If You Can't Take a Joke...

by Gordon Gray

  The managing director had asked for a personal debrief and he listened to my story, then said, “Well, we have all been chasing Engineering to get the colour touchscreen system sorted, but they seem to have taken too long. It seems we have been left behind on this. I will speak to the technical guys this week. Thanks, Gordon, for your efforts.”

  Hardly the bollocking I half expected, just a good managing director who knew what was going on.

  How not to sell Hovercraft

  One of the options for minehunting that the Omanis were looking at was a hovercraft. These make ideal platforms from which to operate minehunting systems. As they sit on an air pocket above the water, no sound or pressure penetrates the sea surface and so they do not activate acoustic, magnetic or pressure mines as would a conventional ship. The Royal Navy carried a prolonged trials programme over a number of years with Plessey minehunting sonars to prove the worth of hovercraft, and this was a success. However, there were, I believe, issues about the cost of running and maintaining the aero jet-engined craft used in the trials over long periods at sea.

  The UK’s main hovercraft manufacturer had designed a small, simple, marine, diesel-engined hovercraft that was big enough to carry a minehunting sonar system and be manned by a small crew of about six men. A normal minehunter carries about twenty-eight men. The Omanis were very interested. This led to a full demonstration in the south of England. The Omani team arrived and Plessey were asked to attend the final meetings. The sea demonstrations in the morning went very well and at the afternoon session, the Omanis basically said: “Yes, we like it and we want it.” They then said to the head man of the hovercraft company, who shall remain nameless, “If you can confirm in writing the craft’s performance claims made today with a full minehunting system fitted, then I think we could be in business.”

  Everyone heaved huge sighs of relief. This was the ‘Buy’ signal. We knew that the RN were supporting the deal and would provide the required data and that the craft’s performance data was not really in question. It just needed to be properly documented and validated by the manufacturer to form a full performance specification for the hovercraft with all the minehunting systems fitted. While that was a lot of work, it was something that any customer would expect to be provided.

  To our horror, the senior hovercraft man replied “Well, I am not sure that we can get that data as I am sure it will be classified by the navy and the craft performance data with the minehunting system fitted will take time to verify as we will need to do some more trials and measurements ourselves to be sure. Won’t you take the craft without the data?”

  “I am afraid not,” was the only answer the Omanis could give. Without those written assurances, of course the Omanis could not proceed. So, they did not.

  At 5 o’clock, the hovercraft company had a deal for selling two hovercraft complete with our minehunting systems fitted, each worth well over £3m to us. By 5 past 5, there was no deal. The hovercraft man had totally blown the sale. His whole body language and bearing was negative and the Omanis picked up on it. He gave the appearance of someone who really did not want the business. It was unbelievable.

  White Knuckles

  Mr Gary takes on the fastest man in the world! During this time, there was a ‘Britain Oman Week’ held in Muscat. This was aimed at raising the profile of British products and companies who were trying to do business in Oman. This covered all sectors, not just defence, so many high street companies from the consumer world, including Harrods, were there in force.

  Plessey had previously sponsored Richard Noble in his attempt to win the world land speed record in his jet-powered car ‘Thrust 2’. The ‘car’ was essentially an English Electric ‘Lightning’ jet fighter’s engine with a wheel at each corner. It had been designed and built in the UK by a team led by Richard. On 4th October 1983, at Black Rock in Nevada, Richard drove the car at 650.88 mph over two runs and broke the world land speed record. As he said himself, “A real white-knuckle ride!”

  As a sponsor for the project, Plessey had invited Richard to attend our stand at the British Oman week as his successful record attempt was still very much in the news. We had large display posters of the car and videos running on TVs of the runs in Nevada.

  Richard arrived in Oman for a couple of days and during that time, he sometimes travelled to and from the hotel to the exhibition or down to the Muttrah Souk with me in my hire car. It was a little unnerving, to say the least, to have someone who had driven at almost the speed of sound sitting beside me as I negotiated the roads and camels of Muscat. However, Richard was an outgoing, charming guy, full of life and fun, and was great company. He was a welcome change on the stand and spent hours patiently explaining to every child in Oman and their parents how Thrust 2 worked and what it felt like to drive at such speeds.

  I think I got the better of him on his last day, though. He had to catch the flight back to London that night but we had been held up at a formal dinner and we were running a bit late for his flight home. He jumped into the front passenger seat and off we went. There he sat, this all-British hero who had driven the fastest car in the world, beside me as I raced him towards Seeb Airport. Richard seemed to be rather quiet.

  “Are you all right, Richard?” I asked.

  Silence. I looked across at him to see what was wrong. Then, I saw them: white knuckles clutching the dashboard and eyes staring straight ahead.

  I stopped in front of the departures doors and he jumped, muttering something like: “Thanks for the lift, Gordon, but I think I’ll stick to Thrust 2 in future.”

  He caught his flight, but I never worked out what he meant.

  UAE. Abu Dhabi

  The UAE Navy had also been keen to buy minehunters and had invited a number of shipbuilders down to give presentations. At that time, we at Plessey were the main subcontractor to the shipbuilder. The shipbuilder called us to say they had been invited down and would we send an MCM man down too. They told us that as they were due to present on the Saturday morning, I should fly down on the Saturday and it had been arranged that I would go in on the Sunday morning to present the minehunting systems.

  As I arrived at the Sheraton hotel, the favourite hotel for most UK defence people in those days, and was checking in, the shipyard team arrived back from the navy HQ and were getting out of their taxi. They did not look happy. In their dark suits in the bright sun, they looked drained. As they entered the lobby, I went over and said hello.

  “How did it go?” I asked their sales director.

  “Not good,” was his reply.

  “Then why are you so late getting back? I thought your slot was for two hours this morning?” They shuffled their feet and looked a bit sheepish. “What went wrong?” I asked, sensing that this was not good news for me either.

  “Well, we thought they wanted a two-hour talk but we ran over a bit.”

  “How long were you there then?” I probed.

  “About 4 hours”

  “Four hours! To the UAE Navy? What were you talking about?”

  “Well we got onto engines and things and it just sort of went on.”

  I was now worried, “So what about tomorrow? What time do they want me to arrive? My presentation is exactly one-hour long.”

  “They don’t,” the sales director muttered.

  “They don’t!” I squeaked. “I have not even checked in yet and you are saying that I have to go back and tell my boss it was a total waste of a trip?”

  “I’m afraid so!”

  And so it was. I made a couple of local phone calls to check but the answer was the same. The shipyard had worn them out on Saturday and the last thing they wanted, or really had time for, was a further morning taken up with MCM sales talks. The navy had thought that we would all go in together for a single two-hour session. Where the idea of a two-day session came from, we never really found out. So, I had to fly home and tell the boss. Bill was not impressed.

  However, time heals and over many months we rebuilt
the relationship with the navy. Their interest and need for MCMs was still strong. We were able to arrange, through the RN, for two RN minehunters – that were then based in the Gulf – to visit Abu Dhabi and take the navy out to sea for a day, and using dummy mines, show them how the RN carried out minehunting.

  Fifteen Minutes of Fame

  Was it Andy Warhol who said that we all get fifteen minutes of fame in this world? Well, if it is true, I had mine some years later at a defence exhibition in Portsmouth in 1987. We were manning the company stand at the Royal Naval Equipment Exhibition and exhibiting the very latest in minehunting systems as we were in discussions about it with most of the Gulf countries and it was at the time the Royal Navy had minehunters deployed clearing mines in the Gulf, so it was a hot topic in the defence press.

  The opening morning, or press day, had been hectic with all the press boys and girls coming round and being given briefs on the different systems, but it had now quietened down as most of them had been taken off to lunch in the hospitality chalets. Most of my colleagues, including the boss, had departed to ‘test the catering’. I was just thinking that I might have a quiet hour or two on the stand when I heard someone say, “Excuse Me?”

  I turned round and a small, but smiling, man was looking up at me. “I am from the BBC Television News. We want to do a short piece for BBC News on mine warfare, who would be the best person to talk to?”

  I caught sight of a cameraman with a monster camera on his shoulder pointing directly at me and a sound man standing at his elbow. Alarm bells started ringing and my lips silently mouthed “Help. Help” as I looked around. Plessey were strict about who spoke to the press and normally only a PR director would give a live interview to a TV station, let alone the BBC News. The stand was deserted.

  “Well, when would you like to do it as our directors seem to have gone for lunch,” I wriggled.

  “Perhaps if you came back after 2 o’clock?”

  “No, that won’t be possible. We need to do it now as we have other equipment we must see.”

  Bugger, now what do I do? The Press Officer and the PR team had fled long ago and the chalet was too far away to run and get Bill from, and anyway he would not thank me if he had started his gin and tonic. Then I relaxed and decided that I must know more about minehunting than this guy. After all, I was a minehunting officer in the Royal Navy and have been trying to sell the latest systems in the Middle East, so I bloody well ought to be able to answer his questions.

  “OK,” I said, relaxing a little “I can do that for you, what would you like to know?”

  We sat down and chatted for fifteen minutes or so while he gave me the slant they were looking for. It was, thankfully, non contentious and mainly about the prospects for UK defence sales in the mine warfare business – something I did know about. Then, he called over his cameraman and we ‘did a piece to camera’ as we say in the TV business. He felt I would be OK without makeup so we just went for it. I even managed to smile and quote a few impressive sounding numbers in terms of export sales potential. Then, it was ‘In the can’ as we also say in the trade. I am sure too that I did not give away too many national secrets in terms of sonar performance etc. It was broadcast that night on the main 6 o’clock news and most of my peers and bosses on Plessey saw it in their hotel rooms. While it was not quite a full fifty-five minute documentary, it must have lasted well over 50 seconds.

  The next morning the marketing director was kind enough to announce to one and all what a good “little piece” I had done on the TV.

  ‘Little piece’, indeed. Sir Lawrence (‘Larry’ to his friends) Olivier would have been proud of me.

  Meetings

  Planning meetings in the Middle East was never easy in those days, especially if you had a boss who decided that he knew best and would try to arrange everything for you. I had one boss who told his secretary to get me on Tuesday morning’s flight. She booked me on Tuesday morning’s flight alright – it was 00.30. Half past midnight.

  Some bosses like to show their power by sending the customers faxes and emails announcing my arrival, then failing to follow up and check that the meetings have been arranged. When I get there, I tend to find that the boss’s emails have been ignored as no one there has ever heard of him, the agent will be ‘out of town’ and so I have to start from square one by telephone cold-calling from the hotel room.

  In the Middle East, this was never easy at the best of times. Phone calls from the hotel to a Naval HQ switchboard get cut off, don’t ring out, or the call is picked up by a junior security guard who just puts the phone down if you don’t speak Arabic. So sometimes it is just easier to go and stand at the front gate of Naval or Army HQ and charm the guard in the security office and ask him to ring round all the contact extension numbers until someone answers their phone. Always frustrating, particularly in 90+ degree of heat. That is when the salesman will probably find that some of the people are away on duty, on leave, or overseas themselves; all of which could have been established from the UK in slow time had the boss been patient and allowed the salesman to investigate the trip himself and plan it properly.

  At the debrief on his return, the salesman can also be assured that everything that did not happen will be his fault and if anything good did happen, no matter how hard the salesman had to work to make it happen, that will all be down to the boss’s excellent contacts there.

  The Right Plane

  Once, I was in Ankara in Turkey when the boss called me. He had had a phone call from the company’s Abu Dhabi resident manager asking that if I was in the area, could I get to Abu Dhabi and join him for a meeting he had arranged with the head of the navy. “Yes, Bill. Sure, no problem!” Sounded simple! Looking at the map, it did not seem that complicated.

  However, when I went into the travel agents at the hotel and looked at their ABC Flight guide and started to try and work out which flights I needed, things got a bit puzzling. It appeared that there weren’t any flights from Ankara, or even Istanbul, that went down to the Gulf. Everything went westwards and I could find nothing out of Ankara that would get me down the Gulf, unless I flew all the way back into Europe to Vienna or Zurich and then took a flight to the Gulf from there.

  I rang the company travel office in the UK and asked the girls to investigate. They called me back later.

  “Sorry, Gordon, there are no direct flights from Ankara or Istanbul to Abu Dhabi.”

  “OK, where do I fly to then?”

  “Well you need to get a flight from Ankara to Istanbul (due west), then get another flight from there to Amman in Jordan (Southish). You change flights in Amman, but there is a six-hour layover. Then you get a flight to Doha (East) and from there you fly to Abu Dhabi (East again).”

  Oh well, if that’s how we get there and the customer wants to see us this week, we had better do it. I took the details and went to the airline office and changed my flights.

  On the day of travel, I was up early, checked out of the hotel and was on my way to the airport by 0530. I caught the one-hour flight to Istanbul OK and headed for the transit lounge. I went to the transfer desk and was told to go to gate such and such. I was mildly interested to notice that it was in what I had thought was the domestic terminal. After a while, the Turkish Airline flight to Amman was shown on the board. It clearly said Amman and the flight number matched my boarding pass, so I was in the right place. I went to the gate indicated and waited again.

  After a while, we were boarded and the flight took off. This would be a nice two-hour flight, so I settled down with my book. After about forty-five minutes, I thought I detected a drop in the engine noise as if we were throttling back to descend. We were! We had started to descend! Where were we going? The stewardess made a PA in Turkish in which I was sure she said the word Ankara. I stopped one of the girls as she walked by. “Excuse me, did you say this flight is going to Ankara?” I asked.

  She beamed at me. “Yes, of course,” she said and walked on.

  Oh boy,
I had finally done it; I was on the wrong flight and worse than that I was going back to the place from which I had started! I would also have missed my connections down to Amman and Dubai. I asked if the chief stewardess was available. She came back.

  “Look,” I said, “I think I am on the wrong plane. I have just come from Ankara and should be on the flight to Amman in Jordan.” I was given the condescending smile that only airline stewardesses can give you. As they are always two feet higher than the seated passenger, even when they bend over and explain the basic simplicities of airline travel, they can make us feel as though we are a four year old strapped into a push chair. It was one of those ‘Oh here’s another idiot who can’t get on the right plane’ look.

  Then she said, “Yes, we are going to Amman, but we go to Ankara first.”

  “Then why did I have to fly from Ankara to Istanbul to catch it?”

  “I am sorry, I don’t know,” and with that she turned and walked off.

  To make matters worse, when we landed, more passengers got on in Ankara too. I had just wasted about £200 and six hours flying all the way to Istanbul and back when I could have got up at a normal time and got the Amman flight in Ankara! I never did discover what I had done wrong.

  Which T-Shirt?

  Phone calls from the boss can be a mixed blessing. Many years later when I was working for Ultra Electronics, Doreen and I were on holiday in Dubai and staying at the Jumeira Beach Hotel. We returned to our room one afternoon from the beach and the message light on the phone was flashing. Thinking it must be the hotel with some query, I rang the message centre.