Reflections on five years in Parliament (Part 2)

LES LABUSCHAGNE  MP

DIPLOMATIC DIGRESSIONS : OR OOPS

My first assignment was at the SA Embassy, Vienna, in May 1969 with the exalted rank of Third Secretary.  The only lower rank in the Foreign Service was that of Vice Consul!  Third Secretary also does not necessary mean that there is a First or Second Secretary.  I was the general dog’s body doing everything from political reporting, admin, accounts, visas to counting the silver teaspoons at the Ambassadors Residence.

At that stage our Embassy consisted of two Missions, one accredited to Austria and secondly to the International Atomic Energy Agency AEA.  One of the more effective UN agencies as the constitution, in which Don Sole I believed played a major part in drafting, balanced strict technical requirements for membership of the Board of Governors with political requirements for the rest.

Within days of my arrival there was a scare in that the Ambassador’s daughter had allegedly been kidnapped – she wasn’t and he had been appointed a Government Minister and had to return to South Africa.  She apparently was not keen to return.

This of course caused some alarm with the Counsellor (Kurt von S) who was due to go on leave, and had organized a yacht cruise with his family among the Greek isles.  Spurred by the specter of cancellations he exercised all his considerable diplomatic skills to persuade Head Office that the Embassy could safely be left in my sole charge.  He later went on to a most distinguished career which proves his persuasive skills!

Thus after six weeks I was in charge as charge d’affaires ad interim.  This doesn’t mean that I was in charge of the fairies as some deputy Minister, who shall remain unnamed, confusedly thought.

Of course when you are in charge all that can happen is that you can get into trouble.  You are expected to see that nothing goes wrong, you get no money and if something goes wrong it is assumed to be your fault!  There was however one perk.  I could use the ambassador’s car for any official duties.  Ambassador cars had special plates and we were WD001.

One of the tasks of the Third Secretary was the diplomatic pouch.  This object shrouded by mystery and speculation by many authors, was, in my case a very dirty, stout canvass bag which could contain the average piece of carry on luggage.  I had to take and fetch the incoming one every week personally from the pilot of the conveying aircraft.

Airport security in the late 1960’s was not like today and I knew my way around.  I always arranged with the taxi to be dropped off at the VIP entrance and dashed up back and side stairs.

As Chargé, I could use the Ambassadors car.  I duly told the driver to go to the VIP entrance.  As we swept down and around the corner we stopped at a red carpet surrounded by soldiers, police and extremely well dressed persons of obvious status.

When the car stopped, uniforms saluted, well dressed straightened up and began looking plussed and a senior gentleman flung open the door with a “Gruss Gott, Excellency”.

I, baby faced, bespectacled coke bottle glasses!, holding a great big canvass bag emerged, nodded and walked along the red carpet.  That was the first time I realised what non plussed looked like – after entry I scuttled up the nearest staircase.

I later learnt the crowd were expecting the King of Saudi Arabia.  On later reflection I recalled Churchill once commenting that “An empty taxi drew up at 10 Downing Street, and Clement Attlee got out”.

Having dispatched my diplomatic pouch I then received my first invitation to a reception (fancy name for a cocktail party).  Coming from Molteno I had never been to a cocktail party and here was an engraved invitation “Monsieur L Labuschagne, charge’d’Affairs a.i. Ambassade Afrique du Sud.  Nogal.  I still have it.

Duly armed with the card, into WD001, I arrived at a palace.  This was an eye-opener, chandeliers, gilt etc.  As I slowly moved around the various groups I discovered to my horror that everyone was speaking German.  Why not, it was Austria.

Now at that stage, the government didn’t believe in language training, it was up to you at your own expense.  My German consisted of “Gruss Gott, Ein Grosses bier vom fass, (large draft).  WC (If you had the first, you need the second!) and auf wiedersehn. 

Then suddenly, across a crowded room, I saw a lonely solitary individual, I hurried across, “Deutsch”, I said with a quizzical interrogative smile.  A head shook, Labuschagne I said extending my hand, grasped, a long Spanish name followed by Uruguay.  He couldn’t speak German either.  What a relief, short lived.  He couldn’t speak English, let alone Afrikaans.  Now we were stuck.  So standing side by side we engaged in ocular oscillation of the room for the next 24 hours.  I would oscillate to the left and he to the right, our eyes would meet in the middle, smile, toast and take a “sluk”. 

Of course you later learn the art of diplomatic extrication which is made easier if you and your wife form a team.  So I leave you with a cocktail tip.

Beware of the solitary individual, their might just be a good reason why he is thus.

The second digressions relate to my last posting in China 1992 to 1996.  I decided that as the major Western economies had got in first in the established Special Economic Zones that I should explore business opportunities in the more neglected inland provinces.  I persuaded some South African banks and businesses located in Hong Kong to join me in a visit to the interior.  We met in Chengdu in the Sizuan Province where we boarded a “Lucky 7” aeroplane.  This 20 odd seater looked like a biplane without the bottom wing.  The seat backs could move backwards or forwards to accommodate, I suppose those coming or going.  I never found out because at the conclusion of our visit to Panzhihua we were told that we could not fly out as the Communist Party had commandeered the plane to attend a congress.  Now we know where Comrade Bob Mugabe got his ideas from.

Our hosts however had booked us on an overnight train.  My wife, self, my no two Iaan Basson and Claude Pearce from Nedbank occupied the one compartment with the Hong Kong group in the other, next to the Chinese gang, i.e. guard, conductor, police and army.

Having consumed our box lunches kindly provided by our hosts we gathered the debris carefully and I asked Iaan to ask the Chinese how we could dispose of same.  He returned with a bemused broad smile.  He went to the guards’ compartment and asked what to do.  The female guard said no problem, took the parcel and chucked it out of the open window.  I suppose that it was bio-degradable.

One of the customs of the African Embassies located in Beijing was for all of us to gather on New Year’s eve for party which culminated in dancing.  This entailed us forming a large dancing circle with two persons then performing solo dances in the middle.  They then would move and touch one of the other dancers who would then take their place to do his or her solo in the centre.

On our way home my wife informed me that every time I danced in the middle all the little black kids virtually rolled on the ground in mirth at my gyrations.

I must confess that I was pretty miffed as I thought I moved with a certain gazelle like elegance.  After all, any Afrikaner whose family had been in South Africa for over 280 years must have acquired a rhythmic gene along the way.  Let’s park this for a moment.

I decided to visit the province of Xinyang, the North West Province bordering on Pakistan, Kirgizstan, Usbekistan.  This province had a predominantly Muslim population which was restless.

After visiting the ancient city of Kashgar, on the old silk road, we went to the ancient city of Yarkand as I had expressed an interest in agriculture.  This city was irrigated by underground channels or Karezes carrying water miles underground.

I call this visit the desert snowball.

We crossed part of the Gobi desert and started the visit.  On arrival the next morning we found a long bus awaiting my party of my wife, self, second secretary, interpreter, Chinese official and our silent partner who I later ascertained was a Chinese KGB equivalent body guard.  We visited the Mayor, the Agricultural authorities and at each stop the bus got fuller and fuller and we collected first one then a second police car.  

About midday we came to our last meeting, a local farmer.  By this time I was famished and thank goodness there were bowls of fruit, which I welcomed both on the grounds of courtesy and hunger.  I was then given a bowl of thick vegetable soup and fortified, was ready to face the Gobi and return to Kashgar.  Bidding goodbye to mine host I was then told we were now going to lunch!

Our entourage which now consisted of a full bus, two police cars and another then came to a stop at a vineyard.

On the road between the vines we found a small dance floor, a three piece band, a single woman and an elderly gentleman with a long white beard wearing a long white nightshirt and a Muslim cap who welcomed us.  Our group ensconced ourselves on the blankets, the band played.

I was given a skewer with five small roasted bits  -  thank goodness not too heavy a meal   -  however on close inspection were deep fried pigeon heads.  .

When I declined a second helping but suggested that my wife would be delighted to oblige. You know, it’s amazing what long memories women have.

This was followed by a bowl of colourless liquid and fist sized chunks of meat.  The colourless liquid helped enormously.

In China one never drinks alone at will.  Most impolite.  You therefore if you wish to drink would catch someone’s eye, raise glasses in a toast and quaff.  Unfortunately every time I looked up I caught the eye of one of the six persons sitting opposite me and I quaffed, and quaffed.

By now the musicians sang a song.  Roughly translated was that although we are Muslims and do not drink, we welcome guests from afar and therefore we can drink to their health.  These guys obviously loved having guests hence the bus and police cars.

We now discovered that the purpose of the single female was to dance with my wife.  Then it was my turn with my dance partner for the banquet, namely the guy with the night shirt.  Well we danced under the vines watched on the other side of the dance floor by a goodly selection of the village, children and women who would move closer, then someone would shoo them away, but not for long.  I have never seen such dusty kids in my life, but then even the water in the irrigation channels was dusty.

A solitary inspection of the vines revealed a half skinned sheep being lightly roasted for second helpings and then it was time to go.  We left our desert snowball behind and our tiny group crossed the Gobi to catch our plane back from Kashgar to Urumqi.

The flight being quite uneventful apart from the pilot’s dilemma whether to turn back due to a possible fuel shortage but when we got halfway the question became academic while I reflected on the uncomplicated hospitality of my trip to Yarkand.

Of course after returning to Beijing and later viewing the video of me and my dancing partner, I must sadly confess that I do not have a rhythmic gene in my DNA.