Hi John.
My navigator suggests that you print out the following, & use it as bed time reading. She reckons you’ll be asleep after the first paragraph. But then she’s heard it all before, having played a major part in the whole saga.
Thank you for an hilarious article in yesterday’s Weekend Australian. My wife & I have just read your article. Usually read the paper from the front page onwards, so it takes some time before we get to the nitty gritty!! I was surprised that you thought my contribution worthy of consideration. Anyway, many thanks for an hilarious few minutes, as my navigator read out your article, whilst breakfasting on our deck, overlooking sunny Bass Strait. Maybe you would be interested in the background to our journey.
The first ‘incident’, occurred about a month before our departure from Lusaka when I decided that the motor could do with some major rejuvenation, i.e. new piston rings, big ends etc etc. About a week before departure, in mid December 63, I decided to check the engine number, only to find that I had a reconditioned unit, not the original rejuvenated motor as expected. Stormed into the local Ford agent, & complained that it was not what I had requested, & that the paperwork did not correspond with reality.After some negotiation, it was decided to change the current engine number, & replace it with the original. !! & a refund of £10.
Arthur Daley would be green with envy. The only problem was that the ‘new’ numbers were hammered on individually & were non -aligned, quite obviously not the original manufactured stamp. Had visions of ‘Please Explain’, long before P H came on the scene, as we went through various border checks on our journey. Was I exporting a ‘hot’ car by any chance?
Surprisingly, none decided to check the engine number, except for the border post at Gulu in Northern Uganda where a request was made for the bonnet to be raised & the engine number checked. This was achieved by yours truly sticking his head under the bonnet, & reading out the numbers to the customs officer standing back with his sheaf of papers. Needless to say, I could have reeled off the numbers in my sleep.
Having passed through the Ugandan border checks, the next hurdle was the Sudanese border post some 8 miles ahead. Was aware that there had been strife in Southern Sudan some months previous, [ what’s new] & that a convoy system for road vehicles operated between the border & Juba, where our vehicle was to placed on a barge attached to paddle steamer for the journey, down river to Kosti. Got to the Sudanese border post, & had our paperwork processed without any problems. Then proceeded to look around as to where we were required to report to join said convoy. Enquiries resulted in the comment that said convoy system had ceased some months back, & by the way, would we mind taking a package of mail to their office in Juba!!
The 120 mile journey was done with some trepidation as no vehicle was encountered in either direction. Every 20 -25 miles or so, drove through, or alongside, burnt out deserted villages. The only consolation was the sight of weeds growing amid the ruins which indicted it had been some time since they had been destroyed.
Arrived mid afternoon in Juba. Crossing the Nile by ferry [I note from Google Earth, that there’s a bridge across these days] handed over the mail package to the relevant authorities & then negotiated place, time cost, etc of placing the car on to the barge the following day, Saturday. By late afternoon,the upstream steamer arrived, disgorging,a mongst other goods & chattels, some 8-10 back packers heading south. As there were no camping facilities as such, we all ended up sleeping the night in the chief customs officer’s large office. It has ever since been my dear beloved’s boast, it was the night she slept with 10 men!!! As Dylan Thomas says in his masterpiece, ‘Under Milkwood’, ‘There’s Swank for you’.
Saturday afternoon, the Consul was driven on to a barge attached to the paddle steamer, & all north going passengers boarded, & sorted out their relevant sleeping accommodation etc. Retired that night to our cabin on the upper deck & slept soundly until around 5-00am when we were awoken by sounds of preparation for sailing. Kept to our bunks as the steamer cast off from Juba around 6-00am, & all seemed to be well until there was quite a jolt at around 6-20am. Getting up to investigate, found, on opening our cabin door, to be facing a wall of papyrus, reeds etc, & had, as I first thought, run aground. Muttering that the locals could not be trusted with modern technology, wondered how we were going to get out of this particular pickle. Then realised that the whole contraption, ie central propulsion unit, with 3 barges attached in front abreast, with a barge lashed on either side,was moving in a slow pirouette.
Due to the meandering nature of the Nile through the Sudd, bends can be quite sharp, or reasonably gentle. In a sharp bend situation, the pilot heads virtually straight for the bank [There is no bank in the conventional meaning, just a line where the reeds start growing in the marshy ground] Some distance from contact, he throws the paddles in reverse, so as to minimise contact. He’s so organised it so that his vessel hits the bend at its upper end at a slight angle, so that the river current is able to swing the rear end around, & so do a pirouette, & continue his journey. If however the bend is a shallow gentle one, he just bounces off the side, & continues on. We became quite blase with the bumps & pirouettes over the next 3 days, & became adept in predicting how we were going to negotiate a particular bend, depending on the placement of remains of crushed reeds, from earlier voyages.
Eventually moved out of the Sudd, & arrived in Kosti, some 250 miles south of Khartoum, where the Consul was taken off the barge, & driven to the railway marshalling yards, & placed on a flat truck, & tied down for the journey to Khartoum. Though we carried our passports & travellers cheques with us at all times, in this instance I decided to retrieve the car paperwork from the glove box, as well as an overnight grip. By this time we had become firm travelling companions with 3 Canadians+2 Dutch, who shared the upper deck area on our journey through the Sudd. So we all clambered into our railway coach for the journey to Khartoum.
At 1-45pm on the Saturday, the train pulled out of Kosti station, & all our companions said it was just so that we could be shunted to pick up our car on the flat truck. It was not to be. We just continued on our journey much to our consternation, thinking we’d never see it again. Tackling the ticketing inspector re the situation, he was quite phlegmatic & assured us it would arrive in Khartoum. But when. ‘In shallah’, to add salt to the injury it was only after dinner that we realised that we should have booked a sleeping cabin accommodation in the sleeper. We were used to the South African system, where one’s day cabin benches becomes sleeping bunks overnight. So there was no sleep that night, as the 2 Ronnies used to say.
Arrived in Khartoum around 5-15am on the Sunday morning. Saw our back packing friends off on the train to Wadi Halfa, & enquired of the station master when could we expect to see the arrival of the train from Kosti bearing our beloved Consul. Assured it would be 9 oclock that morning, so hung around Khartoum station until 9-30am when told it would be 9-30pm that night!!!
Decided to walk into the city to collect mail from the British Embassy where we met one of the staff in the lift, who assured us our vehicle would turn up. Strolling along the Blue Nile embankment, came across the Grand Hotel, & decided we could do with a refreshing cup of tea. Entered said establishment, & were enjoying our rest in the plush armchairs, when we were greeted by our 3 Canadian travelling companions, [3 male cousins] who enquired as to our situation re vehicle. Told them it should arrive that night. They informed us that they were off out to see the sights of Khartoum till late afternoon, & that we were welcome to use their hotel room while they were out & handed over their hotel room key. The thought of a refreshing shower & a lie down was irresistible; so dear beloved & I made our way up to their room on the first floor.
Being the gentleman I am, I let her have the first shower. As she was getting ready for the shower, there was terrific banging on the door. We both became quiet, & after a few minutes the banging stopped, & whoever it was, moved away. Sighs of relief all round. Just as she was to start her shower, the French doors leading on to the surrounding balcony burst open. There stood the under manager, who demanded what were we up to etc etc. No explanation was accepted re no sleep for the last 36 hours, loss of car etc etc. He informed us that he ran a reputable establishment, & was not going to be party to any shady hanky panky goings on. So the upshot was that we got thrown out of the Grand Hotel Khartoum !!! Not every one can say that.
So we spent a disconsolate rest of the day wandering around the dusty streets of Khartoum, filling in time until we wandered back to the station at around 9:00pm, to await the arrival of the Kosti train. No such luck. Sundry trains came & went, with no flat truck with one Ford Consul on board. Asking the station master when we could expect such arrival, it was always in 2-3 hours time. First, 10 oclock, then midnight, then 4am, then 5-00am. So we spent the night sitting on a bench on the platform, or lying in a railway compartment of train, alongside the platform. Not to be recommended as sleeping accommodation, as can be moved to Lord knows where at a moments notice!!
As our vehicle had not arrived by 5-30am, we decided that we needed a decent place to rest our weary heads, having been on our feet for 48hours or more. So walked back into Khartoum to try & find some cheap accommodation. The Grand Hotel was obviously off the list. Managed to find a pensione type accommodation at 6-30am. I can recollect being shown our room, casting off my shoes, & falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Slept till mid afternoon, both feeling much refreshed, & decided to try our luck again with the Sudanese Railway system.
Walked back to the station & enquired as to whether the Kosti train, with one Consul had arrived yet. Was assured it had, & was directed to the marshalling yards. It is an image I shall have to my dying day. As we walk under a road bridge to the marshalling section, there standing in splendid isolation was one green Ford Consul car on a flat truck.. We made an unanimous decision, we were not going to part company, if we could help it. Hence the comment ‘Don’t give up the ship’. So the next few days we camped on the flat truck,sleeping in the car during the night. [ I should explain that I had had the car modified some year before, so we could sleep in it. This was due to the fact that cars in those days had bench seats,unlike the figure hugging efforts of modern times. The seat was affixed to rails on either side on the car floor. By unclamping the seat, it could be pushed forward tight up against the lower dash.The back of the seat was adapted to hinge backwards to form a reasonably flat surface with the back seat. The resulting spaces being filled with foam padding etc. I could just about fit my feet under the glove box area,where DB had to contend with the steering wheel. It made for adequate emergency sleeping accommodation; certainly better than Khartoum station benches.]
The problem that we encountered, was the fact, that though we had planned our journey for some 2 years, a certain bod by the name of Nasser had decided to raise the level of the Aswan Dam. We had planned to take our vehicle on the train from Kosti to Wadi Halfa, transfer it on to another ferry at WH, to off load it in Shellal near Aswan, Egypt; & continue our road journey down the Nile valley. However by the time we on our way, we got to know by various means, pre internet days remember; that the port facilities in Shellal were under water, & that the new facilities would not be in operation for 2-3 years. So we could get as far as Wadi Halfa, & that would be it. Hence the change in plan to try for Port Sudan & ships north.
Having been given various contact addresses, before & during our journey. We decided, as we had some days to spare, before the train for Port Sudan left on the Thursday, to contact people, who by the way, we had never met before, who lived in Khartoum. We were invited to a dinner party of some 8 people connected with the university. Turned up in our travel worn clobber,with tie, so passed muster,just. On being asked where we were staying, & replying we were in residence on a flat truck in the Khartoum railway marshalling yards, did prove a bit of a conversation stopper, until everyone recovered their sang-froid. But was lost again, when we mentioned we’d been thrown out of the Grand Hotel.
We eventually reached Cairo via Luxor, where to this day, I have never been able to work out their traffic signalling system in operation @ that time. Some intersections had the conventional system, where everybody stopped at the red light. There were others however, where the situation was reversed, i.e.. vehicles stopped on the green, & took off when it turned to red. It was nerve wracking to say the least. I tried to be behind a local as much as possible;but sometimes it did not work, so kept a wary eye out for what vehicles were doing alongside. This is where my navigator proved invaluable, & has continued providing correct directions on our travels ever since. Even in Melbourne & Sydney!!!
Driving in Athens was interesting at times, as was Istanbul, Belgrade & Rome. Nothing, compared to Cairo though.
One characteristic that I noticed on our safari in 64, & more recently around Australia. It is the propensity for the Morris’s when they reach a camping site/ground, to select an area removed from the general area. May go away for an hour or 2, to return to a virtually standing room only situation;where everybody has congregated around our site, & the remainder is still empty. It is quite strange, in a vast area as the Australian outback for this to happen. It must reflect a great insecurity, that people still need to camp cheek by jowl when in the outback. I have at times deliberately moved to a clear space,only to find we still end up being surrounded by other campers, whilst there are still bags of room elsewhere.
Congratulations on arriving at the end of the above saga. I hope it was not too soporific.
Cheers
Tom Morris
