“I’VE GOT A NICE LITTLE JOB FOR YOU”.
Lane 10.
I was in Beirut to collect a load of furniture from the British Embassy. Well, to be precise from a warehouse on the edge of town. Due to the civil war causing ongoing infighting amongst various Lebanese factions as well as the meddling of Syria the diplomatic staff was being reduced, drastically. I had been escorted into Beirut from the border and would be in the Lebanon for three days. On the second day Jim, my contact, came with me as we drove out to where the furniture was stored. I backed into a compound and undid the rear doors of the box trailer. A small gang of labourers were there to load the furniture but I thought it best to have a look at it first. I was a bit surprised by the quality of some of the items and told Jim, due to the fact all the furniture I had delivered on the way down was prepacked, I had no ties or blankets with me to protect it. With that he sent the labourers to search the warehouse for packing material and anything I could use to tie the load down. The proceeds of the search were such that I told Jim I could take no responsibility for any damage that occurred on the way home. He wasn’t worried, but I was and I told him I wanted it noted on the paperwork that the load was “loose unpacked furniture”. When we finally started loading I decided I had to get in the back and direct the loading operation. Whatever it said on the paperwork, if a load of firewood was finally offloaded in London it would be me that would be blamed.
All the furniture was loaded and the embassy customs agent did a grand job of doing the paperwork. Unfortunately he wasn’t good enough to get it ramped up that day so we left the rig in the compound and Jim ran me back to the hotel, where I spent another evening in the bar and restaurant. On the third day all the customs procedures were completed. I had already checked out of the hotel before Jim collected me that morning so I was all set to go by midday. Once again I had an ■■■■■■ to the border consisting of Jim and the local driver. There I said goodbye to them both. I then breezed through the formalities on
the Lebanese side and it was almost as quick on the Syrian side. A bit to quick as I found out later. As it was by now late afternoon I decided to stay at the border that night as I felt more secure there.
Next day saw me start early, make my way through Damascus and head north past the turning on the right for Baghdad. Later climbing the hill where the road had just been duelled and headed towards Homs. This road was also being rebuilt and it was very very rough with no warning signs whatsoever. You often found those Syrian lorries loaded with forty ton of cement heading towards you on your side of the road. You had to be very careful the whole time. It was somewhere along this stretch of road in the early 90’s that my son, driving for Promotor, was involved in a very nasty incident. He was returning from Kuwait with two other British drivers and was last in line. As they were making there way home through Syria one of the other drivers collided with a Syrian lorry and was killed. That was the only trip my son did to the middle east and who can blame him for not wanting to go back.
I carefully made my way back to Tartous mindful of the furniture in my trailer. I arrived late afternoon and parked up near the dock gates. There were a few others there including three British lorries. They told me there was a ferry the next day and to celebrate we all had a drink and a meal in the cafe near the shipping office that evening. I was elated to be there. I had been away over six weeks. Things had not gone exactly to plan but that didn’t matter. I’d had a great trip and I would be boarding the ferry the next day. I could be home in six or seven days time. Next morning we all trouped into the shipping office. We had just seen the ferry Scandinavia arrive and tie up. A few more hours we would be boarding. We were all looking forward to a nice hot shower, a nice cabin with comfortable bunk beds and a decent meal and a drink. I was the only one loaded and when it came to my turn to do the paperwork I happily handed it over.
It was then I suffered one of those moments when you don’t know wether to laugh or cry. The Syrian guy in the shipping office looked at me and said, “I’m sorry but you have to go back to the Syria/Lebanese border. There is a stamp missing from your paperwork”. I was gobsmacked. The other drivers commiserated with me. I tried all the usual ways to get round the problem without success.
Dejected I returned to my lorry and had a brew up. Sitting there I realised there was nothing I could do, I had to have that stamp. I sat there and watched as the other lads boarded the ferry. She finally cast off and pulled away from the berth. The next ferry wouldn’t be in for at least four possibly five days. Oh bother I thought.