Abu Dhabi - Snow Ploughs in the Desert, by Graham Moss (1970)

The late 1960s and early 1970s saw the majority of nationals of this small Gulf Emirate rapidly transformed from nomadic goat herders into rich international merchants and traders, based on the new commercial viability of their country’s natural petroleum resources. For the few thousand local property owners and larger numbers of imported foreign guest workers, the resulting effect was like a 20th century “Klondike”; plenty of ongoing work at all levels, insufficient prefabricated temporary accommodation, an acute shortage of machinery, lack of any supporting infrastructure, social boredom, over consumption of illicit alcohol and tobacco, gambling, corruption and lots of money being counted.

In addition to the onshore and offshore petroleum related development activity itself, Abu Dhabi’s small village, with the Sheikh’s ancient fortress at its centre, was now “boom town” involving the rapid construction of a much larger modern city around it with related infrastructure such as housing, hospitals, hotels, a new seaport, a new airport and road transport system. This small, now rich, country was one big, hot, dusty, noisy, rude and thirsty building site!

For a few hot summer months of 1970 I was seconded by BOAC to Omeir Travel Agency to run their aviation ground handling operation at the already inadequate airport, which had been designed for light aircraft, and was now being used for long haul narrow bodied jets; its facilities were about to be stretched yet further with the pending introduction of jumbo jets such as the Lockheed Tristar and Boeing 747. The Omeir Travel Station Manager and his staff of some hundreds was responsible to contracting airlines for the efficient provision of aircraft, crew and passenger handling. The 24 hour, 7 day operation was scheduled to handle 300 movements, using telex communications and manual working procedures; access to information via computer was some years away yet.

Welcome to Abu Dhabi’s summer; ninety degrees of heat and high humidity! I enjoyed the architectural design of the passenger terminal, a single story with small side windows and a smooth unusually steep sloping roof of multiple peaks, each with four sides, almost like a desert tent. An ugly extension with a flat roof had been added to provide more adequate facilities for Customs and Immigration in a newer International Arrivals section.

I settled in. Domestically I was comparatively lucky; I moved into a three year old high rise “Russian” cell block with both intermittent lifts and air conditioners and decomposing water pipes. At work I leaned heavily on Gopinath, my shrewd assistant, who was long experienced in the management of common objectives to be achieved between our Abu Dhabi overlords and their corrupt Palestinian management, me, and my staff.

The Engineering Manager was a solid, competent Scot known as “Mac”, who usually did not need my direct help except to sign off the expenditure, including that of the booze up we both enjoyed with the mostly Indian engineering staff on Friday evenings, a regular event that I was kindly allowed to sponsor, in lieu of my distinct absence of technical skills. However, one morning “Mac” came in early to solicit my help and possible advice!

These were the days when even the most modern passenger jets did not carry their own auxiliary power units and hence when their engines were shut down each one needed ground based power to keep their technical systems alive and an air conditioning unit connected to blow in cold air. In an Abu Dhabi summer the outside temperature on the tarmac could regularly be some one hundred and twenty degrees.

We owned four air conditioning units, all of which needed to be serviceable if we were to avoid the additional expense of leaving deodorant and flannel on the seats, together with an individual note of apology stating that we had inadvertently overlooked the fact that it was summer time. Mac’s challenge was that one of the air conditioners had recently declared itself permanently unserviceable. What to do?

The required replacement engine was an FMC product and an enquiry of the local monopoly dealership revealed that they had a very sensible money spinning commercial policy; they imported complete vehicle units ready to drive away and as few spare component parts as possible in order to maximise the vehicle units sold. So if your vehicle unfortunately went wrong, you simply bought another one! As such a policy did not fall in line with our aspirations or budget, Mac and I reluctantly concluded that for the rest of this summer we should indeed stock up on deodorant and flannel, but we should be prudent enough to spend a considerable amount of time on the structure and precise wording of the notes of apology to be placed on seats.

As I was paying, it was my habit to invite a mystery guest or two to attend our Friday evening Engineering Department social, and that week it was the turn of the Airport Deputy Director, an Englishman struggling good humouredly with a miniscule budget to make this airport last until the new one was completed in a few years time. During the course of the evening a loosened tongue unfortunately revealed our company’s little secret regarding the inadequacy of future air-conditioning in front of our influential guest.

My first reaction was to be a bit peeved by this unnecessary public revelation, but this negative response was quickly forgotten when, astonishingly, and after very few drinks, the highly respected Deputy looked dreamily into the desert and said “ I think I know where you can find a suitable replacement engine; why don’t you look in the snow-ploughs? “ Quizzical looks were exchanged between us and sympathetic laughter followed too quickly; we were used to far more subtle jokes, but did not want to offend our guest. So the subject was then dropped, the party ended, and we all went staggering home.

Next morning Mac was back. He explained that his old supervisor on the night shift had been subjected to a boring retelling of the Deputy’s snow-plough ‘joke’ and, much to everyone’s surprise, he had responded by actually confirming the existence of two such machines about a mile into the desert adjacent to the airport. To prove that the Deputy was not totally “doolally“, he had despatched two of his mechanics, between flights, to confirm that the monsters were still there and to advise on their condition. The resulting technical report confirmed two unused machines with keys in the ignition, containing FMC power units suitable as replacements for our sick air conditioner, very very sandy, especially against the huge ploughs where snow should have been, with large amounts of surface oxidisation elsewhere. Estimated working time to remove one engine, transport it, service it, test it, fit it to the air conditioner and hence stop our daily production of very cautiously worded notes of apology; five days. Wow ! Bingo !

Having so enjoyed his invitation the previous evening the Deputy was surprised but happy to accept another one to join me for lunch, my objectives in order being a) to secure the release of a snow - plough engine, b) gratis and c) both engines, both gratis. Indeed, I almost succeeded in achieving all of the above. We concluded the deal by both signing a legal transfer of ownership document for the consideration of US$100 per engine; the value of which was to be delivered by our flight kitchen to Airport Authority Muslim employees in the form of sundown meal boxes during the coming Ramadan. So the thorny debate over investment by my employer in “Negotiating Skills” training for me really had been worth it after all.

Of course I had then to ask that inevitable question “ Why snow-ploughs at a desert airport with no previous record of frost and extremely rare precipitation of any kind ? ” A slow smile crossed the face of the Deputy and for a moment he considered whether I could be a confidant of his or not. Clearly being of unsound judgement, he then told me the tale which I have repeated on many subsequent occasions.

During civil aviation’s ‘great leap forward’ in the 1960s the French company Aeroports de Paris were designing and producing prefabricated terminals for small airports, capable of delivery to any airport authority worldwide along with the related user equipment. A quirk of colonial history and closer relationships recently cemented by Charles De Gaulle resulted in a good number of these instant French airports being in the process of delivery to Quebec as a job lot in an effort to enhance the civil aviation facilities of the minor remote townships within the Province, whilst also having an additional benefit of making the English speaking part of Canada jealous and very upset. Simultaneously, expanding international aviation needs drove the Government of Abu Dhabi away from the world of runway oil drum flares for night time landings; they needed sophistication and quickly.

After not much of a haggle, and for twice the profit to Aeroports de Paris, the new order for Abu Dhabi was fulfilled by the purchase of a Bill of Lading with description “Canadian Domestic Airport” and diverting to the Persian Gulf one ship already at sea destined for Montreal!

A few weeks later this new instant airport was delivered, not capable of handling international passengers (hence the requirement for an extension with flat roof to house Customs and Immigration) but more than capable of withstanding the worst of a Canadian winter, with a steeply sloping tent like smooth roof (that had impressed me on first arrival) so that snow would fall off it, and of course all manner of related equipment including two big strong snow-ploughs in order to keep the runway and aircraft stands operational.

So, will the small town Airport Manager somewhere in deepest Quebec, who never received his shipment from Aeroports de Paris, finally come clean and own up please? I know where it is, it’s a long time ago, and it wasn’t your fault !