Great story sandway! Cant wait for the next part.
Danne
THE SAGA OF THE EMBASSY KHAZI.
I had ten days to get to Baghdad. Ten days for some drivers was there average. For me ten days was three days quicker than I had ever done the trip before. But the British Embassy staff were, even at that moment, practising keeping there legs crossed as they were about to lose their septic tank and I was their saviour. I had on board my supercube trailer a replacement septic tank to replace the one those dastardly arabs were about to requisition.
I left Zeebrugge about five thirty in the morning after a ferry crossing that saw me get about three hours sleep. I pushed on down to Aachan where, after doing customs, I stuck another card in the tacho and set off again, destination that day just north of Munchen. I arrived about six in the evening and breathed a sigh of relief. I was on schedule. The next day I crossed into Austria and then Yugo via the main border crossings. Normally I used the small crossings at Freilassing and Radkerberg but this time decided the main borders may be quicker. Certainly main Salzburg crossing was a doddle but I upset some miserable git of a policeman going into Yugo and he turned me round and sent me back to Austria. Took me two hours to sort that out before I could get going again. That night I had stopped in Zagreb. Didnât have time to pull in at the National in Belgrade next day so on to Bulgy and south of Sofia that night. That was a long day but I hoped I could make Istanbul the next night. I transited Greece on the forth day not even stopping at the beach at Kavala. Now that was a difficult decision to make. But I knew it was my duty to push on. People were relying on me.
I did make Londra Camping in Istanbul. Four days was a record for me and I was still on schedule and feeling good. I had six days left to get to Baghdad. Piece of cake. No problem mister. Next day it was over Bolu. It was June so no snow to hold me up. Didnât stop at the Telex Hotel Ankara just kept going down to Adana to the Oryx parking. That was another very long day and I was starting to flag. How much longer could I keep this up.
Next day saw me pass Gaziantep and Kiziltepe was my destination that night but by now my resolve was seriously flagging. I had a puncture but luckily it was very close to an Otto elastic workshop. Two ten or twelve year old boys set about repairing it with vigor whilst an older man sat back and watched as he sipped his cay. I didnât care if his wife came and got stuck in as well as long as they got a move on. However, before Kiziltepe I met up with a couple of other British drivers also going to Baghdad. Of course had to have a cup of tea with them and take a few photos. Before I knew it I had lost a few more hours so arrived in the TIR park at Kiziltepe later than anticipated.
It was in this secure lorry park that Ronnie Hart another Promotor driver was caught by the security man having a spreadaxle one night. All hell was let loose but he reckoned it was worth the hassle not to have to use the disgusting ones provided by the Turks.
I filled up with diesel had a meal and prepared to get my head down but before I did I found a driver who had just come up from the border at Habur. He gave me the bad news that the queue waiting to get into Iraq was at least thirty kilometres long. Oh sh-t I thought. No No thats the reason Iâm going to Baghdad.
Early next morning I headed off into the rising sun to join the queue. My eta Baghdad was now doubtful but hey it was only an estimate.
You had better crack on with that trailer of yours Brian and itâs a good thing that you have got a Supercube on. I could just imagine all The British Embassy staff stood in an orderly queue, with a copy of The Guardian and a bog roll in their hands waiting to do a spread axle jobbie under a forty foot tandem axle. 
Somebody mentioned on here a few years ago about a U.K. trailer that was abandoned for quite a long time at The National Hotel in Belgrade which had a full load of toilets on destined for Baghdad. I canât remember which year it was but does anybody know anything about it.
I just wondered Brian, if you went on the Sofia Ring Road then did you use the border at Kaluta from Bulgaria into Greece. 
Also, I wonder if this photo which was taken by another Dow driver Pete Woolfenden was taken from the same layby at a different angle.
Yes, thatâs the same image as Sandways.
I think thatâs taken from the top of the Osmaniya hills with a view of the plains of Syria below⌠Stunningly beautiful view I remember⌠I imagine the view must be 40 or 50 miles at least.
How I loved the scenery in Turkey.
I reckon the picture is taken from about here⌠(I see thereâs a new road cutting through the old). Google canât have sent their camera car that far south to have a look at âstreet viewâ which is a shame. You can, however, see the satellite view.
Morning mushroomman. Yes, as Efes has said the pictures were, almost 100% taken from the same spot. Fantastic views from up there. Coming down was certainly a bit of a problem for the Turks. Iâm sure I have a couple of photos somewhere of their ill fated attempts to get down in one piece. I didnât know of the trailer full of toilets left at the National but do remember seeing many of those lightweight high level pressed steel cisterns in Iraq. Always unpainted just the bare metal I think they were made by Fordhams!!! They were cheap and cheerful and I think produced after WW2 up to the 60âs or 70âs.
You mention the Border at Kulata. Yes that was always my preferred route. From there to the beach at Kavala then on to Ipsala and then Turkey. Longer way round but a much more pleasant route.
Its terrible looking back through the blogs to see the notice put on by Photobucket instead of the photos that were intended to be there. Have you lost all yours mushroomman or have you managed to retrieve them.
Efes. Iâm not going to ask how you put links on here as you did in your last post. Iâm just going to say that you always were a clever clogs and you are streets ahead of me where technical issues are concerned but come Thursday I, hopefully, will be connected to ultra fast fibre to the property broadband where I can have up to 320meg if I wish. Of course I can only afford the basic 52meg package but for me sitting in a field in the back of beyond thats almost as exiting as the day I joined Promotor back in the 70âs.
Knew I had a picture somewhere. It was always a good idea to give the tonkas a bit of room when descending a mountain. Iâm sure half of the drivers didnât know what the middle pedal was for whilst the other half were ultra cautious and would come down in crawler gear.
Hi Brian, it seems that nearly all the pictures that I have put on Trucknet over the years I put on using Photo(z.b.) it.
So it appears now that most of them which often used to accompany a story which they were related to have now disappeared forever. I do have a few of them which are still in a file on my computer and with your permission, if you donât mind, then I would like to reshow them on your Promotors thread hoping that maybe yourself Micky T or Efes might remember some of the places and you never know it might just jog somebodies memory bank and get them to share one of their stories with us all.
Each time that I visit the U.K. the Dow lads(or whatâs left of them) organise a bit of a reunion and book the night at the hotel where we usually stay. They usually bring a few photos with them and let me bring them back so that I can make a copy of them. Itâs great to recall some of the trips that we all had all those years ago especially after the wives have all gone to bed. 
Here is another photo of Peteâs which was probably taken on the way to Baghdad.
Just thinking about now, was this the area where we used to buy a small sack of Tangerines for about a quid.
Evening mushroomman. I am sure that I speak for all ex Promotor men when I say that we would be honoured to have you, or anyone else, post your photos and stories here. It certainly is a sickener that so many pictures have been lost recently due to Photobuckets change of policy.
mushroomman:
âŚSomebody mentioned on here a few years ago about a U.K. trailer that was abandoned for quite a long time at The National Hotel in Belgrade which had a full load of toilets on destined for Baghdad. I canât remember which year it was but does anybody know anything about itâŚ
Good evening chaps, enjoying the tales from back in the day as usual, keep em coming please! . With reference to the load of toilets / sanitary ware, I may be wrong but im sure T/N member BestBooties (Ian ?) posted something, ages ago, about taking trailers of the stuff down to M/E. Possibly for Carmens - B.E.T ? With a Transcon?
Edit⌠Scroll to the bottom of this thread.
viewtopic.php?f=35&t=123360&p=1918791&hilit=bestbooties+bathroom#p1918791
THE SAGA OF THE EMBASSY KHAZI.
Iâd hit a brick wall. No not literally. Not the brick sh-t house this trip seems to centre around. No, it was the queue to get into Iraq at the border crossing at Habur. I only had about eight tons sitting in the back of the trailer so wasnât held up too, much in the mountains. But now I had come to a standstill. I considered I had done very well. I was now on my seventh day out from the UK. Of course, we counted the days from being on the midnight ferry out of Dover. If you had to come down from Manchester or Newcastle that would add another day but as we were coming from Sevenoaks we never counted the first day which always seemed like cheating a bit. Anyway I was now on my seventh day out from Dover and with a bit of luck could still make Baghdad to meet my eta date. I knew a gang of British builders were being flown out who would be chomping at the bit if I was late. But there was nothing I could do now except wait.
If you have ever been in these queues you will know time consists of sitting around for hours sometimes then as the queue moves forward theres a madcap moment as all the lorries start there engines and move off trying not to leave any gaps incase a Turkish or Bulgarian lorry or even worse an Italian one tries to get ahead of you. Then its wait until the next move. Sometimes ten minutes sometimes three hours. Nights were the most fraught times. It was almost impossible to stay awake. I would often be asleep leaning on the steering wheel only waking up when I heard all the other lorries driving past me. I had arrived at the back of the queue with two other British lorries but they both disappeared ahead of me during the night as I kept nodding off. Daylight came and it was out into the scrub for a dump then back to the lorry to get the water container out and splash water on yourself to finally wake up. Not that you had been asleep apart from short catnaps now and again. Have a look at the lorries ahead and behind you. Donât recognise any of them. Perhaps I slept for longer than I realised. Try to gauge the distance to the border post. With a bit of luck might get through and up to Zahko tonight.
Finally got through Habur, thats the Turkish side and into Iraq in the evening. Cleared the Iraqi side about 2200hrs but was to knackered to go anywhere. I donât remember where I dossed down. May have even stayed in the compound at the border but I doubt it as would have been woken by the guards wanting cigs or â â â â books.
I was now into my ninth day on the road. I was refreshed and revitalised. I would certainly make Baghdad in the ten days allowed and although my eta was not fixed in stone it had become a personal challenge for me to be there on that day. I was feeling good as I got to the Dohuk turning north of Mosul. It was then disaster almost struck. I was at one moment driving along without a care in the world and the next I was on the side of the road at a bit of an angle with my front wheel down in a gully. A car coming towards me had lost it and almost smashed into the front of me. I swerved out of the way at the last moment but ended up in the gully. Oh bother, I thought as I looked around me. Well, apart from the cab looking in a bit of a mess and I hadnât overturned all seemed ok. It was not till I got out and had a walk around that I realised my load had shifted. There was a large bulge in the side although it seemed quite stable I didnât fancy going on without inspecting it from the inside.
But first I had to get out of the gully. Although my predicament wasnât to bad I couldnât drive forward. I tried to back out but I was in just a little bit too deep for that. I was stuck. I needed help. Obviously the gods were looking down on me or they were getting concerned about the embassy staff and their crossed legs but out of the blue help arrived in the form of an âalpine turkâ. An Austrian lorry pulled up behind me and this giant of a man got down, walked around to the front of my lorry took one look and said âve zoon av u outa zerâ or words to that effect. I thought blimey heâs going to push it out on his own. But no, he went back to his lorry got a chain out, tied it to my bumper and in no time I was out of the gully and he was on his way. Well, there had to be some decent Austrians around somewhere and by pure luck I had found one.
But although I was back on level ground I still needed to sort the load out and I didnât fancy doing it by the side of the road as I needed to break the plomb, unlace the back and clamber up inside. I decided to carefully drive down the road until I found a suitable spot off the road where not too many people could see what I was up to. I found somewhere just north of Mosul and got up inside the trailer. There I found that luckily the septic tank hadnât moved but other items had. I spent the next few hours, and it was getting pretty hot by now, sorting out the load but finally I was happy that it would be safe for the last leg into Baghdad. I relaced the back and carefully replaced the plomb. Iâm coming lads. Hang on in there!!!
THE SAGA OF THE EMBASSY KHAZI. (conclusion).
I was on the last leg of my record breaking trip to Baghdad. I had been told by Staggie, our transport manager, to be in Baghdad by a certain date as a team of builders were being flown out, at great expense no doubt, to install a new septic tank that was in the back of my supercube trailer. I normally took thirteen days to get there but now it was day ten and I was south of Mosul with Baghdad almost within sight. I had stopped the night somewhere just to the south of Mosul and now I had all day to complete my journey. Of course ten days from the UK to Baghdad was nothing out of the ordinary for some drivers. There were legendary tales of drivers who did the trip in six or seven days. Andrew Wilson Young of Astran was one no doubt.
Mid morning I pulled over for a break. Well, although I had a card in the tacho at least I wasnt stopping for that reason. I was sitting there eating one of the rock cakes my wife always sent me off with every trip and drinking a cup of coffee when two more British lorries pulled in and parked up adjacent to me. One was driven by Leo Smith who I had met before but I canât remember the name of the company he was driving for and the other was a D & A Mcrea lorry from Darlington but I canât remember the drivers name. They were also tipping in Baghdad and after a chinwag and more coffee we ran down together. I remember it was quite hot and after a few hours on the road we pulled over for another break and the two of them climbed up into one of their lorries as it had air conditioning. They kept the engine running and the windows shut. I just suffered as usual.
That evening we all parked up at Fallujah. Now that place could have done with a septic tank. Well about twenty I reckon. It was one big sh-t hole. For maybe the first time that trip I had a full nights sleep. There were always a couple of soldiers there. Not sure what their job was but normally we didnât see much of them. They had their own little hut and rarely ventured out. However, a couple of years later they enticed the girlfriend of an Astran driver to come into the hut where they attacked her. Later she told her boyfriend what had happened and he immediately took her to the British Embassy where she was looked after. The embassy which of course had special contacts within the Iraq security forces reported the rapes and the perpetrators were arrested within the hour.
Next morning the three of us registered at Fallujah and then, and I donât remember why, went down to Abu Graib and parked up on a side street opposite side of the main road to the prison. Maybe we just thought it was a good place to park up as all the bad guys were locked up nearby. There I dropped my trailer and drove to the embassy. I arrived mid morning, parked up nearby and walked into the oasis that represented the grounds of the British Embassy. After a cursory glance at your passport the security guard allowed you in and you walked up this long driveway to the buildings which backed onto the Tigris river. Whenever I entered the grounds I expected British soldiers in their red coats with flintlock rifles over their shoulders to come marching by. That place always seemed to be in a time warp. You could never say the gardens were lush or full of flowers and colourful but it was like entering a little bit of heaven. It was a place of peace and tranquility after the streets of Baghdad.
I met the chap at the embassy who had been given the job of managing the installation of the new septic tank and the other necessary work required before the Iraqis could take over the area of land near the front for road improvements. After handing over my paperwork he called the agent who was responsible for customs clearance. Even though the goods were for the British embassy you still had to clear customs. I heard a few years later Bill Took, another Promotor driver took a load of furniture down there. I donât know how or why but he managed to tip before customs had cleared the load. It seems there was a bit of a furore and later Bill was made âpersona non grataâ to Iraq. Knowing Bill I canât imagine that worried him one little bit.
Later I was introduced to the foreman of the builders who had flown out the day before from the UK. He and his gang of men had been put up in the âBaghdad Hotelâ in town. It was the best hotel in town at that time but was still a flea pit. Later I was informed the load had been cleared and could be offloaded. I was then told that it was to late to do anything that day and that the builders wanted me back there for four thirty in the morning. Seems theyâd be told it got very hot during the day and so wanted to tip the trailer early. Fine by me I thought as I drove back to Abu Graib.
Next day saw me back at the embassy on time. The whole gang was there with a small crane and the lot was off by seven thirty. They seemed very motivated. I could imagine the Ambassador and his staff anxiously looking out of their windows willing the builders on. I had done my part. I had achieved the impossible, for me, of a ten day transit time from the UK. The builders were going to work overtime and the Ambassador would lose the use of his khazi for only an hour or so whilst the new sewage system was connected to the existing pipework. A good result all round.
I was now on my way home. Yugo, for my reload would be my second stop during my fourteen day return trip. My first stop was the beach at Kavala where three nights ârest and recuperationâ were called for.
Fabulously evocative photos, Sandway! 
Robert
Brilliant Sandway, thanks for taking the time to write it all down and sharing it with us. 
I only went to Fallujah once and as you say it certainly needed a septic tank. I remember that we had to drop our trailers in the customs compound over night and park and sleep in the units out in the desert. I saw an old truck tyre in the storm drain and I decided that I would pull it out and throw it on to the back of the tractor. The idea being that we could throw some diesel on it and set it alight at night which would give us some light and warmth as this was on January 1st. As I threw the tyre onto the catwalk my legs were showered with a load of liquid human excrement as I had not noticed what was inside. Needless to say we used up nearly all our drinking water trying to get me clean that night and my jeans were just thrown away in the desert outside the Fallujah customs compound.
The good old days eh. 
B.T.W. didnât Errol Flynn also do a couple of trips for Duncan Macrea.
Fallujah.
Fallujah.
Baghdad.
Regards Steve.
What a story! Thanks for taking the time to write it al down sandway! Great pics to
Danne
Just read ex Promotor driver, Micky T from the âRussian Rouletteâ page is writing another book about his time with Promotor. If his first book is anything to go by this new one will be a right belter. Good luck Micky.
What a fantastic Tour de France weâve had for the past three weeks. Some of the scenery was stunning as well as the racing itself. Brings back memories of the time I was working in France in the mid 70âs. Mainly around Paris and Rouen but now and again a bit further afield. Once again my âlittle grey cellsâ have been stirred into action by watching the final stage of the race right in the heart of Paris and its reminded me of something that happened there in 76.
I was working for Invicta Transport out of Hart Street in Maidstone pulling for Wilgo Freight from Essex. Iâd done my usual five drops and ended up in Troyes to the east of Paris. Once empty I telephoned in for my reload. It turned out to be hundreds of rolls of fancy cloth from a very small establishment just south of the Seine in the centre of Paris and was destined for an equally small shop in east London. I was told to make my way to the âHotel de Villeâ and ask for instructions from somebody there.
I entered Paris on the autoroute from Troyes and then continued along the road to the north of the Seine all the time getting closer to the centre of Paris. However, not being sure exactly where the âHotel de Villeâ was I stopped to get directions. Unfortunately the bloke I asked was â â â â â â and by the time I realised it he had jumped up into the passenger seat of my F89 and was gesticulating wildly for me to go. Oh well, I thought he seems to know the area best to follow his instructions. We did indeed arrive at the âHotel de Villeâ after a few more kilometres and I thanked my guide and thought good, I can get rid of him now. However, he had seen the address that I had written down of my collection point. No no he shouted as I stopped and again he was gesticulating wildly and pointing across the river. âForget itâ I said, Iâm getting proper instructions from the small group of gendarmes on guard there.
With that I walked up to them and in my best French asked the way. My â â â â â â guide was not giving up though. He pushed his way through the tourists milling about and grabbed hold of one of the gendarmes who slowly turned round and uttered something like âgo awayâ and gave him a small prod in the chest. With that the guide just seemed to pass out or was seeking attention. He fell backwards and laid sprawled on the pavement on his back seemingly unconscious. The gendarmes just turned there backs on him and continued giving me instructions on how to get to my destination which was just over the river.
Things by now were getting a little out of hand as some of the tourists were getting concerned for the poor â â â â â â guide lying on the pavement with the gendarmes showing no interest in him one little bit. Uniforms were being tugged, voices were being raised, the crowd was getting bigger and more belligerent and Iâm sure I heard someone say something about âpolice stateâ. It was at this point, just as a full blown riot was about to happen, that I thought it best to take my leave. I returned to my lorry, jumped up into the cab and took one last look back at my â â â â â â guide who, although being the centre of all the commotion, was being trampled on by his supporters and others who liked a good riot.
I am fairly sure it was November or early December 1981 that I got back from a lengthy trip to Baghdad. I had been helping Chic Steadman, our site rep, set up an exhibition there but was not required to stay on so had run back to Yugo to reload and had then tipped in the UK and was now back in the office. I had been away around seven weeks and was wondering how Christmas was going to fit into the work schedule. I had never been away over the Yuletide period. Nearest I got to it was having to ship out on the 27th. As a lot of our work was Yugo, and they didnât close down during that period there were always loads to go and drivers to be found to take them. Some drivers, after having their arms twisted by Staggie our transport manager, would begrudgingly go but if I remember correctly it was only Micky Twemlow, accompanied by Pam, who willingly went.
As I said I was now back in the office and was due a week off. I was trying to find out from Staggie what work was on or coming up. âWell nothing specialâ he said. âMight be another Yugo before Christmasâ. âWhere are all the other driversâ I asked trying to suss out a decent load to a decent destination. I could do that with Staggie but if he was in a bad mood I could have been sent straight back to Baghdad. âNothing for you to worry aboutâ he said, âyouâre off now for a week. Iâll sort something out for you in the next few days. Iâm busy now sorting out this Lisbon job so f-ck of homeâ as he threw a telephone against the wall which had just started to ring. Now most drivers knew this was the time to back on out of the office. Staggie could be and was often the most difficult obstropolis man you were ever likely to meet but the mention of Lisbon rooted me to the spot. âLisbonâ I said. "Iâve never been to Lisbon Dave. I would love to go! Whats involved. Whats the job entail. âYou still hereâ he bellowed. âYouâre on a weeks leave and youâre wasting it still sat in this officeâ. âBut Dave I want to go on this job and Iâm willing to give up my time offâ. With this he mellowed a little and said I was to late as four drivers were leaving next morning. He did mention though that the job was for Fords and it involved driving a small selection of Ford Cargo lorries to Lisbon. All were fitted with the new Dover engine (think that was the name) and the launch was to take place in the Intercontinental Hotel. Commercial vehicle hacks from all the newspapers and magazines throughout Europe were being flown to Lisbon for the presentation and appraisal of this lorry and it was very important that Ford got it right.
I never did find out who the other drivers were. I assumed Tony Grainger who loved anything on four wheels was one. Dave Boulding our cherabutic Mr Nice Guy another. Mr Roly Poly Trevor Thayre, Jeff Gardner, Stephen Lacy or John Barclay all could have been on the job. Who wouldnât have been included were the hard men. Bill Took, Ramsey Paterson and John âWellyâ Ward. All three would have trashed the lorries as they tried to get there in two days.
For the drivers this part of the job was a one way trip. After delivering the lorries the drivers would fly back to the UK. They would then be flown back to Lisbon after the event to bring them home again. âLookâ Dave said. âThereâs another lorry to go. A small artic. But its got a problem with the engine and they are sticking a new lump in it. It may be ready to go in a couple of days. Do you want me to put your name down as the driverâ. Now Dave was fat, ugly and obnoxious but at that moment I could have kissed him. âYes yes do that. Iâm going home now just give me a ring when its ready and Iâll come straight backâ. Not quite as straightforward as it seemed though as I lived in the west country and our office was in Kent.
A couple of days later I did get the call from Staggie but it was only to tell me Fords were still having problems with the engine and the lorry still wasnât ready to go. It was another two days before a got the message to return to the office. âYouâre shipping out early afternoon from Dover to Calais. No need to thrash the lorry. Just take your time and get it down there in one pieceâ Staggie said. âRemember you can stay in hotels every nightâ. âSure thing Dave, Iâm good at taking it steadyâ.
With that I set out in my little Ford Cargo unit pulling a single axle box trailer with five ton of concrete sitting in the back to hold it down. Dunno why they bothered putting the concrete in cos I definitely wasnât flying. I was on my way to Portugal. I was on my way to Lisbon. I was on holiday.
I had volunteered for the Lisbon job. I had just come back from a long trip away and I was due a week off. My wife and children were looking forward to having me home even if it was only to get some outstanding jobs done around the house. But no, I wanted to be part of this job to Lisbon. I was willing to give up my time off if âStaggieâ would include me amongst the group of drivers ferrying Ford Cargo lorries down there for a launch and appraisal show. To say the least my wife was not impressed.
In the end I did have a few days at home because my lorry had to have a new engine fitted but finally I was on my way. I was told not to thrash the lorry and that hotels could be had every night. I donât remember to much of the trip down but I do remember that I was on an ATA Carnet and I thought I could do customs on the autoroute as I left France and entered Spain. Wrong!! I was turned around by the French and told to go down into Hendaye town where I was to find the douane and do my carnet there. Took me a couple of hours to sort that out but finally got to an hotel well south of Burgos late that afternoon. I must have had at least one if not two nights in hotels in France but cant remember a thing about that part of my trip. My next stop was west of Madrid, very little dual carriageway then so progress was slow, where I stopped for lunch. As my Spanish was non existent I would look down the menu for something I recognised. If nothing I would just jab my finger at something and take pot luck. Unfortunately it was here I got it completely wrong. I ended up with cold tripe. It was one of the most disgusting dishes I have ever tried to eat. From this restaurant I made my way gingerly to Badajoz trying not to shake my stomach up to much where I found another hotel for the night.
The last day I crossed into Portugal and as I had plenty of time stopped to look at the cork oak trees that were in abundance here. I took a few photos had lunch and finally made my way into Lisbon. All in all it had been a good trip. I had not hurried. There had been no problems and I had no issues with the lorry. I had enjoyed driving it and all I had to do now was find the Intercontinental Hotel and hand it over to the Ford crew there. Once that was done it was find another hotel for the night and tomorrow fly home.
I parked up at the back of the hotel and went in to find the Ford guys. It was late afternoon and they were all seated in the bar enjoying a local beverage. I introduced myself and was invited to join them. I was then told there was a room for me upstairs. Seems Ford had block booked and paid for a large part of the hotel for their personal and the hacks, who were being flown in from all over Europe to evaluate the lorries, and anyone else involved in the operation. I was included in the last group. One thing I shall always remember was one of the Ford guys whispering in my ear as we drank at the bar. He said there was only one journalist out of the scores of hacks being flown in that mattered and he was Pat Kennett. Many of you on TNUK will know his name well enough.
As you can imagine the rooms were fabulous. Ten time nicer than the roadside hotels I had been stopping at on the way down. I did hear later that the other four Promotor drivers were also put up here. They though were given rooms that had been set aside for the hacks. Inside they found bowls of fruit, bottles of Brandy and cut glass figurines. It seems the hacks were all there at Fords expense. I was told they didnât even pay for their flights. And once there it was wine women and song every hour of the day apart from the couple of hours they had to spend with those boring lorries. Now I wonder why the Ford Cargo was voted âTruck of the Yearâ by those self same journalists. By the time I got to my room Ford had realised a mistake had been made and all I got was a free bottle of water but I didnât let that stop me enjoying enjoying myself as I lay in a bubble bath drinking a beer from the mini bar.
However, before I had gone up to my room I had handed over the paperwork and keys to the lorry. A couple of hours later the phone rang in my room. It was the Ford guy who said he had taken the lorry out for a test drive and the engine still didnât sound right. He had discussed what to do with his crew and it was decided not to chance letting the journalists loose with it. âSo weâve decided its best you take it backâ he said. But Iâm flying home tomorrow morning I spluttered. âDonât worry weâll square it with your officeâ. I thought and whose going to square it with my wife. I then made the excuse I was running out of hours and had to have a break. âThats understoodâ he said. âStay on for a day and you can drive the car for us tomorrow as we take pictures of the lorriesâ.
And thats what I did. We went all over Lisbon. The Ford team knew where the best shots were to be obtained. From the âMonument to the Discoveriesâ to the â25th April Suspension Bridgeâ. To the harbours and the beaches. We did them all. I didnât have to shell out for anything. Ford paid for my food and drink and I had a great time.
Next morning I left Lisbon heading for home. I wasnât in a hurry. I still stayed in hotels every night. Well I was still on holiday.
Excellent tale again Sandway, a little snap shot of life from back in the day! Your story of staying in hotels reminds me of a run a did with a load of TV production equipment for a sports event . Three days and two nights to get from London to Milan, hotel for the two nights, one outside Riems I think and the other near Chamonix. When you had been used to doing it in virtually one hit like most of us probably did, then three days was weird!! In fact, you felt like you never really got going before it was time to stop again. Good tales and more please. The photos are all pretty good too!
Very true about Pat Kennett, Sandway - he was well respected in transport circles and I have taken the liberty of quoting your comment on the ERF European (1975) thread 
. Cheers! Robert