 |
Dr Malan arrivas in London for the Commonwealth Prime
Minister's conference in 1949 Left is H.C. Egeland. John Mills centre Brig.Willmott
right.
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In January of 1948 the new High Commissioner, Mr.Leif Egeland,
arrived from The Hague, where he had been Minister Plenipotentiary. A former
Member of Parliament and protégé of Smuts, he had the fair hair and blue eyes
inherited from his ancestors - his Norwegian father had come out to Natal in
the whaling industry - the looks of a cherub and an absurd schoolboy charm on
which he traded shamelessly. He had been a brilliant scholar and for a while a
don at Oxford, before returning to South Africa and entering politics. To the
British Establishment he was all they could have desired; half the Cabinet and
a number of senior civil servants seemed to have been up at Oxford with him,
and he had entrée everywhere.
It was apparently the custom to appoint a new Private
Secretary when a new High Commissioner arrived. Possibly because of my
experience with Smuts I got the job, taking over from Bill Douthwaite, who did
his best to explain the difficulties of being a buffer between the Head of the
Mission and the Official Secretary, a professional public servant, Eugene
Scallan, who had come to London from Brazil, where he had been Consul-General.
Here a word of
explanation might be useful. Although the High Commissioner was in overall
command of the Mission, work was divided between administrative and political
departments. The Political section (i.e. that staffed by External Affairs
officers) was small in numbers; the Political Secretary was a comparatively
junior official. The Official Secretary had a rank almost equivalent to that of
a Head of Department and was second in command, taking over when the High
Commissioner was away. He reported to Treasury, rather than External Affairs,
the latter in those days being merely a sub-department of the Department of the
Prime Minister.
One of the
principal bones of contention was what matters could or should be dealt with by
the Private Office and passed on for action, and which should be the grist for
Mr. Scallan's mill. Matters had apparently been exacerbated by the former
Political Secretary (i.e.senior External Affairs representative) Don Sole, a great
worker, whose activities Scallan regarded, as poaching on his territory. Things
had apparently reached such a pitch that at lunch-time Scallan would come in to
the H.C..’s office and go through his "in" basket to make sure that
no matters in which he had a legitimate interest were being misdirected to persons he considered not competent, Often it
was a race between Bill and Scallan as to who got in first.
Bill was a clever
fellow - his tutor at Oxford, where he had studied International Law, said he
was one of the most brilliant students he had ever had - but he was almost
totally lacking in tact or common sense and was no respecter of persons Bill seemed to relish the conflict
with Scallan and took a rather cavalier line, occasionally endorsing a letter
as follows:
"Secy - (the
rest of the office would refer deferentially to 'Mr Scallan')
Interested
at all?"
This would come
back immediately with a furious annotation, almost tearing a hole in the paper:
"Mr.
Douthwaite, YES. Return with
papers at ONCE!"
I
did not share Bill's puckish and harebrained delight in pulling the tiger's
tail and managed on the whole to avoid antagonising Mr. Scallan.
In a drawer of my
desk I found a little notebook, considerately left behind by a former occupant
of my chair, Brand Fourie. It contained a wealth of information about the job,
carefully compiled by that most careful of men. Apart from this I found the
High Commissioner's driver, Frank Gray, to be a most tactful (" If I might
suggest, sir...") and helpful mentor. There was also Pauline Stubbs, a
South African lass who was the H.C..’s confidential secretary/typist and also
looked after the Private Office's correspondence. She was a gem.
I soon found out
that with a great deal of correspondence I was on my own. Often I would pass a
letter which was making a specific request, and endorse it:
"H.C.: Instructions, please." More often than
not it would come back with a tick to show it had been read, but with no instructions.
So I would have to draft replies myself, imagining what the H.C. would probably
have said, and have them typed up. As I gained in confidence I would sign some
myself as Private Secretary, others I would send through. It was seldom that
the H.C. did not sign what I had drafted. It was excellent experience, and I
was beginning to think that I had got the job taped.
Pride goes before a
fall. It was borne in on me that it was not so much my skill at drafting but
Egeland's haste which was responsible for my apparent success rate. On one
occasion this caused a contretemps. In a letter which I had drafted and sent
through and which he must have signed without reading, I had referred (ignorant
Capetonian that I was) to Durban as the capital of Natal, and the letter had
gone to a Natal correspondent, from the constituency that Egeland had
represented! (Quel horreur! As everyone knows, the capital of Natal is
Pietermaritzburg.) When his friend replied, pointing out the error and
suggesting it was time he came home for a spell, the High Commissioner was not
best pleased. He told me so.
To balance this misfortune there was
one occasion when I got a pat on the back from an unexpected source. At a
reception in South Africa House the then British Ambassador to the Netherlands,
Sir Neville Bland, a former colleague of Egeland's in The Hague whom I had met
at the Residence, noticed me and came over and thanked me for "the
charming letter" he had just received. I replied that the letter had been
from the High Commissioner, not from me. Sir Neville smiled and said, "Ah,
yes, but we both know who drafted it." Rather nice, I thought - unexpected
and gratifying, as Eeyore would put it. What a kind and gracious man,
Answering the
telephone and deciding who could or should be put through to the H.C. was
another matter in which judgment was required, and I remembered Smuts'
dismissive "He's wasting my time". The H.C'.’s time, too, could not
be wasted, and I had to learn the art of stonewalling and deflecting without
giving cause for offence. Good training for a young prentice diplomat.
Sometimes I would
get a surprise. The phone rings, a voice says, "Leif?" I reply "
No, sir, this is the Private Secretary."
"Then put me through at once, please.... This is the Lord Chamberlain
speaking." So I put him through and
hoped that it really was the Lord Chamberlain.
People. Yes, people
can be difficult. For some reason South African visitors to London seemed to
regard South Africa House as a combination of Tourist Office, Ticket Agency and
General Hospitality Centre, all for their convenience, and the H.C., as Egeland
himself put it, as "a combination of Father Christmas and Thomas
Cook." They demanded all kinds of services to which they had no possible
claim, and which we were not equipped to provide. Admittedly the office had
gone out of its way in the immediate post-war period to help visitors for whom
no other assistance was available, but those days had long since passed.
Nevertheless the tradition was by now so firmly established that it was
difficult to wean people from what they confidently expected.
The Union Castle
liner would dock at Southampton on a Thursday, and on the Friday morning you
could be sure that literally hundreds of visitors would arrive at South Africa
House, all demanding service. The total was estimated at 1500 per year. In
addition the Egelands had a host of friends and acquaintances in South Africa
who thought nothing of giving their
friends letters of introduction, and these people would pitch up in the Private
Office quite confident that all they had to do was to present their letter in
order to be ushered into the Presence. My job was to decide whom I must admit
and whom to discourage - as gently as possible. If I had not, the H.C. would
have had little time to himself. More good training in diplomacy.
An effective and
inexpensive way to defuse this sensitive situation - for many returned to South
Africa complaining bitterly of their reception - was the High Commissioner's
Coffee Party. I used this way out frequently. "I'm sorry, sir, but The
Commissioner is busy at the moment and I'm not sure when he will be free, and
even if he were able to see you now, his next appointment is in ten minutes'
time. If, however, you were free on Thursday morning at 11 o'clock I have
authority to include suitable visitors on the invitation list for his Coffee
Party - he holds one once a week in season. He is certain to be there and I'm
sure you'll find that more congenial and you'd have a better chance of a chat
with him."...... Liar.
The trouble with
this was that when people got home they could not resist the temptation to
boast about how the High Commissioner had invited them to a coffee party in
South Africa House, and so everybody expected the same treatment and complained
if they did not receive it. Some battles one cannot win.
What I resented was
the apparent belief among many that they had a right to be invited -
after all the Government was paying, wasn't it? This seems to be a deeply
rooted idea that has persisted. Twenty-five years later in San Francisco the
same remark was made to me by an indignant citizen whom I had not invited to a
party. Let me assure you, the Government was not paying - except to the extent
that it paid our salaries.
Another
of my duties was to keep the H.C'.’s diary and see that it contained all his
engagements, and see that he kept them. This is where the chauffeur, Frank
Gray, was so helpful, pointing out where necessary, that it would not be
possible for the H.C. to get from point "A" to point "B" in
the time available. "If I might suggest, sir....." I was amazed to see how many engagements the
H.C accumulated. At times it seemed that he seldom had a lunch-time or an
evening free. These engagements were put on a list called the 'H.C'.s
Go-around" and circulated to Heads of Division, so they would know where
he was at any given time.
Off to the Continent.
Our wedding day was nearing and a spanner was nearly
thrown into the works at this stage by a decision by the High Commissioner that
he wanted to visit Germany, just three weeks before we were due to walk up the
aisle. Why he should have wished to do this I do not know; he had been on a
quite extensive trip there the previous year. He told Smuts of his plans, saying
he wished to take his Military Adviser and his Trade Commissioner with him.
Smuts replied that he travelled with no-one but his Private Secretary and
suggested Egeland should do the same. Hm.
We
crossed the Channel on a ferry, the HC 's temper being not improved by the fact
that he had not been givens the state cabin he had confidently expected. My
fault again. After spending the night at our Legation at The Hague, we set out
in the car, which the Head of our Military Mission in Berlin, General Armstrong,
had sent for us.
We crossed the
border at Helmstedt. It was a little intimidating to drive through
Soviet-occupied Germany and to be given a kind of metal token by the British on
departure, which had to be handed in on arrival in Berlin. If we had not
arrived by a certain time, British armoured cars would be sent down the road to
look for us. We fortunately had no trouble, although the Mongolian-looking
sentry at the Russian checkpoint on the outskirts of the city took his time
studying our documents before signalling us to proceed. He seemed a little
puzzled, possibly because he was trying to read them upside down.
I was appalled by
the devastation in Berlin, and no amount of rationalising that the Germans had
brought it on themselves was of much help. Germany was at that time under
military occupation, and was divided into zones Russian, American, British and
French. Berlin itself was similarly divided. The Military Missions were in
effect Embassies in all but name, but headed by military men. We were invited
to the Belgian Mission on the occasion of their National Day. They had a
pleasant house on the Wansee. There was, I recall, a jetty running out into the
lake. I asked a young Belgian diplomat whether his chief allowed the staff to
use it for swimming. He replied rather chillingly that swimming was not very
popular because it was calculated that the lake contained about 20,000 corpses,
which had still to rise. It was eerie indeed to be standing on the carefully
manicured lawn, being served canapés and drinks by white-gloved servants, while
outside scores of hungry Germans waited with noses pressed against the fence in
the hope of scraps from our table. Vae victis. I felt distinctly ill at ease.
We spent only one
day in Berlin, which was quite enough for me, before going down with General
Armstrong by car to Hamburg. The city was still in a state of shock after the
massive bombing which had devastated it. (In one day 35,000 Hamburg citizens
perished.) The port was of course a prime target, containing inter alia the
U-Boat pens harbouring the wolf packs which had nearly brought Britain to her
knees in two world wars. The pens had been protected by several feet of
reinforced concrete, but these massive blocks were tossed in confusion like
spillikins everywhere. The harbour was filled with sunken ships, some sunk by
bombs, some scuttled by the Germans.
We stayed at the
famous Vierjahrezeiten Hotel, with a fine view over the Alster. Even in the
aftermath of all that had happened the old hotel was clearly one of the great
hostelries of the world. It had been arranged that we should see the Hamburg
Opera's current production in the evening. I was looking forward to my first
experience of German opera. Unfortunately for me, although sung in German, it
was Benjamin Britten's "Peter Grimes". It made an appalling impression on me. I can still hear the
resounding "Peter Grrrimes! Peter
Grrrimes!" It put me off Britten for life. Of interest was the fact that
both performers and audience were accommodated on what had been the stage, the
rest of the building having been destroyed. The opera company itself was being
subsidised by the American Consul-General, a wealthy man who loved opera and
had served in South Africa before the war.
Next morning I
accompanied the H.C. to call on the Mayor, an interesting character. He was an
American citizen who had been born in Hamburg and had returned to help his
native city. I wished that I could have been present to hear him talk, but on
these occasions I was, of course, left outside to be entertained by an
underling. When at the end of our journey Egeland told me to draft the outline
of a report for him, I expostulated that I had been present at none of these
interviews and had no idea of what had transpired. "Never mind," he said.
"Just give the outline and I'll fill in the rest." Cor!)
One morning General
Armstrong excused himself, saying that our programme was safely in the hands of
the British for the day and that he had one or two things to do. That evening
the H.C. asked if he could be told what Armstrong had been doing. Well, said
the general, apart from a few liaison calls, his principal duty every time he
came to Hamburg was to call on Smuts' old East African opponent from the first
World War, General Von Lettow Vorbeck, by then a very old man, and to report on
his condition. If there was anything the old gentleman needed it would be sent
on the next shuttle flight from South Africa. A very chivalrous gesture, I
thought.
While in Berlin the
H.C. had called on the Head of the British Military Mission, the South
African-born General Sir Brian Robertson. There remained calls on the American,
General Lucius Clay, and on General Koenig, the French commander. Of the visit
to Clay I remember little, but the visit to Gen. Koenig will remain engraved in
my memory for all time.
We arrived in
Baden-Baden, where the French had their HQ, at about 10 a.m. and were met at
the outskirts by a motorcycle escort of French Foreign Legionnaires - Koenig
having been a famous commander in French North Africa. We were escorted through
the city with sirens blaring and much hand-waving to clear the streets for us,
with German pedestrians scattering left and right. "Is it not passing
brave to ride in triumph through Persepolis?" It makes you feel about ten
feet tall until the absurdity of it all strikes you. And so it did as we
approached the HQ., for one of the escort took the bend a little too fast, got
into a speed wobble, and to what must have been jam to the Germans, skidded on
his bottom right off the road. Merde alors!
We were ushered
into the residence and there was a slight hiatus. After a little while Mme.
Koenig, a very distinguished-looking lady, came down to apologise on her
husband's behalf. He had been delayed, she said. Perhaps we would care for a
cocktail while waiting. Waiters circulated with various liquids, none of which
I recognised. I tried one which was chocolate-flavoured. It tasted very nice,
and when I was offered a second I did not refuse. I was half way through this when
Koenig appeared. I made to rise, but my legs refused to carry me. That cocktail
must have been lethal. I eventually managed to struggled to my feet, and then
came the only time I ever saw Egeland discomposed.
General Koenig was,
of course, the hero of Bir Hacheim in the Western Desert, where his Free French
forces had held out valiantly against Rommel.. Egeland made a graceful
reference to this, adding what a privilege it was to meet one who epitomised
the glories of France. "Thank
you", said Koenig coldly. "It is a pity your Prime Minister does not
share your view." (A week earlier Smuts, for reasons one can only guess
at, had spoken of France as being no longer a Great Power. Quel horreur.)
We passed into
luncheon still wrapped in glacial silence, but as the meal progressed and the
wine began to flow a mild thaw set in. In my case it was less of a thaw, more
like a dissolution. Anything on top of those homicidal cocktails was asking for
trouble, but the neighbour on my left, a French cavalry colonel, was adamant
that I should at least taste the various vintage wines, both white and red
which circulated freely, topped with a fine cognac to end the meal. To have
refused would have been to drop another clanger. The things I have done for my
country!
The rest of the day
was agony. We were taken to a horse show in which the French cavalry took part.
Endless horses endlessly jumping over endless hurdles. Up and over, up and
over. I nearly upped myself before the day was over. My cavalry colonel was
ecstatic at being able to show us how marvellous the French cavalry were.
Thereafter nothing would do but a visit to the Black Forest. It was so near,
and it would be such a pity to miss seeing it. How far was it? we asked. We had
to catch our plane back to London from Frankfurt early next morning. Not to
worry, we'll get you there, and off we set.
Of the journey I
remember little. I dimly recall waking up briefly to see dark forests sliding
past before relapsing into slumber, and getting out in the frosty air at some
ungodly hour in the morning, and sloping off to bed, only to be woken at what
seemed to be just a few hours later to drive through the dark of an early
morning - I never did see the Black
Forest - until eventually we reached Frankfurt and I was able to get back to
sleep in the aircraft. Wow! Never again will I be entertained by the French
military if I can help it.
There was in
addition another cause for worry. A General Election was due to be held in
South Africa at the end of May 1948. The Government was not thought to be in
any danger. Inexplicably to most of us, it was. General Smuts lost not only the
election but his own seat in Parliament. Shock! Horror! Some ardent Nationalist supporters in the
office asked me whether I thought it wise, in the circumstances, to marry an
English girl. They were, of course, just pulling my leg. Of course.
I was shaken by the turn of events. I had
greatly admired Smuts and was saddened by his departure. For Egeland the stress was far greater, for
he had to decide whether to resign or not. There was a hurried consultation of
historical precedents. In 1924 the High Commissioner of the day, a Smuts
appointee, had been asked by the incoming P.M., General Hertzog, to stay on and
complete his term of office. On the other hand when Smuts had come to power in
1939 the High Commissioner of the day, the Nationalist appointee Charles te
Water, had tendered his resignation, in the confident expectation that it would
not be accepted. He was wrong. What
should Egeland do? In the end he decided to stay put and leave it to the new
Government to decide.
He had consulted
Smuts, who told him: "Hang on. I am coming." And come he did, to
accept the Chancellorship of Cambridge University, where he had once been a
student himself. In a magnanimous gesture the new Prime Minister, Dr Malan,
allowed him to fly to England in the old official York aircraft. (Although
political rivals they had a mutual regard for each other. They had been boys
together, and Smuts had once taught Malan at Sunday School.) I believe Smuts'
advice fortified Egeland in his decision to stay on.
This was the
climate in which I prepared for my marriage. The marriage itself I took
seriously
DERBY DAY!
Came, eventually
the wedding day. For once, after raining all week, the weather relented.
The Rector in his address spoke in a sepulchral voice of
the difficulties facing young people in those post-war hard times, and called
on family and friends to support us. The irreverent Bill Douthwaite sidled up
to us later and whispered that he had some second- hand furniture and clothing
he could let us have cheaply!
There was, however,
an element of truth in his jest. New clothes were on ration, and it was only
with the aid of coupons supplied by the Commonwealth Relations Office that Pam
was able to buy essentials. Luckily my mother had brought over some dress
material and underclothes for her too.
All my diplomatic
colleagues, including the High Commissioner and his wife, came to the reception
at Pam’s parents’ home. It was a happy and carefree occasion. Pam looked
radiantly beautiful and I was much envied.
There again the guests we thrilled at the sight of ham, tins of
which I was able to import from Denmark, as well as a spot of alcohol, which
had to be imported from Ireland. They were certainly not used to it!
One good tip we did miss, (and that was
because we had no spare cash anyhow), was betting on the Derby that day, for
"My Love" won. Some of our guests took the hint though and profited
well.
Fifty pounds was
all that one was allowed to take out of England at that time, which meant that
few people travelled abroad. We were exempt, and with borrowed cash from my
father, we took off to Switzerland. From there I decided to visit the peasants
in Italy who had saved my life as an escaped POW during the war. Not the usual
way to spend a honeymoon in a village with only a village fountain for water
supplies and one small electric light to show modern advance!
Something new for Pam and a long interesting story!
Passing through
Rome, we went along to the Legation, and entered the office, which was the
basement of Barnaba Oriani 115, Parioli, the house we came to live in years
later - by which time the basement had been turned into a ballroom.
At the reception
desk was any elderly Italian called Balboni, who had been in the pre-war Trade
Commission in Milan before coming down to Rome when the Legation was re-opened.
He had had the sad duty of translating South Africa's declaration of war
against his own country in 1939.
Apparently he had somehow managed to save a lot of the office furniture
from that era, which the post-war Legation inherited and could have done
without when it was established. However, he was a fountain of local
information as well as a translator, and so an invaluable member of the office.
He let the External Affairs members know that we were there and we met for the
first time Boy Viljoen, then Second Secretary, and Derick de Villiers who was
Third Secretary.
Back to reality
After such a romantic
honeymoon it took a little while for us to adjust to more mundane affairs
We had not been
home long when an important occasion on the London social calendar took place.
This was the annual Buckingham Palace Garden Party, to which South Africa House
was entitled to a quota of invitations. As Private Secretary I was nominated to
attend, with Pam. I managed to wangle
invitations for my parents, who had come over for the wedding. We duly arrived
at the Palace gates by taxi and entered the hallowed grounds. Luckily the
weather was fine and the King and Queen walked among their guests, the King
with the Princess Elizabeth, the Queen with the Princess Margaret. To our great
delight the Queen came towards us, preceded by Admiral Bromley, Chief of
Protocol of the Commonwealth Relations Office, who was saying in an undertone
"Any Commonwealth citizens here?" I immediately held up my hand, and
to her inexpressible delight my dear mother was presented to the Queen. We
discovered that they all have those blue, blue eyes, and lovely complexions.
It was
at this time that the effect of my not getting on with my studies as I had
intended began to manifest itself. My poor wife had to put up with a silent
husband, deep in his books. I still had three examinations, and they were the
most difficult to pass before I could be confirmed in the Service. Pam, found keeping the house going,
gardening, growing vegetables to help food supplies and shopping almost daily
so as not to miss anything extra that was going to eat, took up most of her
time. With U.S.A. ending its ‘Lend Lease’ plan, England developed a depressing atmosphere with
everything in even shorter supply, and everyone wondering who had won the
war. The basic rations per week of 100
grams fat (made up or Butter, Margarine and Lard,) 25 -50 grams Cheese (cheddar
only) Bacon 1-2 rashers, Tea 50 grams, Meat 1 shilling’s worth, (one meal)
Sugar 200 grams, Eggs 1 after 1942 dried egg 1 pk. per month.) Jam 400 grams
per month. This called for a creative mind to produce meals! Everything else
was on a points system
1948 was the year of the Olympics in London, and we
were lucky in being able to obtain tickets for a few events. It is interesting
to note that the Opening Ceremony was held in daytime with no money wasted as
it is today. There was great formality with the officials in top hats and tails
and, in true British style, for which they are masters, the pageant was
presented by the Guards' Bands in full ceremonial dress, including Bearskins,
marching up and down the Wembley Olympic stadium. It was actually a very hot
day, as can happen in London, and they must have suffered in all that gear, but
the crowds, who are described as lemonade-swigging! loved it. After this the
athletes marched in and the King took the salute, and here again the journalist
noted that half an hour had gone by and only the countries starting with 'M'
have reached the arena. The big moment came when the sprinter arrived carrying
the torch, the flame was lit, and then a large choir sang the Olympic hymn and
the Halleluja chorus. - Finish. The Games were open! What a pity they don't
revert to that today. There were various venues all over London for all the
events, as I don't think any new facilities were built for the occasion.
Before the Opening Ceremony the H.C. had been invited
by the Management of the South African Olympic Games Team to have lunch with
them and meet the athletes, and I would have expected he would have accepted,
but no: I was told to represent him, together with the Administrative Secretary
of South Africa House, Mr. Isak Meyer.
I was
looking forward to meeting our sportsmen, but first had to endure a
long-drawn-out luncheon, complete with wines and brandy. It was obvious that
they did themselves very well. After a while I hinted that I would have to
leave shortly, as the High Commisioner would be requiring my services. Would it
be possible to see the team shortly?
Don't be in such a hurry, young man. Have another brandy. Eventually we
lurched somewhat uncertainly to our feet and made our way to a large marquee,
where, to my horror, I found the entire team drawn up in rows as if they were
an army unit on parade waiting for inspection by a senior officer. What they
must have felt at having their rest period taken up by this exercise I shall
never know.
My
embarrassment was increased by being introduced in the following terms:
"Fellows, we are honoured today by a visit from the High Commissoner's own
secretary, Mr Mills, together with Mr Meyer of the secretarial staff of South
Africa House. Mr Mills has taken time from his busy schedule to come to visit
us, and I will now ask him to say a few words."
Cor! Apart from the enormity of classing me above Mr.
Meyer, (who left South Africa House to become head of the Treasury!) I was
quite unprepared for any speech whatsoever, especially to this by now no doubt
rebellious group. I stumbled through a few ill-assorted phrases and ended by
wishing them all good luck. Isak Meyer, however, suffered from none of my
inhibitions, and launched into a rousing exhortation in Afrikaans.
Social life at our
level was very limited mainly because of the food shortages, but also because
all the staff and populous lived outside London in different directions.
Diplomats were given a very small petrol ration, but we did not own a car. We
naturally attended any official functions at South Africa House, where dress
was still very formal. Pam found hats were worn at every event – coffee
parties, lunch, tea, and cocktail parties (also cocktail dresses. Difficult
when she had never previously owned a hat due to the clothes ration.
One of
the perks which came our way because of John being private secretary to the
High Commissioner, was the odd invitation to a function to which the boss did
not wish to go. One day John phoned to say he had tickets to a play in memory
of the Battle of Britain. I enquired what the dress was and John thought that
anything respectable would be acceptable, so I put on a short dress, and as it
was wet, a mackintosh for the journey up to London. When we arrived at the
theatre we wished that the floor would open and swallow us up. Everyone was in
long evening dress and black-tie, with the Air Force representatives in full
rig with medals and all. Amongst these were the Air Chief Marshal Sir Sholto
Douglas and many high ranking dignitaries. We had to greet them and hoped we
could then disappear to an unobtrusive seat, but found to our dismay that we
were right in the front row, amongst the other Commonwealth High Commissioners.
We were more than relieved when the lights went out Another memorable event the High Commissioner did not wish to
attend, was the première of the film "The Secret Life of Walter
Mitty" starring Danny Kaye, which was being held at one of the London
cinemas. This we knew would be a black-tie affair with long dress, so there was
no problem on that score. John took his gear up with him, and later we both changed into our
glamorous outfits at South Africa House. We finally arrived at the cinema and
alighted to find a large crowd had assembled outside in spite of the weather.
The police were holding them back on either side and we walked up this avenue
with reporters' cameras flashing. Once in the foyer, reporters came up to us
and asked our names, and when John replied, "John Mills", they said,
"Oh, really, and whom are you accompanying?" They started to take note of what I was
wearing and John was tempted to lead them on. We felt they should have known
that John Mills was actually half his height and somewhat older, so ‘truth
would out’ and John decided to tell them that he was not the famous
actor. They immediately lost interest in us, of course, especially as
well-known film stars were arriving. We saw Jean Simmons, a very pretty young
actress, coming along with Stewart Granger, a tall heart throb idol of the
time, and there were many more dotted around us as we sat in our privileged
seats amongst all the distinguished guests. There were no delays or long
speeches of introduction from anyone so we thoroughly enjoyed the film, which
was a good comedy with Danny Kaye who could really make everyone laugh.
This should have
been a completely happy evening, but alas there was a last chapter to the
story. We did manage to get a taxi from the cinema back to Victoria station in
time to catch the last train. Luck was not with us as we alighted from the
train because we saw the last bus disappearing out of the station yard. We started
off on our long walk. In those days the street lights went out at midnight too.
Half way along I suddenly realised that we had not returned to South Africa
House, and I had left the house key with all my clothes there!
Fortunately we saw the funny side of the situation and finally
reached our abode. At the back of the house there was a metal fire escape. So -
I took off my shoes, put my dress over my head and managed to climb the stairs.
To my relief the window opened upwards wide enough for me to climb in and grope
my way to the light. The door to the rest of the house was locked. I pushed the
key out of the lock but did not put something under the door to catch it!
So - as
there were two beds in the room we had to resign ourselves to sleep the night
right there as best we may. The next morning John, still in his black-tie and
somewhat dishevelled, had to descend the ladder once more, go up to town and
retrieve the key while I stayed in the bedroom waiting for his return. I could
hardly appear in the garden in a long white dress. It certainly was a night to remember.
The advent of family
We gave some thought
about having a family because in the Foreign Service in those days one never
knew how long a posting was to last. I thought it a good idea to have at least
one child on home ground. One bonus was
an extra ration book for expectant mothers, which allowed me half a ration of
everything, free concentrated orange juice, codliver oil tablets, a free extra
pint of milk and a banana or real orange if they were ever available, which was
once in a blue moon. One had to register at all the shops to obtain rations.
Fish was not rationed but in short supply and the queues for these were
enormous. Often they sold out just before you were to be served!
Another big event for us was the annual presentation at
Buckingham Palace. In pre-World War II days this was a tremendous social
occasion. Young ladies were said to have "come out" (i.e. to have
entered society and now be eligible to be invited to receptions, balls, etc.)
only after they had been "presented at court." They were known as
debutantes - "debs", for short, and they dressed up like brides for
the occasion, and attended special classes to learn how to curtsey properly.
The Diplomatic Corps were also among those "presented at court'" and
the ladies had to have long white dresses etc. too. (Some even wore tiaras):
This event for the debutantes was discontinued after the
war and they were invited to the Garden Party instead, but there was still a
special presentation party for the Corps Diplomatique, to which Pam and I received an invitation - " The
Lord Chamberlain is commanded by their Majesties to invite...". (How
fortunate that formal court dress had been abandoned, with clothes' rationing as
it was.) Of course Pam had to have a
special dress and outfit for the occasion and even Hugh Gordon, Social
Secretary at South Africa House, was moved to congratulate her on her
appearance -"tout a fait comme il faut." Coming from him that was the
equivalent of an accolade. When
we came into the Palace I could not help remembering Stanley Holloway in
"Sam' s Medal":
"Well, Sam
pushed open Palace Door
And
stood in 'oly 'ush:
He found himself inside a room
All
marble busts and plush."
There were plenty
of rooms like that, and what seemed like endless corridors before we reached
the ante-room where we were marshalled and instructed before the big event -
"Don't stare at the King and Queen, keep your eyes down until you have
made your bow and curtsy (which we had to practise beforehand) when a glance
would be permissible, then right turn and exit, slowly." Our names were
called and we approached, made our obeisances and were rewarded by an
inclination of the head by the King, George VI and a kindly smile from the
Queen. We were then all entertained in the ballroom to refreshments while an
orchestra played up in the gallery. It was a very elegant event.
During this time the Political Secretary,
Chris Naudé, was transferred to Head Office. I was sorry to see him go. He was
a kindly man, and when Pam and I became engaged I was required to present her
for inspection to ensure that she would be suitable as a diplomatic consort. In
these days of triumphant feminism the mere idea would be hooted down, yet I
must confess that though I did somewhat resent the system I conceded its
necessity. So Pam and I called on Chris and his American-born wife Maude, and
had supper with them. Fortunately Pam passed muster. Why not, indeed? The
alternative would have been for me to seek other employment.
Chris' successor
was Anthony Hamilton, a very different personality. He was a short stocky man
with an engaging sense of humour and a slight stammer. Like Egeland an Oxford
graduate, he had worked for a spell on "The Times", and came into our
Service from the British High Commissioner's Office in Pretoria, where he had
been employed as an Information Officer. It was said that Smuts had offered him
employment on the advice of a prominent Johannesburg businessman who had said
that Anthony would add "a touch of class" to the Department. This
story did not endear him to his colleagues. He was also, like Egeland, an
admirer and follower of J.H. Hofmeyr, the great liberal Minister in Smuts'
cabinet, who stood as godfather to his first child, and I believe this was to
tell against him later. In fact for all his brilliance (and he was a very clever man) he never got
the appointments he deserved.
Many of his friends
and acquaintances from his Oxford days were now persons of consequence in the
Whitehall establishment; some were even Ministers in the Labour Government. He
was certainly the right man for the job - at that time.
He took a kind of
liking to me, largely, I believe, because I had written a book. I used to pull his leg a little. There were
two subjects on which he invariably rose to a fly. "Of course," I
would say, "I was forgetting, you were up at New –“
"New
C-c-college, if you please!"
And, on being asked
my views on a draft he had prepared (he was really looking for some praise) I
would purse my lips and say, "Yes, Anthony, I like it. It seems to sum up
the situation admirably. There were just one or two passages that a purist
might perhaps consider a little florid -"
"F-f-f-florid?! I'll have you know my prose is as
ch-ch-chaste as Macaulay's!”
He once drafted a
despatch for Egeland which brought the latter an accolade from Smuts himself.
In his memoirs Egeland writes: "I passed (the message from Smuts) on to my
Political Secretary, Anthony Hamilton... whose research and competent drafting
had been largely responsible for my despatch." Largely responsible, indeed! I doubt if he
had altered it or added anything of substance to it before signing it.
When his wife
finally arrived we invited them down for dinner at our place, which most likely
would have been to a rabbit dish, which was not rationed if you were lucky enough
to get one from the butcher you were registered with. Apart from the weekly 1
shillings worth of meat, there was sometimes one slice of corned- beef or
liver.
They did not arrive for hours and we thought
they had forgotten, but apparently trying to find the right road out of London
they had crossed and recrossed the river Thames about five times. Finally
Anthony drew up at a pub, took the car keys with him so that she could not
drive away, had a stiff drink and found out where to go.
The
Foreign Office had at that time the very civilised habit of running week-end
courses at Oxford on topics of current interest at which Foreign Office
diplomats on leave were addressed by various authorities on topics of current
interest. Commonwealth Missions were also invited to be represented, so I was
nominated to attend from South Africa
House.
The topic to be discussed was the economic
future for the United Kingdom and it certainly was topical; the poor UK was in
a state of more or less permanent crisis. The previous year South Africa had
made a gift of £80 million - in gold. The gift was however tied to the purchase
of South African products, inter alia canned snoek, a fish of which I was and
am still very fond, but whatever they put into the tinned variety must have
been of very poor quality, for it
rapidly became a music hall joke which
did the country's reputation no good at
all. A pity, because all the rest of our canned goods were excellent - "roba genuina" - as Gioacchino used to say
However, I wander,
as usual. I thoughtfully packed a bottle of 10 year-old KWV brandy , booked Pam in at the' Mitre' (
famous Oxford Pub) for the week-end, and caught the train for Oxford on Friday
evening. I got to the station in plenty of time, settled down and opened a book
I had brought to read on the journey, the memoirs of Count Ciano, Mussolini's
son-in-law and Foreign Minister. The door opened and a young fellow of about my
own age came in. We nodded and he buried his nose in The Times. A little while
later he rose and gazed anxiously out of the window down the platform. Whistles began to blow and the train began to
move. There was the sound of running feet outside, and another young man opened
the carriage door and clambered in, to be welcomed by his friend. From time to
time they carried on a conversation in well-bred undertones.
I could not help hearing snippets of their conversation,
from which it soon became apparent that we were all heading for the same destination,
but I had been in England long enough not to introduce myself. One does not
presume. We reached Oxford and took separate taxis, only to meet half an hour
later in the buttery of Jesus College.
"I say,
weren't you on the train with us?"
"Yes, but I
didn't wish to intrude."
Well, we wondered
ourselves, but you were so deep in your book that we didn't either."
After that it was
all right to talk. Formalities had been observed.
The next morning we
started work in real earnest. I have never understood economics, being of the
school that believes that if you haven't got the money you can't spend it. This
is the equivalent of telling a modern scientific bridge player that you play
the Culbertson convention. Among the speakers were some heavyweights: Dr.
Hubert Henderson, Professor of Economics at Oxford, the Second Secretary to the
Treasury, the Head of the Economic Department of the Foreign Office, the
Statistician of the Midland Bank, a prominent Trade Union Secretary etc. I was out of my depth for most of the
discussions. About the only time I touched bottom was when the speaker would
say "Forgive me if I seem to spell this out rather simply, but I believe
it really important that you should understand ".... Oh, so that's what
you meant!
I see from our scrapbook where this Oxford
caper is recorded that I took some voluminous notes. In retrospect the most
memorable aspect was that although the UK was within a fortnight of devaluing
the £ sterling, and some at least of the participants must have been well aware
of what was about to happen, there was only one glancing reference to the
possibility of this happening, and it was dismissed as a last Stitch once and
for all throw of the dice. Not a word to Bessie.
I see also that
Australia House was represented as well, in the person of one Brian Hill, whom
I remembered as a pleasant fresh-faced young man with an almost perpetual
smile. I was to meet him again down the track in less happy circumstances. He
was one of those whom I invited to share my bottle of KWV brandy on Friday
night after dinner in the imposing panelled Hall of Jesus College. At that time
alcohol was scarce and where obtainable, expensive, and there was no lack of
takers. We managed to kill the bottle without any trouble whatsoever. The next
morning I woke with a thick head to find the "Scout", the servant who
looks after the student quarters, looking quizzically at the remnants of the
party which I had not cleared away before falling into bed. I apologised for
the state of the room and he replied with a smile, '"That's all right,
sir. Reminds me of term time."
Among those who
helped me dispose of the KWV was a pleasant fellow from the Foreign Office,
just home from a posting in Warsaw, called David Aiers. His wife, like Pam, was
at the Mitre, and like Pam too, was expecting her first child. We spent a
pleasant afternoon together, punting on the Cherwell, and became friends -
something which is not normal on such short acquaintance in England. We are
friends to this day. David was short, with a dry sense of humour; Pauleen was
tall, slim and dark, the product of Irish and Spanish ancestors, which made
for an explosive mixture.
With a baby on the
way we had decided that we would forget my father's lecturing about cars and I gained
permission to import one from the U.S.A. The reason for this was that the
British would not allow the local cars to be sold without excise tax, which was
shortsighted as it lost them a lot of customers. However, in August 1949 the
day dawned when our Chevrolet arrived. Cars were few on the road because there
was still strict petrol rationing, but we were lucky in having extra as
diplomats. The only annoying result of waiting so long to buy a car was that
the pound had devalued in the meantime so we paid almost twice the price that
we would have paid even a few months before, as the pound sterling dropped from $4.50 U.S. to $2.80 U.S. From that you can
understand how great the value of the sterling was in our young day. Even with
devaluation we paid only £350 !
Someone at South
Africa House had the brilliant idea to start a type of Social Club to bring
together all the workers from the various departments. It was an escape too
from the trials of post-war England. Apart from a social gathering such as the
Christmas party, a cricket club had been formed and another group to put on
entertainment once a year, which became known as the “Springbok Follies”.
This interested me
and at the weekends I played cricket, either for the South Africa House team or
for the local Beckenham Cricket Club, where I was very popular for the away
fixtures with my large car, which could accommodate six cricketers and their
kit with ease.
In fact, in those days we still worked on Saturday
mornings, so I was restricted to Sunday play. I found cricket in England a most
exhilarating experience. Not only playing on those beautifully manicured
outfields and first class turf wickets, but also finding in cricket a magic
entree into those closed circles that had been so firmly closed. It seems that
if a fellow plays cricket he might just possibly be acceptable. In fact it was
the only means by which we made friends in the area. I was fortunate in
becoming a member of the Beckenham Cricket Club, which had a magnificent ground
at Foxgrove Road.
When it came time to bat my captain
said, "John, would you like to get your pads on?" I replied:
"By all means. Where is the kit?"
There was a pause,
then he said "Don't you have pads, then?" "No," I said,
" I'm afraid I have no kit at all. Where I come from there is a
team bag which has bats, pads, gloves - everything."
" You'd better
borrow my kit, then," said the skipper. I had no option but to accept. It
seemed that everyone had his own kit. So on the Monday I kitted myself out -
bat, pads, gloves, box - everything. It
cost me a small fortune, but I did at least buy them from Jack Hobbs, no less.
I also played cricket
for South Africa House, which had a team of modest capabilities. We had a
number of fixtures, such as one against the Royal Household at Windsor. No,
Prince Philip did not play. I saw his name, however, in the Opposition
scorebook, recording a previous game that season: "HRH the Prince Philip,
bowled Bloggs... 0".
On occasion the High Commissioner played for us, once
against the Union Castle Company, and once against Faygate, a team from George
Malloch-Brown's area, captained by Lord Hawke.
Egeland relates how on the latter occasion he made 42 out of our total
of 70. What he does not relate is that after he had been batting for half an
hour I came on to the field pointing at my watch, for he had an important
engagement in London for which he was in grave danger of being late and Frank
Gray (chauffeur) was getting nervous, and he had responded with a rude gesture.
He was enjoying himself too much, even on one occasion throwing his somewhat
portly body in a full-length dive to avoid being run out. Keen type, he was.
But I got a rare ticking off from Mrs. Egeland the next day for allowing her
husband to be hazarded. Fat chance I had of preventing him.
Give him his due; he was a sport all right and a fine
ball player. While Minister in Sweden he had distinguished himself at tennis,
winning titles, and being granted the rare privilege of being invited to play
singles with the aging King Gustav, a keen player himself. This took some
diplomacy, I gather. He used to give me a leathering at squash, planting himself
squarely and immovably in the centre of the court. (May one without impropriety
barge one's H.C. aside?) One day
just after he had left the office I spotted his squash racquet and bag by his
desk - he had forgotten to take them with him and I knew he would be needing
them that evening. I rushed downstairs just in time to catch him before he left
with Frank Gray in the Rolls. "Sir! Sir! You've forgotten your squash
kit!" He exclaimed indignantly: "I've forgotten my squash kit?
What do I have a private secretary for?"... Cor!
Accommodation was difficult to find, there having
been no building for six years, as well as many places being bombed out of existence.
We were lucky to have found a furnished apartment, which was a third of an
enormous mansion, with a garden. The owners had been sent to Germany for a
period.
Our Scottish neighbours downstairs, were extremely
odd and the actual owner of the entire house, who lived in the other half of
it, was very old and of a passed era. By chance we met her niece who related
that the family was of an aristocratic background, and that auntie had
disappeared on to the Continent for some years and they never knew quite what
she was up to. The signed photos of the various Royal families she possessed no
doubt held a story. We felt she fitted the music hall song
"We never talk of
Aunt Clara, her picture is turned to the wall.
Though she lives on
the French Riviera, Mother says she is dead to us all"
We were not surrounded by compatable folk, and glad of the cricket contacts.
We
now awaited the advent of the new Nationalist era. In the beginning it was as
if nothing had changed. In 1949, Dr Malan himself came to London to attend a
Commonwealth Prime Ministers’ conference. And I was seconded to act as liaison
officer between South Africa House and the Prime Ministerial party. Both sides had a great deal to learn about
each other. There is a picture of the Prime Minster being greeted on his
arrival at Heath Row airport by, among others, Brig, Willmott, the Air Attache,
who had just said ”Welkom in Londen, Eerste Minister.” The PMs response was an incredulous “Maar jy
praat Afrikaans?:”- having taken the Brigadier for an English army officer .
I duly reported to the Dorchester Hotel and sat
apprehensively in an anteroom, nervously going over some phrases in Afrikaans.
Suddenly the door opened and a voice said, “Jong man, wie is jy, en wat maak jy
hier?” It was Mrs Malan, and once I had satisfied her about my bona fides she
insisted that I should come into the room and take coffee with the group. A
typical warm-hearted Afrikaner tannie.
Thus it was that I heard some debate about how Dr
Malan should spend the afternoon, the only free time he would have before the
Conference was due to start the following morning. He listened impassively as
suggestions were canvassed. At times he seemed to be half asleep; then finally
he spoke, “We shall do none of these things,” he said. .“ We shall go to Kew.” And that was
that.
I heard later (from Frank Gray) that he had
thoroughly enjoyed his visit and was particularly touched by the fact that the
tea kiosk, that was about to close its doors at 5pm, had remained open when it
was made known that the Prime Minister of South
Africa would like a cup of tea. “Fancy that”, he had said, ”They stayed
open just for me !.”- a man who had no
side whatsoever.
The visit was
of particular interest to me because one of the PM’s advisers was Dr A.L.
Geyer, a man who was to become High Commissioner when Egeland was eventually
replaced. Geyer was at that time editor of Die Burger, the principal
Nationalist newspaper of the Cape and a close friend of the PM. whom he had
succeeded as editor.
How close I was to find out when one morning, as
his private secretary. I opened a letter from the P.M. to Geyer reading
as follows:
: Amice,
Bied Tom Naudé
namens my Ministerskap van Gesondheid
aan
(Friend,.
Offer Tom Naudé on my behalf the Ministry of
Health.)
(Tom Naudé was an MP who was visiting London at the
time.)
There was nothing on the envelope to indicate the nature of the contents and I was authorized to open all correspondence except that marked “strictly personal,” but nonetheless it was clearly something I should not have seen. I made a clean breast of my involuntary indiscretion to the H.C. He was good enough to accept my explanation. I may say that in all my dealings with him I found him to be a perfect gentleman.
There was nothing on the envelope to indicate the nature of the contents and I was authorized to open all correspondence except that marked “strictly personal,” but nonetheless it was clearly something I should not have seen. I made a clean breast of my involuntary indiscretion to the H.C. He was good enough to accept my explanation. I may say that in all my dealings with him I found him to be a perfect gentleman.
I often wonder what he thought about me. I must have represented to him everything that was wrong about South Africa House, English speaking, English- oriented.
Shortly after his arrival came the death of General Smuts in 1950 and it seemed as if the entire British public went into deep mourning. I attended the memorial service in Westminster Abbey together with the H.C. and found it an emotional experience. In the car going home after the service he asked me what part of the service had impressed me the most. I said hearing the “Last Post” played by a trumpeter of the Life Guards had particularly moved me. To the H.C, however, the most moving part of the entire service was hearing the South African national anthem “Die Stem van Suid Afrika”, played on the organ in the Abbey
The shadow of Smuts hung heavily over the first days of Geyer. As representative of the people who had defeated the great man he was as popular as Talleryrand must have appeared to the British people as representative of revolutionary France. He must frequently have gritted his teeth at the expressions of deep grief at the passing of one who was regarded as typical of the enlightened Afrikaner, as distinct from his opponents whom they saw as crude backwoods types, and found it incredible that the South Africans could possibly have voted against him—I recall one female journalist saying that surely everybody in South Africa must have loved Smuts, to which the H.C. replied that he knew of no place on earth where a politician was loved by his opponents.
He had to cope with a perception of the Afrikaner Nationalist based entirely on the portrait painted of him by the English language press in South Africa, and they let no opportunity pass to denigrate him. It was a surprise to the British public for example to learn that the H.C. could speak English! In point of fact he could speak not only English but German as well, and was quite at home with the audiences he addressed at Oxford and other institutions of higher learning
As this was a
revelation to the British, the H.C. himself had to adjust to aspects of life in
the U.K. that were completely foreign to him. Such as cricket. For my sins I
had become secretary of the S.A. House Sports and Social Club and it was in
this capacity that I was telephoned by my opposite number in the Union Castle
Company. He wanted to know whether the H.C. would be present at the annual
cricket match between the Company and SA. House. Last year, ”he said,” your
H.C. was sporting enough to actually take part in the game, but I don’t suppose the present incumbent--“
“Very
unlikely,” I replied, “’but I’ll ask him lf he would care to look in for a
spell.
“Good oh.” he
said, “Let me know if he says yes and we’ll wheel in a couple of Directors.”
When I raised
the question with the HC, he gave me a level-eyed look and then said
slowly, ”Mills, I think cricket is the most boring game on God’s earth.”
I said, “Very
well, High Commissioner, I‘ll make your apologies.”
“Would the
staff expect to see me there?“ he asked.
“No, not
expect, but they would appreciate it if you were to attend, if only for a brief
spell.”
I could see him
considering this and was emboldened to suggest that he could possibly take tea
with the teams, and then plead an appointment in the city, which would be
acceptable to all. To my surprise and delight he accepted this compromise and
duly pitched up at the Union Castle Company grounds, which were decked out for
the occasion with flags and a marquee. He found the occasion less boring than
he had anticipated and he stayed over an hour, being photographed looking at
the pitch as if to say ‘I don’t think it will play well after the dew has dried
out.” All in all a useful introduction for the H.C, into a typical
English environment, and his coming was welcomed by the staff as I had predicted.
There was another spin-off which I had not foreseen: at the nets at my cricket club a fellow
cricketer remarked, “I saw a photograph in the local press of your High
Commissioner at a cricket match the other day. I wouldn’t have thought
that one of Dr. Malan’s men would have been interested in cricket.” I replied
somewhat mendaciously that that opinion was quite wrong. Dr Geyer had been
editor of Die Burger, a journal whose sporting columns were generally regarded
as first class.
One of the first tasks the H.C had to
face was to host a reception for the visiting South African cricket team
under Alan Melville. The invitation list had been drawn up by the Social
Secretary before I took over as p/s, and I was horrified to see the omissions -
no Neville Cardus, for example. I soon put that right. The High Commissioner
was very concerned about not recognising people and insisted that I lurk around
so as to inform him about the persons to be presented. There was a barker who
announced the guests in a stentorian voice: “Sir Pelham and Lady Warner”- and I
had barely enough time to let the H.C. know how famous a character
this was, before he said, “Sir Pelham, let me introduce to you Mr Pegler,
the manager of our team.”
“Hullo, Plum. ”
“Hullo, Syd, you old bastard.’’
‘Oh, you know each other, I see.”
Among the guests was John Arlott, who had just achieved
fame as the first ”regional accent” to be heard on the B.B.C. It was pleasant to hear his broad North
Country vowels – “a luvly late cut- so late as to be almost posthumous!” I had
pitchforked him onto the guest list at the last minute, and he was very
grateful, having feared he had blotted his copybook because of certain
comments he had made about South Africa in the course of his campaign as a
Liberal candidate during the recent elections.
I told him we were aware of his
political opinions but that they had nothing to do with his capacity as sports
commentator, and it was in that that he had been invited. We got on well after
that.
Shortly afterwards I gave up my post as private
secretary, having learned a lot about diplomacy.
AND THEN WE WERE THREE
1949 was one of the hottest summers we had had for
many years and the ground was cracking for lack of rain, enforcing the first water
restrictions ever. We decided that it would be more peaceful as well as easier
to move to a house and garden before the arrival of the baby and a pram.
Luckily we found a semi-detached furnished house next to an area with trees,
which became vacant due to the owners working elsewhere for six-months. This of
course meant we would have to move again after that. Only a certain amount of
clothing coupons were issued for a new baby, so Pam made cot covers, sheets and
a few useful items, and had already knitted the entire book of baby clothes as
there were no drip-dry or ready-made easy wash garments in those days. There
were no automatic washing machines, dishwashers or labour saving devices
either. We were considered lucky to have one of the first types of washing
machines, which had a tub and a ringer through which you could squeeze the
clothes into the rinsing water, and again to hang out. Domestic life was not easy.
In January 1950
John was performing in the first production of the “Springbok Follies”, a
variety show, at South Africa House. It had meant a lot of work to co-ordinate
but there was participation from every department of the office.
Pam managed to see the show, which was held in the
Cinema. The programme was made up of singing,
various sketches, dancing and the entire
company in a play. There were many
workers behind the scenes – costumes stage management etc. An amusing spectacle occurred afterwards as our
car would not start and I had to get many from the cast, complete with makeup,
to push us down the Strand, which caused a stir, especially at a time when cars
were a scarcity.
A year later “The Springbok Follies” of 1951 was a much
more professional production than the last one, and quite hilarious. Amongst
the many items was a play, some ‘Gay Nineties’ with Music Hall songs, and a
pantomime of Cinderella, so a lot of hard work had gone into it. A most
enjoyable evening and this time the car did not break down.
