Exciting Times

I t’s hard to overstate just how chaotic Tripoli was in September 1970. The Italian colonists were all being processed (kicked) out. The oil companies were being harassed and their production cut back. And on top of that, the young engineers were not having their work permits renewed. I remember meeting my boss, Bob Mills, by accident at a suburban Tripoli burger joint and asking what was to become of me. His response was basically “Has nobody given you any idea of what may come next?” which just illustrated that even inside Mobil there was chaos.

Towards the end of September I finally got my Exit visa and it was “Home James and Farewell Libya”. Then of course I was embroiled in the rescheduling of the wedding, rebooking a venue and advising guests of the new date…October 13th. It was a mad flurry of activity, which thankfully ended up working out very, very, well. The weather was good (i.e., no rain), the church was University Church on St. Stephen’s Green and the reception was held in Malahide.

and beside her are the Arkins, who were initially Mammy’s landlords in Dublin.

It may have been relief that no problems at all arose, but I remember thinking, as people danced, and drank, and had a good time, that this, the wedding reception, was the best party I had been at in some long time!

There really wasn’t an organized honeymoon, but after the festivities had drawn to something of a close after around 10 pm, I drove us to a nice hotel beside the Bank of Ireland in College Green, double-parked the car with the engine running, grabbed our bag and wished the porter “Good evening” with the assumption that he’d take care of the car. We sorted things out the next morning and drove to 110 for lunch with the parents! We eventually did get away for a few days, driving around the east of Ireland, only slightly spoiled when the hood of the MGB flew up when we were driving, and ended up with a serious bend in it.

The hood was tied down with some string for the rest of the trip.

Shortly after my getting home from Tripoli I was surprised to get an actual telegram from Mobil offering to pay me a per-diem allowance while they tried to find me a job. Wow!I didn’t even know what a per diem was, but soon realized that they would pay me essentially for being at home. Nice deal. So, after the wedding, I got called to London a number of times to see if the opportunity they had identified might be of interest. One that did appeal was flogging ship bunker fuels to Greek shipowners. The interviewer cautioned that the job involved carousing until the early hours with the Greeks and did I think I would have the stomach for that? I certainly did think I’d enjoy it….but for how long? In my own line of work (oil production which I loved and desperately wanted to pursue) I went to Germany to look at an opportunity to join Mobil Germany. The location was near the East German border, was rainy and overcast and the staff were, well…German. I took a chance, and turned down the offer. A young English engineer colleague from Libya did take the job… and over a lifetime career, got perhaps two, maybe three promotions. Another bullet dodged.

I had now been over and back to London four times for different opportunities, without anything taking my fancy. And, remember, all this time they were paying me a daily allowance. I wasn’t sure how long this could last.

On the next trip to London, I was half offered a job in Iran, but before I left my hotel I was called back to the interviewer and offered a job in Abu Dhabi. The way it was pronounced, I thought this was somewhere in Wales! This job would allow me to continue working in oil exploitation and furthermore, was in an even more remote desert environment than Libya had been. I jumped at it. By comparison with my American work colleagues in Mobil Libya, these London interactions were all conducted by plummy Brits. Quite the change.

Imagine my surprise and trepidation when after a furious rush to get ready, to get some necessary desert-work clothes, to make plans with Liz, and then say goodbye to family and friends, I found myself, on the 30th of December, 1970 in the barren wastes of the Persian Gulf.