‘Prove Sir David Attenborough wrong’ is not a life-goal that will win you many friends.
It does, however, explain why I spent almost four months in 2019 driving a very old and battered car along one of the longest overland routes on Earth.
Back in 1955, then just plain ‘David’ was a producer at the BBC. There. he was approached by six recent graduates from Oxford and Cambridge on a mission to be the first people to drive from London to Singapore. Many had tried, but none had succeeded.
Sensing this time might be different, Attenborough gave ‘The Oxford and Cambridge Far Eastern Expedition’ enough film-reel to cover their record-breaking journey. In March 1956, 19,000 miles and six months after leaving London, the six graduates in their two Land Rovers – ‘Oxford’ and ‘Cambridge’ – finally made it to Singapore.
The series Attenborough released in 1956 – Traveller’s Tales – would grip a nation slowly emerging from post-war austerity. The book published shortly after, First Overland, has never been out of print, and has inspired generations of adventurers to hit the road.
In 2005, to mark First Overland’s 50th anniversary, (now Sir) David took part in a BBC tribute. He said, resignedly, that due to the ever-shifting sands of global conflict it was ‘a journey that I don’t think could be made again today.’
To one Land Rover mad and travel-hungry teenager in Manchester that felt like a challenge, and as my own career in adventure filmmaking took off, Sir David’s words never left the back of my mind.
In June 2018, I found myself at Red Wharf Bay in Anglesey to mark Land Rover’s 70th anniversary. Here, Maurice Wilkes had sketched the outline of a motoring icon into the sand. Now my old man and I were manoeuvring our beloved Series One on to that same beach.
It was there I saw a ghost. Just yards across the beach was the ‘Oxford’ Land Rover, happily chewing through the Welsh sand. I jogged across the beach to meet the man behind the wheel – Adam Bennett.
In late 2017, Adam – a diehard First Overland enthusiast – had rescued Oxford from a lonely exile on the tiny south Atlantic island of St Helena. (‘Cambridge’, he explained, was still missing in action in a ditch somewhere in Iran.)
He had a dream that Oxford would ride again, recreating its most famous journey just one last time. Sensing fate at work, we began to hatch a plan through the window.
‘You’d better call Tim Slessor,’ said Adam, passing me a phone number before pulling away.
Since making motoring history as one of the six Expeditioners that made it to Singapore aged just 23, Tim Slessor – the author of First Overland – had never stopped moving, going on to have an award-winning and globe-trotting career as a filmmaker and author.
While three of his overlanding compatriots had sadly passed away, and two had hung up their driving gloves, Tim – now 87 – was still yearning for one last adventure. Adam assured me our plans would be music to his ears.
Wiry, wizened and stubborn as hell, I was gripped by Tim from the first meeting. Not one for mincing his words, he set out the central problem in retracing the original route.
‘Driving through Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan? Far too dangerous today,’ he warned.
‘However,’ he added, ‘China and the Central Asian ‘Stans’ might be a viable alternative route, inconceivable to us in that 1950s Cold War world.’
Tim was dying to visit before it was too late, and his eyes sparkled with possibility as we traced lines on maps stretched across his living-room floor.
To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a webbrowser thatsupports HTML5video
There, in south-west London, The Last Overland was born. We’d need a new team and an adapted route (also reversed, as Tim had already driven from London to Singapore) but it would be the same 1955 Land Rover driven by Tim leading the way.
‘It’ll be the Old Man, bringing the Old Lady home,’ Tim said to me with a wry smile.
As we started planning our adventure, it was an idea that captured hearts across the world, and supporters as varied as Singapore Tourism Board, Land Rover, Opihr Gin and automotive enthusiasts from all over stepped up to make Tim’s dream come true.
Finally, on August 25 2019 at 11am – just over a year on from that chance meeting in Wales – I found myself behind Oxford’s wheel in Singapore.
What looked like every Land Rover in Singapore had lined up behind us, and police riders stood ready to close the roads ahead. TV crews from across the world joined a huge crowd gathered to wish us luck. I could never have guessed how big The Last Overland would become. Despite all the challenges ranged against us – from the lack of power steering, to the mountains of paperwork needed to cross some of the world’s most sensitive borders – everything had gone exactly to plan.
Almost everything, that is.
Beside me in Oxford was no Tim Slessor. After a remarkable recovery from major abdominal surgery just a few weeks earlier, Tim had limped rather than jogged to the start line. Having done so much to get us here, in a cruel twist of fate his body had failed him that morning in Singapore, and he’d been taken to a nearby hospital.
Instead, beside me sat a slightly bewildered Nat George – Tim’s 21 year old grandson – born and raised in London and freshly graduated that summer. Sensing his own failing health, Tim had suggested Nat be on standby in case the ‘Old Man’ had to step out. Little did Nat, or any of us, know that he’d be called up so soon.
‘It’s time a new generation carried the torch,’ Tim had told me that morning as he was being taken to hospital. Now, in a roar of cheers, horns and confetti, it was time to prove him right.
Spread across our convoy of three Land Rovers were myself and Nat, filmmakers Leo (France) and David (USA), Belgian social-media expert Therese-Marie, veteran Singaporean overlander Larry, our Indonesian doctor-cum-mechanic, Silverius “The Doc” Purba, and Expedition Manager Marcus from the UK.
Over the next 111 days, this team ranging in age from 21-51 would be put through every gruelling test that Asia and Europe could throw.
In Malaysia, Thailand, and Burma, monsoon rains poured through the countless cracks in Oxford’s creaking bodywork, and Oxford’s lack of power-steering, disk brakes, and modern suspension punished our spines as we headed into areas with few tarmac roads.
Meanwhile, in North-East India, the team had a narrow escape after being held temporarily hostage in a violent dispute between two rival Naga tribes, famous (formerly) for harvesting the heads of their enemies.
We’d lived to drive another day, but we knew we couldn’t risk Tim’s original route through the Middle East via India. Heading north instead through Nepal and China we covered up to 17 hours and 700km a day, enduring temperatures dropping to -20 degrees and altitudes rising above 5,400m, where altitude sickness was a constant companion.
Sneaking through China’s hypersensitive Xinjiang Province, we crossed through Kyrgyzstan to Tajikistan and onto the stunning Pamir Highway. There we faced our diciest chapter on a road where Islamic extremists had kidnapped and murdered tourists along the Highway in recent months, but who for now – thankfully – were otherwise engaged.
Despite the dangers we faced, the Expedition had never stopped moving and we crossed the border into reclusive Turkmenistan on November 6. There however, it seemed our luck had finally run out.
On a stripe of jet-black tarmac slicing through the endless Turkmen desert, I sat head in hands struggling to process what I knew must be the dramatic and premature end to all we’d worked for.
I watched in dismay as litres of Oxford’s vital fluid streamed onto the road, stopping to pool around the vehicle’s rear right wheel now cutting a lone figure 100 yards from where it ought to be.
After carrying us safely through some of the harshest terrain on the planet for 73 days, Oxford had decided to disintegrate at top speed (62mph), taking the brakes – but thankfully not my life – with it. Turning to me from under the chassis, The Doc shook his head mournfully, implying that this could be the complete write-off we’d been fearing.
It seemed we were now stranded in a country that lets in fewer outsiders than North Korea, run by men whose personality cults would make Donald Trump blush. The team stood in silence by Oxford’s side, united in grief.
Throughout our journey so far, it was the kindness and resourcefulness of strangers that had kept us on track. Turkmenistan, despite its oddities, didn’t fail us. Miraculously, and despite the dramatic crash, on closer inspection it appeared Oxford had sustained only minor damage, but it was a band of local mechanics working through the night who brought our beloved vehicle back from the dead.
Now back on four working wheels and exiting Turkmenistan, we were making a major diversion from our planned route across Iran due to escalating tensions. Taking instead the ferry across the Caspian Sea to Azerbaijan, soon we were driving on through Georgia and into Turkey and finally back on Tim’s original route for the first time since Nepal.
Oxford’s arrival back on its old stomping grounds had not gone unnoticed. A legion of fans from across Europe now pulled out every stop, competing to give us the most unforgettable welcomes.
The journey through Bulgaria, Serbia, Hungary, Slovakia, Austria, Germany, France and Belgium was a rapid and happy blur.
Finally, on the cold, dark and gale-battered morning of December 14, we left Calais to cross the Channel. Not to be outdone by their European counterparts, waiting at Folkestone in the shadow of the white cliffs of Dover was the largest contingent of Land Rover fans so far. They’d come from across the UK to braving freezing temperatures and stinging sea spray to welcome Oxford home at last.
There, in the howling wind and waves, Tim and Nat were finally reunited. It was a moment that moistened many an eye, including my own. Grandfather and grandson together again, 77 years apart but united in their spirit of adventure.
Perhaps, I thought, as the sky finally cleared and the cheers were still ringing in our ears, Sir David might just forgive me this one.
Like all good adventure stories, our story had one final, dramatic twist. It was a twist none of us could have seen coming, but one the whole world would painfully and stoically endure.
Just as I was starting to write the first chapters of my book, and my team set to work producing the four films, the full scale of the Covid-19 pandemic began to dawn. Border after border we had crossed just weeks before began to close, with no certainty they would reopen soon, if ever. New friends from across Asia and Europe shared stories of lost freedoms and lost loved ones that bound us in grief.
In the toughest months of 2020, it felt absurd to be writing about the joy of global travel, and the importance of free movement. I sometimes wondered if the world I was writing about was lost forever. But through the darkest days, The Last Overland kept me warm like a little flame lit in better times.
As the book and series slowly drew to their finish, the curbs and depravations that the pandemic brought on began to ease in tandem. The world I drove through in 2019 feels almost back to normal.
But while today it can feel like we’re out of the Covid woods, it’s important to remember that due to China’s border closures, the war in Ukraine and conflict in the Middle East, an overland journey from London to Singapore is once again impossible.
One day soon, as the great wheels of history keep on turning, I hope that will change. And when it does you’ll find Oxford and I waiting, ready to ride again.
The Last Overland launches exclusively on All4 Thursday September 29, along with a book by Alex Bescoby, published by Michael O’Mara Books.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing [email protected]
Share your views in the comments below.
Source: Read Full Article
