Hi John. My navigator suggests that you print out the following, and 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 and I have just read your article. 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.
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. 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, and complained that it was not what I had requested, and that the paperwork did not correspond with reality. After some negotiation, it was decided to change the current engine number, and replace it with the original — and a refund of £10.
Arthur Daley would be green with envy. The only problem was that the 'new' numbers were hammered on individually and 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 and the engine number checked. This was achieved by yours truly sticking his head under the bonnet, and 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. We were aware that there had been strife in Southern Sudan some months previous, and that a convoy system for road vehicles operated between the border and Juba, where our vehicle was to be placed on a barge attached to a paddle steamer for the journey down river to Kosti. Got to the Sudanese border post, and 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, and 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 indicated it had been some time since they had been destroyed.
Arrived mid afternoon in Juba. Crossing the Nile by ferry, handed over the mail package to the relevant authorities and then negotiated place, time and cost of placing the car on to the barge the following day. By late afternoon, the upstream steamer arrived, disgorging, amongst other goods and 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!
Saturday afternoon, the Consul was driven on to a barge attached to the paddle steamer, and all north going passengers boarded. Retired that night to our cabin on the upper deck and slept soundly until around 5am when we were awoken by sounds of preparation for sailing. Getting up to investigate, found, on opening our cabin door, to be facing a wall of papyrus, reeds etc. Then realised that the whole contraption — 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. Some distance from contact, he throws the paddles in reverse, so as to minimise contact. We became quite blase with the bumps and pirouettes over the next 3 days.
Eventually moved out of the Sudd, and arrived in Kosti, some 250 miles south of Khartoum, where the Consul was taken off the barge, and driven to the railway marshalling yards, and placed on a flat truck, and tied down for the journey to Khartoum.
At 1:45pm on the Saturday, the train pulled out of Kosti station. No such luck — we just continued on our journey much to our consternation, thinking we'd never see the car again. We spent the night sitting on a bench on the platform, or lying in a railway compartment of a train alongside the platform. Not to be recommended as sleeping accommodation.
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 48 hours or more. Managed to find a pensione type accommodation at 6:30am. Slept till mid afternoon, both feeling much refreshed, and decided to try our luck again with the Sudanese Railway system.
Walked back to the station and enquired as to whether the Kosti train, with one Consul, had arrived yet. Was assured it had, and 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 a unanimous decision — we were not going to part company, if we could help it. So the next few days we camped on the flat truck, sleeping in the car during the night.
We eventually reached Cairo via Luxor, where to this day, I have never been able to work out their traffic signalling system in operation at that time. Some intersections had the conventional system, where everybody stopped at the red light. There were others however, where the situation was reversed — vehicles stopped on the green, and took off when it turned to red. It was nerve wracking to say the least.
Congratulations on arriving at the end of the above saga. I hope it was not too soporific. Cheers, Tom Morris