a career. But as an English graduate I’m starting to think it might have been wise to do so.

The average literature graduate salary in the UK is just over £24,000 whereas the average HGV driver can start on around £30,000 a year and earn up to £60,000.

There are myriad reasons why young people aren’t clambering up into the cabin, however. The number of under-25s with driving licences in the UK is the lowest on record. 

As a generation, my peers are less inclined to drive. They are more eco-conscious, the majority still live with their parents and they want to be able to work from home – none of which makes them natural truckers.

Mr McIntyre takes me out on the road – and I realise I’ve got a long way to go before I could ever pass my Class 1 lorry driver test.

As he manoeuvres expertly around Croydon, eyes constantly skimming the road, he calls out potential hazards: ‘Lights, pedestrian warning, turning right.’

There’s a taxi, then an electric delivery bike and a tram. He gives a wide berth to a pram at a small roundabout. Any minute, he says, a motorbike could come up on his inside, or a parked driver could open their door.

He’s driving a killing machine and surrounded by pedestrians. It’s a huge responsibility. He is juggling between the main mirror, the curbside mirror and the proximity mirror.

He obviously loves his job, but it’s clear that it demands huge concentration, dexterity and judgment. Lorry drivers can legally be on the roads for around nine-and-a-half hours a day. It’s easy to see why older drivers could become exhausted.

The RHA predicts that in the next year around 20,000 drivers over 60 will retire, followed by around 21,000 in 2026.

AI technology has also changed the job. Cameras now monitor drivers in their cabins, assessing behaviour, even checking ‘head tilts’ to ensure that they don’t doze off. 

As we return to base, Mr Bolton is keen to see how I fared. I tell him I found it exhilarating and exciting, once I had mastered the acceleration.

‘It’s incredibly satisfying,’ he says. ‘People now see lorry driving as a job – whereas back in the day it used to be more of a career. They’re keeping the country supplied. Without the truckers everything grinds to a halt.’

I agree. We in Gen Z are not hunter gatherers; we expect everything to be delivered to us.

So, perhaps it’s time for young people to take the road less travelled, take responsibility for those deliveries – and get our HGV licences. I know I now want mine.