And Turaif was south(ish) with a touch of east of H4
How many of the current crop could find the way (without Sat Nav or tarmac) ■■
And apart from me and maybe Ramone How many of us could/can ‘Box The Compass’
“I’VE GOT A LITTLE JOB FOR YOU”.
Lane 8.
I had been on a milk round delivering furniture to Damascus, Amman, Jedda and Riyadh. So far I had been away about thirty four days. Problems obtaining a Saudi visa had cost me a good seven days in Damascus though but now I was back in Amman and the ferry in Tartous was beckoning me. With a nice little reload of furniture from Slovenia I could be home in ten days time. But you know what they say “don’t count your chickens until they’re hatched”. As it so happened I was counting my chickens prematurely but little did I know I wasn’t going to mind one little bit. I wouldnt be loading Yugo furniture but British furniture. I was to end up in a war torn city where I was to collect a load of furniture surplus to requirements as most of the Brits had already gone home. My reload instructions were sent to The British embassy in Amman as this trip was all about British embassies and my reload was to be from yet another one.
In a few days time I would be driving my lorry along a stretch of road very few British drivers had navigated before or since. The “Corniche” in Beirut, capitol of the Lebanon. Although I had entered the Lebanon on a number of occasions the five or six kilometres that you drove through after leaving Tartous docks, where all the shopkeepers were, could have been anywhere. You certainly didn’t have to have a visa or show your passport. I was very excited and immediately began to plan my trip. I knew where the Beirut road started in Damascus. I had spent a lot of time in the vicinity whilst waiting for my Saudi visa. The British embassy in Amman helped me get my Lebanese visa which only took a few hours to obtain. I didn’t need Sami Sirissi’s help this time. They also contacted the embassy in Beirut to inform them I would be arriving in a couple of days. They were concerned for my safety and also asked if I could be met at the border by an ■■■■■■. Beirut embassy readily agreed to this and I worked out an eta so there would be no waiting around at the border for any of us.
I left Amman after thanking the embassy staff for their help. I made my way back into Syria and transited Damascus stopping for the night on the western side of town. I never felt entirely safe in Syria and so spent a wary night parked up about thirty km from the border. Next morning I left first thing as my eta was 1000hrs. I passed through the Syrian side of the border without incident but the Lebanese side was a different story. It wasn’t busy and I thought things were going well (remember the chickens). I had almost finished all the usual formalities when I was stopped by chap in a uniform. He took me into this little office where he informed me I couldn’t enter the Lebanon to load as all exports were handled by Lebanese transport companies. Oh bl–dy h-ll I thought. More agro. Then it came to me. I was on diplomatic duty. I was working for the British embassy. I wasn’t loading potatoes or carrots. I told him I was going to the British embassy in Beirut to load British furniture that had to be taken back to London and that I had an ■■■■■■ from the embassy waiting for me outside and that he could check with them for confirmation of that fact. Immediately his attitude changed. He said I could enter the country and shook my hand. Perhaps he thought one day he might need asylum and he fancied the UK so didn’t want to rub anyone up the wrong way.
The barrier lifted and I drove into the Lebanon. As I did so I couldn’t see my ■■■■■■ so parked up on the side of the road. As I said the border wasn’t busy and after parking up I decided to go to a little cafe I had seen. Just as I got down from the cab this white car pulled up alongside and a chap got out of the passenger side. He introduced himself. He was english and was my ■■■■■■. He had a local driver who would lead the way in the car and he would accompany me in the lorry. I didn’t see any arms but I couldn’t imagine either of them not being armed. After all this time I can’t remember his name but I believe it was Jim. We stood talking for a few minutes then went to the cafe/bar I had seen where I had my breakfast. Jim told me he was on the admin side at the embassy and that it was his job to look after me and sort out the load and paperwork.
After breakfast we walked back to the car. It was then I noticed the bullet holes in the door. I pointed them out to Jim and all he said was “you just pick them up round here”. Hmm I thought, hope Staggie’s had a word with our insurance company before accepting this job.
sandway:
“I’VE GOT A LITTLE JOB FOR YOU”.
Lane 8.I had been on a milk round delivering furniture to Damascus, Amman, Jedda and Riyadh. So far I had been away about thirty four days. Problems obtaining a Saudi visa had cost me a good seven days in Damascus though but now I was back in Amman and the ferry in Tartous was beckoning me. With a nice little reload of furniture from Slovenia I could be home in ten days time. But you know what they say “don’t count your chickens until they’re hatched”. As it so happened I was counting my chickens prematurely but little did I know I wasn’t going to mind one little bit. I wouldnt be loading Yugo furniture but British furniture. I was to end up in a war torn city where I was to collect a load of furniture surplus to requirements as most of the Brits had already gone home. My reload instructions were sent to The British embassy in Amman as this trip was all about British embassies and my reload was to be from yet another one.
In a few days time I would be driving my lorry along a stretch of road very few British drivers had navigated before or since. The “Corniche” in Beirut, capitol of the Lebanon. Although I had entered the Lebanon on a number of occasions the five or six kilometres that you drove through after leaving Tartous docks, where all the shopkeepers were, could have been anywhere. You certainly didn’t have to have a visa or show your passport. I was very excited and immediately began to plan my trip. I knew where the Beirut road started in Damascus. I had spent a lot of time in the vicinity whilst waiting for my Saudi visa. The British embassy in Amman helped me get my Lebanese visa which only took a few hours to obtain. I didn’t need Sami Sirissi’s help this time. They also contacted the embassy in Beirut to inform them I would be arriving in a couple of days. They were concerned for my safety and also asked if I could be met at the border by an ■■■■■■. Beirut embassy readily agreed to this and I worked out an eta so there would be no waiting around at the border for any of us.
I left Amman after thanking the embassy staff for their help. I made my way back into Syria and transited Damascus stopping for the night on the western side of town. I never felt entirely safe in Syria and so spent a wary night parked up about thirty km from the border. Next morning I left first thing as my eta was 1000hrs. I passed through the Syrian side of the border without incident but the Lebanese side was a different story. It wasn’t busy and I thought things were going well (remember the chickens). I had almost finished all the usual formalities when I was stopped by chap in a uniform. He took me into this little office where he informed me I couldn’t enter the Lebanon to load as all exports were handled by Lebanese transport companies. Oh bl–dy h-ll I thought. More agro. Then it came to me. I was on diplomatic duty. I was working for the British embassy. I wasn’t loading potatoes or carrots. I told him I was going to the British embassy in Beirut to load British furniture that had to be taken back to London and that I had an ■■■■■■ from the embassy waiting for me outside and that he could check with them for confirmation of that fact. Immediately his attitude changed. He said I could enter the country and shook my hand. Perhaps he thought one day he might need asylum and he fancied the UK so didn’t want to rub anyone up the wrong way.
The barrier lifted and I drove into the Lebanon. As I did so I couldn’t see my ■■■■■■ so parked up on the side of the road. As I said the border wasn’t busy and after parking up I decided to go to a little cafe I had seen. Just as I got down from the cab this white car pulled up alongside and a chap got out of the passenger side. He introduced himself. He was english and was my ■■■■■■. He had a local driver who would lead the way in the car and he would accompany me in the lorry. I didn’t see any arms but I couldn’t imagine either of them not being armed. After all this time I can’t remember his name but I believe it was Jim. We stood talking for a few minutes then went to the cafe/bar I had seen where I had my breakfast. Jim told me he was on the admin side at the embassy and that it was his job to look after me and sort out the load and paperwork.
After breakfast we walked back to the car. It was then I noticed the bullet holes in the door. I pointed them out to Jim and all he said was “you just pick them up round here”. Hmm I thought, hope Staggie’s had a word with our insurance company before accepting this job.
I could see where your story might be going when you mentioned Lebanon! It seems it was a bit of a ‘closed shop’ when it came to international transport and this may well still be the case as I don’t recall seeing anything other than Lebanese lorries there when I last visited. Out of interest, here is a cutting from Commercial Motor on 11/07/75 which attempts to clarify the rules of the day.
And here is a UK artic that shipped into Beirut and traversed Lebanon into Syria (and onward to Jordan, Saudi, Qatar and Kuwait). I met its driver, who was an ERF field engineer. The lorry was an ERF NGC running as a demonstrator on a Middle-East tour, which is how got round the rules, not being laden. It was sold in Kuwait. Cheers, Robert
Interesting little article about permits for the Lebanon Robert. It certainly was a closed shop. I understand many of there large transport companies were owned by wealthy families who had plenty of clout as well as money. Of course Astran, when they went ■■■■ up, were taken over by a Lebanese company.
Really enjoying your story Sandway
It was possible until about 76 ish to load out of Beirut or at least my Agent Albert Malouf of East West Express made it possible, but the article is correct about imports, they had to be transhipped at the customs in the docks.
I got a backload of personal effects in January 75 from Beirut to UK which I loaded from the East West Express warehouse, the problem then was getting an Arab D9 to transit Syria as at the time there was no bilateral agreement for European trucks to transit back to Turkey, the agreement was only one way no return. Fortunately, Syrian customs were friendly enough and for a small unofficial fee the manifest went in my passport & I was free to continue to Bab Al Hawa.
Next trip out with Sammi’s help I saw the Syrian Ministry of Transport in Damascus to try and sort the transit situation out, first attempt wasn’t successful but at least we were welcome to come back & continue. Next a trip to the British Embassy where they proposed a reciprocal quota arrangement, no thanks boys we don’t need any more John Bull printing kit paperwork !!
So next visit we sat down with the Syrians & hey Presto no problem, European trucks could transit loaded in both directions.
IIRC, I did three Beiruts, the last trip was some time in 76 when it was just starting to kick off, I had about 5 removals on for various UK removal firms and all the customers and their local trucks were met at the docks for transhipment. and not looking quite so happy at their decision to re-locate to what was beginning to resemble a hornets nest.
Again I loaded out of the East West Warehouse, but this time took the coast road up to Tripoli and then inland across to Homs, the inland route was a great run, very little traffic and very scenic through pretty villages and good cafe stops and the border crossing absolutely painless.
Alas for a long time after that It wouldn’t be so sweet in Lebanon, very sad for such a nice country & people
Anyone remember Tim Peacock, he drove transcon for showhaul?
brookie:
Anyone remember Tim Peacock, he drove transcon for showhaul?
Can’t help you there brookie. I had little to do with ShowHaul. Hopefully Nottsnortherner or Efes will know him.
whisperingsmith:
Really enjoying your story SandwayIt was possible until about 76 ish to load out of Beirut or at least my Agent Albert Malouf of East West Express made it possible, but the article is correct about imports, they had to be transhipped at the customs in the docks.
I got a backload of personal effects in January 75 from Beirut to UK which I loaded from the East West Express warehouse, the problem then was getting an Arab D9 to transit Syria as at the time there was no bilateral agreement for European trucks to transit back to Turkey, the agreement was only one way no return. Fortunately, Syrian customs were friendly enough and for a small unofficial fee the manifest went in my passport & I was free to continue to Bab Al Hawa.
Next trip out with Sammi’s help I saw the Syrian Ministry of Transport in Damascus to try and sort the transit situation out, first attempt wasn’t successful but at least we were welcome to come back & continue. Next a trip to the British Embassy where they proposed a reciprocal quota arrangement, no thanks boys we don’t need any more John Bull printing kit paperwork !!
So next visit we sat down with the Syrians & hey Presto no problem, European trucks could transit loaded in both directions.IIRC, I did three Beiruts, the last trip was some time in 76 when it was just starting to kick off, I had about 5 removals on for various UK removal firms and all the customers and their local trucks were met at the docks for transhipment. and not looking quite so happy at their decision to re-locate to what was beginning to resemble a hornets nest.
Again I loaded out of the East West Warehouse, but this time took the coast road up to Tripoli and then inland across to Homs, the inland route was a great run, very little traffic and very scenic through pretty villages and good cafe stops and the border crossing absolutely painless.
Alas for a long time after that It wouldn’t be so sweet in Lebanon, very sad for such a nice country & people
A very informative post wisperingsmith. I can’t imagine those five people who were relocating to the Lebanon staying long. As you say things were hotting up and the civil war, 1975/76, was just the forerunner for even worse later on. We knew a couple who went out there to work in the 60’s. It was then known as the Riviera of the Middle East. Why do so many people want to ruin things for others as well as themselves.
95% of all wars/conflicts etc are caused by RELIGION !!! There will never be peace as we know it in that region while ever the people disagree as to who to worship. Look whats happening in Myanmar now, over 1 million people displaced and the government there won,t even aknowledge there is a problem. The other 5% of unrest is caused by The likes of Mugabe wringing the country dry of its wealth while his own people are left to starve and pick up the pieces. Now while the West has turned a blind eye to their affairs not wishing to get involved it has left the back door open to the Chinese who are extremely active in finance and construction there. All in return for shares in Zimbabwe,s diamond mines and introducing the people to their form of communism! Don,t get me on that subject either! I,m off the soapbox now!..Tim Peacock, the name rings a bell, I probably bumped into him occasionally but cant really say I remember him. He may have even driven for us (Motorvation) in the early days. When we had a large shoe to handle we used to get guys from all over the place on a temp basis.
Efes:
sandway:
sandway:
Took this picture whilst in the Londra on the trip where Welly Ward had his accident. Am fairly sure their names were Hewie and George and that the Transcon was George’s lorry. They may have been double manning but doubt it. Snow chains are on and they left a day before us heading, I think, to Kuwait.I’m sure a lot of you know them or have info. If so, lets hear it.
volvo303 posted on Oct 11 2012 that Taytran was owned by Ken Taylor and son Chris drove for him. volvo303 had also driven a Taytran Transcon. Come on you knowledgeable ones. Lets have some more info.
I did wonder when I saw the name Taytran. My first Baghdad was for the Taylors in 1979 in their brand new white Iveco. At the time they had just the one vehicle. I only vaguely remember the Taytran name… (Maybe they called it that later? They were called Star Transport at the time - or was that his father’s HGV driving school?). I knew Chris quite well beforehand from local hostelries which is how I ended up going to Iraq with them.
However, I don’t remember either of these fellows in the photo’.
It was Chris Taylor that went down (survived) on that Greek ferry with his truck. He was helicoptered out by the Royal Navy because someone said he had small pox (he had chicken pox). The RN were rather disgusted - hoping for an exciting case of small pox when they gone to the trouble of an air lift - and gave him a bottle of Calamine and sent him on his way. I used to bump into him over the years but haven’t seen him for a very long time indeed. Somewhere I have the magazine article about the Greek sinking, much of it quotes from Chris.
I am staggered that Sandway remembers all these names. Perhaps your brain wasn’t as pickled as many drivers… Mine included.
When I returned from Baghdad in 1979 it was almost the day after my return that Staggie called me and I was invited to go for an interview. Before leaving for Iraq I had written to all the international haulage companies I could find in the phone book. I think my letter to Promotor arrived just at the right moment. Almost the next day I was heading to Italy in that bloody Ford Pantechnicon - no sleeper - with a car trailer behind it. It was very, very, very long indeed. Impossible to reverse as you couldn’t see the trailer… I went to Fiat’s wind tunnel and got held up in strike where all the Fiat workers were holding wooden clubs and didn’t seem to be afraid of using them on cars trying to pass the picket line.
Then back via Switzerland where they didn’t want to let me through because I didn’t have a permit (I had an EC blue book). I eventually wore down the Swiss and was allowed through and went on my way… I think to load in France where they loaded far too much and the springs were almost down to the ground. I had to go round corners very, very slowly.
I was lumbered with the pantech for ages…
Hi sandways and efes, I’m sure the driving school was “star driver training” with a D series ford artic. A guy I know in my hometown Hailsham (Bruce Saunders) did a trip or two to Greece/yugo for star transport. I remember seeing their lorry on occasions locally when I first started driving
“I’VE GOT A NICE LITTLE JOB FOR YOU”.
Lane 9.
I had gained access to the Lebanon even though I had at first been refused entry. Once I’d explained I was working for the British embassy there were no more problems. Waiting for me at the border were two men in a white car who would ■■■■■■ me into Beirut. Jim, an englishman rode with me in the lorry whilst the other chap, a Lebanese drove the car. The car had bullet holes in the side. Jim explained “you just pick them up round here”. It would give me street cred for the next twenty years if I pick up a couple! No, sod the fame I thought.
We left the border late morning. It wasn’t a long drive to Beirut. After a short while we dropped down into the Beqaa Valley. This fertile area is famous for the fruit and vegetables grown there. I saw stacks of boxes of fruit by the side of the road awaiting collection. It was exported all round the middle east in fridge boxes pulled mainly by bull nosed Mercedes lorries. I saw them often crossing the Syrian desert on their way to Baghdad. Never saw any of it for sale in Baghdad though. I reckon it was all for Sadaam and his cronies.
A couple of hours later we entered Beirut. I was following the white car and it was difficult to get my bearings but we skirted the city centre on the north eastern side. This brought us onto the seafront and there was the Mediterranean in front of me. I turned left and headed down this beautiful coastline on Paris leading on to Charles de Gaulle. The Riviera of the Middle East. As we drove down this 4.8km stretch of road known as the “Corniche”, I could see aircraft above heading into Beirut Airport which is just to the south of the city. Oh yes I thought, I’m glad I got this job. However, I was not so sure a little later on. Somewhere, as we drove along, Jim pointed to a building site. “Thats where the yanks are building their new embassy” he said. He then informed me all work had stopped for some reason. Within the next four years their embassy in town would suffer at the hands of a suicide bomber and the new one in the suburbs would suffer the same fate with much loss of life at both. As we drove further down this road Jim also told me a thriving market scene had materialised on the promenade in the past couple of years as people tried to sell their personal affects to raise some money.
I am sure I have described my route accurately but please bear in mind it was over thirty seven years ago. At some point, as we drove down the Corniche I was instructed to turn left into the city. I did so and was soon confronted by an horrendous scene. I was brought to a standstill by police. To my right maybe thirty or forty metres away was a car, it was, I think, a black Mercedes. It was partly up on the pavement. It was riddled with bullets and the inside of the windscreen was covered in blood. That morning Riad Taha, journalist and President of the Lebanese Publishers Association and his chauffeur were assassinated by, so it was thought, the Syrian secret service. I heard the facts later on the BBC World Service. It described Taha as a very influential man. I think Jim had seen it all before, or similar things and had me drive on. I have recently googled Riad Taha but there are conflicting reports of his death. I have seen the 20th, 22nd, 23rd and 24th July 1980 all mentioned as the day he was assassinated as well as it happening outside the Continental Hotel in the area of Raouche. I couldn’t find any reference to the Continental only the Intercontinental which was badly damaged in the fighting in the mid 70’s and stayed shut for the next twenty five years. Just goes to show you shouldn’t believe all you read but I know what I saw, just not sure of the date.
The area we were now in was built up and it was at that point Jim asked if I would be sleeping in the lorry. After what I had just seen I thought it wasn’t a good idea to use Hotel Scania. “That I can understand” he said". “There’s an hotel just up the road the embassy use, called the Mayflower, We’ll put you in there”. Sure enough we were soon at the hotel and Jim and the local chap found somewhere for me to park up. We went to reception and I checked in. After I’d dropped my things off in my room we went to the embassy which was about a kilometre up the road. As you can imagine security was very tight. Jim had warned me that I would be searched and I was, very thoroughly. Those boys certainly knew what they were doing. Well armed you didn’t mess around with them! With anti blast doors and security devices to negotiate I finally entered the embassy where I relaxed for an hour whilst Jim gave me the rundown on my reload schedule. I would be loading next day from a warehouse on the edge of town and their local custom agent would do the paperwork for me. I would leave on the third day. All well organised I thought, just what I would expect from the embassy.
Later Jim ran me back to the hotel where I had a shower and a rest followed by a meal in the restaurant and a drink in the bar. I had no intention of going sightseeing in downtown Beirut that was for sure.
“I’VE GOT A NICE LITTLE JOB FOR YOU”.
Lane 10.
I was in Beirut to collect a load of furniture from the British Embassy. Well, to be precise from a warehouse on the edge of town. Due to the civil war causing ongoing infighting amongst various Lebanese factions as well as the meddling of Syria the diplomatic staff was being reduced, drastically. I had been escorted into Beirut from the border and would be in the Lebanon for three days. On the second day Jim, my contact, came with me as we drove out to where the furniture was stored. I backed into a compound and undid the rear doors of the box trailer. A small gang of labourers were there to load the furniture but I thought it best to have a look at it first. I was a bit surprised by the quality of some of the items and told Jim, due to the fact all the furniture I had delivered on the way down was prepacked, I had no ties or blankets with me to protect it. With that he sent the labourers to search the warehouse for packing material and anything I could use to tie the load down. The proceeds of the search were such that I told Jim I could take no responsibility for any damage that occurred on the way home. He wasn’t worried, but I was and I told him I wanted it noted on the paperwork that the load was “loose unpacked furniture”. When we finally started loading I decided I had to get in the back and direct the loading operation. Whatever it said on the paperwork, if a load of firewood was finally offloaded in London it would be me that would be blamed.
All the furniture was loaded and the embassy customs agent did a grand job of doing the paperwork. Unfortunately he wasn’t good enough to get it ramped up that day so we left the rig in the compound and Jim ran me back to the hotel, where I spent another evening in the bar and restaurant. On the third day all the customs procedures were completed. I had already checked out of the hotel before Jim collected me that morning so I was all set to go by midday. Once again I had an ■■■■■■ to the border consisting of Jim and the local driver. There I said goodbye to them both. I then breezed through the formalities on
the Lebanese side and it was almost as quick on the Syrian side. A bit to quick as I found out later. As it was by now late afternoon I decided to stay at the border that night as I felt more secure there.
Next day saw me start early, make my way through Damascus and head north past the turning on the right for Baghdad. Later climbing the hill where the road had just been duelled and headed towards Homs. This road was also being rebuilt and it was very very rough with no warning signs whatsoever. You often found those Syrian lorries loaded with forty ton of cement heading towards you on your side of the road. You had to be very careful the whole time. It was somewhere along this stretch of road in the early 90’s that my son, driving for Promotor, was involved in a very nasty incident. He was returning from Kuwait with two other British drivers and was last in line. As they were making there way home through Syria one of the other drivers collided with a Syrian lorry and was killed. That was the only trip my son did to the middle east and who can blame him for not wanting to go back.
I carefully made my way back to Tartous mindful of the furniture in my trailer. I arrived late afternoon and parked up near the dock gates. There were a few others there including three British lorries. They told me there was a ferry the next day and to celebrate we all had a drink and a meal in the cafe near the shipping office that evening. I was elated to be there. I had been away over six weeks. Things had not gone exactly to plan but that didn’t matter. I’d had a great trip and I would be boarding the ferry the next day. I could be home in six or seven days time. Next morning we all trouped into the shipping office. We had just seen the ferry Scandinavia arrive and tie up. A few more hours we would be boarding. We were all looking forward to a nice hot shower, a nice cabin with comfortable bunk beds and a decent meal and a drink. I was the only one loaded and when it came to my turn to do the paperwork I happily handed it over.
It was then I suffered one of those moments when you don’t know wether to laugh or cry. The Syrian guy in the shipping office looked at me and said, “I’m sorry but you have to go back to the Syria/Lebanese border. There is a stamp missing from your paperwork”. I was gobsmacked. The other drivers commiserated with me. I tried all the usual ways to get round the problem without success.
Dejected I returned to my lorry and had a brew up. Sitting there I realised there was nothing I could do, I had to have that stamp. I sat there and watched as the other lads boarded the ferry. She finally cast off and pulled away from the berth. The next ferry wouldn’t be in for at least four possibly five days. Oh bother I thought.
Hope you don’t mind Micky T but just copied the photo, from your “Trucking Magic” page, of John Preece almost wearing a T-shirt with Sami Sirissi’s name emblazoned across the front. Now I wonder where he picked that up from?
I’ve just got to say what a cracking thread this is. I went into the Tunbridge Wells office to enquire about a job when I had just got my artic licence, but was too young with no experience. I was lucky enough to get a start on European work a few years later with Radcliffe’s and had the privilege of meeting and running to Italy with Graham Bertram on a couple of occasions. Many thanks sandway, mushroom man, vodka cola cowboy, efes etc for a real insight into a great company and its work.
sandway:
Hope you don’t mind Micky T but just copied the photo, from your “Trucking Magic” page, of John Preece almost wearing a T-shirt with Sami Sirissi’s name emblazoned across the front. Now I wonder where he picked that up from?
No, I don’t mind Sandway. I was going to put it on here and then noticed that you had beaten me to it.
John called this his “Navel Review”.
Mick
brookie:
I’ve just got to say what a cracking thread this is. I went into the Tunbridge Wells office to enquire about a job when I had just got my artic licence, but was too young with no experience. I was lucky enough to get a start on European work a few years later with Radcliffe’s and had the privilege of meeting and running to Italy with Graham Bertram on a couple of occasions. Many thanks sandway, mushroom man, vodka cola cowboy, efes etc for a real insight into a great company and its work.
Hello Brookie, can I just make it clear that I never said that I ever worked for Promotor but I did meet up with a few of their drivers on a number of occasions back in the early eighties. 
I have added my “little bits” to Sandway’s marvellous thread hoping that they may answer some long lost questions to some unusual incidents which happened over thirty years ago. As Dow Freight also used to do a lot of work in The Commie Block at the time, both companies drivers would often park up in the usual watering holes for the night. Graham (Blue) Bertram was one of those characters who made the job as interesting as it was back then.
Three years ago I asked on the Astran/Middle East thread did anybody remember seeing two Coles cranes that were laying on their sides near the Iraqi border and it seems that Mick Buckingham who worked for Pan Express at the time also saw them.
viewtopic.php?f=35&t=13629&p=1738580&hilit=+zacho#p1738580
It wasn’t until Brian joined Trucknet and started this thread that we finally got to know the answer.
B.T.W. I think that Sandways latest adventure is one of the best stories that has been on here for a long time, so crack on with it Brian. 
Regards Steve.
“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’.
Nothing to do with Promotor’s but it is Tunbridge Wells by the Vale Road post office. The days when we had to do roping and sheeting. I wonder how the driver got out of that one?
Efes:
Nothing to do with Promotor’s but it is Tunbridge Wells by the Vale Road post office. The days when we had to do roping and sheeting. I wonder how the driver got out of that one?
He probably got out of there with heavily soiled underwear I would think, Efes 
He,s a bit young to be shouldering all that responsibility! He probably clocked that photographer and legged it !!