Once an Expat, Always an Expat

By David Cotham

The book is a story of an ex-pat and his experiences, along with his
fellow ex-pat tales which includes helicopter evacuations from dangerous
situations, working with ex-KGB and IRA members, insider trade dealings,
encounters with mafia gangs, middle eastern conflicts, sex, funny tales including
romance, marraige and friendships forged in adversity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Aug 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499014815

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by David Cotham.

Library of Congress Control Number:           2014913229

ISBN:                  Hardcover                           978-1-4990-1476-1

                      Softcover                             978-1-4990-1474-7

                      eBook                                  978-1-4990-1481-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 08/19/2014

Xlibris LLC

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

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CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1: UK-Switzerland

Chapter 2: Nigeria

Chapter 3: Russia

Chapter 4: Canada—USA

Chapter 5: New Zealand

Chapter 6: Abu Dhabi

Chapter 7: Qatar

Chapter 8: Saudi Arabia

INTRODUCTION

I T’S 5 P.M. on a Friday evening in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, I’m sitting on an air-conditioning unit on the roof of my apartment with a view over the city. The sun has just set over the slums of Riyadh; there is an orange horizon and the call for prayer has just started. The crescent moon has a glow now and I’ve just been joined by Andy and Tony, two lads from Bristol.

My name is David Cotham. I am a 51-year-old engineer who has travelled the world, working since completing my apprenticeship in Newcastle upon Tyne, England, in 1978.

The countries I have worked in include Switzerland, Canada, Nigeria, Russia, New Zealand, Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Qatar, and now Saudi Arabia.

The thought of travelling was first planted in my head by my tutor at college, called Brian Nobel, a typical college professor type who wore fluffy jumpers and reminded me of a younger Einstein.

He once told me that being a building services engineer would enable me to work in any city in the world and got me thinking, ‘Why not?’

This book tells the story of travel, work, meeting interesting people, experiences, mixing with ex-KGB agents, helicopter evacuations from dangerous situations, challenges, and sex, and is full of funny tales.

CHAPTER ONE

UK-Switzerland

Hull, North Humberside

M Y FIRST WORKING trip away from my native Newcastle was to Hull, North Humberside and involved the selling of air conditioning equipment by myself and the boss of a company called ICC Ltd. Ian Fitzackerly, or as we called him, Fitz-exactly, went down to Hull to visit some customers.

Now Hull, known as Kingston upon Hull, is located in the East Riding of Yorkshire. It stands on the river Hull at its junction with the Humber estuary twenty-five miles in from the North Sea. The town of Hull was founded in the twelfth century. The monks of Meaux Abbey needed a port where the wool from their estate could be exported. They chose a place at the junction of the rivers Hull and Humber and built a quay. The city of Hull is unique in the UK in having had a municipally owned telephone system from 1902, sporting cream telephone boxes, not red telephone boxes as is the usual in the UK. Hull suffered badly during the Second World War; more than 1,200 people died during the Blitz, with 3,000 injured. This resulted in Hull being the most bombed city in the UK after London. Hull had 95 per cent of the city destroyed or damaged. Some areas of Hull lie in reclaimed land or below sea level, which has resulted in a lot of flood damage over recent years.

We were staying at a local hotel in Hull and visiting some local companies with our catalogues. While sitting in the hotel lounge, we could see the Humber Bridge, built between 1972 and 1981. We were told by the waitress that the bridge cost 250 million and went from Hull to Grimsby, and apparently because of the toll cost, nobody used it and they just drove around the city. We were then told that Hull had a famous floodwater defence barrier, but when they lowered it, the water rose up and went around it, flooding the town centre; strange city was this Hull! That day, we went to see a company called Marine Industrial Engineering and a guy called Bob Johnston. He was proud to show us his refrigeration cold-storage building, where he stored all his strawberries. All this company did was store strawberries, strawberries, and more friggin’ strawberries. Anyway, he took our catalogue and promised to buy more equipment off us and we arranged to meet that night for dinner. We arrived at the restaurant and had a pleasant prawn cocktail for starters and a nice steak for a main course. Then as the desert trolley came out, Fitzy turned to me and whispered, ‘Please, god, I hope he doesn’t order strawberries’, and guess what, he ordered strawberries, and Fitzy and I just fell off our chairs with laughter.

Ian Fitzackerly used to work for a company in Newcastle called HC Troldahl. They were a famous local company and were one of the first companies in north-east England to sell Westinghouse refrigerators. Now, Fitzy was an apprentice with Troldahl, and he tells a funny story of him when he was a trainee. Fitzy and his boss were driving through the countryside in an old HC Troldahl van. They were travelling between villages and they came over a hill and there was a remote farmhouse with an old guy digging the garden. The old guy starts to wave at the van, and Fitzy, being a young lad of sixteen, thought it would be funny to stick his two fingers up at the old man. ‘Jesus!’ shouted Fitzy’s boss, ‘You friggin’ idiot, that’s old man Troldahl, who founded the company fifty years ago.’ He had obviously spotted the HC Troldahl sign on the side of the van and decided to give them a wave. Fitzy was always joking around. I can remember when myself and Colin were just out of our apprenticeships and he asked Colin to go and water the plants in the reception. Being green, Colin did as he was told. When Colin came back to Fitzy’s office, Fitzy was pissing himself laughing; they were plastic plants.

Ian was a typical old-fashioned fridge engineer and can remember the days when refrigerant first came onto the market in the fifties. Before R12 refrigerant, they used to use ammonia as a refrigerant. Ian can remember servicing an old refrigeration plant in a factory. The factory was employing all women and was a very hot and sticky environment. The women would wear only factory gowns. Most of the women didn’t wear any knickers because of the high temperature. One day when Ian was in the factory servicing the refrigeration plant, he caused a leak. Not knowing that the ammonia plant was leaking, he went for his lunch. Now bear in mind that ammonia attacks open wounds. He returned later to find a large number of the women running around the factory holding their fannies as the ammonia had found a place to settle. I bet that was some sight to see.

Switzerland

While working for Ian, I did get my first taste of overseas work. The company ICC sent me to Switzerland for a week to check out some humidifiers in Basle. This was a great experience and I found Basle in Switzerland a beautiful country. I remember it being spring and the sky was so blue and the place was fresh and clean, with trams running through the city. I even got a tan even though it was cold. Bear in mind I come from the north-east of England where the thick grey cloud hangs over the region for ten months of the year. Switzerland was a lovely experience and gave me a taste of what overseas living and working is all about. Switzerland is a landlocked country geographically divided between the Alps, the Swiss plateau, and the Jura, spanning an area of 15,940 square metres. While the Alps occupy the greater part of the territory, the Swiss population numbers eight million people concentrated mainly on the plateau, where the largest cities can be found. Among them are the global cities and economic centres of Zurich and Geneva. The Swiss Confederation has a long history of armed neutrality; it has not been in a state of war since 1815 and it did not join the United Nations until 2002. It pursues, however, an active foreign policy and is frequently involved in peace-building processes around the world. Switzerland is also the birthplace of the Red Cross and home to a large number of international organizations including the second largest UN office. On the European level, it is a founding member of the European Free Trade Association and is part of the Schengen area, although it is notably not a member of the European Union, or the European Economic Area.

Switzerland is one of the richest countries in the world by per capita gross domestic product and has the highest wealth per adult of any country in the world. Zurich and Geneva are ranked as the cities with the second and eighth highest quality of life in the world. Switzerland is comprised of four main languages: German, French, Italian, and Romansh, spoken in the valleys. The Swiss, therefore, though predominantly German speaking, do not form a nation in the sense of a common ethnic or linguistic identity. The strong sense of belonging to the country is founded on the common historical background, shared values, and Alpine symbolism. The establishment of the Swiss Confederation is traditionally dated back to 1 August 1291. Swiss national day is celebrated on this anniversary. Switzerland was not invaded during either of the world wars. During World War I, Switzerland was home to Vladimir Lenin and he remained there until 1917. Swiss neutrality was seriously questioned by the Germans but this was short lived. In 1920, Switzerland joined the League of Nations, which was based in Geneva, on the condition that it was exempt from any military requirement. During World War II, detailed invasion plans were drawn up by the Germans but Switzerland was never attacked. Switzerland was able to remain independent through a combination of military deterrence and concessions to Germany and good fortune as larger events during the war delayed an invasion. During World War II, the Swiss air force engaged aircraft of both sides, shooting down 11 intruding Luftwaffe planes in May and June 1940, then forcing down other intruders after a change in policy following threats from Germany. Over 100 Allied bombers and their crews were interned during the war. During 1944-45, Allied bombers mistakenly bombed a few places in Switzerland, among which were the cities of Schaffhausen, Basle, and Zurich.

My story begins when we get off the plane, book into a local hotel, and spend the first night on the town. There are twelve of us, eleven lads and one girl called Polly. We head off to a nightclub in Basle and we all get to know each other. We are all from different areas of the country as we represent all the distributors of the humidifiers throughout the UK. There are two of us from ICC, myself and James. James is a right character. He has a large moustache and wears a red dicky bow tie. He reminds me of the Sherlock Holmes character. The following day we are up early and we head to the factory. This factory manufactures wall-mounted humidifiers and is a very boring subject. We get to the factory and sign in. This reminds me of the story of a new CEO of a company who planned to make an impression on his first day. He called everyone to the main factory (about two hundred people) and he stood above them on a platform. He decided to play the tough guy and he noticed a young lad leaning up against the wall. He shouted, ‘Hey you, lad, yes, you leaning up against the wall.’

‘Yes’, said the young lad.

‘How much did you earn last week?’

‘Two hundred pounds’, the young lad said.

The new CEO opened his wallet and pulled out four hundred pounds. ‘Here you go, take this and piss off!’ The workers all gasped and went quiet. The CEO then shouted, ‘Can anyone tell me what the young slacker did around here?’

A young girl in the crowd put her hand up. ‘Yes, boss … he delivered the pizzas.’ Everyone started laughing. I don’t think that CEO got off to the right start. When I worked at Aquaheat, we had a director called Jack Donaldson. He was a young director, as he was the son of the original owners. The factory was down in Wellington but I worked in the Auckland office. He came up to Auckland once a month to check the figures, and I heard him saying to one of the young Maori engineers, ‘Got any weed, mate?’ It was funny to hear that from a director.

Back to the story and we were having a look around this factory; it was very modern and clean. As we headed back to the reception, I noticed that poor old Polly had the back of her skirt tucked in her knickers. She must have walked through the whole factory for two hours in that state. The rest of the week was spent learning about the product and nightclubbing in the evenings. All in all, Basle in Switzerland will always remind me of poor old Polly, never mind the Swiss clocks, chocolate, and yodelling in the Swiss Alps.

Portsmouth

Hull was not, strictly speaking, my first work experience away from home. At 17, I took up a training course in engineering with my father. The course was for six months and it was an engineering course at the College of Arts and Technology. After the six months, I decided to join the Royal Navy as a marine engineer mechanic, a posh term for a stoker. A stoker is the guy that you see in the bowels of the ship, loading coal into the furnaces. It was the winter of 1979 and I boarded the GNER train at Newcastle central station heading for London, then Portsmouth, or Pompey, as it is affectionately known.

Portsmouth is the second largest city in the ceremonial county of Hampshire. Portsmouth is notable for being the United Kingdom’s only island city. It is located mainly on Portsea Island. As a significant naval port for centuries, Portsmouth is home of the world’s oldest dry dock still in use and also home to some famous ships, including HMS Warrior, the Tudor carrack Mary Rose, and Lord Nelson’s flagship, HMS Victory. Although smaller than in its heyday, the naval base remains a major dockyard and base for the Royal Navy and Royal Marine Commandos, whose headquarters reside there.

There have been settlements in the area since before Roman times, mostly being offshoots of Portchester, which was a Roman base. Winston Churchill stated in his book A History of the English-Speaking Peoples (volume 1, The Birth of Britain) that Portsmouth was founded in 501 by Port, the pirate. Others say that Portsmouth was founded in 1180 by the Anglo-Norman lord Jean de Gisors. Most early records of Portsmouth are thought to have been destroyed by Norman invaders following the Norman Conquest. In 1194, King Richard the Lionheart returned from being held captive in Austria and set about summoning a fleet and an army to Portsmouth, which Richard had taken over from John of Gisors. On 2 May 1194, the king gave Portsmouth its first royal charter. In 1200, King John reaffirmed the rights and privileges awarded by King Richard. King John’s desire to invade Normandy resulted in the establishment of Portsmouth as a permanent naval base. During the thirteenth century, Portsmouth was commonly used by Henry III and Edward I as a base for attacks against France.

My naval training was to start at HMS Raleigh and involved six weeks square-bashing. I can remember about ten of us entering the training centre and lads hanging out of the upstairs windows shouting, ‘Any Scousers here? Any Glaswegians? Any Geordies?’ We had to get up at 5 a.m. and head for breakfast and then spend a couple of hours on the parade ground. The sergeant major would have us marching up and down and then standing to attention in the freezing cold. It must have been -7 degrees Celsius. The sergeant major came up to me and shouted, ‘Where are you from, you little maggot?’

I replied, ‘Newcastle!’

He then said to me, ‘Say runny nose!’

I looked a bit puzzled; however, I said, ‘Runny nose!’ as everybody started laughing. Apparently, ‘runny nose’ in a Geordie accent was quite amusing to the sergeant major. As I was standing to attention, he ran his finger under my nose and wiped the snots on my jumper.

We were sharing a camp with the Royal Marines, who were a rough lot. One night, I watched as they screwed the back off a vending machine in the main hall. When no one was watching, they removed the back of the machine. They removed a mince pie, took it out of the wrapper, took the top off the pie, emptied the content, and one of the lads shit in it. They then put it back in the machine and refitted the back cover. I don’t know who got that pie but the thought to this day makes me feel sick. I never eat from vending machines anymore.

I became friendly with a Glaswegian lad called Craig, who talked like Kenny Dalglish. I couldn’t understand a word he said, but there again he couldn’t understand a word I said, but we got on well anyway. This lad was extremely fit and used to do press-ups on his knuckles. I could also tell he was a hard nut and could handle himself. We were in the canteen one day and we were getting hassled off these two Royal Marines. Craig turned around and punched both of them and they collapsed like a pack of cards. He quickly took off and within ten minutes the military police and Royal Marines were swarming all over the place looking for him. They eventually found him and he was locked up for a few days. I later found out that he was transferred to the Royal Marines. What’s the saying? If you can’t beat them, join them. We later moved to Plymouth.

Plymouth

We all got moved to HMS Sultan in Plymouth, where we were to start our basic engineering training. We had the weekend off and the first thing I did was check the football fixtures and I could see that Newcastle were playing Nottingham Forest. I booked a train ticket and headed to Nottingham. I found this pub outside Notts. county’s ground called the Magpie. I entered the pub, ordered a drink, and I was about to head into the bar when the barman said, ‘Your lot are through there’, as he pointed to the lounge. I entered the lounge and there were about fifty Newcastle United fans, some of them in army fatigues, dancing on the table to Saturday Night Fever. After the game (we got beat 2-1) I headed back to Plymouth, so I wished I was heading back to Newcastle.

The following week, I was in the barracks on a Sunday night and I heard two of the lads come in from their weekend in Newcastle. They were Brighton supporters and went up to Newcastle to see Brighton play. One of them was holding his ribs. ‘What’s up, Jonno?’ I asked.

‘Piss off, you Geordie bastard!’ he shouted.

‘What’s your problem?’

‘We got jumped on up in Newcastle and I’m sure I have two broken ribs.’

‘Oh shit! Sorry, lads’ was my reply. We had a good time in Plymouth. We were sent to an island in the harbour called Drake’s Island, where Captain Drake set up guns to fight off the French. We were renovating a house for a charity. We also did plenty of tough Royal Marine assault courses. I can recall one week we were all sent out on the moors to do an orienteering course. The sun was shining and it was a warm day, must have been April. In Newcastle they had snow. We were all divided up into five teams of four and we were given a map and a compass and were told to find our way back to the camp. We set off in thirty-minute intervals. We were about an hour into the course, walking through fields and windy roads, and we came across a crossroads with the sign clearly pointing to the village on route. I climbed up and turned around the sign to point the other way. That would sort the next lot out, as I walked away laughing with the lads. About eight hours later, we were totally lost and had to get a bus back to the barracks. It turned out that the team in front of us had also turned the sign around. I had therefore turned it the correct way, while we headed off the wrong way.

We were sent to tackle a Royal Marine assault course and I can recall a lad from Wolverhampton called Billy. I’m not sure how he ended up in the navy as he was short and fat and so unfit. It was a bit like the movie Full Metal Jacket when there’s one unfit lad that holds everyone back. Poor Billy Bunter was useless on the assault course. He was ahead of me climbing over a large timber fence which was about ten feet high. He had managed to get over it and I was right behind him. I got to the top and swung my leg over and kicked him in the head with my steel boots. He fell the rest of the way down and was totally knocked out. He quit the following day. We were involved in some other intense training. The navy simulated a ruptured hull of a ship. We were in this steel compartment the size of a large bedroom. Water was pouring in from all directions and we had to shore up the ruptured steel sections. The compartment filled up with water and I was standing in three feet of water. I dived down to pick up timber planks for the shoring of the joint and smacked my head off a steel door. I knocked myself out but luckily my comrades pulled me up and out of the water or I would have surely drowned.

Another exercise involved filling a room with CS gas and we had to quickly get our gas masks on within a certain period of time. Not a very nice experience.

While I was in the Royal Navy I was writing to two girls back in Newcastle called Marie and Anne. Marie was a long-term girl friend (an actual friend) and someone I always fancied. Ann was my proper girlfriend. I sent them both letters but could not understand why they both never replied. I later found out when I was back in Newcastle that I put the wrong letters in the wrong envelopes. Oh well! Eventually after four months in the navy, I had to sign on for a minimum of three years. It just wasn’t me and I couldn’t take the discipline. I left the navy and returned to Newcastle to do my building services HND.

Morecambe, Lancashire

After ICC Ltd, I moved to a company called ACS Services, a small company based in Newcastle, owned by a great guy called Kieran. Kieran sadly died last year of cancer and sadly I never got to say goodbye because of a fallout I had with him when I set up my own company, a regret that will always stay with me. One year before Kieran died, I tried to get a message through to him through a couple of ex work colleagues, Lana and Danny, but sadly the feedback was nonresponsive. While working with Kieran, we were sent to Morecambe to install some equipment in a sweetshop. Morecambe, and in particular Morecambe Bay, is located on the west coast of England and situated at the foot of the Lake District national park. The town grew up in the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century as a popular seaside resort. In 1846, the Morecambe Harbour and Railway Company was formed to build a harbour on Morecambe Bay close to the fishing village of Poulton-le-Sands and a connecting railway. By 1850 the railway linked to Skipton, Keighley, and Bradford in the West Riding of Yorkshire, and a settlement began to grow around the harbour and railway to service the port and as a seaside resort. The settlement expanded to absorb Poulton and the villages of Bare and Torrisholme. The settlement started to be referred to as Morecambe. Morecambe was a thriving seaside resort in the mid-twentieth century. While the resort of Blackpool attracted holidaymakers predominantly from the Lancashire mill towns, Morecambe had more visitors from Yorkshire because of the railway connection. Morecambe was also the home of the original Miss Great Britain beauty contest.

The van set off from Newcastle with my engineers Brian and Paul. I travelled behind in my car and arrived thirty minutes after. When I arrived at the shop, Paul said Brian was upstairs in the stockroom. I immediately went up and when I walked in the stockroom there was Brian with his trousers around his ankles, a shop assistant on a large box of Cadburys chocolate, her legs in the air and Brian pounding the fuck out of her. He immediately shouted, ‘Dave, mate, keep an eye open for me’ as he continued to shag the brains out of this pretty brunette. Brian Cuthbertson would shag a warm scarf given half the chance.

After a couple of days, we completed the work in Morecambe; we headed down the road to Blackpool for a final night out before heading home to Newcastle. Now Blackpool was where I met my first wife Sarah. Some people go to Blackpool and bring back a stick of rock and a ‘kiss me quick’ hat, I brought back my future wife and partner of twenty years. I met my now ex-wife on the back of a coach on the way back from Blackpool, back to Newcastle. There were four of us: myself, Gary, Eddie, and Vince. We had a great time pub-crawling around Blackpool, the sound of Wham, ‘Bad Boys’, on the jukebox, and Spandau Ballet, ‘True’.

I always thought that Blackpool and the north-west had different gravity from the north-east, because when I was in the Blackpool Tower lounge it was always harder to lift your feet off the carpet. It might have something to do with the years of spilt lager that caked the carpet. We were in one bar in Blackpool (I think it was called the Mancunian) when we witnessed a girl giving a lad oral sex in the corner of the bar. All his mates were cheering, and a friend of the girl, in a Scouse accent, said, ‘Eee, me mate’s really pissed!’ No shit, pet! The funny thing was that an hour later I saw the same girl snogging this lad. I just had to go up and tell him what she