Sierre Leone citizens await the triumphant return of President Ahmad Tejan Kabbah in Freetown, on March 10, 1998. Nigerian-led West African troops had launched a military offensive the month before to oust rebel leaders who had deposed the president in May 1997. Photo: ReutersSierre Leone citizens await the triumphant return of President Ahmad Tejan Kabbah in Freetown, on March 10, 1998. Nigerian-led West African troops had launched a military offensive the month before to oust rebel leaders who had deposed the president in May 1997. Photo: Reuters

The news has been so relentlessly depressing recently from Panama Papers to Brexit, from Turkey to Donald Trump and Nice to Munich, that my wife insists I should write in a lighter vein this week.

During my working life, I have been fortunate to have been exposed to the art of the traditional diplomatic despatch, the most formal method of communication sent to British Foreign Secretaries (but, no doubt, French, German and Italian, too) by heads of mission and written in a clear, simple style.

Thanks to the Freedom of Information Act, many Foreign Office despatches have now been published by Matthew Parris and Andrew Bryson in two books: Parting Shots and The Spanish Ambassador’s Suitcase. Many of these come from the golden age of despatch-writing “when Britain still had a Diplomatic Service fit for an empire but no longer had the empire”.

Senior British diplomats wrote with a beautiful balance between economy and style.

They aimed at a workmanlike functionality alongside a certain understated classiness whispering “top drawer”.

There was an understated confidence, a touch of cynicism and a suggestion of humour. It was the language of the best kind of courtier. High calibre, spare, practical and to the point but delivered with grace and subtlety. “Prose that could wink but never leer, tweak tails but seldom draw blood.”

The story of Sir Oliver Franks, Britain’s ambassador to the United States from 1948 to 1952, epitomises British diplomatic sang-froid. One evening in 1948, shortly before Christmas, he agreed to be interviewed for a radio programme for the Christmas holiday. He was told that the radio station was doing the same with other embassies and he duly answered their questions about international affairs and other matters. At the end of the interview they asked him what he would like for Christmas and thanked him for contributing to the programme.

Franks thought nothing of it until he turned on the radio on Christmas Eve and heard the broadcaster announce that they had asked three leading foreign ambassadors what they would like for Christmas.

The Russian ambassador had said he wanted “peace on earth and understanding between nations”. The French ambassador said he wanted “a brighter future for humanity and for the spread of freedom throughout the world”. The British ambassador had said: “That’s ever so kind of you – a small box of crystallised fruit would be lovely.”

Senior British diplomats wrote with a beautiful balance between economy and style

The despatch sent by the British High Commissioner to Sierra Leone, Peter Penfold, after his memorable return to his post in Freetown in June 1998 caught my eye for its dry self-deprecation. He had played a proactive role in restoring democracy to Sierra Leone after the democratically elected President Ahmad Tejan Kabbah had been forced to flee the country. In the months that followed, UN peacekeepers and British combat troops led to the defeat of the rebels and returned Kabbah to power.

“Sir, I have been asked to send a report about my return to Freetown on June 14.

“On arrival, we were greeted by representatives of the government and the civil societies, accompanied by the defence adviser and the close protection team (his personal security detail of Royal Military Police), a number of Sierra Leoneans, including members of the Sierra Leonean women singing, cheering and carrying placards and banners.

“In a short ceremony in the Customs hall of the airport, I was appointed an honorary paramount chief by the paramount chief of the Western Area, Chief Naimbana. I was presented with a ceremonial suit and hat made from local cloth and a staff of office made of wood and brass and given the name ‘Chief Kombrabai Penfold’.”

“We then drove in cavalcade to Freetown, where I was transferred to a specially-made hammock with a wooden awning painted as a Union Jack.

“A hammock is the traditional way for paramount chiefs to travel. We proceeded through the streets of Freetown with a throng of cheering and singing Sierra Leoneans, estimated to be several thousands, waving flags.

“After thanking the four bearers of the hammock, I was carried to the steps of the law courts from where a ceremony was arranged in front of the assembled crowds. Speeches were delivered, interspersed with prayers and singing.

“In my remarks, I thanked the people for their warm welcome and for all their support in recent weeks. I told them that I was privileged to accept the appointment of paramount chief on behalf of Her Majesty, the British government and the British people. (I understand that this is the third time that someone from Britain has been appointed a paramount chief – the Queen and Prince Philip were appointed during their visit to Sierra Leone in the 1970s).

“President Kabbah later telephoned to welcome me back. (He now addresses me as ‘Chief!’).

“My appointment as ‘Paramount Chief Kombrabai Penfold’ has several implications, on which I may need to seek official advice: I understand that I am now entitled to 10 wives. I have reported this to my wife, who now also has an official title of ‘Yabomposse’. It is her duty to choose them for me.

“But what is the position over married allowances?

“The hammock has been presented to me for my official travel, but what is the official mileage rate for travel by hammock? How many porters am I allowed?

“I am checking about my seat in Parliament alongside my fellow paramount chiefs but as a chief I am entitled to select a group of tribal hunters, and, under President Kabbah’s plans for the recruitment of the new army, I will have to select candidates from my chiefdom.

“Can I use the close protection team for this?

“The Royal Military Police will be writing to Longmoor (RMP headquarters) to seek advice on the drills for close protection when escorting hammock-travelling high commissioners.”

But one of my favourites, because it captures so well what should be our response to the despondency that marks the world today, was sent by Sir Archibald Clark Kerr, who had the distinction of serving as ambassador to three global powers: China, Russia and the United States.

This marvellous one-page document has gained considerable notoriety. It was sent when he was Britain’s ambassador to Moscow in April 1943.

“In these dark days man tends to look for little shafts of light that spill from heaven.

“My days are probably darker than yours and I need, my God I do, all the light I can get. But I am a decent fellow and I do not want to be mean and selfish about what little brightness is shed upon me from time to time.

“So I propose to share with you a tiny flash that has illuminated my sombre life and tell you that God has given me a new Turkish colleague whose card tells me that he is called Mustafa Kunt.

“We all feel like that now and then, especially when spring is upon us, but few would care to put it on our cards. It takes a Turk to do that.”

These are but three examples, capturing “the pomp and ceremony of diplomacy, and the absurdity that goes with it” which I enjoyed in Matthew Parris’s books. They contain many others in this vein.

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