Any old promotor drivers around

I had been refused entry to Iraq at Baghdad airport because I had a lorry drivers visa and been put back on the BA Tristar to return to London. Monday afternoon I was back in the Promotor office in Longfield Road, Tunbridge Wells. I sat down with Peter, the boss and the companies other director at that time, Dave Stagg. “Well, where do we go from here” Peter enquired. I had to get into Iraq. The 1985 Baghdad International Trade Fair was the biggest job Promotor had ever handled and I was the cog in the middle. Apart from the trailers loaded with exhibits there were about 120 exhibitors relying on me for their travel arrangements. “If I’ve got to go in overland then thats what I’ll do” I said. “Book me a flight down to southern Turkey and I’ll thumb a lift from there”.

And thats what we did. However, it wasn’t quite that straight forward. I ended up flying from Heathrow to Istanbul then on to Ankara. From there I was to fly to Diyarbakir but when I came to check in I found Diyarbakir airport was closed due to the runway being resurfaced. All flights were being redirected to Batman, which, as it so happened, was better for me as it was closer to my intended destination. The TIR lorry park and cafe at Kiziltepe. From there I intended to get a lift. If I couldn’t get a lift to Baghdad I would have to hang around until one of our lorries bound for the fair called in. Of course there was always the chance that none of them would call in but that wasn’t worth contemplating. Peter had said before I left that he would try to get a message to our drivers enroute to look out for me but when I spoke to them later none of them had received it.

Domestic flights at that time didn’t normally go to Batman, it was a Turkish airforce base but as I said it was better for me. After we landed I made my way, carrying my suitcase and a pilots bag full of paperwork through customs to join the queue at the taxi rank outside. This could be fun I thought. Am I going to be able to find a taxi to take me down to Kizeltepe. It was a fair plod so thought I might have a problem. The first taxi I approached in fact didn’t want to take me but the second one did. We agreed a price and set off, it was early evening and dark by then. I sat in the front with the driver and managed, as you do, to hold a bit of a conversation in broken English and German. However, it was when I saw the gun stuck in his belt that I began to doubt my strategy. Was I about to be mugged, perhaps shot and dumped in the middle of the Turkish countryside where my body could lie undetected for the next hundred years. Attack is the best form of defence so they say so I immediately pointed to it and made a joke about it. The driver laughed and pointed to the side of the road and said “bandits, bandits”. Hmmm I thought, and is the biggest bandit of them all sitting alongside me.

Never the less we arrived in Kiziltepe without incident and I dragged my luggage into the cafe. What I wanted was a driver who wouldn’t be hanging about. Someone who would be heading out that evening. Down to the border at Habur where I prayed there would be no queue and from there nonstop to Baghdad. I needed to be there asap as I was way behind schedule. And believe it or not I had only been there twenty minutes when this old, rough looking english driver sat down near me. I explained my situation and he said he also wanted to be in Baghdad the next night. Soon we were heading off to the border, which was, for a change, very quiet. We passed through Habur and onto the Iraqi side of Zacko. There I handed my passport over to immigration and it was stamped without fuss.

We drove all next day, the driver only taking cat naps now and then. We finally entered Baghdad late evening where we found a taxi to take me to the Meridien Hotel. I was back in business.