In narrating the first part of this true story of a trip I did back in 1980 I have used a little bit of “narrative license” in the description of my conversation with Dave Stagg. “But only a little bit”. As I explained in part one I remember the phone call very well. As for the actual trip, some parts of the journey are a complete blanc but here I repeat myself when I say, “but only a little bit”.
I’VE GOT A LITTLE JOB FOR YOU!!!
Lane 1.
Staggie had wetted my appetite. Now he had me hooked he let me dangle awhile. “Of course I could always put one of the other drivers on it if you’re not happy to do four drops. Welly Ward or Micky Twemlow or even John Preece wouldn’t complain”. He went on to name every driver on the company as he knew I wanted the job. “Ok Ok I’ll do it just tell me where I’m going”. Now Staggie was a great dollop of lard. He never was very athletic and a few years behind a desk had certainly made his waistline disappear altogether. It was at this point as I was talking to him on the phone I sensed he had relaxed. He was, I was sure, leaning back in his long suffering creaking reclining office chair with his feet on the desk and possibly a beer in his hand as it was late in the day.
“You, my boy, will be delivering furniture to the British Embassies in Damascus, Amman, Jedda and the British Saudi Co-operation Office in Riyadh” he said. Great I thought. Something to get my teeth into. He gave me a brief rundown of the job and said the trailer should be loaded in a couple of days time. The only problem was the Saudi visa. The office had not yet got my visa and rather than hold me up they were thinking of having it issued in Damascus. Little did any of us know at that time the problems that visa would cause me. “We’ve routed you out France Italy and you will be using the Tartous ferry” he said. “Great” I replied. “Haven’t been down to Greece for a few months”. “Wrong” he said, the ferry has been moved from Volos up to Koper in Yugoslavia, just around the corner from Trieste. “Its even more of a doddle now” was his final sarcastic comment.
I have written about the ferries that ran from Greece and Yugoslavia to Syria in previous posts so I won’t go over that ground again. What I will say is that I believe I was, for unknown reasons, the only Promotor driver routed that way. Other drivers accompanied me sometimes though. John Preece, Clive Turner, George Fardell, Geoff Gardner, and Bobby Keen all did. It was a luxury going that way, not having to transit Turkey and once the ferry moved up to Koper you cut out most of Yugoslavia as well. It was almost like shipping out from Dover straight to Syria.
A couple of days later I was back in the office and I still had no Saudi visa. I went through the paperwork, signed for my running money, pocketed my passport and finally loaded all my personal gear into the lorry. It was mid morning by the time I headed of to Dover with only a few ton of furniture in the box trailer I was dragging behind me. I shipped over to Calais and drove down the old road towards Paris before stopping at a Le Routier north of Abbaville for a meal and a nights sleep. It was good to be on my way and I was really looking forward to the trip. I had a straightforward run down to Koper and arrived midday. I parked up in the harbour and visited the shipping lines office. The ferry would be in next morning and was scheduled to depart late afternoon. I don’t remember many other Brits waiting to board but there were plenty of Hungarians. It was all going according to plan. Next day I boarded the ferry, found my cabin, and had a shower. In the evening I had a meal in the restaurant and later got my head down, after all I didn’t want to be to tired as the trip took three and a half days and there was some serious sunbathing to be done.
Finally we berthed in Tartous docks. Not the nicest or prettiest of towns but it served its purpose. there were a couple of restaurants near the dock gates as well as the shipping office. The food in the restaurants was pretty dire so I only ate there as a last resort on the way home if I was low on tins of Irish stew or whatever. From Tartous you drove inland to Homs passing through the tip of the Lebanon with all its duty free shops. Once you got to Homs you turned right onto the main north south highway running through Syria. Damascus, although not that far south of Homs, was a bit of a hike as much of the road was being reconstructed and to say it was like a ploughed field is doing an injustice to any self respecting farmer. However, I arrived in Damascus late afternoon, found the customs and parked up for the night.
In the morning I would find a taxi and visit the British Embassy.
