Jeff Gardener, George Fardell and myself were on our way to The Baghdad Fair loaded with JCB’s tractors and spare parts. It was 81 or 82 and we had been routed the easy route via the Koper/Tartous ferry. There had been some friction on the way down between George and myself whilst Jeff just tried to keep his head below the parapet. He wasn’t able to do that any more after the incident at the exit gate to Tartous harbour. He had done the inexplicable and not applied his handbrake and his lorry had rolled back into George’s. He knew what he had done but as he was dealing with the Syrian security, who were searching his cab, I was the one who had to go back to George to check on the state of play. As I got to the rear of Jeffs trailer my worst fears were confirmed. The overhanging arms of one of the JCB’s had gone through George’s windscreen and he was still in his cab. The cab door was open and I ran to it fully expecting to see George squashed back into his bunk. But no, obviously somebody up there was looking after him. He was still sitting there in the drivers seat. A wave of relief came over me. I called up to him but he didn’t say anything. By now Jeff and a couple of Syrians were alongside me. The windscreen was a right mess and the arms of the JCB were about three inches from Georges ample belly. I called out to him again, “are you ok”.
It was at this point he uttered the immortal words that will stay with me until my dying days. He turned to me and said in his well educated voice that had been honed at Eton or somewhere similar, “you know what old boy, if it had got any closer I was going to get out”.
At a time like that you don’t know wether to laugh or cry. It could only happen to George. The man who allegedly drove down a flight of steps because he couldn’t reverse his lorry. The man I met on the autoput in Jugo 40km past the turning he needed desperately trying to find somewhere to turn around. A man whose very name, Fardell, means ‘my burden’. How were we going to explain this one to Staggie.
After things had calmed down I got the other two to the parking area outside the gate and opposite the shipping office. By now George was in full depression mode, all I could get out of him was, “the jobs fu-ked, the jobs fu-ked” and Jeff was in full apologetic mode. I left the two of them cleaning away the remnants of the windscreen and went in search of a solution to the problem. The shipping office seemed a good place to start and sure enough I was told there was a chap who repaired and replaced windscreens about half an hour south of Tartous who was on our route. I went back to the other two to give them the news but instead of being pleased George was even more depressed. He asked if it was a Volvo agent? “We’re in Syria” I said, “not blo-dy Dover”. “The jobs ■■■-ed, I’m going to drop the trailer and go back on the ferry” was his reply. All Jeff did was apologies to George again. Blo-dy hell, give me strength I thought. It was now that I started to curse Staggie for saying I was in charge.
I knew that there was no way George was going back on that ferry even if I had to take his keys off him. If he had to drive to Baghdad and back without a windscreen then thats what he was going to do. I did wonder about putting him back on the ferry and sending him home. I could tip my trailer in Baghdad then come back to Tartous for his and return to Baghdad but I soon discounted that idea as I only had a single trip Iraqi visa. We were all loaded with JCB’s and they were one of Promotors most important customers. No way was I going to risk losing their work just because George had a broken windscreen.
By this time I was seriously pis-ed off. Why couldn’t I be running on my own as usual. It was all Staggies fault. I was a loner. The definition of a loner is ‘one who prefers his own company’. Yes, bring it on! Thats me. But no. I had a job to do. I had Jeff brew up and we sat down to talk it through. Finally, even though he was still deep in depression mode George saw sense, well so he thought. It was now midday. We’d all drive down to the repairer and sus out if he had a Volvo windscreen. If he hadn’t it was back to the ferry for George. Well thats what he reckoned.
We found the windscreen repairer easily enough. It was a small premises on the main road exactly where the guys in the shipping office had said. But even I was a bit taken aback. It was a tip. A few odd screens lying around and plenty of glass, all broken. And it was deserted. We had a look around and someone nearby said the boss was having lunch and would be back later. With this news and from what we saw of the premises George depression grew worse. “Thats it” he said. “I’ve had it”. The jobs ■■■-ed. You two go on without me. “We can’t do that” said Jeff but by then I was thinking that maybe a bit of reverse phycology was needed here. Maybe George needed a bit of pressure, I know he liked to follow others but maybe if he was in a position where he had to sort something out for himself then he would. With that Jeff apologised to George again and said goodbye, I then told him how to get to the Syrian border post east of Damascus and that we would be looking out for him late evening.
And with that we were off.
To be cont.