THE SAGA OF THE EMBASSY KHAZI.
The Haifa Street and Al-Karkh neighbourhood was chosen by the Municipality of Baghdad to be redeveloped with a high rise development of apartments. This area would become home to thousands of Saddam Husseins devoted followers. From intelligence officers to party officials. These apartments were only handed over to the most loyal of his band of brothers. We are talking of the early 80’s. Of course in this uncertain world there will always be change. By 2004 Haifa Street was one of the most dangerous areas in Baghdad. Still occupied by swathes of loyal Hussein followers many American troops lost their life there. In 2005 the Americans handed security over to the Iraqi army and some kinda peace followed. Only because there were no Americans to shoot at of course.
Before this new development could take place the land had to be acquired and cleared. Of course, being Iraq this wasn’t a problem. If you owned a house there you either left, with a small amount of compensation or you ended up in Abu Graib prison. However, there was one small problem the Municipality of Baghdad came up against and that was the British Embassy. Standing on the banks of the Tigress river it was housed in large palatial grounds extending to quite a few acres. I remember a football match was played here one year in the early to mid 80’s between an embassy team and a British Pavilion exhibitors team. Not sure who won but at least they had the embassy bar to celebrate in or drown their sorrows afterwards.
As I was saying the British Embassy was in the way of this new development. Well, not quite correct. The Iraqis wanted to straighten the road to the front of the embassy grounds and they needed about thirty metres of the gardens that bordered the road to do so. But here the embassy was in a bit of a dilemma as hidden in these gardens was the embassy septic tank. The Iraqis were insisting that the land be handed over asap whilst the Ambassador and his staff were not looking forward to using Iraqi “portaloos” so were in no hurry to placate their hosts. Of course, there are channels to go through in diplomatic circles even for a replacement septic tank. A surveyor had to be flown out from the UK and plans drawn up. A scheme had to be devised and builders lined up. As time was of the essence it was decided a team of British builders would be used. A lot of work was involved. It was not just replacing the septic tank and the soakaways but a high security fence had to be constructed as well as a new entrance.
Of course you couldn’t just pop round to Abdul’s Building Supplies for material to do the job. There was no Travis Perkins or Jewsons. Most of what was required had to be shipped out from the UK.
It was at this delicate moment in history that the call went out to the British Road Haulage Industry. There was a far flung bit of Britain in deep sh-t. It was being threatened by the local madman and his warlike tribe and the position did not look good. Reinforcements were needed. The British Khazi was under attack and could be compromised at any time. Help must be got to them asap as surrender was out of the question. What was required of the British Road Haulage Industry was that a task force be formed, just as Maggie was doing over the Falklands around that time. It would have been difficult for her to handle two battles at the same time.
It is here, with a certain amount of humility, that I can say that “little old Promotor” came to the rescue. Well, that should read sandway and Promotor came to the rescue. I was resting at home when I got the Call from “Staggie” our transport manager. He was very excited, even more than usual when something big was happening. Perhaps he saw a knighthood looming. He gave me the lowdown on the job and also an eta in Baghdad. It was at this point alarm bells started to go off. “You want me down there when”, I shouted down the phone. No way, impossible, can’t be done and so on. Why not put Bill Took or Welly Ward or Ramsey Patterson on the job. They all carry a spare set of wings. I’m a thirteen day man. Never done it quicker. Never will. I was then told by a sheepish “Staggie” that I was the only driver available and that I had a visa in my passport where others didn’t. Well that deflated my ego immediately. OK, I said when will the trailer be ready still not promising to get it down there by the date given to me. Ermm-- thats another little problem. As you’re the only driver around we need you to load it as well. Only two pickups though and the rest will be back here in the yard. It was at this point I almost felt sorry for “Staggie” as both of us could sense his knighthood slipping away.
I returned to the depot next day and went straight to the Klagaster factory to load the septic tank. From there I went to a fencing company where that was also loaded. Late afternoon I was back in our yard to complete the loading of the trailer. Septic tank, fencing, pipes, cement, barbed wire and loads of other small bits needed to complete the job. I’d had a hard day running around getting loaded but I now needed a rest before starting my journey. All the sympathy I got from “Staggie” was “what you still here” and I was once again reminded of the eta Baghdad.
So I headed off along the A25 and A20 to Dover to catch the late evening boat to Zeebrugge. At least I could grab a meal, shower and a few hours sleep on there. Hang in there lads. Keep those legs crossed. Promotor’s on its way…
Robert
Whats now Bosnia, old road heading south from Gornji Vakuf to Prozor.
