WritersShowcase

To see the world as a traveller, to reside on foreign places, working and living with the local indigenous people……and get a princely sum to boot . This is the world of the Expatriate

This novel cannot cover all the tales I have to tell, many of which remain largely forgotten, and even after completion of the manuscript, I reflect on the contents, and discover another tale, which I had neglected to include.

The whole manuscripts covers tales of many places, from my initial experience of expatriate life in Iran, to an overland journey, across eight (8) countries.

This was my initiation into the Expatriate life, and a severe culture shock. After a quiet life in London,. I was to be transported to the wilds of the Middle East, via Teheran,Shiraz and Aberdan, to spend the next three years of my life on the Island of Kharg, an inhospitable lump of rock. The main Iranian oil export terminal, located in the middle of the Persian Gulf.

After all those years spent on Kharg Ialand, my next assignment was quite different, with Singapore the destination.

It was paradise after the privations of the Persian Gulf, with lush vegetation replacing the rock and stunted landscape of Kharg, and sandy beaches devoid of those lumps of Crude Oil, awaiting the unwary.

After just a few years, it was to be goodbye to the jewel of South East Asia, but not travelling too far away ……This time to the island of Borneo, just a short trip across the South China Sea,

A tale I just had to include. Following the end of the contract in Borneo, My new wife and I were finally heading back to Europe, but first, a holiday, and an experience to remember for years to come..

Those itchy feet got the better of me, and after just two years subjected to the vagaries of the UK climate, another assignment was offered…Back in the Middle East..

A Journey, undertaken by a team of four expatriates. in a trusty British 4x4

Despite all my arguments, my plans to repeat this, on our final departure from Kuwait were firmly vetoed by my better half

Arrival at Teheran Airport was not what we had expected. It was supposed to be warm, Humid and Sultry. Instead it was cold, and there was snow on the roof of the terminal building.

We were bound for "Kharg", an island somewhere in the middle of the Persian Gulf, but certainly not discernable on any of our maps.

According to the information gleaned from the Company, before our departure, this unknown island was not too large,, approximately eight miles by ten, and not too far above sea level, located fifty miles offshore, South of Aberdan, bounded by Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and Iraq

It was the Main Offshore Terminal for the export of the National Iranian Oil Company’s (NIOC) products, and managed by BP on behalf of the Persian Company.

We were to stay overnight in Teheran.

It had taken an hour to clear immigration, our passports examined in minute detail by more than one unhappy looking official, finally stamped it , allowing us to proceed to the baggage area.

Having obtained our clearance, it was the turn of our luggage, which together with that of the other two hundred or so passengers, was spread out along the customs counter, ready to be examined by the numerous officials.

It was chaotic, everyone was talking at the same time, mostly in languages we did not understand, until finally it was explained that we should identify our belongings, which I mumbled under my breath….would have been simple if we could have got anywhere near close to them

Getting to the counter was well nigh an impossibility, the crush of people wasn’t going to diminish, and it was only with the help of a "sharp elbow", that I managed to get close enough to point out our belongings.,

The baggage clearance proceedings took almost two hours,

Eventually, and miraculously, order was restored, and our cases were declared free of any suspicious objects, passed to the waiting porter, who placed them on his trolley.

Quite a performance I remarked to the Company driver, who met us at the exit, as we loaded the cases into a Range Rover. Yes he replied with a wide grin. It never ceases to amaze me at the efforts the authorities take in order to keep visitors out?

As we drove through the brightly-lit streets of the city, we really felt we were finally in the Middle East. Most of the traffic were minus the usual lighting supplied by the manufacturers, but equipped with coloured lights, above the windscreen, obviously installed by the owners.

Trucks of all kinds did have headlights etc, but the same lighting was installed, all along their length. There were bicycles and Mopeds everywhere, but these being devoid of lighting of any kind.

The quantity of traffic was amazing, with most of the other road users completely ignoring the traffic signals, and on more than one occasion we had to avoid large unlit concrete obstructions in the middle of the road, which appeared to be marking various roadworks on the highway..

Our host travelled at what seemed breakneck speed through the outskirts of the city, and as he swerved to avoid a pile of stones, which was marking yet another "roadwork excavation" Bloody people, he muttered, they steal all the flashing hazard lights, but I don’t know what use they can put them to, eventually turning off the main highway and into very much quieter residential roads, before stopping in front of large wrought iron gates, and sounding his horn.

A figure appeared from the shadows, waving to our driver as he opened the gates wide for us to enter

We crunched up the gravel drive, drawing to a stop in front of an imposing entrance, with marble columns either side of a large stairway, leading to the entrance.

As we stepped out, more figures appeared, just as mysteriously as the figure at the gate, hurriedly collecting the luggage from the back, before disappearing up the staircase and into the hotel.

We followed our luggage, through the entrance, which was flanked by yet more marble, in the shape of an archway, heading for the reception desk, across a vast expanse of terrazzo tiled floor, strewn with dozens of Persian carpets. .

Rosewood tables and matching chairs were located around this vast area, each adorned with highly polished brass ornament, the entire area was lit by a crystal chandelier set high in the ceiling.

My wife whispered, It looks like a palace, and I had had to agree……..Yes, direct from the Arabian nights.

The check-in formalities were brief, our driver dealing with most of the formalities, and as he returned our passports, he said, with a smile, okay, all done, have a nice evening, I will pick you up tomorrow morning around eight.

This way sir, said the porter; your luggage will follow, and beckoned us towards to the lifts.

.

This is your room sir explained the porter, as we stopped in front of a very ornate carved door, and producing a large key opened the door, stepping inside, switched on the lights and with a slight bow said…….I hope you find everything to your liking, before disappearing along the corridor. He didn’t even hang around for tip exclaimed my wife. Well I replied, no doubt he didn’t have any use for a English currency, and by the looks of us he realised we wouldn’t have any of the local stuff....

The room was furnished even more sumptuously than the lobby downstairs, with Terrazzo tiled floor covered with a profusion of rugs everywhere, including some hung on the walls…Dark wood cabinets, with brass fittings were placed around the room and two large and comfortable looking couches occupied the centre of this area…

Come look at the bedroom, my wife called, and walking through an archway, was another room equally as large as the living room, and just as well appointed. .

The two double beds looked large enough to accommodate four Sumo wrestlers with the furnishings similar, dark carved wood, inlaid with brass fitting, which glistened like gold. .

The bathroom contained a tubof gargantuan proportions, and behind a glass door, what appeared to an additional room, proved to be a shower cubicle, complete with a profusion of fittings, all of which were gold plated .

It was fantastic, but quite wasted on us. The journey and the tine difference had taken their toll, all we needed was sleep, in a bed of any kind, and, the kids were getting a little fractious, so expeditions of any other parts of the accommodation were deferred. . .

I was woken early the following morning, by the sound of the call to prayers from an adjacent Mosque.

It was still dark, and I had no idea what the local time was. Squinting at my watch I calculated it must be approximately five am…But was I correct?

The rest of the family was soon awake, and the girls complaining. We are starving, they both complained…. We haven’t eaten for hours…How about breakfast.

After the rigours of the previous day, I had forgotten all about eating, and with our arrival being so late, sleep had been more important than a meal .....

Well it’s quite early I responded, and I had to admit that I will feeling peckish too. I doubt if there will be anyone but lets have a look anyway…Hurry, get a shower, and dressed and we will investigate

It was cathedral quiet as we descended the staircase, looking down into the lobby, which was deserted. There was not a sound, and not a soul to be seen as we entered the lobby.

At one end of the lobby were double glass doors with a sign above proclaiming "Dining Room". Here we are girls I exclaimed, lets investigate….

The dining room was circular, and the size of a small ballroom, and unlike the rest of the area, it was not terrazzo tiled….The floor was glistening marble, with a forest of columns the same colour as the floor rising high, which disappeared into a cavernous ceiling.

Dozens of circular tables were located between the columns, each one laid ready for a meal. Sparkling cutlery on a pristine white cloth, at each place setting, a purple napkin in a bright gold ring.

In the centre of each table, was a crystal vase, containing a small orchid.

Breakfast yelled the girls, and headed for a large circular table in the centre of the room, .piled high with cereals of all kinds, jugs of milk, fruit juices, bread and rolls. Selecting the nearest table, we sat down, waiting for the girls to join us.

Good morning sir, said a voice at my elbow, appearing like a genie from a lamp, would you like to order breakfast .

Yes please I responded looking up to see a waiter unlike any other I had seen, He was dressed in a long white flowing robe, and sported a large black moustache.

Hot Coffee, and Tea, in silver pots appeared. We ordered scrambled eggs and toast, leaving the children to investigate all the various goodies on the centre table, which they visited on numerous occasions .

After just a few minutes, another few hardy souls appeared, all looking as bemused as we were, and were similarly served by yet more men, who appeared almost as magically, all identically dressed in the same garb, and most surprising of all , all sporting similar black moustache’s.

After a leisurely breakfast, I checked the local time, discovering it was not yet seven o’clock.

Plenty of time I remarked, there is plenty of time to pack the cases and relax for a few minutes, and read the morning newspapers, if there were any available, before our driver was due to collect us..

As our driver strode through the entrance, I was on page 5 of yesterday mornings newspaper, and with a wave of his hand, greeted me with a "good morning", it’s a lovely day for a flight,

The hotel bill has already been settled he explained, as our luggage appeared in the lobby, to be collected by the porter, and heading for the front door….

So when you are ready we’ll be on our way .,

A we headed out on the highway, it was already busy, although it was still comparatively early, the roads were busy, with even more of those cyclists we had seen the previous evening, this time with more than one rider, and complete, with what appeared to be, all their belongings strapped behind them.. The journey back to the airport seemed to take less time than the previous evening, with all those roadwork obstructions even less in evidence .

As we unloaded the luggage onto a trolley, our guide handed us a package of papers.. Look after these, he said, they are the boarding cards.

You can go directly to the departure lounge, and explained. If you had to queue at the check-in desk, you would probably miss the flight, and added with a chuckle, Have a nice journey, Hope to see you all again sometime, and with a wave of his hand headed into the maelstrom of traffic. .

As we entered the airport building, how right he was.. The mass of humanity was identical to that on our arrival.

Where had all these people come from, or had they all been here overnight.? We made our way through the throng, and headed for the departure lounge, thankful to our guide and his local knowledge.

Devoid of our luggage, we settled down in the comparative comfort of the lounge, we ascertained that our flight was not due to depart for another two hours. But our guide had imparted another few words of wisdom, and we had been advised to be in place at least two hours before the flight is due to depart. Flights apparently were so popular (and overbooked), that there was a tendency for your reservations being cancelled if you are not in evidence well in advance

By the time the flight was finally called, we had added to our collection of hand baggage, yet another couple of large plastic bag; full of local brassware, and the girls had discovered the candy store, filling another bag with sweets and chocolates.

We passed through the departure gate, and down a long corridor, at the end of which was a staircase, leading down to the tarmac.

All the baggage was deposited alongside the aircraft. A large heap of suitcases, boxes, and packages, of all shapes and sizes. You need to identify you luggage sir, explained the hostess, before it is loaded into the aircraft

At this point it occurred to me…….I did not know exactly what our luggage looked like,

With the mass suitcases piled on the tarmac, they all looked surprising similar. Walking over to the assorted baggage, I hoped we had affixed labels to it all, and found I was not alone, with more than 100 passengers mumbling, as they attempted to identify their property.

It took some time, but eventually, we all seemed to have succeeded in identifying our own suitcases, and it all disappeared in the bowels of the aircraft.

Settling down in our seats, we heard the hostess announce that one piece of luggage was still unidentified, and through the window, we spotted the offending piece. A black Samsonite case, tied around with a blue plastic strap

Despite repeated requests from the hostess, there was no response, the doors subsequently closed, and as we started to taxi away from the terminal, I looked back.

That black Samsonite was still there, alone on the tarmac Where was the owner I wondered, maybe he (or she) had not understood te announcement, Whatever the answer that bag was now well and truly separated from its owner

The Iran-Air flight to Kharg Island was quite uneventful, and being an internal flight, had one hour stopovers en-route, Shiraz, Isfahan, and Aberdan, although we had to stay abound at each location .

The total journey time was in excess of six hours, and by the time we approached our final destination the sun was getting low in the sky, and the landscape changing from green hills and valleys, to one of one of sand and rocky desert, with in the distance a glimpse of the sea, shimmering in the evening sun.

Not long now I said, thinking, How nice it will be, to be back on Terra Firma again.

Christmas was only two months away, and here we were heading for an small, and "apparently uncharted" island in the middle of the Persian Gulf.

.

It was just after six o’clock in the evening as we descended to what looked like a small bare patch of sand coloured rock, which appeared far too small on which to land this aircraft.

The view, as we banked for the final approach, was of a place almost devoid of vegetation, the main feature being the silver coloured Oil storage tanks in the centre of the island and the ugly looking black jetty, shaped like a letter "T" jutting out in bright blue sea, occupied by numerous vessels of all sizes.

On one side of the island a large yellow mountain, dominated the landscape. It was later to be determined as sulphur, a oil by-product, which at present was not in great demand, thus the large deposit.

As we headed lower and lower, the runway appeared even smaller, until finally, with a bump, and a screech of rubber on tarmac, we arrived. With a roar of reverse thrust, we finally slowed and it became obvious that after all my misgivings, the runway had been sufficient, as we came to a halt, just a few yards from the end, before turning around, and heading for the terminal..

Arrival at Kharg, was similar to that of Teheran, but on a much smaller scale, as we had off-loaded the majority of our passengers before this, our final destination.

In contrast to the Capital the weather here was quite different, and not a hint of the snow we had experienced in Teheran, and we were not dressed for it.

The temperature was well above 30 degrees, very humid and extremely oppressive....

The terminal building was also scaled down, being little more than a garden shed, with room for less than half a dozen passengers at one time.

This meant large numbers most of us standing outside, complete with all our luggage which was now sitting alongside the pathway leading to the "terminal" whilst a number who had obviously been here before, had hurriedly grabbed their luggage and were ahead of the us and being processed inside the "shed"

After half an hour, we were ushered in, wishing almost immediately to be outside again.

with the atmosphere in the building quite stifling .I was not in the least surprised at how quickly the immigration formalities were, as it must been torture for the officials, having to work in such conditions..

Thus after a cursory inspection of out luggage, and passports we exited….. We had officially arrived on Kharg Island

Welcome, said a voice as we passed though the outer door, and I looked around to see a tanned tall guy, dressed in khaki shorts, and open necked shirt, grinning at me. Can’t mistake the new arrivals he continued, still grinning.

My name is Trevor, your tour guide for this evening. My guess is you would love to get out of this heat..

That’s an understatement Trevor, I replied.. Nice to meet you .as I introduced the family... Lets get going then, and don’t worry about the luggage, it wont "walk", I will collect it later and get it to you.

The truck is just over here, pointing to a dusty looking Land Rover, parked just a few yards away

.

It wasn’t too far from the "Airport" to our accommodation, a white painted flat roofed "Porta-cabin" constructed of timber and plastic, and raised some two foot from the ground . Stepping inside was sheer bliss. It was cool and airy, the air conditioning a little noisy, but surprisingly spacious, with two bedrooms, lounge, all the usual conveniences, and an outside patio, complete with wicker chairs and table.

We had a call from head office this morning, telling us of your imminent arrival said Trevor.

No doubt you are a mite weary, and tomorrow is soon enough to sort things out, so I will leave you investigate the Kharg Hilton……See you in a moment., and departed in a cloud of dust and a wave of his hand.

We were still looking around the accommodation when the sound of the Landrover sugnalled Trevor’s complete with all the luggage, which we unloaded from the truck, depositing it in the centre of the room.

Okay folks, see yon tomorrow morning, around nine, okay, adding as he departed,

Welcome to the holiday Isle.

After all the rigours of the journey we were once again ready for a good nights sleep, and pleased to find the fridge was stocked with a few goodies, so after a quick meal, and a welcome cup of tea, we all retired for the night, despite it being only eight o’clock in the evening...

The sun rises early in this part of the world, and I was woken early, not this time by the call to prayers, but by the sound of vehicles passing close by.

Looking out of the window, a convoy of vehicles were heading up the nearby road, all loaded with a variety of steel pipes, and packing cases of all sizes.

The family too were awakened by the commotion. What’s going on they exclaimed ?, what’s all that racket.

Its only people going to work I explained, lets get some breakfast, I’m starving.

The well stocked was once more raided, containing more than sufficient for our breakfast, of Eggs, toast, and hot coffee, although my wife did confessed to me, that the eggs were the powdered variety, although to me, they tasted like the real thing

Soon after I had finished breakfast, the sound of a horn, reminded me that this was my first day of work, and I called out through the window, I’ll be right out Trevor.

Leaving the family to take care of the mound of baggage, we headed for the offices, only a mile or so from our accommodation, in the compound.

As we turned onto the main road, I noted a line of washing fluttering outside one of the other "Cabins". At least I thought, there is at least one other occupant in this compound, We are not alone

The offices, were of the construction, but stacked end to end in a long row, and divided into individual offices.

Lets go see if the "Old Man" is in said Trevor, in a low voice, as we walked up the corridor, and knocked at a door labelled "Construction Manager".

There was a muttered sound of "Enter", from within. He’s in okay whispered Trevor, and in a good mood by the sound of it..

This then was my introduction to the man who ran things on this Island, whose word was law, the Company (BP) representative, responsible for all activities affecting Construction..

He was a middle aged Dutchman just under six feet tall, with a suntan gained from prolonged exposure to the weather, with the physique of an all in wrestler.

Growling a greeting, he welcomed me to the team, and in a few short minutes informed ,me how he had built, almost single handed, a pipeline across Indonesia, and how he was now saddled with the most incompetent bunch of people imaginable.

Then he grinned at me, remarking, I hope you are not as incompetent as the rest of them, to which I felt I should not reply, as he picked up a, plastic card from his desk, handing it to me, and adding. You will need this to survive here.

It was my ID card.

Leaving the office, I thought …So that was the boss. Trevor turned to me and said,. Gerry spent most of his life in the Far East, his father was something to do with the Dutch Colonial Service, adding, don’t worry about him too much, his bite is a lot worse than his bark, as I followed him down the hall and into another office, where six guys were sitting behind metal desks,

Morning fella’s said Trevor, as we entered, which received a number of ribald responses.

Hey Trev said one, Who is this guy with you?.

Surely not another poor bugger who has been sent to Kharg for his sins.

Take no notice of this bunch Trevor responded, as he introduced me to them all. Lets get out of here, and go have a look around this rock. We have organised a vehicle or you., hope you can handle a Land Rovers, and as we walked to the Truck, he handed me the keys.

Ever driven one of these he asked, as we climbed in. I shook my head, as I looked down, wondering what all the knobs were for, especially the yellow coloured ones.

Well its not too difficult he continued, with a smile…Just like a bumper car really.

I managed to pull away from the car park with a minimal amount of noise, and we travelled back past our accommodation, until a few miles up the road, Trevor said, take a right here, and we pulled into a parking area, containing a couple of large cylindrical storage tanks and a petrol pump.

The most important parking lot on the island. This is the company fuel area explained Trevor, and that building over there, pointing to another "Portacabin" style structure. That’s the Commissary….. "Kharg Supermarket", and the building next to that is the Post Office. But I’ll tell you all about that later..

You need that ID Gerry gave you to use the facilities here. Fuel and Food, so don’t lose it, at least not until the guy at the Commissary, gets to know you, otherwise you won’t eat.

Leaving the "Company "area, we travelled another few miles before coming to a small fishing village. This is Esfahi explained Trevor, the only Village cum Town on the Island.

All kinds of local produce c an be obtained here, sometimes even fresh eggs, which is something of a delicacy here, although I don’t know where they come from, as I have never seen a chicken on the Island

Eggs he continued don’t seem to travel well, the last lot air freighted in from Teheran had to be vacuumed out of the hold

All the local stuff is shipped over from the mainland by Dhow, even there is plenty of beer, in fact we built the roads on the island with empty bottles, and plenty of Caviar, at reasonable prices, adding…..If you like that kind of thing.

We spent the rest of that morning touring around the Island, driving past those Oil storage tanks I had seen on the way in , They were even larger up close, each capable of storing one million barrels of oil, (a barrel equaling 140 Litres)

We continued the tour across the opposite side of the Island, to where construction of the new project was underway.

The area was a mass of warehouses, storage bays and workshops, the place a hive of activity, with steel structures of all type and size being fabricated. Welding arcs lit the already bright sky, sparks flew from the grinding wheels. Trucks were constantly coming and going, loading and unloading steel columns, and pipes of all sizes

The structures to be installed offshore were well under construction.

Huge platforms, each the size of a football pitch, at currently only a skeleton, but when complete would weigh in excess of 300 tonnes, and when complete would form the main berthing platforms

We parked outside the Contractors offices, which looked a deal smarter than those we had on the other side of the island, and as we entered, I could smell the aroma of fresh coffee, and a local guy who apparently was a mind reader, smiled and said Coffee sir… .

I didn’t have to be asked twice and sat down to enjoy a cup of real fresh coffee.

As I was refilling my cup, the door opened and in through the door came a couple of the largest men I had ever seen, both dressed in smart blue overalls and tooled leather boots

Hi Trev , one of them called out, What the heck brings you over to this neck of the woods..

Hi Jake, Ken, Trevor replied with a broad grin. This is, our new team member, and I am letting him see what the opposition looks like....

Oh yeah, was the response. I bet Gerry sent you around to check on us, and grinning, held out a hand the size of a ham…

Howdy, I’m Ken he said, and as I reclaimed my hand, he indicated his companion, and the Ugly one here, is Jake, whose handshake was equally as firm.

.

This ya first time in Iran asked Jake

Yes I replied as I recovered my hand for the second time, , a little taken aback by their stature,

How about you fellows …

You fellows replied Ken..his grin getting wider, I like that, Yup it’s the first, and last darned time too. It’s a hell of a place to work, and I have been in some god forsaken places in my life. Even the beer here tastes like seawater, .

Don’t take heed of Ken said Jake, the smile on his face seeming permanent. He hails from New Mexico, and not used to all this good living.

Following a few more well chosen remarks from both of them and yet more coffee, it was, time Trevor remarked to head back.

After even more of those handshakes, it was Bye now,, nice to meet ya,. Come again, and have a nice day,, from both of them, as we finally managed to excuse ourselves. As we drove wau Trevor said, There are a good bunch, but like most yanks, talk a great deal.

We arrived back on "our side" of the island in time for lunch.

You can drop me at the office said Trevor, and I’ll see you back at the office after lunch. This afternoon we can organise all the necessary . I have to get all the papers to Teheran, for your residence, and work permit,…and of course there is the small matter of finances.

In all the excitement, I had almost forgotten that I would need money here. A proportion of my salary would be paid here in local currency (Riyals) , although I was ignorant of the exchange rate, but that would not be too big a problem. There should be sufficient for the immediate living expenses, which would only be groceries, Plus, maybe a pot or two of that Caviar

Everything was under control at the "Cabin". All the luggage had disappeared, the kids exploring the immediate area, inside outside (and under) the accommodation, appearing to be quite content

Over lunch I told the family of my mornings exploits. I will take you all on the grand tour this evening I promised, and we can visit that local supermarket, lapsing into Trevor’s language.

The afternoon was fully occupied, with Trevor and myself filling in innumerable forms,

We use petty cash for living expenses he explained, handing me a wad of notes,. If you need more than that, just let me know, handing me a pen he grinned and said…Sign here please, for your first months allowance .

As promised, we all piled into the truck that evening for our first "solo" trip. It was still very warm and the Land Rover, not equipped with air conditioning, was stuffy and warm, and dust blew in through the vents in front, which was not exactly to my wife’s liking.

First stop was the Commissary, the entrance guarded by a large local, dressed in black baggy trousers, and with ,to my surprise, a jacket buttoned to the neck. On his head a peaked cap, complete with a brass Company badge .

We received a big smile, and a minor salute from him as I displayed my new ID pass, entering the Company "Supermarket" for the first time.

The place was almost empty, and after walking up and down the gangways, my wife came up to me, remarking . Not a big selection of stuff really, No fresh milk, and whispered, they don’t have any toilet rolls either

As we paused at the counter to pay for the goods, she continued, We will have to invite that nice Trevor to dinner as soon as we are settled.

Yes I replied, although just at that moment, the lack of toilet rolls seemed more important.

Over the next weeks, things began to get settled. All my paperwork was sent off to the head office in Teheran. The Commissary had fresh milk (and toilet rolls), and I visited the construction area on a regular basis, to see how work was progressing, although my function was not yet necessary, being associated with the electrical equipment to be installed later, after the steel fabrication.

Our first Christmas on Kharg Island was quite uneventful, although we had to forgo the usual Turkey with trimmings. The Commissary however managed to produce some larger than usual chickens, which although a little scraggy looking, proved to taste quite nice… .

The children had some gifts, courtesy of the kind folk in Teheran, who sent candy bars, soft toys and games, all it seems organised by Trevor…

He really was indispensable.

The Christmas holiday was no more than a couple of days, and was immediately followed by a hectic round of meetings and discussions on the work schedule, and it settled into a regular routine..

We got to know the other "cabin" residents, and over the months, the community expanded, another three families arrived, and we took turns in meeting each new arrival.

The school opened its doors, and soon expanded, with two teachers, and a total of twelve pupils

The wives began to organise social events, with coffee mornings between themselves, and during the evening dinner parties, each one attempting to be just a little exotic than previous one.

The wives vied with each other to produce "something different", a little difficult with limited produce. The one item which was in good supply, was that local Caviar, and it was on almost every menu, served on local bread, or crisp biscuits, although I developed a taste for it "just on its own".

We visited the bachelor quarters, just a short stroll across the road, where we drank beer, played snooker, and darts. There was the occasional game of poker, a distinctly men only affair, and although my losses were minimal , there were kept secret from the "better half".

Despite the office in Teheran assuring us that they would "take care" of my residence and work permit, we had still not received them, and we were informed that as I had overstayed the prescribed period, I would have to leave the country.?

Don’t let it worry you said Trevor, although I was tearing my hair…Its only a formality, and its always happening...

It means you have to leave for a minimum of 24 hours, get another entry stamp in your passport, for six months. Your paperwork should certainly be processed by then.

How do I do that I wailed ….go back to London or elsewhere.

No Trevor assured me.. Its only means a local trip. You can go over to Kuwait, there is an Iranian Consulate there, and it will only mean an overnight stay

Oh well that doesn’t seem too bad, I said, greatly relived, and thinking to myself. A trip to Kuwait would be a nice break from Kharg Island?

I travelled in the late afternoon, heading north for Aberdan, where the flight to Kuwait, was scheduled to leave at midnight., due to arrive there, just one hour later.

The flight was obviously well known, and very popular, particularly with the locals, who traveled with most of their possessions, including their livestock.

I was to finally discover where all those chickens go, as almost every passenger was carrying a box containing at least three clucking chickens, which were carefully stored in the overhead luggage lockers above our head.

One bearded Arab, who didn’t possess any chickens was arguing heatedly with a member of crew, who were refusing entry to his livestock, a rather smelly and dirty looking goat.

The chickens were obviously used to this form of travel, and were reasonably quiet during the flight, but there was a peculiar smell permeating the cabin, although I was unsure whether it was the fowl, the goat, or their owners

Fortunately the flight time to Kuwait was less than one hour on this occasion, , and with only a small overnight back I was soon through the formalities and heading for Kuwait city, a twenty minute taxi ride away.

The Sheraton Hotel was supreme luxury after Kharg, with only the gentle whisper of the air conditioning breaking the silence, compared to the clatter of our unit back on Kharg, The bed large and soft, and with the whisper of the aircon, I soon fell fast asleep. . .

The following morning, after a breakfast of "Real Eggs", and "Beef Bacon", which necessitated double portions ,I inquired the location of the Iranian Consulate, which happily I discovered, was within walking distance, and would be open at nine..

Many of the Embassies etc were located in one area, and only a few minutes walk away…. The formalities were quite painless, if a little protracted. Even with a letter of introduction to smooth my path, it took the best part of the morning, before I had completed the innumerable forms, and obtained all the necessary extension stamps in my passport..

The flight back to Aberdan was scheduled for later that afternoon, and there was time to get lunch, before heading back to the Airport, and I had time on my hands. Window shopping was ideal I mused. Shops on Kharg, other than those selling local produce were non existent, and here in Kuwait there appeared to everywhere.

The stores in Kuwait were like Aladdin’s cave, with every conceivable item on display, from TV sets, radio, and the like, Cameras of all kinds and more electrical goods than most department stores in UK. .

In one store, I spied just the thing, a necessary item, It was not too large to be transported back to Kharg, and it seemed to be reasonably priced at fifty dinars, although just how many UK pounds, or Iranian Riyals that was, I had little idea. A Hi Fi set, complete with radio, and tape player…I I could listen to my music again, and we could record messages to send to our friends in England.

The temptation was too much. I entered the shop and after a few minutes bargaining, passed my credit card over the counter, emerging quite elated, with a very large box.

As I headed back to the hotel came across the gold shops. Dozens of them, all displaying more gold than I had ever seen before . This is what the vaults of the Bank of England must look like I thought…..But temptation was resisted on looking at the prices, which all seemed to be four or five digits in length. So a gift for the missus was limited to a few very colourful scarves with a Chanel label……

Clutching my new acquisitions, I treated myself to a slap-up lunch at the Sheraton, and with a definite spring in my step, I headed for the airport, checking in for the flight back to Aberdan, (and Kharg),

On the return trip, I was pleased to note that the complement of domestic animals, which accompanied me on the outward flight were conspicuous by there absence. I assumed they must be a one way traffic, now presumably being displayed for sale, in one of the markets of downtown Kuwait

My new Hi Fi was invaluable, and music filled the house far into the evenings. Purchasing a few blank tapes from the Village, we made a number of recordings, telling of life here, dispatching them to friends in England, although I had my doubts on whether they ever reached the intended recipients, for the following reasons…..

The "Post Office" at Kharg was something of a Hit and Miss affair.

Staffed by members of the Persian postal service, for whom a tour of duty at Kharg was not the most prestigious and who on occasion could be downright awkward.

All the "Company" mail was delivered personally by the crew of the incoming flights to the office, but all other mail was deposited at the Post Office.

The staff would then sort the mail into two groups, "Us" and "Them ", The former being anything in Arabic, and the latter which was addressed in any other language.

As the majority of the Post office staff were only versed in Arabic, all the "Us" mail was placed in pigeon holes for collection, with all the "Them" mail put to one side..

There was no arrangement for mail deliveries of any kind, thus arrangements were necessary to get all the "Them" mail to its rightful owner.

It all seemed quite simple, and worked for most of the time, with most officials being quite amenable to us coming in to clear the piles of packages and letters, every few days.

There were though some staff who took great exception to allowing anyone but themselves into their domain. The delay in gaining access caused severe backlogs, and with more than 200 expats, of various nationalities, on the Island there could be a considerable amount of mail, which would be heaped in one corner of the room .

It had to be dealt with, by whoever could spare the time, and who had the best chance of gaining access, or even "bribing" their way into the Post Office.

Despite the niggling problems, the heat and humidity, lack of suitable groceries, and our beloved Construction Manager flying into a temper when things didn’t go right, the work continued quite well, and progress was well on schedule

I would travel, most mornings across to the other side of the Island, where discussions on the days work were held.

Those two big Texans, Ken and Jake would regale me with many stories of their exploits, in the most out of the way places over the years, whilst we drank coffee and planned the days events.

The hours were long with activity going on around the clock. The majority of the skilled construction crew were from the Philippines, overseen by Jake, who was treated like a father by most of them.

One of the major jobs under my jurisdiction, would be the laying of the High Tension cable from the shore to the offshore structure, a distance of three miles.

This involved a number of lengths of cable, each on a drum weighing in excess of five tonne, and would need to be laid and jointed all at one time, which we had estimated as being approximately 36 hours..

The work commenced early in the morning, when the seas were at their calmest. The barge containing all the cable drums was positioned at the structure and we were ready to go.

It was a delicate maneuver, with the huge barge accompanied by tugs, who picked up the barge fore and aft anchors, and relocating them further away from the barge, which would then slowly pull itself toward the shoreline, with the barge direction controlled by a laser beam.

It was necessary to repeat this maneuver many times, until the shore was reached.

Luckily the weather was kind, but it still took almost four days to get all cable laying and jointing completed. It was the longest time I had ever spent with minimal amounts of sleep, but it was rewarding, when tests were satisfactorily carried out on the finished job to ensure the cable was undamaged

The project was going ahead at "full steam", and progressing with minimal delays, and only a few minor problems.

I watched in amazement as the platform structures fabricated onshore were put aboard a barge ready to be floated out to the offshore location.

Two cranes were positioned, one on the waiting barge, and one on the shore, Once the platform was lifted clear of the ground the cranes inched forward, finally lowering the huge structure onto the deck of the barge.

It all seemed so easy, but it had taken weeks to plan this part of the job, the cranes tested, and checked to ensure they could accommodate the weight of the structure . The final stage of the operation was to float the barge out to sea, and repeat the operation, lifting the platform up and locating it on the "legs" constructed of 56 inch diameter pipes, which protruded above the surface, and which were 70 metres into the seabed.

It all went well with the 300 Tonne platform finally installed, and perfectly located. It was a great engineering feat, with the barge and cranes constantly bobbing around in the swell around the structure. Even our Construction manager was seen to smile as the job was completed.?

My work was getting into full swing. All the electrical could now be installed on the finished platforms. The Heli-deck and the Living Quarters, which would accommodate twenty men, was lowered into position using those same barges, and it was a great moment when we energised the electrical systems.

The complex was now very visible from the shore, its myriad lights twinkling in the distance.

Celebrations were certainly in order and the Filipino crew knew how to organise that, with a traditional barbecue.

A large hole was dug on the beach and filled with large smooth stones. A whole pig was then placed in the hole, and covered with suitable timber, and ignited..

Some time later, when the flames had died down and only the embers remained, the pig was removed…Perfectly cooked, and absolutely delicious, washed down with a considerably amount of beer. .

Whilst all we men had been be fully employed on the Project, all the ladies had found other occupations to keep them busy

Trips were arranged trips to the mainland, to visit some of the wonders of the region.

To Isfahan, where Persian carpets are strewn on the streets, and to Shiraz, where Persopolis, the great city of Cirrus the Great, had been excavated, after being buried beneath the desert sands for more than two thousand years.?

They would return days later, laden with Persian carpets, of all shapes and sizes, together with brassware from the many Bazaars and Souk’s in the towns they visited

I was to find that my living allowance did not cover the cost of all these artifacts, and Trevor would be approached before months end. I was expecting you he would remark, as I walked into his office, they all came back just yesterday, Oh..by the way. They were asking about flights next weekend to Aberdan … .

The family disappeared back to England during the worst part of the year, when the temperatures were at their highest, and the humidity demanded the use of the windscreen wipers on the Landrover most of the time.

The following two Christmas holidays were spent on Kharg, although the work schedule allowed little time for celebrating. But like previous years we managed some semblance of the Holiday spirit. The single guys Mess was decorated with tinsel and one year somebody had acquired a large "Turkey Looking" bird, although nobody was quite sure exactly what breed really was.

During our last year on the Island , there were ominous signs of military developments on the western fringe of the Island. The Iranians had constructed a Naval Base, complete with hovercraft , which buzzed around the island at all hours, and there were rumours that a missile base was going to be included.

Access to this part of the Island was suddenly very restricted and wire fencing appeared overnight., with tales of "Savak", the Iranian secret police being in residence, which seemingly frightened the life out of the local populace in the village.

Life began to get a bit tense, and nobody knew exactly what was going on. The Oil Company were tight lipped about everything, and there was much coming and going of officials from the Company, and the Government , who disappeared behind the closed door of Gerry’s office for hour on end.

Trevor either wouldn’t or couldn’t shed any light on these developments, and Gerry had the most fearful bouts of bad temper I have ever experienced, because as Trevor remarked. Anything which interferes with his beloved Project, is not tolerated by him, and this interference is something over which he has no control .

It all culminated in a curfew being imposed on all and sundry, when nobody was allowed to venture outside after dark. This remained in force for some weeks , before being lifted, allowing us to return to some form of normality.

The Complex was fast approaching completion. The computer systems had all been installed, and made operational. The living quarters were now functional, and occupied, providing an air conditioned haven. This offshore export terminal was ready to receive tankers, with a capacity of One Million Dead Weight Tonnage.

It was the largest Oil export terminal in the world.

The official opening of this masterpiece was to be a grand affair, performed by no other than the Shah himself, one of his last official functions before he was deposed and left the country..

During the actual opening ceremony, all us Expatriates were "evacuated", (for reasons unknown), and shipped over to Aberdan, where we were housed, in superb luxury, at the local Hilton for the duration of the opening celebrations.

Upon our return to Kharg, after nearly a week spent in such surroundings, (all at Company expense), it was with some regret that we began preparations for our departure.

The family, who didn’t quite share my views on our imminent departure, talked excitedly of getting back to "civilisation" and of spending the next Xmas in more familiar surroundings

Packing was to me a sad time. I had mixed feelings about our return to Europe, and had developed a strange fondness for this ugly patch of brown rock in the middle of the Persian Gulf, although I was looking forward to getting back to England, to all our friends there, and enjoy some of the money we had accumulated over the past years

As I had anticipated packing was not an easy task. We couldn’t possibly carry it all, especially the multitude of brassware, carpets and associated miscellany of stuff my wife had collected on her many excursions. We decided to air freight most of our possessions back via Teheran and began to determine which items were not immediately needed.

It would only take a week before they arrived in UK, and I anticipated we could limit ourselves to a couple of suitcases. So with a couple of large robust boxes from the company warehouse, everything was carefully packed, addressed to ourselves, delivered to Kharg airport for subsequent shipment to Teheran, and onwards to England.

Despite my plans to ship the majority of our goods, we were still in possession of a large number of suitcases. This "amount" of hand baggage, had been the result of the family insisting, during my packing , of "Don’t pack that" we may need it before we go, and all my objections had been vetoed, with a good many items retained, and which would have accompany us

..

Although we were booked through to our final destination, our luggage was not so lucky and we had to reclaim it at Teheran airport, and check it in again for the flight to Europe.

My thoughts returned to that arrival many years ago, and I wondered if that unclaimed piece of luggage was still sitting on the runway?..

We were standing at the departure desk in Teheran , with our luggage piled high on a trolley watched over by a vigilant porter.

Despite all my attempts at keeping our luggage to manageable proportions we were overweight.. What is the cost of the excess I inquired.

But there didn’t seem to be any method by which I could pay the excess. I looked at the porter, who shook his head knowingly, as he retrieved the luggage and put it back on the trolley.

Just give the porter a tip sir, said the man behind the desk, and that will be okay, so putting my hand in my pocket I handed him a few Rial notes. The porter looked at me and the money and smiled, but remained where he was.

Perhaps he doesn’t want any money whispered my wife, the porter immediately giving her a funny look, as I opened my wallet and took out another few notes, which I proffered to him.

His response was similar, and smiling, he pointed to the larger denomination notes in my hand, which I handed to him.

With a nod of his head and a broad grin, the trolley was pushed through the barrier, and he unloaded the bags onto the conveyer.

From the time I left the shores of England, and embarked on a life of an expatriate in Europe, initially in Holland, I had spent much of my working life travelling around the globe.

It seemed so long ago that I had first departed for foreign climes. Travel had become a way of life, and here I was once more, in the departure lounge, waiting for yet another flight.

But that journey to Holland, way back in the 70’s seemed so long ago

I was now heading into the unknown, to a place which conjured up visions of mystery, and those same doubts began to emerge

As I sat in my seat waiting for the plane to depart the terminal, and join the many others at the end of the runway,. I browsed through the in-flight magazine, and turned to the airline route maps.

The maps extended over three pages, with Europe on the first fold out, the second, coloured yellow, depicting the sands of the Middle East , a place which after my experiences on that small island in the Persian Gulf, wasn’t top of my favorite places to live and work.

On the final pages, the Far East..

Those routes from Europe to the Middle East I knew quite well, but still only a third of the way from my destination, the Orient.

Tracing the route with my finger, across the Indian ocean, and then the subcontinent of India, Bombay to Calcutta, still a long, long, way to Singapore

.

With a roar that disturbed my map-reading, the engines opened up, and we began the long take off, the first stage of my journey.

As the lights below faded away, we banked left, heading for the first stop, somewhere in the Middle East, and I settled back, closing my eyes as we climbed even higher, until finally the engines settled down to a steady hum.

The first stage of the journey was a little over six hours, and after a few welcome drinks and an attempt at trying to sleep, the hours passed quicker than I had anticipated, and we began our gradual descent to somewhere in the dusty regions of the Middle East…the Gulf state of Dubai, one of the Emirates, tucked in between Saudi Arabia and the Sultanate of Oman.. This was a stop for a crew change, and we were allowed to disembark for the hour it would take for the aircraft to be readied. for the next stage.

There wasn’t a lot to do except to browse the many shopping arcades, which were stocked with every conceivable make and brand of cigarette, together with more bottles of wine and spirits, than I had ever seen before…This was rather strange, and made me wonder, why, in this small Gulf State, there should be such a proliferation of such, when the majority of the surrounding states do not even allow alcohol on their flights.

Just one hour later we were once again airborne, and following the usual welcome announcement to those who had joined us, we soon reached our cruising altitude, settling down to yet another meal, finally nodding off as we headed across the ocean, and the Sub Continent..

I woke with a start., it was getting light, and glancing at my watch, surely I thought we must be close to India. Looking out of the window the vista below was grey, but turning to a dusky brown as the sun brightened.

As I drunk my fifth coffee of the day, the engine note changed, as we perceptively began our second descent of the journey...

Calcutta was very different from Dubai, the stopover duration being the same, and the terminal building like any other throughout the world, but this one was devoid of any services.

The "lounges" were packed with sleeping people, spread out, filling not just the seating area, but all over the floor too.

Like a few of the other passengers, I strolled through the terminal, doing my level best to avoid the sleeping masses, before returning to the aircraft and taking my seat..

We appeared to have "lost" considerably more passengers here than we gained, and the aircraft was seemed strangely empty, and I was still contemplating this fact as we roared, once more done the runway, heading east, across the bay of Bengal.,

Once more the flight map was retrieved, and the latter page consulted….Our next stop was Kuala Lumpur, in Malaysia, just north of Singapore…..The Orient was certainly getting closer..

Even the vista was changing, and the view from the window had changed from dusky brown to clear azure blue…and to celebrate it, yet another meal, the third of the day, although the term day, didn’t seem to have much meaning. Was it, still today..? We were heading into bright sunshine now, and it would soon be behind us, as it headed West, while we headed ever further East.

I had lost track of all time. Was it six hours since we had left Calcutta, or seven. Glancing at my watch gave me no answers. Was it morning or evening.. Oh well never mind, it was obviously a long way yet to go, and….Can I have another scotch please.

Calcutta was far behind us, and I had slept uneasily, waking suddenly, and deciding to watch the in-flight movie.

Was that that another dawn on the horizon, I wondered, as looking out I could discern the bright sunshine on the horizon.. There were sounds of clinking from afar. Another meal, this time breakfast, must be imminent, which was confirmed minutes later as everyone began to stir, with folk shuffling up and down the gangway, clutching the inevitable toiletries bag.

Queues formed at all the toilets, with everyone attempting to make themselves presentable, after their nights rest.

The inevitable meal, (breakfast) soon appeared, so I deduced it must be another day, and once more we began the long descent, heading over clear blue seas , and on the horizon, the unmistakable signs of land could be seen.

The lower we descended, the brighter the colours became, the blueness of the ocean contrasting with almost white beaches, and deep green of the jungle foliage along the shoreline,

Jungle gave way to green rolling hills, followed by the gleaming white, high rise skyscrapers of Kuala Lumpur.

With the exception of the disembarking passengers, everyone stayed aboard, the doors wide open, allowing the steamy heat to permeate to the cabin. I walked to the open door, and. looking across the airport, to where through the haze, the hills beyond shimmered in the heat.

Our stop here was supposed to be one hour, but for some unknown reason was closer to two, before we took departed once more, heading for my final destination of Singapore, just fifty minutes, and another quick drink .away

Spot on schedule, just forty minutes later we were on final approach into Changi the airport of Singapore. with the same "Manhattan" skyline we had seen in the Malaysian capital clearly visible.,as we skimmed over the palm tress fringing the white sandy beaches.

Changi airport was a big surprise.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was not expecting an airport like this It was the most modern airport in the world, with construction completed only a few years previously. It was festooned with plants and trees everywhere, from the arrivals area, all the way through to the terminal concourse.

Formalities were the most rapid I had ever experienced, and within thirty minutes of arrival, I was at the terminal exit, where the warm tropical air hit me, like stepping into a large oven, as I walked through the doors, which closed immediately behind me.

Lines of taxis were drawn up on the roadside, and one drew to a stop in front of me…The driver jumped out, grabbing my case…Where to mister, he inquired.

The Hotel Merlin Plaza I replied.. Its on Beach Road…That’s right he replied as I climbed into the seat beside him….I know it well.

The taxi was cool after the heat outside, as we turned away from the airport, turning onto a dual carriage-way heading towards the city.

The East Coast highway, ran alongside the ocean, the verges were well tended lawn and bordered with flowers. The central reservation covered with plants of all descriptions, the pedestrian overpasses festooned with hanging plants.. I was beginning to understand the reason for Singapore being called "Flower City".

My driver a Chinese guy was busy humming gently to himself, when, just thirty minutes later we passed over the Benjamin Shires bridge, spanning the harbour, turning left, and past the famous Raffles Hotel.

The signpost read "Beach Road"…..The plaza hotel I noted being walking distance from "Raffles", and I promised myself to visit at the earliest opportunity.

At the Plaza, my reservations were confirmed, and like the airport, the formalities were extremely rapid, and I was soon ensconced in my comfortable and spacious room on the fifth floor, with a glorious view of the harbour, and that bridge we had just passed over.

After a shower and a change of clothes I called the Company office to inform tem of my safe arrival. The receptionist welcomed me. Yes she said,, I was expected, but as its late in the afternoon she suggested I travel down to the office the following morning.

Will nine o’clock be okay she inquired, giving me directions on how to locate the office..

There was plenty of daylight left, and an ideal opportunity to investigate the surrounding area, and discover what the hotel had to offer..

There were twenty seven floors to the Merlin Plaza. Complex. The hotel proper occupied the first fifteen, with the health club, Gym, swimming pool etc, on floor No 12, the remaining floors being service apartments. .

A good nights sleep was certainly overdue, with a touch of Jetlag beginning to affect me, so following a light meal, and a couple of drinks in the bar, I returned to my room

Booking an early call for the morning, I fell into the large comfortable bed, and was asleep almost immediately.

At eight am the following morning the telephone rang….My early call. Almost midnight according to my watch, which I realised I had not adjusted since departing Europe, and reminding me , Its tomorrow here, but still yesterday there.??

After breakfast in the hotel coffee shop, I stepped out through the hotel entrance, where although early in the morning was pleasantly warm, but not oppressive, but now, I was dressed for the weather, with an open neck shirt, and linen jacket although my necktie was safely housed in the jacket pocket, just in case the dress convention here demanded thus.. The streets were already busy, taxis cruising in and out of the hotel environs. Hailing one them, heading for the address given to me the previous evening,

Middle Road.

It was less than a ten minutes journey, through the Business Zone, an area where I discovered later, that a permit is necessary for all private vehicles entering. Middle Road. was just inside this zone and a brass plaque on a nondescript looking building, informed me that this was the Singapore offices of our Dutch Company..

Climbing the stairs to the reception area, I approached a glass door, embellished with the Company logo. Knocking just once, I entered.

A young Asian girl, sitting behind a large wooden desk looked up. Good morning sir she said in a very soft voice, can I help you.. I introduced myself., and she replied, Oh yes, I am Polly, we spoke last evening. Welcome to Singapore, I hope you had a pleasant flight, .

Yes I replied, thank you Polly, the hotel was pleasant, and after such a long journey, very welcome

Well she said, its nice to meet you, please come in and meet everyone, indicating a doorway behind her desk

The office was light and airy, with picture windows overlooking the street, Metal desks were arranged in groups in the centre of the room, and tropical plants, in large pots, were strategically located around the room..

Papers and files were spread out all over the large table at one end of the room, and curious faces looked up from behind the desks as we entered.

Introductions were simple, and I was to form my own impression of my colleagues here in the coming months.

I met the resident manager, a tall gangling man from the wilds of Surrey, who everyone addressed as Wally, although I later discovered he preferred to be called Wallace. Like me had been recruited from the European (UK) office, and had only been here for a few weeks, and it transpired that most of us were "new boys", and the office was in its infancy.

David, a pilot in his spare time, was the commercial manager, with a penchant for snappy dressing. Two Australian Engineers, were completely the opposite, dressing in floral shirts, and sneakers, much to the disapproval of "Wallace"

An extrovert New Zealander, with a permanent smile on his face was our Structural Engineer, who subsequently became my constant companion at the East Coast Sailing club, where we both learnt the skills, or was it an art, of Windsurfing.

Two local guys made up the complement, A chubby Chinese and his colleague, a native from Malaysia.

The were two other ladies of the office, our secretarial, staff who in addition to Polly, who manned the reception, added a touch of glamour to the place They all dressed extremely well, putting all the males to shame, and were more in keeping with Bond Street than our small office. in Middle Road.

After that first day, things settled down to the daily work schedule, and life was very easy going. Polly our "Girl Friday", very petite, with long black hair down to her waist , would greet us each morning with coffee. Janet who was PA to Wally…(Sorry "Wallace") , and of model proportions, tall and elegant, given to wearing a different outfit every day of the week, would take care of all the administration problems, be it work permits with the authorities, to arranging bank accounts for us expatriates

Our Managing Director, together with the Company accountant were located elsewhere in the city, only appearing for the weekly meetings, held to discuss the work progress, and more importantly, to sign our salary cheques, and expense accounts..

My hotel expenses for the first fourteen days, would be paid by the company. Following that period I was expected to find a suitable place to live, for which I would be allowed a set amount each month.

The first two weeks therefore, were occupied by the hunt for such, and I soon found that the cost of living in Singapore, and particularly rents, were much higher than those in Europe and after a week of studying the local newspapers, and viewing a few properties, I was no nearer finding a place to live.

With only a few more days to go, before my fourteen days expired, I discovered there was a fully furnished apartment available, located on the upper reaches of the Merlin Plaza Complex.

But could I afford it..??.

Negotiations with the owner commenced, and after a little bargaining, he agreed to let me have it on a year’s lease, for a price which would not break my budget..

With this problem solved life settled down to a regular routine. I had a place to stay, the bank accounts had been arranged, with a little help from Janet, and the necessary residence and work permits had all been submitted to the authorities.

Finally, my transport, a vehicle provided by the company, a"must" item anywhere in the world, and mine here, was a Datsun Cherry, slightly diminutive, but nevertheless transport. . .

I was mobile, had a place to lay my head, and itching to sample the delights of Singapore.

Dressing in my linen jacket, and donning my only necktie, I headed down Beach Road in the "Cherry", and into the car park at "Raffles" hotel. Handing the car keys to the attendant, As I headed towards the entrance, the "Cherry" passed me, heading for the car parking area at the rear of the hotel.

Why not the front car park I thought. There was plenty of space alongside the Ferrrari’s and Bentleys, but I thought it best not to object on this occasion ? .

I strolled into the lobby, and through into the bar. An enormous area, and littered with wicker chairs and tables. This is the place where Somerset Maughan would sit, I thought to myself, sipping drinks, playing backgammon and possibly even planning his next novel.?.

I wandered up to the bar and ordered a "Singapore Sling", something I had heard off but not really sure what it comprised…..When it arrived I was still unaware of its contents, and other than deciding it was a concoction of many ingredients, topped by a mountain of fruit, and drunk through a straw, I headed, with my mountainous drink and headed for a table, where I could safely contemplate, and peruse the other occupants, most of whom were imbibing drinks considerably less conspicuous than mine.

.By the time my "Sling" had almost disappeared, the place had filled up, with most of the tables now occupied by groups of people, including a group of chines who had begone a lod game of Ma Jong…. I suddenly felt somewhat conspicuous and decided to call it a day, returning to the Merlin aprtment..

There was a more serious side to life in Singapore, however, and work proliferated, keeping us busy from eight in the morning until after five in the evening, with little time for much else.

Representatives from our client "Shell" who were located in Brunei and Sarawak , visited Singapore regularly, and extensive discussions would be held, which lasted well into the evenings..

Holidays in Singapore were varied, tmany, with Chinese, Moslem and of course the Christian festivals all being celebrated.. The Christmas holidays occurred not long after my arrival and were very welcome, giving me an opportunity to experience the delights of shopping in Singapore. There was a further bonus, with all the stores staying open late, for the whole of the holiday period.

It was an experience strolling around the many Shopping Malls, and Plaza’s which abounded here. Each of these Malls included stores, cinemas, and restaurants on the different floors, with one level reserved for car parking, which ensured there was never a parking problem. Parking on the street is frowned upon by the local authority, and would lead to a fairly hefty fine, with on occasion the offending vehicle removed to the local pound. .

Orchard Road, is to Singapore, what Regent street is to London, and department stores from both the East and the Western world, could be found here.

"Isetan" from Tokyo, "Gallerie Lafayette" from Paris, and "John Little", of London, the latter, not a name which is well known, but it is the Non de plume of "Marks and Spencer".Just why thay don’t market as M&S I don’t know, but all the goods are identical to the stores in the UK, and the prices in Singapore are considerably less. .

All the stores carried top name goods, but there were other establishments where anything "lookalike" be it watches like Rolex, or Cartier, etc, or any other designer product, could be had for a fraction of the cost of the original on sale in Orchard Road

Parking on the streets was unknown in the city centre. During weekdays it was necessary to have an "Entry permit" affixed to the windscreen in order to enter the precincts of the what was referred to as the Business District of the City,

The only private vehicles allowed to enter without this permit, were those with four passengers, or more, public transport, and taxis.

The daily cost of these permits was almost 10 pounds sterling, but as "Middle road" was (just) within these precincts, we were lucky enough to have them provided by the company, which made our forays into the city affordable,.

Singapore is a very small nation, having a land mass of only 225 square miles and a population of just 2 million.

With a host of incoming visitors from points East who stopover here, on their way to Europe, (and the reverse)., plus the many tourists, it seems, on occasion that "visitors" vastly outnumbered the population..

Singapore has many faces, and some of them a little seamy, which some of the more adventurous among the Expat community sampled .

The bars on the Raffles Quay waterfront, included the infamous Offshore club, closed down by the authorities on many occasions, but managing to bounce back, until the next riot, which invariably left the place like a pile of matchwood.

The back street clubs and bars, where the "Girls from Bangkok" would congregate, and where, on a regular basis, they would be rounded up by the Immigration police, and shipped back to Thailand, but they eventually returned to Singapore, by one route or another, when the process would be repeated

Bugis Street, known as the best place in Singapore for fried chicken wings, but possibly even better known for the absolutely beautiful women who frequented the area..

But Singapore was full of surprises, and these beauties, were not really women at all, but Males, who had a longing to be the opposite sex, spending vast sums in the process of achieving their ambition.

For all the "seamy atmosphere" of the place there was surprisingly little crime, even drunkenness in public places being firmly dealt with, and sometimes quite severely . Drugs were a different problem and not even mentioned, probably due to the fact that possession of even a small amount could result in dire penalties, including the death penalty, if trafficking was proved.? .

Eating out was the norm, and could be less costly than eating in. The best value could be found at the many "Hawker" centres, or street bazaars, where for a few local dollars, a sumptuous meal would be available/

One of the favourite haunts was Newton Circus, close to the centre of town, where there were myriad stalls offering the most mouth watering dishes. After making your selection of dishes, from the many stalls, it remained only to find a shady spot, and after just a few moments the dishes would appear. Just how the stall-holders remembered who had ordered which, and where you were was a mystery we never managed to resolve.

Fow something different a visit to Satay park was a must. Satay is succulent pieces of meat, of your choice, together with vegetables, on a bamboo skewer, and grilled over a charcoal fire, served with peanut butter sauce, and accompanied by fruit juices, which defy belief, Crushed Sugar Cane and Pineapple, Coconut Milk, clear and sweet, with Mango juice, just two amongst the staggering variety available

For seafood, a trip to "Sambawang", on the northern coast, and although an hours drive from the city, was well worth the trip.

An amazing variety of shellfish dishes, with "Chili Crab", the house speciality. The live crabs all displayed in a very large tank, would be individually selected by the diner, subsequently cooked to perfection, smothered in Chili Sauce, and washed down with liberal amounts of "Tiger" beer. Suitable tools, (nutcrackers, and hammers), were provided to the owner, in order for the diners to get the most succulent meat, and following the meal the tables would be cleared, by the waiters, and "hosed down" ready for the next group. . .

Weekends were the only time we would indulge in the many, and varied pursuits available all over the island. Two days of relaxation, and in a tropical climate. With Singapore being only one degree off the equator, the sun shone almost every day of the year with winter an unknown word.

Summer temperatures were in the mid thirties and seldom dropped below twenty degrees.

A few miles out of the city was the East Coast Recreation Sailing Centre, where water sports of all kinds could be found. At weekends it was thronged with folk of all nationalities some more active than others, indulging in sailing of all kinds, or just lounging around in the wicker chairs, sipping cool drinks.

The latest water sport of that period, was that of windsurfing, something I had never attempted, probably due to the vagaries of the European weather, but the waters here were considerably warmer, than those around the European shores. So that New Zealander colleague, and myself decided to "give it a try". After watching a few of the locals skimming across the waves, it didn’t look too difficult.

We invested in a lightweight "board", a seven foot long plank of hard plastic covered polyethylene, twelve inches wide. The rest of the equipment, being a fibreglass mast, twenty feet in length, which attached to the :"board", via a swivel joint, and finally, the very necessary three square metres of sail surrounded by a wooden hoop to hold on to.

We found that standing upright on the board posed something of a problem, with the board tending to roll around on the water, depositing us into the water, which was the least of our problem, as the sail and mast, usually descending on our head as we surfaced.

After a number of attempts we almost abandoned the entire exercise, but having invested a considerable sum of money in the equipment, we persisted, and after a few weekends of practice we discovered we could stay on the "plank" for longer and longer periods. and eventually actually move in more than one direction.

Over the coming months we actually became quite proficient. That first "rig" was replaced by state of the art equipment. Multi coloured sails, motif embellished board, and a few necessary accessories, such as rubber boots, gloves, and colourful shorts.

We both entered competitions, sailing for miles up and down the coast, and to our delight managed to gain some prizes, even beating the more experienced locals who had been doing this sort of thing for years.

It was agreed by all, This was a perfect place to live and work, a perfect climate, very agreeable people, and plenty of activities.

Being a resident of the Merlin Plaza, I was automatically a member of the Health Club, and I played squash regularly with "Wally" who proved to be a superior exponent of this game.. The climate was not really conducive to such exercise, but the pool was close by, and provided a means of cooling off after an hour in the court, whacking a small ball against a wall .

The other members of the team lived in similar surroundings, mostly condominiums, with all the usual facilities, such as swimming pools and tennis courts., where we would congregate, indulging in that very Australian pastime, the barbecue, (Barbie)

It was high summer in Europe, and my daughters wrote, asking if they could come spend some time with me in Singapore. It was a request I found impossible to refuse, and suitable airline tickets were obtained, and mailed to them.

I was subsequently relegated to sleeping on the living room couch, for the next month, during which time we took trips all over the Island. I introduced them both to the delights of the sailing club, where they made a big impression on the local male population, particularly the life guards, which meant I would have to keep a close eye on their activities.

I decided to introduce them into one of the most prestigious event in the sporting calendar, The yearly cricket match, played between the Financial members, and the Diplomat members of the Singapore cricket club.

These matches were something of "an Event" , the cricket pitch was located in the busiest part of the city, and bounded on both sides by the main road , where even a "Four" would cause traffic chaos.

Additional "fielders", recruited from the local police force were strategically located at the roadside, to restore order in the event of the ball being struck amongst the traffic.

After that first trip, during the summer, it was impossible to keep my daughters away, and the next opportunity was the following Christmas, when they insisted that "Dad" must not spend it alone. They would gladly give up the delights of Holland for a few weeks, and spend the holiday period with me, assuming of course that the "Old Man" would be kind enough to supply the tickets??

The Company Xmas party was to be held during their visit, and I had arranged to bring a partner, a Chinese girl; who I had met, recently, and who shared the same interests as I did, including a love of sailing.

I was a little apprehensive, and wondered if my "fraternising" with thee locals, would meet with the disapproval of either our Company "BigWigs", or my daughters.

My fears were totally unfounded, the evening went off famously, My partner and I danced the night away, my daughters finding no lack of young partners to entertain them.

Not only was I sleeping on the couch once more, but my social life was severely interrupted.

My "young lady" and the daughters, became inseparable, disappearing for extended shopping expeditions, which proved to cost me considerably more than I had bargained for, as they returned with the most outrageous "bargains".

Following the Christmas and new years holidays, the girls returned to the European winter, with life once again settling into a regular routine, with plenty to keep us all occupied in the office. An extended holiday early in the new year however, gave us the opportunity to be a bit more adventurous, and we decided to undertake a trip to Malaysia.

Loading the "Cherry", as I had lost the bet on whose car should be subjected to this journey, we started off early in the morning, heading for the Causeway across the Straits, which separated the island of Singapore, from the peninsula of Malaysia.

It was a pleasantly cool morning and the Causeway was not too busy, as we headed through the small Malaysian town of Johore Bahru., on the opposite side, and onto the highway leading to Kuala Lumpur

The roads were good, and with minimal traffic. The highway wound through the hills and forests of the lowlands, soon getting steeper as we climbed into the mountainous areas.

The trip was uneventful, taking less than five hours before we could discern the city of Kuala Lumpur, on the horizon.

Bypassing Kuala Lumpur, we headed for Genting, high in the mountains, which could be accessed ( in a straight line) by cable car, and by car, up a very long winding road…..We chose the more direct

Once at the top, the vista was of fluffy clouds, the city almost out of sight.

Accommodation was at the luxury hotel, where we parted with some of our Malaysian "Ringgets" in the casino, before descending once more to Kuala Lumpur, for one last look, before returning to Singapore later in the evening, another five hour trip, arriving back exhausted, but exhilarated We all agreed, it was a great success, and we would spend longer, on our next trip, and discover more of Malaysia in the very near future

Another summer was here, but this year the daughters heading elsewhere for their summer vacation. My relationship was blooming, and I was invited to a grand affair, organised by her employer, a public relations company, for one of their clients..

The evening was a roaring success, and very up market. Me, in a rented Tuxedo, with my companion looking gorgeous in a ball gown of white silk

We drunk champagne, and I made the mistake of downing far too many oysters, feeling distinctly queasy, for days after the event.

During my stay in Singapore I played my first (and only) game of Baseball. Well it was actually Softball but the principle was similar. It was arranged by one of the Ladies Colleges, and we were quite convinced that a team of beefy males could beat these diminutive Asian girls….

But we were very wrong, being well and truly beaten, and quite humiliated,. A return march was offered by us males, who suggested the game be cricket, instead of Softball, , but this offer was not taken up

The work was progressing well, and close to completion. The contracts with Shell Brunei were coming to an end, and there was talk of the Company closing the Singapore offices, and relocating to Malaysia.

My opposite number in Sarawak had asked if I would consider coming over and continuing the work there, but I was unsure of what future plans the Company had for the Singapore office, and declined the offer.

During the coming months rumours were rife, with much coming and going from our Head Office in Holland, finally culminating with the Company informing us of the imminent closure if the Singapore office, with the offer to recompense us with a bonus of three months salary.

It was a sad period. All of us very disappointed, with morale very low. .

Wally and I travelled over to Sarawak and Brunei, to complete all the current contracts, and ensure all the outstanding invoices were settled.

It seemed that I was destined to return to Europe, My lease was not due to expire for another month, and I had decided to stay there for as long as possible.

I spent almost every day the East Coast Sailing club, wondering what life would be like back in Holland.

Returning, late in the evening, after a day spent on the beach, contemplating what seemed to be a dull future, I had a call from one of the Australian guys. Shell in Sarawak have been trying to get in touch he informed me. . You lucky bugger…They have a vacancy and want you over there "Yesterday".

So began my experiences in Sarawak,on the island of Borneo, which was to change my life beyond all recognition.

This then was to become my home for many years, where the only developments, along the coast were those carried out by the Oil Company, who had brought me here. Where there are places, in the interior where man has never set foot

This is a "Story Book" land, with many strange tales abounding, although tales of Headhunters were much exaggerated. The early pioneers, (Shell had been here since the early thirties), had to make do with the bare essentials, and there are still many examples of the colonial style houses built with t he local hardwood, reminiscent of Tea, coffee and Rubber plantations which exist up to the present day .

For those unfamiliar with the geography of the region, , the island of Borneo is part way between Australia and China. It is approximately 60% Indonesian, with 40% Malaysian.

The Malaysian provinces being Sarawak in the south, and Sabah, previously British North Borneo to the north, with the independent state of Brunei, sandwiched between them

Arrival in Sarawak was something of a culture shock. I had resided in Singapore for the last few years, and although I had experienced the vagaries of travel to Borneo on previous occasions, it had been of short duration, and I had previously travelled light. This time I was loaded with luggage, and here to stay.

Only a two hour trip from Singapore, but it was like travelling back in time. The airport at Kuching, the capital of Sarawak, was undeveloped, the terminal building a small single storey timber building, which meant , a long walk from the aircraft.

The flight from Singapore, as I was well aware, terminated at Kuching, and there would be a three hour wait until the Malaysian airline flight, from Kuala Lumpur arrived, to deliver me to the final destination, the Oil town of Miri, a one hour journey along the coast.

Immigration and customs formalities at Kuching proved to be "lengthy", taking up almost half the waiting time. I mused, maybe that’s the reason for the long time between connecting flights.

I finally headed into the terminal building, which was without air conditioning, the air being stirred, by numerous ceiling fans., I found a spot, close by one of them, flopping into a chair

The terminal soon began to fill with passengers, the public address suddenly crackling to announce the flight to Miri, (and points north), was ready for boarding

Collecting my luggage which had cleared customs, I checked it in once more.

I was on the way.

I was a very uneventful flight, travelling along the coast, with the South China on one side and a mysterious looking jungle terrain on the other. Just fifty minutes later we arrived in the coastal town of Miri, .

As I walked to the airport building, the trucks arrived to collect the baggage, and I mused on my previous journey here. This time with luggage to impede me, the formalities would not be as simple as my previous experiences..

All the luggage was delivered to the airport building, a wooden structure much smaller than the terminal, in Kuching, perhaps terminal was not really the correct word, and I soon discovered it did not even have the luxury of ceiling fans..

A number of large trolleys, piled high with cases and packages were deposited just inside the building lobby, , with the passengers crowded around, all attempting to retrieve their belongings. As joined the throng I hoped that my luggage was somewhere near the top of the pile, or worse still, that mine would still be there, after the crowd had dispersed..

But all was well, and after a few minutes my suitcases and I were reunited, and I followed the crown to the exit.

It wasn’t that simple though, and discovered that despite gong through customs at Kuching, I was obliged to clear it all again. However, it appeared to be just a formality, and after just a cursory look at me, and the luggage, I was waved through.

With all my luggage surrounding me, hot and quite exhaustedl, I was finally out of the building, and despite the heat, found it preferably to the arrival area, which had been stifling.

The matter of finding transport was the next obstacle

Amongst all the varied vehicles parked in the area around the "terminal", there were none with a discernable "Taxi" sign, and one by one, they soon disappeared, leaving only a few trucks and a few bicycles in the dusty car park.. .

All was not lost however, and I soon discovered that the natives were a very enterprising bunch of people, and I was approached by one of the remaining vehicle owners, who, for a modest amount, offered to transport me, and the luggage to the Shell offices at Lutong, which he informed me was not too far away.

It was a moderately pleasant drive, the road was paved most of the way, with only an occasional area of potholes, a fact which my driver was obviously aware, avoiding the worst of them, much to my consternation, as he suddenly swung across the road for no apparent reason.

The road wound through the unspoilt countryside, bypassing the small fishing village of Miri, up and over the hill, from where the South China sea could be seen sparkling in the distance, and after just 30 minutes, we arrived at Lutong, the major headquarters of Shell in Sarawak, where thanking my driver, I parted with a few of the colourful currency notes, and wished him well,

Collecting my luggage I headed for the adjacent building, signposted Admin/Visitors, feeling considerably more relaxed, and confident, after the journey from Singapore, where the lifestyle had been very "westernised", Here in Sarawak, it was going to be different, but how different was something I was to find out .??. .

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The Shell base at Lutong was small, comprising a cluster of timber offices, a small refinery complex and a profusion of oil storage tanks. The main facilities were the offshore gas and oil production fields, where products were loaded into tankers offshore for subsequent export around the world.

I was aware of the numerous developments underway, including extensions to the offshore gas production facilities, and it was this offshore development I would be involved with.

Just a mile away from these offices was the "Camp", An enclave of a few dozen houses, of varying size, surrounded by palm trees and neat well tended lawns, in which many of the personnel were housed..

For the married personnel they were spacious, raised of the ground, (on stilts), with the area under the house, a cool place to house the car. The bachelor accommodation on the opposite side of the road was simpler, and smaller, bungalow’s, which I was to discover, extremely comfortable, the air conditioning making it feel like a refrigerator after my journey from Kuching

The total "Expat" population was modest, being only a few hundred. The permanent "Shell personnel resided on the Shell Enclave, the other "indirectly employed " expatriates, who possibly outnumbered the "Shell" guys being housed in outlying areas, in housing which I was later to discover was even more luxurious to the company married quarters..

A visit to the personnel department was arranged for the following day, and proved to be quite simple. The contract was initially for a two year term,. With all the usual formalities taking less than an hour, I headed for the offices, where following introductions to the other members of the team, I met my boss, the man I was to work with for the next few years.

He was a grizzled Dutchman, middle aged, and with a shock of grey hair, but vastly different in temperament to that Construction man I had worked under. In Iran

A very articulate man , and I noted his office was filled with books on a variety of subjects, and I was later to discover his all consuming interest was the study of the indigenous peoples of Sarawak.

The following few weeks were spent in acclimatizing to the way things were done here, and the work proved interesting, and varied. The normal working hours were from 7am until 3pm, and having been provided with a company vehicle, just a little larger than the "Cherry", I had in Singapore, the journeys to and from the office being only a few miles, I decided it was time to investigate the immediate area.

The road system was simple, there was only one road, which heading south, led to Miri,, and beyond to the airport, and in the opposite direction, (to the north), to Brunei, some 60 miles away.

The other Malaysian province of Sabah was a further 100 miles, but was inaccessible by road, I was informed.

Taking up an offer from one of my colleagues, a dour Scot, who had been here for many years, to "show me around", we headed for Miri where the Shell Club.was situated

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The Shell "Club" in Miri boasted a superb restaurant, and a variety of sports facilities, and a good sized swimming pool,. Another "Shell" facility, was the Boat Club, just a short distance from the Camp, and along the coast at Piasau. This offered sailing, and windsurfing, which aroused my interest, although my equipment was still in Singapore, being cared for by my Lady Friend.

Piasau, was a small village, of some dozen local houses, and also housed the only "Supermarket " in the area, which had a good selection of European produce.

Piasau was the preferred venue during the lunch period, and was considerably cheaper than the Shell Club.

It wasn’t too long before I found my way around, travelling into the town of Miri, no more than a few miles from Lutong, browsing the many stores and markets, where produce, including some of the more exotic (and unknown) variety could be found., Eggs sold by weight, live chickens, minus feet, to stop them escsping I was informed by a local, and a profusion of fresh fish, landed daily from the boats plying the South China seas,

I would then head back to my "bachelor pad", to relax after a days work.

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The town of Miri was jokingly named "Dodge City" in the early days, with its two main streets aptly named"Front Street", and "Back Street", the only two thoroughfares, but during my stay here, it very soon expanded, with restaurants, bars and discos springing up all over the town.

In all my travels I had not experiences any major degree of crime, but here, in the wilds of Sarawak, it took a most bizarre form.

The first tale involved a case of highway robbery, when a friend, travelling late one evening, was confronted by a bunch of locals brandishing Parangs, (rather nasty looking meat cleavers), who stopped his car, and demanded money…..Discovering he had only a few dollars in his possession, they demanded more….After explaining he did not have any other cash he offered to give them a cheque, made out to cash……To his surprise, after a discussion between them, they accepted, and duly went on their way.???

These highwaymen were subsequently apprehended the following day, when they attempted to cash this at the local bank..???.

Another odd case was of a burglary at one of the company houses, during the absence of the occupants who were on their annual vacation. The only items missing appeared to be clothing, including a very smart pin striped suit, which only saw the light of day at the yearly functions.

The burglar was eventually caught after being seen strolling thru town clad in a pin stripe suit, a tee shirt advertising a well know beer, and a pair of dusty sandals.. .

Life here was pleasant, although a little basic. Travel was not easy, unless you were prepared to fly everywhere. Paved roads were in short supply , extending only as far as the town boundaries, just past the airport, and the company facilities at Lutong.

Expeditions to the nether regions of Sarawak were not to be taken lightly, and there were a multitude of hazards, the least of which were the lack of infrastructure, but this all added to the romance of the place.

A visit to a "Longhouse", was fascinating, where true communal living was the norm.

Life for these local inhabitants revolved around a veranda, running the whole length of the Longhouse, with as many families occupying the Longhouse as there were doors, the norm being One Hundred

A visit to these friendly people necessitated a bottle of scotch, for the headman, and bags of candy for the children. The overnight stay, which was obligatory, would be a good excuse for a party thrown by all the longhouse residents, with gastronomic delights, containing unknown ingredients, which proved to be delicious, and of course, much imbibing of the local rice wine, The morning ablutions, were undertaken at a nearby rock pool, and showering in a waterfall where the water was ice cold was an somewhat unique experience. . . .

We became inveterate explorers, travel to Gunnong National park which was spectacular, with the largest caves on the planet. A stout pair of boots and a local guide were a must, as once inside it was as black as pitch, and infested with creatures which could not always be seen, but from the sounds the imagination would run wild.

Like much of Borneo, the area of the caves were only accessible by river, and great care was taken on these trips. A large proportion of what appeared to be floating logs, in the muddy river would suddenly exhibit teeth, and although quite shy, we were informed would certainly take a bite at anything dangling in the water

We were introduced to places and things I had never experienced before, the jungle retreat of Sepolok, where Orang Utan, (the Malay word means Wild men of the Jungle), live wild in a jungle sanctuary, a journey by steam train, (the only one in the country) across the Crocker mountains, and through the jungles of Sabah, a journey of more than 100 miles.

Travel to Brunei was well worth the effort. The Expatriate community was considerably larger than that in Sarawak, and the Shell club their, a good source of information. British Airways flights, heading for Australia stopped over, every Friday , and English newspapers no more than a few days old could be obtained.

Beer and fuel in Brunei was cheaper in Brunei too, and although the journey could end up in disaster many of us would attempt the trip

The real problem was the unreliability of the two river crossings, the first just a few miles from Lutong, the other in Brunei, close to the border. There were no paved roads, and during good weather the rough track was passable. During bad weather the "road became a quagmire, and anyone becoming stuck, would have to pay for a tow from one of the trucks who regularly made this journey. There was however another route from Sarawak though to Brunei, although this too had its hazards…This was along the beach. However care had to taken to ensure the tide was "going out", as being caught by an incoming tide could lead to a long walk if the car got stuck in the soft sand.

One truck driver found to his cost that being stuck on the incoming tide, could be more than just wet feet. Deserting his vehicle, he returned later to find it buried in the sand, up to the roof. That vehicle was never seen again??

The ferry crossing across the Baram river, only a few miles from Lutong was the most troublesome. The river was almost a mile wide at this point, with treacherous currents.

It would take the chain ferry more than thirty minutes to get across the river, and it was advisable to arrive at a very early hour, but there was no guarantee. It was not unknown for travellers to still be waiting for a ferry at midday

The ferry within Brunei was a much simpler affair, the river much smaller and further from the coast, with the advantage of it being a "Drive on Drive off", The Sarawak Ferry across the Baram was not, with access only from one end. If you drove on, then it was necessary to "reverse off’, and that meant down two timber strips, not much wider than the wheels of your vehicle.

If anyone was unfortunate enough to have an " an accident" and missed the ramps, the whole operation came to a standstill, sometimes for hours on end

Overland travel to Sabah was possible only by the most intrepid traveller, but had proved inaccessible by the average car, the tracks, and paths through the jungle proving to be too small. The only person who had reportedly made it all the way, utilised a motor cycle, but the trip had taken him, (and his pillion rider) more than a day.

Some foolhardy souls had attempted the journey, but even with a four wheel drive, had found the route impassable beyond Brunei, returning after two days in the jungle, vowing never to attempt such an expedition again

Travel then was definitely by air, just a thirty minute flight from Miri, and well worth the effort. There were two International Resort Hotels based in Sabah, on the coast, the most luxurious the Tanjong Aru, located on the beach, where the cost of a weekend stay was well within our means, but the flights were popular and the "Fokker Friendship" aircraft used on this route were of limited capacity , so booking well in advance was a necessity..

Sabah was paradise, and trips to Mount Kinabalu, the highest mountain on the island of Borneo, and the adjacent National Park available

For the very adventurous, travel to the top of Mount Kinabulu was a must. A two day trip, with an overnight stop half way up, but it proved to be a hard slog and certainly required a high degree of fitness.

My many letters back home, extolling the wonders of Borneo resulted in my daughters deciding. They simply "must" come and see for themselves., which they did, (on more than one occasion).

Their visits were like those to Singapore, during the holiday periods, (summer and winter), which meant I was once more reduced to sleeping on a couch for weeks, and although I had two bedrooms in the bungalow, I only had one bed.

Life in Borneo was basically a bachelor existence, unlike Singapore, and there was a limited social life, except for the few dinner invitations to some of the other family expatriates who lived outside the Shell camp, including my good friend Neil, the Scot whom I had met on my arrival

We would sit in his living room, together with his wife and two children, reminiscing on the delights of Scotland and consuming his favourite tipple, Famous Grouse whisky and Seven Up.

I saw her quite by chance, She was, sitting in the corner of the lobby bar, accompanied by a group of when I first saw her. It was early on a Friday evening, and I had come into town to do some shopping, stopping of for a "quick one". She was not too tall, with short jet black hair, and had a mischievous look in her eye.

I caught her eye, and as she, and her companions left, she smiled to me.

I too left the bar intending to have dinner in the Shell club, but changing my mind, headed for one of the new places in town, a disco type restaurant, which was reputed to have an excellent menu.

Walking in through the double doors, I looked around for a table. It was not busy and quiet at that time of the evening.

As I looked across the room in the gloom it was unmistakable, It was "that girt", the one I had just seen in the hotel bar. She was sitting with the same group of people, and as she looked over at me, she smiled. But that’s typical I thought, all the girls around here do that.

The meal I had ordered arrived, and I found myself looking over to where she sat, and as I ordered a beer, was wondering who she was, and who was the guy, a local, with her.?

Over the following week’s, I found myself looking for her, visiting that same disco on many occasions, but she never appeared.

It was a weekend, and together with a group of friends, celebrating a birthday, in the lobby bar of that Hotel.

Suddenly I looked across the room, and there she was. again, and sitting with that same group of friends, and looking in our direction. I smiled at her, and she raising her glass in response, .

This time I was determined she would not depart before I discovered who she was, and as I walked to the bar to order another round of drinks, I passed her table.

She looked up at me, and, with a smile said, So, we meet again, Yes I replied, I keep running into you, and your "entourage",

Well I had better let you know who this entourage are she said, introducing me to her companions.

She and her brother (the local guy) it seems were here visiting their relatives. Her married sister lived on the outskirts of Miri, and they regularly travelled down from Kuching.

We are going down to the disco later she said, why don’t you and your friends join us, there.

..

I danced with her for the rest of the evening, and she told me she was returning to Kuching the following day..

That’s a pity I said, but when you come to Miri again, give me a call, and I will meet you at the airport, and take you dancing again….

Laughing she retorted…..Maybe. .

Just a week later, I was pleasantly surprised when she called, and as promised, I picked her up at the airport, and we wined and dined for the next few days, before once more she departed, back to Kuching.

In the months that followed, we met almost every weekend. We became almost permanent residents at the Boat club, spending hours on the veranda of the clubhouse, whiling away the time, as she told me about life in Borneo, and her family in Kuching

We travelled to Sabah, where she guided me around the old sections of the town, explaining all the aspects of the Malay culture.

We visited her sister, meeting her brother in law, who was "Iban", one of the indiginous native groups, who like the "Dyaks" and "Penans" were originally nomadic, and had lived in the jungles, of Sarawak, but who were now being integrated into life in the towns..

I was fascinated by the tales of years past, of the tales of the "headhunters" of the region. During our many trips to the interior we did, on one occasion see evidence of Headhunting (a shrunken head), but were told in no uncertain terms that what we had just experienced did not exist, as it was illegal to even posses just a gory relic from the past.

The stories we heard, and the ways of these friendly and hospitable peoples were fascinating, and the sense of loss they felt, at the developments being carried out to "their habitat", were understood by us…The destruction of the rain forests is something which has received more publicity of the years, and the plight oft these gentle people’s needs is receiving a degree of attention, but unfortunately, it seems that commercial interests will win the day..

During one visit I was informed …she couldn’t come down to Miri the following weekend.

But why don’t you come to Kuching instead she inquired, its not far away, and you could stay over in our guest house.. My relatives would be interested in meeting you.

It seemed a good idea, and the mention of "Guest House" intriguing. There had to be a good reason for such an invitation.??.

I travelled the following Friday evening, a little apprehensive at meeting her relatives. although all those I had met in Miri were pleasant, and made me feel very welcome.

As I walked from the aircraft towards the terminal building, I could see her at the entrance waving to me.

and as I walked through the door of the terminal ,she excitedly grabbed my arm, and we were whisked through immigration as if they did not exist.

Quite nonplussed, she still clutching my arm, we continued, through the exit door and into the car park.

A man in a peaked cap stood beside a large white car, and finally letting go of my arm she leapt into the back seat, beckoning me to get in too.

Welcome to Kuching she whispered, and I was so surprised that for a moment I didn’t respond, until the man in the peaked cap closed the door and got into the drivers seat.

Leaving the airport we headed toward the town, and just thirty minutes later pulled into a driveway, coming to a standstill behind a station wagon parked in front of a colonial style house

Jumping out she exclaimed This is it, come on I will show you around, explaining, This is my uncles house, and the little bit on that end is the Guest House, pointing at what looked like a large country house, attached to the colonial bulding

The "Little bit" was a self contained apartment and sumptuously furnished. Is that all you have for the weekend she continued, indicating my small overnight bag. Yes I replied, still a little taken aback by the evenings events, feeling more than just a little bit out of place.

My expression must have given me away. What’s the matter she asked, with that mischievous smile Didn’t I tell you about my uncle. He is Chief Minister here. Do you like the house….

No I mumbled you didn’t mention your uncle…..

And yes, the house is very nice…

From that moment on, I called her "Princess"

That weekend was an education, and I was on my best behavior, being introduced to the whole family of myriad uncles and aunts. . Her mother claimed she could not speak English, and on more than one occasion I noticed she was studying me intently, and I suspected she understood every word I uttered,

The uncles and aunts were, "Datin" and "Datuk", which were Malaysian "titles", but I never discovered if there was any equivalent to the aristocracy of the UK.

I must have satisfactorily "passed" the test, because the following weekend, as we sat by the river, the "Princess" informed me….My uncles liked you.

Following that initial visit I travelled to Kuching many times, falling in love with this place, a mixture of the old and the new, where tall hotels, and modern office blocks rubbed shoulders with the Colonial grandeur of bygone days, when the "White Rajahs" of Sarawak, (the Brooke family) held sway..

The "Princes came to Miri regularly, the romance blossomed, and later that year we were married… In Miri

Our honeymoon was a prolonged trip. To Kuala Lumpur where once more we headed for the Genting Highlands, travelling high into the mountains by cable car, staying there for a week.

From Kuala Lumpur we set off for Sabah, experiencing the most pampered luxury at the "Tanjung Aru" beach resort, with no Jungle trekking on this trip, just lazy days by the poolside, relaxing as we had never done before, and would probably never do again.

The "Princess" and I would sit in the Jacuzzi sipping cool drinks.

We would dance under the stars, to the sound of quiet guitars, from a Filipino group, or just sit on the balcony of our room, listening to the sound of the ocean.

Returning to Sarawak, (and Work once more), I was now a family man, and thus eligible for married accommodation, with "Shell" moving me out of my bachelor bungalow, and into one of those very grand three bedroomed house on stilts.

Achieving family status however involved its responsibilities, and we were now integrated into the "family" community on the camp, and expected to entertain accordingly.

Coffee Mornings, and dinner parties, were usual, although the "Princess" was not exactly a "Coffee morning" type, but the dinner parties were her "Forte" and she excelled, preparing the most exotic local dishes, the like of which had never been seen in this community before.

Our life was soon to be interrupted by another momentous event….

The birth of our sons…Twin Boys….

Life suddenly became hectic. It had been years since I had been a father , almost forgetting what a handful infants could be.

Now there were two of them demanding attention simultaneously.

The boys were a unique event here, and celebrities. Expat wives would normally disappear back to their homeland, returning months later, with their offspring, (if at all).

In contrast we had opted for a private clinic in Miri, where the boys were born, and overnight, we too became celebrities, even gaining a mention in the Managing Directors yearly speech.

A local nanny was employed, who was indispensable, and slowly life became a little less chaotic.

The boys grew with alarming speed, and I became a regular sight in town, pushing a "stroller" through the market. We were unique, our sons being the only twins in the area, which enhanced my "status".

Having a son in this part of the world was considered "Macho". And I had two.??.

Relatives arrived from far and wide, all bearing gifts of all kinds, it seemed the "Princess" must have been related to half the population of Sarawak.

The house began to fill up with non essential items, bicycles they would not ride for years, and electric train sets which provided me with hours of enjoyment, Neill and his family would visit, and it became a regular event for all of us to take over the Boat Club, the staff taking possession of the twins while Neill and I would have a game of tennis.

For our yearly vacation we decided to take a trip to UK, leaving the boys in the capable hands of the many relatives in Kuching.

Travelling to Sabah, we flew to Hong Kong where we were to connect with a Cathay Pacific flight, Non Stop to Gatwick.

As connecting passengers we would have an overnight stop in Hong Kong,, courtesy of the airline, and that experiences was beyond belief.

There would be a car, we were informed, to transport us to the hotel. But the car we discovered was not just any limousine….

A gleaming Rolls Royce was waiting for us, and our luggage which had "disappeared" upon our arrival in Hong Kong, miraculously reappeared later in the hotel room.

The service was identical upon our departure, the following day, with our luggage preceding us, and awaiting our arrival at the terminal.

The flight was excellent, although upon our arrival at Gatwick that Rolls Royce was conspicuous by its absence.

We stayed at a hotel close by the airport, and with this being the first trip the "Princess" had made to England, took full advantage, becoming tourists for the duration of our stay..

The daughters travelled over from Holland, and the three of them immediately "Hit it Off" travelling all over the town, more like sisters, discovering a shared passion for clothes, fashion and all things female..

Returning to Sarawak, I was plunged back into work, with more and more visitors arriving to coo over the twins who were beginning to appreciate all the attention they were receiving

Later in the year, thing began to change. The political climate demanding more and more locals (Malaysians) were employed in the industry, making a "rundown" of the expatriate community inevitable.

I was requested to remain for a further six months, until my Malaysian counterpart had integrated into the company routine, and I would be providing him with "on the job training".

I had no reason to refuse, although was disappointed that my years in this land would soon be at an end, with us all returning to the ways of life in Europe.

The "packers" perused all our belongings, my wife, the "Ptincess" informing them which was to packed and which were not., Yes the chairs are to go, and Please be careful to pack the computer properly.

Looks like six, or maybe an eight cubic metre job said the "Chief Packer" an experienced man from "Shell Transport", who specialised in transporting employees property around the world.

Over the next few weeks everything was carefully packed in robust cardboard boxes, ending up in a large wooden packing case, for eventual shipment (by sea freight), hopefully to arrive intact (in Holland) within the next two months.

We had a "Garage Sale" a week prior to our departure, and disposed of all the accumulated belongings, which had been collected over the past years.

Hundreds of audio tapes, purchased in the local markets, most of them pirate copies. Enough books to fill a small library, and innumerable boxes of household pots pans, and sundry items, were all laid out filling the area under the house.

Folk from far and wide arrived, spending the whole day perusing the objects on display, and it was late evening before it was all disposed off ..

The day finally arrived when we, accompanied by a throng of people headed for the airport, the twins in that trusty "stroller, excited at the prospect of the coming trip

Our itinerary was a flight to Singapore, vis Kuching where the Princess’s relatives would be congregated, to wish us well as we departed Sarawak

.

But there was to be one final adventure before we arrived back in the wintry climate of Europe, but that’s another tale.

It was after midnight, and we, my wife and myself, together with our year old twin sons, were afloat, somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean. . The four of us, were huddled in the stern of the "boat", an Arab style Dhow, accompanied only by the crew, four piratical looking locals, who spoke no English.

We headed further and further, from the lights of the harbour, with no other signs of life, the only noise the chuffing of the engine, and the swish of the sea.

After travelling for almost an hour, not a light was to be seen in any direction, and my wife was beginning to get a little apprehensive. When are we going to get there she exclaimed? Surely it cant be so far? Are you sure we are going in the right direction? I don't like this at all she continued getting even more agitated. As she huddled, together with the twins, in the back of the Dhow,

Don't worry I replied, they (the crew) must know what they are doing, and although I was loath to admit it, I was beginning to have the same doubts.

Lets turn back she implored, and after a few minutes contemplation, I stood up and headed for where the "crew" were standing at the front of the vessel, smoking and talking to each other, as we headed into the darkness of the ocean.

But explaining the situation to the crew, and persuading them to turn the boat around, and return us to the harbour was easier said than done. All my arguments and gesticulations were to no avail... they didn't understand a word I said.

However after some fifteen minutes of sign language, and in an effort to convince my wife of my authority.... A few threatening postures, it seemed to work.

With much mumbling amongst themselves, and looking at us in obvious disdain, they turned the boat around, heading back in the opposite direction.

The flight from Singapore had departed late in the evening, with arrival at Mali, the Maldives airport after midnight. The customs and immigration formalities were slow, and it was early in the morning when we finally stepped out of the island airport.

We were En Route to Europe, after travelling from Sarawak, on the island of Borneo, to Singapore, where we planned to stay, before travelling home to England the following day.

But, upon arrival in Singapore there had been a change of plans, deciding to break our journey, and take a "Holiday Stopover" on the way back to Europe.

The Company had provided air tick