sandway:
Yes, I took both photos and I am sure it was 81 and I was on my way to the British Embassy in Baghdad. I have told the story a few years back on here. The story related to the Ambassador’s khazi, I only wish I knew how to repost it. It was quite a long article. It related to the Haifa Street development when the Iraqis decided they wanted the front of the embassy grounds for a road widening scheme. In the area they purloined was the embassies septic tank and Promotor had the job of transporting much of the material for a new one.
Here you go Brian, copy and paste is your friend. 
Great stories like this will be lost forever, if people don’t take the time to write them down and share to them with us on here.
I hope that you didn’t mind me reposting this on page 7 of Star Down Under’s TRUCKS, TRACKS, TALL TALES AND TRUE FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD thread last February.
Once again Brian, thanks for sharing this great British trucking tale with us. 
THE SAGA OF THE EMBASSY KHAZI.
The Haifa Street and Al-Karkh neighbourhood was chosen by the Municipality of Baghdad to be redeveloped with a high rise development of apartments. This area would become home to thousands of Saddam Husseins devoted followers. From intelligence officers to party officials. These apartments were only handed over to the most loyal of his band of brothers. We are talking of the early 80’s. Of course in this uncertain world there will always be change. By 2004 Haifa Street was one of the most dangerous areas in Baghdad. Still occupied by swathes of loyal Hussein followers many American troops lost their life there. In 2005 the Americans handed security over to the Iraqi army and some kinda peace followed. Only because there were no Americans to shoot at of course.
Before this new development could take place the land had to be acquired and cleared. Of course, being Iraq this wasn’t a problem. If you owned a house there you either left, with a small amount of compensation or you ended up in Abu Graib prison. However, there was one small problem the Municipality of Baghdad came up against and that was the British Embassy. Standing on the banks of the Tigress river it was housed in large palatial grounds extending to quite a few acres. I remember a football match was played here one year in the early to mid 80’s between an embassy team and a British Pavilion exhibitors team. Not sure who won but at least they had the embassy bar to celebrate in or drown their sorrows afterwards.
As I was saying the British Embassy was in the way of this new development. Well, not quite correct. The Iraqis wanted to straighten the road to the front of the embassy grounds and they needed about thirty metres of the gardens that bordered the road to do so. But here the embassy was in a bit of a dilemma as hidden in these gardens was the embassy septic tank. The Iraqis were insisting that the land be handed over asap whilst the Ambassador and his staff were not looking forward to using Iraqi “portaloos” so were in no hurry to placate their hosts. Of course, there are channels to go through in diplomatic circles even for a replacement septic tank. A surveyor had to be flown out from the UK and plans drawn up. A scheme had to be devised and builders lined up. As time was of the essence it was decided a team of British builders would be used. A lot of work was involved. It was not just replacing the septic tank and the soakaways but a high security fence had to be constructed as well as a new entrance.
Of course you couldn’t just pop round to Abdul’s Building Supplies for material to do the job. There was no Travis Perkins or Jewsons. Most of what was required had to be shipped out from the UK.
It was at this delicate moment in history that the call went out to the British Road Haulage Industry. There was a far flung bit of Britain in deep sh-t. It was being threatened by the local madman and his warlike tribe and the position did not look good. Reinforcements were needed. The British Khazi was under attack and could be compromised at any time. Help must be got to them asap as surrender was out of the question. What was required of the British Road Haulage Industry was that a task force be formed, just as Maggie was doing over the Falklands around that time. It would have been difficult for her to handle two battles at the same time.
It is here, with a certain amount of humility, that I can say that “little old Promotor” came to the rescue. Well, that should read sandway and Promotor came to the rescue. I was resting at home when I got the Call from “Staggie” our transport manager. He was very excited, even more than usual when something big was happening. Perhaps he saw a knighthood looming. He gave me the lowdown on the job and also an eta in Baghdad. It was at this point alarm bells started to go off. “You want me down there when”, I shouted down the phone. No way, impossible, can’t be done and so on. Why not put Bill Took or Welly Ward or Ramsey Patterson on the job. They all carry a spare set of wings. I’m a thirteen day man. Never done it quicker. Never will. I was then told by a sheepish “Staggie” that I was the only driver available and that I had a visa in my passport where others didn’t. Well that deflated my ego immediately. OK, I said when will the trailer be ready still not promising to get it down there by the date given to me. Ermm-- thats another little problem. As you’re the only driver around we need you to load it as well. Only two pickups though and the rest will be back here in the yard. It was at this point I almost felt sorry for “Staggie” as both of us could sense his knighthood slipping away.
I returned to the depot next day and went straight to the Klagaster factory to load the septic tank. From there I went to a fencing company where that was also loaded. Late afternoon I was back in our yard to complete the loading of the trailer. Septic tank, fencing, pipes, cement, barbed wire and loads of other small bits needed to complete the job. I’d had a hard day running around getting loaded but I now needed a rest before starting my journey. All the sympathy I got from “Staggie” was “what you still here” and I was once again reminded of the eta Baghdad.
So I headed off along the A25 and A20 to Dover to catch the late evening boat to Zeebrugge. At least I could grab a meal, shower and a few hours sleep on there. Hang in there lads. Keep those legs crossed. Promotor’s on its way…
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. Didn’t 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. Didn’t 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 didn’t 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 I’m 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.
I’d 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 wasn’t 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. Don’t 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 don’t 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 ■■■■ 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 hadn’t 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 didn’t fancy going on without inspecting it from the inside.
But first I had to get out of the gully. Although my predicament wasn’t to bad I couldn’t 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 “alpine turk”. 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 “ve zoon av u outa zer” or words to that effect. I thought blimey he’s 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 didn’t 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 hadn’t 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. I’m 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 can’t remember the name of the company he was driving for and the other was a D & A Mcrea lorry from Darlington but I can’t 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 didn’t 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 don’t 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 don’t 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 “persona non grata” to Iraq. Knowing Bill I can’t 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 “Baghdad Hotel” 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 they’d 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 “rest and recuperation” were called for.
A few of the photos from Sandway’s trip.
HEADING TOWARDS ADANA. WEATHER GREAT, NO PROBS.
