The Silk Road and Beyond. Ivor Whitall

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СКАЧАТЬ I spluttered, taking a mouthful of beer, and trying to stop it dribbling down my chin.”

      ‘What!’ I spluttered, taking a mouthful of beer, and trying to stop it dribbling down my chin. ‘What did you say Billy?’

      ‘’Ow does tha fancy a trip to the Persian Gulf?’ he repeated with that lopsided grin of his.

      My mind was already racing. I knew roughly where it was, but how do you get there? In milliseconds a thousand questions flashed through my mind. There was an enquiring look on Bill’s face.

      ‘Well?’

      An involuntary ‘yes’ slipped out of my already slack-jawed mouth.

      ‘Good, that’s sorted then. One of my mates, Edgar Jenkinson, has his own haulage company and is involved with a bloke called Jim Woods from Salford who does overland deliveries to the Middle East. Now, I’d heard of the Middle East run as it had been covered in the Daily Express not too long before, but I needed to know more.

      ‘What’s it all about then Bill?’ I asked, sounding a bit like an excited school kid.

      Patiently, like a schoolteacher, Billy proceeded to give me a potted history of the oil crisis, the formation of OPEC and the resultant huge increase in prices.

      ‘In simple terms,’ he continued, ‘what’s happened is that the oil-rich countries of the Middle East – Saudi Arabia, Iran, Iraq and a few others – have so much cash to splash that they’re buying up the world! Well . . . so far, so good, but the ports in the region can’t cope and there are literally dozens of boats standing off shore with no chance of being discharged for weeks or even months. Can you see where I’m going with this?’

      ‘I think so. I assume an overland route is the only viable alternative?’

      ‘Got it in one Ivor, and I’ve already guessed your next question. It’ll pay £800 a trip, of which only £200 will be taxed, the remainder treated as expenses. How does that sound?’

      It sounded more than reasonable. Best I calm down, go home and talk to Jenny. There’ll be so many unanswerable questions, I won’t know what to say! All I knew was that I’d never felt so excited and elated all in one go. Billy broke into my reverie.

      ‘Listen, one thing at a time. Firstly, organise your passport and we’ll take it from there.’

      The following morning, a Saturday, I was down at the Post Office and picking up my application form 10 seconds after they opened. By the end of the day it was completed and posted recorded delivery! Impatient, I’d never been so impatient. It was a struggle to keep my mind on the mundane daily routine of pulling Northern Ireland Trailers. Then, six weeks later, on 12 December, there it was on the front doormat; 94 pages and a face like a convict!

      “Listen, one thing at a time. Firstly, organise your passport and we’ll take it from there.”

      For the next few months I pestered Billy relentlessly about whether it was still happening or not. To be honest, I think Jenny might have been quite happy if I had been off to the Middle East. She was more worried by the fact that I was doing the odd trip to Northern Ireland during the Troubles.

      Time drifted on; it was now early in 1975 and I was seriously beginning to wonder whether it was ever going to happen? I’d even stopped chasing Billy about it, when, there it was!

      ‘You and Damien are off to Kuwait in a week or so. Edgar is finalising all the details as we speak.’

      It was now that all the questions that had lain dormant for months came flooding back. How do we get there, what ferries, food, visas, inoculations, currency, how long, etc, etc, etc? Judging by the blank look on Billy’s face, he’d not the foggiest idea either, but it turned out he’d organised a meeting with a Jenkinson’s driver called Clyde, who was going to give us the benefit of his vast knowledge and a run down on all the nuts and bolts. That evening I told Jenny, who took it remarkably calmly and even offered to go into W.H. Smith and buy me some maps.

      A week later we were sat in Edgar Jenkinson’s office nervously waiting for Clyde’s pearls of wisdom. Having just returned from Turkey he’d have the latest information. I’d got a pen and paper handy and after the introductions it was, ‘OK Clyde, it’s over to you.’

      ‘So you’re the drivers that are going to Kuwait?’ He said with a certain air of superiority.

      We nodded in unison.

      ‘Which way are you going?’

      I looked at Damien, he looked at me.

      Edgar interjected, reading from a piece of paper.

      ‘The route is Belgium, Germany road/rail, Austria, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Saudi Arabia and Kuwait.’

      There was a long drawn out silence as we paused for Clyde to impart some of his infinite knowledge and wisdom. We waited with bated breath until finally, as if someone had wound him up, it came out like a torrent.

      “The Austrians are like the SS and the Yugo police stick out their lollipops to stop you and administer fines.”

      ‘I hope you’ve got tankschein.’

      ‘What’s that?’ I asked.

      It lay unanswered as he continued unabated.

      ‘Watch your speed in Germany and don’t go over your hours, it’s a 1000DM fine. The Austrians are like the SS and the Yugo police stick out their lollipops to stop you and administer fines.’

      It came thick and fast. Was this a wind up?

      ‘Make sure you get a Bulgarian visa as they don’t always issue them at the border.’

      He was talking so rapidly, it was impossible to write anything down.

      ‘Make sure you don’t stop for Turkish police as they are all bandits. Don’t stop in lay-bys or you’ll get broken into and the Kurds all carry rifles.’

      With that he got up, picked a cork-strewn hat off the peg and walked out. It was only then I spotted what I later came to realise was, for some, the Middle East drivers’ ‘uniform’: fake leopard skin clogs, large wallet hanging from a silver chain attached to his waist plus an ‘Ozzie’ hat!

      ‘Well I’m no wiser now than when we arrived,’ I said to Damien.

      ‘No worries lads,’ said Billy, more in hope than expectation. ‘You’ll be fine.’

      We eventually got our booking through for a Felixstowe–Zeebrugge sailing on 16 April.

      chapter five

      TALK ABOUT A VERTICAL LEARNING CURVE!

      This is it, one of the most exciting days in my short life. I’m off to Kuwait. My mind was in turmoil as I drove down to Jenkinson’s yard to collect my load and the associated documentation.

      The trailer, a tilt, was already packed with 20 tons of ‘special’ cement for the СКАЧАТЬ