“I’VE GOT A NICE LITTLE JOB FOR YOU”.
Lane 11. The exit lane.
I had picked up a return load of furniture from Beirut. Prior to that I had made four deliveries around the middle east ending up in Riyadh. I had then driven back to Tartous, where the ferry for Koper departed, and was looking forward to spending three and a half days relaxing on board. That would still happen but not before I had returned to the Lebanese border as a stamp was missing from my paperwork.
The ferry had sailed without me but that was life. Although I had been dejected at the time there was a job to be done. The one thing I knew was that no way could I take the trailer back to the border over those roads, or roadworks, or ploughed fields or whatever description you liked to give them. The furniture would be ruined. I had a word with the guys in the shipping office and they told me they had a parking area about a kilometre to the north of the town. It was just a bit of scrub land and unsecured but thats where I dropped the trailer. It would only be for one day as I intended to set off about five in the morning and hoped be back early evening. It was a trip of just under six hundred kilometres to the border and back so could be done in a day.
Next morning I set of and all went well until I was on the Beirut Road coming out of Damascus. A new bit of road had been built through the suburbs and it was I think six lanes wide. However, in their wisdom the Syrian authorities had decided lorries couldn’t use it. No warning or diversion signs were put up so I consequently got stopped and fined, twice, as I was also done on the way back. When I arrived at the border it took me no more than ten minutes to find the customs officer, explain that he hadn’t stamped all of my paperwork and for me to be on my way again. That evening I was back in Tartous. I now had three or four days before the ferry arrived. Next morning I visited the shipping office to make sure there was nothing else wrong with the paperwork and this time I got the all clear.
Now Tartous wasn’t exactly the most welcoming of towns and certainly not on the tourist map. There were no decent restaurants nor beaches to while away the days. I walked around the harbour, shoo’d the boys away from my lorry, took a few photos and generally got bored. That was the first day!! Once I boarded the ferry I knew it was plain sailing all the way home. I would be going home via Italy and France and the only thing I would have to do was sort out my TIR carnet in Koper. As Intereuropa Koper were our main agents in Yugoslavia I couldn’t see this being a problem.
It was whilst sitting in the lorry wondering what to do next that a little idea started to form in my head. I remembered a driver had once told me that the only place a TIR carnet could be started in that part of the middle east was Jordan. I didn’t know if that was true or not but it got me thinking. I had a blank carnet, plenty of carbon paper and I always carried a small portable typewriter with me. I had a basic loading list produced by the embassies custom agent in Beirut and I had plenty of time on my hands. And who was to know, back in europe, that I hadn’t loaded in Jordan with furniture from Beirut. Why not go for it I thought. If I ruin the carnet I’d have to ask Intereuropa to knock up some docs for me to get home. Over the next couple of days I very carefully typed out the carnet, adapted the loading list and changed the address on it to Amman then attached a copy to each page of the carnet. When it was finished I was quite pleased with the result, it looked authentic in every way but there was one thing still to be done. It had to be ramped up by Jordanian customs. As I had no intention of running back to Ramtha to have that done I decided to don my official hat and do it myself. But where would I get a Jordanian customs stamp from? Easy. I had some Jordanian coins and some black shoe polish. I attached the largest coin I could find to the bottom of a a torch battery, smeared it with the polish and I was in business. I stamped it up in all the right places the duly put some scribble over each stamp to resemble a signature. Job was done. Of course I thought it was brilliant but it wasn’t me that mattered. First stop would be the Yugoslavian customs in Koper.
A few days later I boarded the ferry ‘Soco’ and was on my way home. The weather was great as we made our way across the Med and up the Adriatic. I had plenty of time to top up the tan. Finally we berthed in Koper and disembarked. My carnet was about to have its first scrutinisation. It passed without a murmer from the Yugo customs officer. Next hurdle would be the Italian customs but here I sailed through as I did at the French customs up at the Blanc but the sternest test was still to come. Dover, but by then it didn’t matter, I would be back in the UK. I drove up through France and by late afternoon was well north of Abbaville. I stopped for a meal early evening and decided to catch a morning ferry from Calais. I had been away a long time, what did another night matter.
Next morning I boarded a ferry and sailed about 0900hrs bound for Dover. Once onboard I went to the best restaurant on the ship for a slap up breakfast. I remember having fruit juice, toast and two kippers. Blow the expense I thought. Believe it or not I put it down on my expenses and Staggie passed it. As I sat there having finished my breakfast the white cliffs of Dover came into view. It was another glorious day in more ways than one. I was almost home.
I hadn’t been in touch with the office since I left apart from a couple of telex’s from an embassy requesting reload instructions but I did ring from Dover to find out who was clearing me. The custom agent took what documentation I had, including my carnet and two hours later I was cleared and pulling out of the docks and on my way home. It was a great feeling. I never told anyone about the carnet and nothing was ever said.
As I headed back along the A20 towards Dunton Green I realised it was exactly 56 days since I’d headed off on this ‘little job’ Staggie had for me. I was and still am eternally grateful to him. If you’re reading this from up there, or even down there, "Thanks again Dave’.
