To the family of Charlie Cook, I hope you won’t mind these late condolences and my reminiscing below. I left Canada as a “young” engineer in the early 1980’s, to work for Aramco in Saudi Arabia. I eventually was moved to the third floor of a nice, small, walk-up apartment in Abqaiq, across the hall from Charlie. We both worked in the Projects Inspection department.
I left Saudi Arabia after a couple of years and lost track of Charlie. I tried several times to find his contact information, but was never able. The only thing I knew was that he lived in Liverpool, a fact not lost me because my own grandparents immigrated to Canada from Liverpool in 1929.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, I was researching my own family tree. For reasons I can’t explain other than divine intervention, Charlie’s name popped into my mind. I decided to search it and “Liverpool” using the Google search engine. Much to my surprise, this obituary was the first hit. I clicked on it and saw Charlie’s picture and thought, good Lord, I’m sure that’s him. But my mind has grown a bit dim since the early 1980’s (some may say that it was always dim). So I looked at some of the messages here and one message (Aime) really struck me. “Good shit, that” was a signature phrase for Charlie, and it was used liberally when he was talking about coffee or siddiqui, or anything in between.
Judging by the messages here, I don’t have to tell you that Charlie was a great guy and a good friend. Abqaiq was a nice, quiet little town, but we didn’t have much to do during the evenings or on weekends. Sometimes we would watch the children of Aramco employees who were on family status (mostly Americans), as they raced their bikes on the BMX track. It was quite an elaborate track, built no doubt, using material scavenged from one of the many projects underway at the time. Occasionally you would go to the library, or buy a magazine at the commissary, or watch a movie at the company theater, even though they could be heavily edited.
But the thing we probably did the most, was go to the local souk (market), which was just outside the main gate. Charlie seemed to know every stall operator. He would greet them as if they were old friends, shake their hand, and then count his fingers. That would always break them up, as the locals prided themselves in being shrewd businessmen. We rarely bought anything – it was just entertainment.
We also spent a lot of time just talking. Working in Saudi Arabia in those days was a rather solitary life. We had numerous conversations about everything from his early days working in the shipyards, to obscure units of measure (a gill, a dram), and their conversion. Phone calls home had to be booked through an international operator – no cell phones or internet back then. It’s hard to imagine by present day communication options.
Back then, most British expats were separated from family for long period of time (at least many months), with only a few weeks leave during the year for a quick trip home. I know being away from family bothered Charlie, as he would often comment: “I’ve not been a greatest father, but I’ve been a good provider”. I suppose that was the same for many family men who had to go abroad to find suitable work. Rest in peace Charlie, I sense that you were a better father than you thought.
wrote
Report abuse
Comments