OIL OF IRAN

Grey River Argus, 13 March 1940, Page 9

OIL OF IRAN

Enterprise of British AND SHAH’S CHANGES. Set on the edge of the low, sunbaked plains that run down to the F sian Gulf lies the oil refinery o f Abadan writes Clifford Hornby in the London “Daily Telegraph”. Although Iran is the fourth largest oil-produc-ing country in the world, this Bntisnowned refinery has, by reason of its remote position, hitherto attracted little public attention. Now its secur_ ity is a matter of general interest, for much of its annual output of petroleum is used by our mechanised Army units and the Navy. Even the private motorist, cherishing his humble ration of petrol, may think with concern what his plight might be if the war removed Iranian oil from British hands. North of Iran lies Russia, second only to America as an oil-producing country. With frontiers both on Rumania and Iran she must realise how her position would be improved could she obtain control of the oilfields of both these neighbours. The Iranian oilfields, however, are not easily accessible from the north.

There are vast mountains to .be crossed. Range after range they rise; among their high, silent peaks roam mountain goats and snow leopards. The few passes follow a serpentine course, the track twisting so violently that such cars as occasionally traverse them are often unable to take the bends without reversing several times. It is in the foothills on the southward side of the final range that Iran’s oil-bearing territory is reached. Every month 90 tankers leave the wharves of the great refinery on the banks of the muddy Shatt-el-Arab, and steam down the Persian Gulf. Among them sail the grey, oil-carry-ing ships of the Admiralty.

EASY TO IDENTIFY. An oil refinery such as this at Abadan is probably the easiest and most vulnerable target that bombing aircraft could find. It lies vast and open to the skies. Possibly the refinery’s best protection is the fact that much of her British-built plant is of very advanced design and consequently an enemy desiring oil would hesitate to destroy what his technicians would be unable to replace. By day the position of the wells is marked by columns of black smoke rising into the hot air, and at night the flames of the waste gases burning off at the wells gleam redly about the wild hills, like some survival from the days of Zoroastrian fire-worship.

Roads have been constructed which link these producing wells, but the geophysicists who go into new territory to prospect for fresh oil deposits have no roads to follow, and much of their travel is done on mustangs, with pack mules to carry the delicate instruments which are the modern aid to oil divination.

Last summer I was visiting the country with my camera with the purpose of filming the scene and the processes, but found that the old excitement of a well “coming in,” with great gushers spouting, is not quite what it used to be. The crude oil of Iran's fields does not lie in underground lakes, but is contained in the fissures of hidden limestone, as though the limestone were a sponge full of oil. Once the structure of the limestone has been charted, sites are marked out and steel derricks, 130 feet high, are erected. These derricks, so characteristic of the scene, support the lengths of drill piping which will eventually be screwed into the steel drill as it bores down into the rock. MONTHS OF DRILLING. Drilling continues perhaps for many months, until at last the chippings forced up through the hollow drill show traces of oil. Then follows the “big moment,” but, though the oil may range to the surface at a pressure of 20001 b. to the square inch, there is no spectacular gusher, for the oil is controlled by snubbing gear and passes directly into the pipeline which will carry it on its long journey to the refinery. Over the mountains and across the plains the 12 in. pipe runs its course to the Gulf. Every 200 ft. it is bent; to allow for the violent expansion and contraction due to the alternating night and day temperatures. (It was 120 degrees in the shade when I was filming the operations—only there was no shade). It is a zigzag trail, often the only guide for travellers across the empty desert. Though the pipeline is very vulnerable to malicious attack there are pumping stations at intervals of 60 miles, and the men in these lonely stations, informed by falling pressure immediately the pipe is punctured, are able to set out to repair a leak with a van of welding apparatus. Once in the refinery the black, -ready, crude oil is subjected to various complicated processes which break it down into its constituent parts—motor spirit, kerosene, fuel oils, lubricants, and pitch. These products then flow into the holds of the waiting tankers, and one reflects with astonishment that, with these modern methods, the bulk of the oil never sees the light of day, but passes from its rocky fastness and into the engines of the world out of sight, of the human eye.

The full extent of oil deposits in Iran' is still unknown, but the Iranian wells show no sign of exhaustion. A SOCIAL REVOLUTION. Meanwhile, Iran is undergoing a significant social revolution. Within twelve years Reza Shah Pahlevi has reformed the social life of his people, instituted educational schemes and military training from the kindergarten upwards, and in many directions is seeking to encourage modernisation. One result is an increased Iranian interest in the technicalities of oil production. Under the terms of the revised concession the company has instituted schools for young Iranians at which they are taught elementary engineering, their studies being varied by the practice of such Western games as hockey and football. Just outside the refinery is the old village, a typical Eastern assemblage of dwellings; but the Iranians who work in the refinery under the training scheme live in modern bulidings. Probably Iranians woulcl in time be

able to run the refinery; they would scarcely be able, however, to keep the plant in running order without the ,material and help of British experts, for it is claimed'that’ our plant in Iran is a modei for any oil-producing country. Not only is there education for the young Iranian. On the walls of every official building are displayed posters depicting the change which education will bring into the lives of older men. A class of bearded elders is shown — before and after school. The most popular comparison I noticed is of the man who had to carry merchandise on his back before he attended school. After he is educated he wheels a trolley, into which—apparently equally enlightened—his employers have put what looks like the normal load of a motor-lorry. ENDING TRIBALISM. The biggest task which the Central Government faces is that of stamping out tribalism. Under persuasion and new decrees, the pastoral nomad life of the people, their tribal headgear and cool, attractive like robes are all giving place to something like uniformity of appearance and habit —not without loss.

Fortunately, the arts of Iran appear to be benefiting under the new regime; for of recent years it has been plain that the factory-minded European traders have affronted Iran’s artistic conscience most deplorably. Representatives of foreign companies supervising the production of carpets in famous weaving centres have been producing local work according to blue-print designs dictated by the taste of European capitals. They have disregarded traditional Iranian designs and even intro‘duced those of foreign artists. Now the export of aniline dye is prohibited, and it is kkely that the old subtle colourings will again ornament carpets worthy of the country. AN AESTHETIC PLEASURE. To the Iranian the contemplation of fine carpets is an aesthetic pleasure —the same pleasure as he derives from his beautiful gardens, the designs of which are often copied in carpets. After days among the scorched rocks of the oil country one finds the cool green shade of these gardens an unforgettable experience. In them time passes easily. Small bulbous glasses of tea are drunk at leisure until the sun is low; then the apparatus for the pipe is laid out on the tables. The gardens are hunted by innumerable birds, nightingales sing, and the crimson flammules of pomegranate trees are gorgeous in the gathering twilight. Voices are pitched in a lower key, and the local gossip of the day gives place to recitation of ancient legend, gathered by Firdausi, the poet, 900 years back. For the Iranian is very conscious of his country’s history, and the names of the old heroes are familiar to his tongue. Reluctantly one leaves the gardens and turns again towards the hills where the flare from the wells proclaims the change wrought in Iran by the harnessing of its oil to the world’s