Baghdad Breeze

UK PROFESSIONAL DRIVERS FORUMS OLD TIME LORRIES, COMPANIES AND DRIVERS (INTERACT
1

While we wait for Jazzandy…

Baghdad Breeze

Haswah, Baghdad, Iraq 1980
We arrived at the custom clearance area, southwest of Baghdad in the oppressive heat of the afternoon. It was, for all intents and purposes, a desert.
Hundreds of trucks, of all nationalities were parked on either side of the tarmac highway which sliced through the barren surroundings of sand, dust and rocks.

Every kilometre or so, young local boys, some looked no more than 10 years of age, had set up basic roadside stalls, just a large parasol, or even under the shade of a palm tree, selling ice, which they had chipped off a large block, or Coca Cola which had been cooled by this ice!

This was the main route from Baghdad to Jordan, Basra and the southern Arab states, and it was teeming with traffic. 90 ton artics were tearing down this highway, bull nosed Mercs on super sized wheels, their long bonnets, with 4 or 5 wing mirrors on both sides, all angled so that the Arab driver, in his traditional dress and head covering could see his own reflection in them, with their brightly coloured all steel sided trailers,
the constant sound of air horns, I’d swear that they had them connected to the air brakes, so that every time they touched the brakes, the air horn sounded, there was a constant stream of Iraqi army vehicles of all shapes and sizes, Iraq was at war with Iran, but that was mainly confined to the east of the country, had no impact here apart from their supplies.

The mismatched, somewhat amusing, appearance of tens of swarthy, suntanned drivers in shorts, T shirts and sandals carrying executive style briefcases, scurrying from truck to some office or other, obviously, those briefcases carried all the documents of load and truck which would be needed for the customs officials to see.

And taxis… every other car had a taxi sign on its roof, they also, seemed to be constantly blowing their horns, adding to the constant drone of diesel engines and of slap of tyre on softening tarmac.

This was a wide highway, with ample room for overtaking slower vehicles, but it still wasn’t wide enough for some of the local population, every so often a cloud of desert dust would obscure the view and rise in a cloud, as a ‘taxi’ driver decided to overtake a truck by leaving the tarmac and passing the truck on the nearside!
Highway Code? Never heard of it here! Each man for himself, after all, if he was going to die then it must be the will of ‘ALLAH’, and nothing he could do would change it!

The sun shone fiercely in a cloudless blue sky forcing the temperature to climb up to 40 degrees, there was a breeze, if you could call it a breeze, it would be best described as hair dryer on a hot setting blowing into your face!

And the smell, that poor sanitation coupled with the heat smell, there was no getting away from it…
and the flies…stand still for a moment and they were all around you, landing on your face with impunity, as soon as you had swatted them away, they were back, as if from nowhere!

On the right side of the highway was a truck fuelling post, a queue, 8 to 10 trucks across and up to 20 trucks long, all jostling for position to get to the 4 diesel standpipes to get their maximum allowance of diesel of 200 litres, which was your daily limit and was recorded on your triptych.
As the queue narrowed towards the pumps, arguments about who was rightly next developed, shouting and gesticulating at each other, but never a fist was raised

Just past this pandemonium, Jordanian trucks were parked on the dusty roadside making chai, if you happened to be near there, no matter who you were, or what nationality, they would insist that you joined them and shared their chai or their food! And you could guarantee that at least one of them spoke English, and had a brother, or cousin, in London…or Manchester…and… did you know him by any chance?

Then as you neared the Customs sheds, more trucks, Bulgarians in their ‘Somat’ livery, ‘Hugarocamion’ and ‘Pekaes’ trucks, all owned by the Communist states that they came from…and Russian trucks…it was very rare for a European driver to encounter Russian trucks outside of Russia…and every one of these trucks from the Commie block was double manned, the myth was that one was the driver, and the other was a Communist Party member to prevent the driver from defecting to the west, but I think it was just that, a myth.

On the left side of the highway, further away from all this tumult, groups of trucks were parked in varying amounts, all according to their nationalities. They were like small encampments of 6 to 10 trucks, with the French in their own huddle, the Germans in theirs, and of course, the British in their ‘Camp’ where they waited whilst their cargoes were cleared for delivery to their destinations by the Customs.

This place truly was ‘Truck city’…as large an area as a small town made up of a few scattered prefabricated buildings and a couple of large compounds and, literally, hundreds of trucks and their drivers.

This was it, this was your destination, this was what you’d crossed 6 or 7 countries for, now you’re here you have to make some kind of sense of all this confusion, you’ve got to get your cargo cleared and unloaded!

2

Good stuff Petecud, Don’t leave it to long for the next instalment! :wink:

3

Very descriptive and a pleasant read. Baghdad Breeze…a good title for a book.Go for it :smiley:

4

Enjoying this hope there is more to come. Eddie.

5

Thats just the way I remember it. All the Brits together, the Dutch /Danes & Swedes not far away all parked up at Haswah. Waiting for our agent Hadji from Devious Tugner (AKA Davies Turner) to draw you one of his maps for a delivery into the old part of the city.

I think it was always the same map each trip… :confused:

6

2
We had left England 10 days ago, myself and my friend Rob, this was a totally new experience for us, we’d
done one trip to Baghdad, but clearance was ‘on site’ at ‘John Laing’, who were building new roads in the area, so it was a case of ‘in and out’ of Iraq!

Before that first trip, we’d both worked for Poplar Motors of Lymm in the 70’s, we were on the Seatrain followed by the Seawheel container jobs, right up until Pop’s folded in 79. Good jobs were scarce at the time, it was a recession, yes, we had them then, too.

It seemed like an offer we couldn’t pass up, when Percy offered us jobs on his new venture, his plan was to take half a dozen trucks to Saudi and work them on internals, a few Brits were already doing it and making good money, the plan was to get out there, work the trucks for 6 weeks then fly home for a break and then fly back and carry on, and the money would be coming out of our ears!

We spent a month preparing the 6 used Volvo F10’s Percy had bought for this venture, our pay was nominal during this time, but we didn’t mind, after all, when we get out there, we will be earning plenty!

Then about a week before we were due to ship out on that first trip, the goal posts had been moved by the Saudis, They decided, that for a foreign national to carry on a business in Saudi, he would have to have a Saudi partner. Well that put a spanner in Percys plans, but undeterred, he decided to just carry on doing overland until he could sort out a partner.

This was only mine and Robs second trip to Baghdad, we were feeling pleased with ourselves for reaching Haswah, but when we finally got there, we just looked at each other and thought “Where the Hell do we start?”

Eventually, with the help of fellow Brits, who had been here before, we managed to hand in all the relevant paper work, including our Passports, which would remain with the customs till you presented them with your ‘Empty Paper’, which was proof that you had delivered your goods to the correct recipient. Then your CMR’s and Passport would be handed back and you would be free to return to the UK.

That sounds like quite a simple operation, doesn’t it? Well in the Arab world, nothing can be simple, they have no conception of what a queue might be, it’s far too ordered for their minds. Queuing in the western world is straight forward, you get in line single file and move on up the queue until you reach the front, do your business and go away…well not in the Arab world! Here, you’ve got one small window through which to pass your paperwork through…and about 50 drivers all pushing and shoving regardless of when they joined this melee, trying to push in wherever they can, one soon learns to stand ones ground and to assert ones ‘Britishness’, letting them know that you will not be pushed around!! How uncivilised!!

Paperwork lodged, we now have 7 days to get the loads off and get out of the country before our visa expires, plenty of time, you’d think?

Amongst these prefabricated buildings is a ‘Restaurant’ (and I use this term loosely!) Hall, we weren’t going to our separate tipping points till the next day, so we thought we explore our surroundings and sample what may be on offer. We walked into the restaurant and it was like walking into a Bazaar, most tables occupied by Arabs in their flowing gowns and chequered head scarves, some red and white checks, and some black and white, with the occasional all white one, what the different colours denoted, I never did find out.

One saving factor was that this building was air conditioned, which was a relief after the outside temperatures, and it seemed quite pleasant. Every table seemed to have a jug of orange juice with cubes of ice from which the diners were topping their glasses up, now that looked appetising!

We worked our way to the counter and ordered a jug of this orange and some glasses and took them to a vacant table, it was very refreshing. Seeing some of the diners eating chicken and rice, there were no knives and forks, they were eating the chicken with their hands, and I noticed that they all used one hand only, and they ate their rice by scooping it up with their flat bread. I though, I might try some of that, but first I could do with the toilet. Noticed a toilet sign on a door to the right of the food counter (a black silhouette of a male figure on a white background), that’s what I want, I thought to myself, and proceeded to walk into the toilet.
I pushed the toilet door open…and the smell almost overpowered me, that smell of ammonia and human excrement, the actual toilet was the standard hole in the floor, but it was full and even piled up to a height of around 8” with human turds, I’d only come in for a ■■■■■, but couldn’t stand the smell long enough to do it.
And all this was right by where they were serving their roast chicken and rice!

Needless to say, we didn’t partake in the fare, and made our way hastily back to our trucks!

We wound our way across the highway to where some British trucks were parked, there were about 8 trucks form different companies parked 4 abreast facing the other 4, the drivers were out of their trucks and had congregated in the centre in between the two rows of trucks. When we arrived at their ‘camp’ one of the drivers already there, came up to us and asked us to park our trucks so as to block the gap between the two rows, to stop any body driving through the camp, believe it or not, there was miles of desert for them to get around us, you’d still get someone trying to drive through!
As the sun was setting, the temperature dropped considerably, shorts were being replaced by jeans and shirts and jumpers were donned. One of the drivers rolled a cut off half of a 45 gallon drum to use as a brazier to the middle of the camp, where he got it from I’ve no idea, obviously, it had been used for this purpose before, and soon we had our ‘camp’ fire made up from broken pallets etc., another driver brought a crate of beer to the ‘party’, another brought a bottle of whisky, pretty quickly we were made to feel at ease and everybody was giving us the benefit of their experience, making us feel a lot less apprehensive about the job we were here to do.

Amongst the mixture of these trucks, was a red Ford Transcon belonging to a firm called ‘Taytrans’ being driven by a chap called Ray, they came from Kent. The letters on the front of Rays truck, which should have read ‘FORD’ were changed, so that it red ‘DORF’, I was told that the reason for this was that Ford had Israeli connections, and that some of the Arab states would not let you enter with a Jewish name on the truck, surely, I thought, they couldn’t be fooled that easily? Over the next couple of years I saw many DORF’s, so there must have been some truth in it!

Rob and I were quite pleased with our achievement of reaching this far off destination, but we were in awe of some of the lads around us, as they told of the places they’d been to. Another tuck there, was an ‘Astrans’ Scania, the driver introduced himself to me, his name was Gerry Wheelan, he was on his way to Basra, and had only called in because he knew that there was bound to be some company here, and that he wasn’t feeling too well, in fact, quite early in the evening, he asked if anyone had any aspirins, I always carried aspirins, so I stake my claim to fame, ‘I gave Gerry Wheelan an aspirin!’ He retired to his truck and stayed in there for 2 days.
On the third day, he must have been feeling better, because when I returned there, he had gone.

7

Heres the photo of Gerry Wheelan that I have courtesy of Mike Sargent.

You mention FORD being changed to DORF to enable you to enter certain Arab countries. I was refused entry into Jordan with my Transcon but when I was able to show the main customs man that there was very little FORD to the vehicle i.e. ■■■■■■■ engine, Fullers gearbox, Berliet cab, he relented and allowed me entry. By the way I was tipping in Jordan. Strangely though there were loads of Fords in the country owned by the military. When I was back at the border exiting Jordan I asked the same customs man why this was. He replied that it was Government policy. The mind boggles■■?

8

keep it going cool

petecud:
2
We had left England 10 days ago, myself and my friend Rob, this was a totally new experience for us, we’d
done one trip to Baghdad, but clearance was ‘on site’ at ‘John Laing’, who were building new roads in the area, so it was a case of ‘in and out’ of Iraq!

Before that first trip, we’d both worked for Poplar Motors of Lymm in the 70’s, we were on the Seatrain followed by the Seawheel container jobs, right up until Pop’s folded in 79. Good jobs were scarce at the time, it was a recession, yes, we had them then, too.

It seemed like an offer we couldn’t pass up, when Percy offered us jobs on his new venture, his plan was to take half a dozen trucks to Saudi and work them on internals, a few Brits were already doing it and making good money, the plan was to get out there, work the trucks for 6 weeks then fly home for a break and then fly back and carry on, and the money would be coming out of our ears!

We spent a month preparing the 6 used Volvo F10’s Percy had bought for this venture, our pay was nominal during this time, but we didn’t mind, after all, when we get out there, we will be earning plenty!

Then about a week before we were due to ship out on that first trip, the goal posts had been moved by the Saudis, They decided, that for a foreign national to carry on a business in Saudi, he would have to have a Saudi partner. Well that put a spanner in Percys plans, but undeterred, he decided to just carry on doing overland until he could sort out a partner.

This was only mine and Robs second trip to Baghdad, we were feeling pleased with ourselves for reaching Haswah, but when we finally got there, we just looked at each other and thought “Where the Hell do we start?”

Eventually, with the help of fellow Brits, who had been here before, we managed to hand in all the relevant paper work, including our Passports, which would remain with the customs till you presented them with your ‘Empty Paper’, which was proof that you had delivered your goods to the correct recipient. Then your CMR’s and Passport would be handed back and you would be free to return to the UK.

That sounds like quite a simple operation, doesn’t it? Well in the Arab world, nothing can be simple, they have no conception of what a queue might be, it’s far too ordered for their minds. Queuing in the western world is straight forward, you get in line single file and move on up the queue until you reach the front, do your business and go away…well not in the Arab world! Here, you’ve got one small window through which to pass your paperwork through…and about 50 drivers all pushing and shoving regardless of when they joined this melee, trying to push in wherever they can, one soon learns to stand ones ground and to assert ones ‘Britishness’, letting them know that you will not be pushed around!! How uncivilised!!

Paperwork lodged, we now have 7 days to get the loads off and get out of the country before our visa expires, plenty of time, you’d think?

Amongst these prefabricated buildings is a ‘Restaurant’ (and I use this term loosely!) Hall, we weren’t going to our separate tipping points till the next day, so we thought we explore our surroundings and sample what may be on offer. We walked into the restaurant and it was like walking into a Bazaar, most tables occupied by Arabs in their flowing gowns and chequered head scarves, some red and white checks, and some black and white, with the occasional all white one, what the different colours denoted, I never did find out.

One saving factor was that this building was air conditioned, which was a relief after the outside temperatures, and it seemed quite pleasant. Every table seemed to have a jug of orange juice with cubes of ice from which the diners were topping their glasses up, now that looked appetising!

We worked our way to the counter and ordered a jug of this orange and some glasses and took them to a vacant table, it was very refreshing. Seeing some of the diners eating chicken and rice, there were no knives and forks, they were eating the chicken with their hands, and I noticed that they all used one hand only, and they ate their rice by scooping it up with their flat bread. I though, I might try some of that, but first I could do with the toilet. Noticed a toilet sign on a door to the right of the food counter (a black silhouette of a male figure on a white background), that’s what I want, I thought to myself, and proceeded to walk into the toilet.
I pushed the toilet door open…and the smell almost overpowered me, that smell of ammonia and human excrement, the actual toilet was the standard hole in the floor, but it was full and even piled up to a height of around 8” with human turds, I’d only come in for a ■■■■■, but couldn’t stand the smell long enough to do it.
And all this was right by where they were serving their roast chicken and rice!

Needless to say, we didn’t partake in the fare, and made our way hastily back to our trucks!

We wound our way across the highway to where some British trucks were parked, there were about 8 trucks form different companies parked 4 abreast facing the other 4, the drivers were out of their trucks and had congregated in the centre in between the two rows of trucks. When we arrived at their ‘camp’ one of the drivers already there, came up to us and asked us to park our trucks so as to block the gap between the two rows, to stop any body driving through the camp, believe it or not, there was miles of desert for them to get around us, you’d still get someone trying to drive through!
As the sun was setting, the temperature dropped considerably, shorts were being replaced by jeans and shirts and jumpers were donned. One of the drivers rolled a cut off half of a 45 gallon drum to use as a brazier to the middle of the camp, where he got it from I’ve no idea, obviously, it had been used for this purpose before, and soon we had our ‘camp’ fire made up from broken pallets etc., another driver brought a crate of beer to the ‘party’, another brought a bottle of whisky, pretty quickly we were made to feel at ease and everybody was giving us the benefit of their experience, making us feel a lot less apprehensive about the job we were here to do.

Amongst the mixture of these trucks, was a red Ford Transcon belonging to a firm called ‘Taytrans’ being driven by a chap called Ray, they came from Kent. The letters on the front of Rays truck, which should have read ‘FORD’ were changed, so that it red ‘DORF’, I was told that the reason for this was that Ford had Israeli connections, and that some of the Arab states would not let you enter with a Jewish name on the truck, surely, I thought, they couldn’t be fooled that easily? Over the next couple of years I saw many DORF’s, so there must have been some truth in it!

Rob and I were quite pleased with our achievement of reaching this far off destination, but we were in awe of some of the lads around us, as they told of the places they’d been to. Another tuck there, was an ‘Astrans’ Scania, the driver introduced himself to me, his name was Gerry Wheelan, he was on his way to Basra, and had only called in because he knew that there was bound to be some company here, and that he wasn’t feeling too well, in fact, quite early in the evening, he asked if anyone had any aspirins, I always carried aspirins, so I stake my claim to fame, ‘I gave Gerry Wheelan an aspirin!’ He retired to his truck and stayed in there for 2 days.
On the third day, he must have been feeling better, because when I returned there, he had gone.

9

3
Next morning, I set off to get my wagon emptied, I had 3 deliveries, one was to be tipped in the custom compound at Haswah, which I decide to leave till last, another was to go to a site, half way between Haswah and Baghdad, which was a civil engineering project being carried out by a Russian contractor. I made this my first drop, all the men in charge were Russian, but all the labourers, I learned, were Pakistani or Indian. I had 3 generators to unload here and they were soon off the trailer, all my paperwork signed and stamped, I was off to find my next drop.

It was addressed to ‘The Iraqi Ministry of agriculture and Agrarian reform’, Babil, Baghdad. I stopped in a village and tried to ask a local for some directions, and all I got was him pointing with the flat of his hand in a vertical position, in the direction of Baghdad. I took this as meaning ‘keep going. So I did just that, but no more than 5 kilometres , on my left, there was a large building and courtyard with the name of the place I was looking for, what a result, I thought to myself! At the next available place, I veered off the highway to the right, my European style, downward pointing exhaust blowing up a cloud of desert dust, waited for my chance to cross this highway, and headed back to that place, I could still see the cloud of dust that I had raised, a kilometre away, so that’s why all those trucks had their exhaust stacks behind their cabs!

I swung into the courtyard, there was plenty of room, the courtyard was quite a size, I jumped out of my cab to be greeted by a worker, I showed him my delivery notes, and although he didn’t speak any English, I understood what he was saying, that this load was not meant to be delivered here but had to go a place called Babil, which was on the other side of Baghdad! In my best ‘I am British’ manner, I made out that I didn’t understand him and told him “I have come from England, don’t you know!”

He motioned for me to follow him and led me to a door and indicated that I was to knock, which I did, and in perfect English, a mans voice said “Come in!”… I opened the door, and entered and found myself, just in shorts and T shirt, in a classroom of sorts, with about 20 young local women sitting at desks, all turned to look at me, while the Iraqi man by the blackboard said “Good afternoon, how may I help you?” I started to tell him why I was here, and some of the girls started giggling, so he said” Just a moment, I will come out to see” he said something to the girls and they went quiet and carried on with what they were doing. I showed him my paperwork and he told me exactly what the worker had previously told me, but this time I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t understand!
He looked at my notes again, then asked if he could see what the goods actually were, so I undid part of the tilt to let him see the two 8ft by 3ftdiameter steel rollers which were meant for ‘The Ministry of Agriculture’. “Just one moment” he said as he disappeared back into the building. About 20 minutes had passed, and I was thinking to myself that I was just wasting time here, I’m going to have to go to this ‘Babil’ and It’s getting later and later! Just then, the man reappears and starts talking with the worker then turns to me and says “These rollers are for a machine right here in this building, normally all goods for the ‘Ministry’ have to go to the central depot in Babil to get redistributed by them, however, I’ve spoken with the director and he agrees that it will be beneficial to unload them here in the first place!” Before I knew it, a couple more workers arrived with a massive fork lift truck and with undoing just one side, got their goods off, and I was soon heading back to Haswah. What a stroke of genius, I complimented myself!

I arrived back at the impromptu British encampment at Haswah at around 4 in the afternoon, some of the trucks from the previous night had left, new arrivals had joined us, and Jerry was still in his truck with his curtain drawn. I asked if anybody had seen him today, and someone said “Yes, he’s been out for a jimmy and got straight back in!” At least we knew that he was still alive.

The sun was still beating down, so I got my folding chair out and proceeded to top up my tan! As I sat in my chair, I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew I was waking up with my skin almost burning, I was red as a beetroot! A bit late I know, but I slipped my T shirt back on, and it was unbearable, my burnt skin just wouldn’t stand being touched. I had to dig out a light cotton shirt to put on, I was burning, yet, freezing at the same time!
Our camp sprung into life as the sun was setting and its heat dissipating, someone suggested, ”Camion Stew anyone?” almost all the drivers agreed simultaneously, a couple of camping stoves were brought out, a make shift table was made out of a pallet, and we all contributed whatever we had in tins. It didn’t matter what was in the tins, everything went into the pot, mushy peas, stewed steak, hamburgers and various tins of soup, they all went into this ‘Camion Stew’. On another stove, the kettle was boiling for anyone who preferred tea to the choice of canned beer. Tales of adventures and problems encountered by this bunch of Middle East drivers were exchanged, about being stuck for days in snow drifts on Tahir, truck breakdowns in the middle of nowhere, and many more, every one of them making its impression in my mind. I had been so proud of my achievement to get to here, but the tales made me realise how little I had actually done when compared to some of these lads who have been doing this job since the early 70’s! The faraway places they’ve been to… Baghdad was only half way!
It was the early hours of the morning before we all retired, a thoroughly pleasant way to spend an evening!
And Jerry Wheelan was still in his cab!

10

Brilliant petecud, keep 'em coming!!

11

petecud
Did u every visit John Laing,s camp site something to be savoured if u were invited, if not unlucky,airconditiond huts, swimming pool,free beer,and food. snooker,room and I have two que,s and the balls from this site when it closed down ,

12

Hi Roger,
After the trip I’m writing about here, my next 5 or 6 trips were for John Laings, used to park the truck outside the compound and spend most of my time in their camp. You’re right, it was absolutely fabulous, engish food, air conditioning in every room, it was like finding heaven after the primitive conditions of the surrounding area.
Got quite pally with some of the British lads that worked there, used to take them whisky and other stuff from home, like heinz baked beans and such like.
All the time I stayed there I slept in one of the lads air conditioned rooms…heaven!!
It was also a good place to beat the 200 litre diesel limit and queues… till my boss started a new driver who said he’d done this and that and been everywhere…he walked into John Laings office and asked “Where’s the guy who gives you diesel?”…what an absolute ■■■■!! Pete

13

Smashing read this Pete, are you from Warrington as You was on for Poplars? Its My home town although I was still in school in 1980 :slight_smile: looking forward to some more tales…

14

Thanks Fly sheet, not from Warrington, I’m from Crewe. Poplars had about 40 wagons at the time, drivers came from all over Cheshire, there was 2 of us from Crewe, about 4 from Knutsford, a few from Macclesfield some from Wigan/Leigh area and the rest from Warrington. Must say it was one of the best firms I’ve worked at! Pete

15

4

4
The sun was already beating down on the roof of my F10 when I awoke. I drew back the curtain from the centre of the windscreen, and a couple of the drivers were enjoying a cup of tea by the now extinguished brazier. One of them motioned to me to bring my cup and pointed to the kettle, I didn’t need telling twice, shorts and shirt on, and I was sipping my first morning brew before you could say “Good morning”.
Wasn’t in any hurry this morning, I had one drop to do, and it was only across the highway, so I made some cereal for my breakfast washed it down with more tea.

My friend Rob had 3 deliveries also, his were further afield than mine, so I wasn’t that surprised that he hadn’t made it back to Haswah the previous night, I thought ‘He’s probably stopped for the night at one of his drops’.
Eventually, I booked in at the Customs compound office, surprisingly, it all went with very little effort. Almost immediately I was instructed to pull my truck to the centre of the compound and to undo the tilt sides.
The previous afternoons sunbathing was playing havoc with my upper body skin, every time I moved I was in agony, decided to unbutton my light cotton shirt to reduce it rubbing against my burnt skin. The man whom I took to be in charge of the compound, came over towards me with a tin of red paint and a brush to mark the crates that were being taken off my trailer. He noticed my bright red skin and burst out laughing, he held his brush, which he had dipped into the tin of red paint, up against my body, and said…
“Same same,…same same!”. I saw the funny side of it, and before long, we were getting on like a house on fire, he was called ‘Haji’ and I learnt that to be called ‘Haji’, you had to have been on a pilgrimage (Haj) to Mecca, and also, that Arabs did have a sense of humour after all!

After tipping my last drop, I went back to our ‘Little Britain’ encampment and decided to spend a relaxing day while I waited for Rob to return so that we could head out together after getting our passports and CMR’s back.
Late that afternoon, Ray, on the Taytrans truck arrived back after unloading, “Have you seen your mate?” he asked me, " No", I replied, “just waiting for him to get back, he should be back sometime today!”, Ray thought for a while then said " I’m sure that I saw his motor on the side of the road about 20k’s away, could have been broken down, couldn’t stop, didn’t see him till the last minute!" On hearing this, I decided to drop my trailer and run up the road, unit only, to see, just in case Rob was having problems. Sure enough, at about the distance Ray had said, was Robs truck, right on the edge of the tarmac, I pulled off the road to stop behind it, jumped out of mine and walked up to Robs cab, no sign of him anywhere, if he had broken down he would have been trying to fix it, he was a handy lad that way! Then I walked round to the roadside of the truck and noticed his sunglasses on the tarmac, they looked like they had been crushed under foot, I looked up and saw his offside mirror had been smashed!

I was imagining what could have happened, convinced myself that he’s been involved in some kind of accident. Just then, a local walking past said to me “Police, police!”. Right, I thought, got to find him.

Not far away from this spot, a company called ‘French Kier’ were doing some kind of building project, I thought that that would be a good place to start, bound to be someone in there that could speak English, maybe they could help me. I drove into their compound, noticed a block of porta-cabin offices and went into one through a door marked ‘Site Administration’, immediately, the refreshing feel of the air conditioning hit me, “Ooh, this feels good!” I thought. No one seemed to be interested that a complete stranger had just walked into their office, they all just carried on with what they were doing. I looked around this office, and the first thing I noticed was a life size photograph of Saddam Hussein in full military uniform!
Noticed an Asian looking male getting a cup of water from the drinking fountain, so I approached him and asked “Do you speak English?” “Yes, a little!” he replied…” How can I help?”. in his Indian accent.

I explained to him that I thought Rob may have had some kind of accident, and about the locals shout of ‘Police!’ and asked him where he thought would be the best place to look for him. Generously, the Indian office worker said “Come with me to my office, I will make some telephone calls and see what we can find out!”.
When I walked into that office, I realised that this was no ordinary worker, he was the head man, judging by the plush furniture and fittings! After several calls, all in either Arabic or Asian, none of which I could understand, he turned to me and said “Your friend has had a small collision on the highway, the police were passing at the time and took him to the police station, more than that I cannot find out!”
Another phone call and we had the location of this police station, I thanked this man for his great help and headed off to find it.

On the approach to the village where this police station was situated, there was quite a bit of vegetation and the whole vicinity had a much more habitable appearance in comparison to the desert area where the customs compounds were, it was something like an oasis, but seemed larger than what I used to see in the movies.
There was a copse of palm trees and various other greenery, with a gap wide enough for traffic. Through this gap, I could see what looked like an old fashioned army fort, I drove through this gap, parked the unit in front of this fort and walked, still in my shorts and light shirt, to the main entrance. There was a guard fully armed with rifle and bayonet, he barred my entrance by placing bayoneted rifle in a horizontal position across the doorway. This guy meant business, no way was he letting me enter!

“I’m looking for an English driver, a Camion chauffeur anglais!” I tried to explain, hoping that if he didn’t understand English, he may know a bit of French, he just stared at me so I repeated what I’d just said, but typically, a little louder, this time it seemed to work, he put his rifle at ease, then held the corner of my shirt collar between thumb and forefinger and tugged gently as if to tell me to follow him. We entered the bleak and spartan courtyard of this fort, with me following the guard, till we reached a door on which the guard knocked, I heard a gruff voice shout something, which obviously meant enter or something, the guard opened the door and the scene that greeted me could have come straight out of an old Humphrey Bogart movie!

This was a dingy, white washed room with a massive fan slowly turning on the ceiling, a wooden desk behind which sat a very portly man who was fanning him face with an A4 sized piece of card, who just stared at me, the guard motioned for me to speak, I repeated what I’d said to the guard at the gate, the fat man just waved his arm, uttered something that I couldn’t understand, and carried on fanning his face. At this, the guard got hold of my shirt collar again and had me follow him across this courtyard to another door, this time I could tell that it was some kind of prison. This was a solid door with a small window, not with glass, but with steel bars, like you’d expect to see in the wild west films.

I tried looking through the bars, I could see a few swarthy faces, there appeared to be twenty or more people in this dark cell, the only light inside came from the 18” by 18” window on the door!
God, I thought , I hope Rob’s not in there! The guard, once again, motioned for me to speak, “Is there an English driver here?” I shouted, “I’m looking for an English driver!”…I was really hoping that he wasn’t in there…then a voice shouted…”Just one moment, I am coming!” and this Arabic looking face appeared at the door, “You are looking for English truck driver?” he more stated than asked, “ He is not here, he was here but he has gone now, he has gone to Baghdad, then added as if to ease my worry, “He has gone to Baghdad to Thomas Cooks!

Phew! What a relief! For a moment I thought he had been carted off to another gaol somewhere, and that I’d never find him!

The images of that prison, and the people inside that cell, which was no more than about 20 feet by 10 feet, no real light, and I’m sure no sanitation stayed with me for a very long time, you wouldn’t keep animals in them conditions back home! I was glad that I didn’t find Rob in there, getting him out of there could have proved nigh on impossible!

I headed back to Haswah, with my recent experience blocking all other thoughts from my mind!

16

This is excellent stuff. Brilliant story well told with lots of local colour.

On your John Laing runs were you pulling for Whittle’s or for us at Orient. We took the contract over and were still running out spares and repairs years after Laing had finished the project.

17

Excellent stuff. Looking forward to the rest of the story! :smiley: :smiley:

18

Jazzandy:
This is excellent stuff. Brilliant story well told with lots of local colour.

On your John Laing runs were you pulling for Whittle’s or for us at Orient. We took the contract over and were still running out spares and repairs years after Laing had finished the project.

Thanks!
I seem to recall that it was Whittles work that we did to Johm Laings, we had to go to their office in Preston to collect all the paperwork, but we also did quite a bit for Falcongate, Trans Arabian Freight (John Kemp), think they were based in Knights of Old depot?.. and a name that springs to mind…Eric Howell?

19

petecud:

Jazzandy:
This is excellent stuff. Brilliant story well told with lots of local colour.

On your John Laing runs were you pulling for Whittle’s or for us at Orient. We took the contract over and were still running out spares and repairs years after Laing had finished the project.

Thanks!
I seem to recall that it was Whittles work that we did to Johm Laings, we had to go to their office in Preston to collect all the paperwork, but we also did quite a bit for Falcongate, Trans
Arabian Freight (John Kemp), think they were based in Knights of Old depot?.. and a name that springs to mind…Eric Howell?

Eric Howell passed away recently petecud, I only met him once but I knew a few of his drivers. Liking your storytelling too.

20

I’m really enjoying this diary Pete,

I never drove in the Middle East but I’ve been in a few Police Posts out there. The description of the jail is spot on.

I’m impressed that you have caught the atmosphere of the Gulf all from thirty year old memories. Keep up the good work!

W