In the spring of 1972 the Trevor-Ropers spent ten days in Pakistan, as guests of the President, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto (1928–79). Bhutto, who had long been urging Trevor-Roper to visit his country, was now in a position to entertain the Trevor-Ropers as official guests. At Bhutto’s first meeting with Trevor-Roper, when he was reading law at Christ Church, the older man, in his capacity as Senior Censor, had rebuked the undergraduate for not wearing a gown. Despite this difficult start the two men were soon on good terms. After leaving Oxford in 1952, Bhutto remained in contact, and often mentioned that he wished his son and daughter to study at Oxford in due course.
Bhutto was appointed Minister of Commerce in the martial-law Cabinet formed by President Ayub Khan in 1958, and was promoted to be Foreign Minister in 1963. Following his sacking from the Cabinet, Bhutto in 1967 formed the Pakistan People’s Party, which appealed to nationalist, socialist, and Islamic ideas. His tactics in 1970–1 plunged Pakistan into civil war, war with India, defeat, and the loss of East Pakistan, which became the new state of Bangladesh. Bhutto then assumed power as President of the rump of Pakistan, and embarked on a socialist programme. When Trevor-Roper arrived in March 1972, he was impressed by the resilience of the people so soon after a calamitous upheaval.
The Trevor-Ropers were treated as honoured guests. They were escorted everywhere by military vehicles, with motorcycle outriders clearing citizens out of their path. Trevor-Roper was embarrassed by this privileged treatment, and pleased when an obstinate bullock refused to give way to their cavalcade. They were taken by helicopter into the Swat Valley, in the tribal area on the border of Afghanistan. Wherever they went, the President would telephone to check that they were being properly entertained. Trevor-Roper had the impression that Bhutto ran the country as a personal fiefdom.
The following letter, to Trevor-Roper’s Oriel colleague and confidant Jeremy Catto, describes their visit.
Chiefswood, Melrose
My dear Jeremy
We have returned from Pakistan. I hope you have returned from Belfast. I telephoned you, but got no answer; but I hope this was merely because you were carousing elsewhere, not because there is some corner of an Ulster field that is for ever Oriel. Or perhaps you have disappeared again to the Balkans or North Africa or South America.
In Pakistan we had the full treatment. A splendid programme was arranged for us, and details were sent, for information and action, to all governors of provinces, commanders of armies, chiefs of police, ministers of state, muezzins, mullahs, wallahs, etc. We never travelled with less than two limousines, three armoured jeeps, a cabinet minister (to carry our bags), our own ADC, and a varying number of outriders. Special police accompanied us, at a discreet distance, in bazaars, mosques, etc. Naturally we had our own private orchestra in case we needed diversion. When we travelled along the Khyber pass, guards stood at attention on every crag. We trod red carpets, inspected guards of honour, took salutes. It happened that the British ambassador returned that day, with his wife and brother and sister-in-law, by car from Kabul. Seeing himself greeted with this ceremony, which he had not noticed on his way out, he asked the reason. He was told that the Trevor-Ropers were expected that day, and it was for them. That put him in his place. I must say that he took it quite well: he told me the story himself a few days later. The French and American Ambassadors were less well-pleased—indeed their noses were visibly disjointed—at being converted into mere background figures to emphasise our apotheosis. We spent our last day cruising in the Arabian Sea in a destroyer, The President of Pakistan, with the President of Pakistan. This was very agreeable. The only qualification to our pleasure hit Xandra rather than me: in the remoter parts of the country she found herself segregated among her own sex. This did not exhilarate her. While I enjoyed worldly conversation, and copious potations of whisky, with sophisticated Anglicised generals and politicians, she found herself sitting, with a glass of orangeade in her hand, among a harem of pudding-faced Moslem ladies discussing their embroidery in Pashtu. Occasionally I caught an agonized glance from the depth of the harem, but I judged it prudent to take no notice of it.
We are now back at Chiefswood, slowly and painfully re-adjusting ourselves to that more modest station to which it has pleased God to call us. Happily, having flown direct from Karachi to Edinburgh, I have been able to bring no work from Oxford, so I am enjoying a few days of complete rural indolence, as a necessary method of unwinding after such social exhilaration. On Tuesday we shall fly down & come to Oxford in order to go to the Queen’s party at Windsor on Wednesday; but we shall return here on Thursday.1
Has anyone died while we were in Pakistan? I am always afraid of being caught napping and not being ready with a replacement at the critical time; for the Enemy sleeps not, and sows tares in our wheat. Unfortunately, it is generally the wrong people who die: the wicked flourish as a green bay tree. I suppose it is too much to hope that it has been pleased God to take the Krailer.2
yours ever
Hugh