Editor’s note: Southern Rhodesia, a self-governing colony since 1923, was slowly moving towards granting greater political rights to the black population when the ruling United Federal Party was defeated in 1962 by the more conservative Rhodesia Front, whose goal was Rhodesian independence under guaranteed minority rule. After several attempts to persuade Britain to grant independence, the RF government, now led by Ian Smith, announced a Unilateral Declaration of Independence (UDI) on 11 November 1965. Britain declined to respond to UDI with force, instead attempting economic tactics such as ending the link between sterling and the Rhodesian currency and seizing assets. At Britain’s request, the UN imposed economic sanctions in 1968, but these were only partly successful.
Nationalist guerrilla operations against the regime began in the early 1970s, and escalated after Mozambican independence in 1975 provided a valuable base for operations. Emergency measures adopted by the government to counter the fighting served to increase anti-government feeling. Under growing diplomatic, military and economic pressure, Smith finally accepted the necessity of an ‘internal settlement’ in 1979. Talks in London led to free elections in February 1980, and independence, under Robert Mugabe, in April 1980.
One evening in May 1965 the House of Commons Members’ Dining Room was deserted except, unusually, for a number of Liberals having dinner at the Liberals’ table. At this point Harold Wilson, the Prime Minister, arrived and rather than eat in solitude he asked if he could join us. It was subsequently said by the cynics that he had only done this to butter up the Liberals to ensure their support in the lobbies. This was unfair and untrue, particularly as the reason he had come into the dining room was that the Downing Street kitchen was undergoing extensive alterations.
I myself had just returned from Rhodesia and seized the opportunity of asking whether I might presume to tell him what was likely to happen in Rhodesia and how it might be tackled. He asked me to develop my theme and I told him that in six months’ time, i.e. by November 1965, Rhodesia, a Crown Colony since 1923, would make a unilateral declaration of independence from the UK. Once it happened, we would have lost and while at present the population was disorganised, in a year the whites would become a united nation.
Three things needed to be done. First, the Rhodesian government must be assured that we were not asking for African majority rule overnight, but for partnership, based on merit. For example, if there was a public service commission of, say, twelve people, there should be four Africans. Similarly, with a Royal Commission, there should be adequate African representation. A senior Zambian minister had gloomily predicted that there would not be African majority rule for at least ten years to come. Halve the figure and halve it again, and we are still talking about two and a half years, by which time transitional arrangements leading to independence could be discussed and agreed. Secondly the Rhodesian government should be assured of the importance attached by the UK government to the financial investment made by the European population through the Commonwealth Development Corporation, for a prestige project like the heightening of the Kariba dam, or building a steel mill, as evidence of our commitment. Thirdly – and I had discussed this with the Zambian government – there should be 1,500 British troops on manoeuvres and general training in Zambia, who at an hour’s notice, in the event of UDI, would be placed under the control of the Governor in Salisbury. I felt that this would be an effective deterrent. If it failed, the first shot to be fired at a British soldier would galvanise world opinion and give the British government complete freedom to act.
The Prime Minister noted the points and said that in the event of UDI the UK government would take over responsibility for the government of Rhodesia and see that the Governor was provided with radio communication. I felt at the time that this was totally inadequate, and so it proved to be. UDI was declared in November 1965 and the illegal Smith regime was completely isolated and sanctions were applied.
In the course of my next visit to Rhodesia in 1966, Her Majesty’s Government announced that there would be ‘talks about talks’. I obviously had no authority to speak on behalf of the government. However, the Rhodesian Front were anxious to discover how flexible the UK government might be. It was arranged that I should see Clifford du Pont, who had usurped the role of the Governor and was self-styled as ‘Officer administering the government’. I agreed, but made clear that since I did not accept the legality of his office, I would not meet him at his ministry. In fact it was arranged that I should see him at his home. I indicated that Rhodesia had been a self-governing colony since 1923 and that they alone had the power to time the advancement of the African community; not a single government had recognised Rhodesia’s declaration of independence, and this included the Republic of South Africa; that sanctions, although admittedly breachable, had slowed up economic growth and investment. What had been gained by UDI? His reply was surprising: ‘Certainty.’ I commented that it was a certainty that they would be treated as an international pariah. What compromise, if any, was the Rhodesian Front prepared to make? I gathered from our subsequent discussion that very little was on offer. He asked me how flexible Her Majesty’s Government was likely to be. Since Harold Wilson had ruled out the use of force, he assumed that this was binding. I reflected to myself that Her Majesty’s Government had an unhappy record of changing and/or reversing policies, and found it reasonable to say that they, the Rhodesians, should rule out nothing. The future of the Commonwealth was at stake and with it the future of racial partnership throughout the Commonwealth.
After an hour’s discussion it was clear that one would not get very much further. I asked whether we could ring for a taxi. ‘Please take my car and driver’, said du Pont. This turned out to be an Austin Princess, the property of the Governor, which du Pont had taken for his own use. I replied that I was going to see the Chief Justice, Sir Hugh Beadle. In fact, Beadle had taken up residence in Government House, and was currently backing the Governor, Sir Humphrey Gibbs. I was to dine with both of them that evening. ‘Where do you want to be taken?’ asked du Pont. ‘Government House’, I replied. ‘There is no Government House’, said du Pont. ‘That’s a matter of opinion’, I replied. ‘We are both lawyers, and I reckon that my argument would prevail’. ‘Tell the driver where you want to go’, said du Pont. ‘Government House’, I replied. ‘Yes, bwana’, said the beaming driver. We were off.
Gibbs had no security guard, and was reduced to one loyal ADC, who acted as secretary and was charged with the ceremonial duties which remained, such as lowering the Union Jack at sunset, and raising it at sunrise. A group of ladies regularly come to Government House to arrange the flowers and to help with the cleaning. In the meantime, Gibbs had refused to leave his post. I swept in unchallenged to Government House to find Gibbs waiting for me at the main door. He looked somewhat perplexed and said: ‘Isn’t that my car?’ ‘Yes’, I replied, ‘I am returning stolen property. Give me another week and I’ll get the Rolls back!’
After the conclusion of dinner, Gibbs rose and, turning to a portrait of the Queen, proposed the loyal toast. He was convinced that the ‘talks about talks’ would be a success and would lead to an overall settlement, which all reasonable people hoped for. I indicated that I did not think that there was a hope in hell of reaching a settlement, because one was not dealing with reasonable people. I respectfully reminded Sir Humphrey that Ian Smith had asked for a declaration of emergency. It was asked for on the basis that it was not a prelude to declaring unilateral independence. Having obtained the emergency powers, he promptly declared unilateral independence. I intended on my return to give my assessment to the Prime Minister, Harold Wilson, who was, I believed, also over-optimistic about the chances of a settlement.
In a lighter moment, I asked Lady Gibbs whether there was anything she was short of as a consequence of sanctions. ‘Elastic’, she said. I undertook to get a consignment brought out by the next British negotiator. On my return I told Elwyn Jones, the Attorney General of Her Majesty’s Government, that I was tempted to table a question, to ask the Attorney whether he was aware that the Hon. Member for North Devon intended to breach sanctions by supplying elastic to reinforce the underwear of ladies loyal to the Crown!
Beadle was to desert Gibbs and transfer allegiance to the rebel regime. Gibbs was left even more isolated, but his loyalty to the Crown came first. He was one of the few people who came out of this episode with dignity and integrity intact.
As a result of a speech I made on Rhodesia at the Liberal Party Assembly on 23 September 1966, I was called ‘Bomber Thorpe’. I said, and for the record I quote in full:
It is now more than ten months since Rhodesia illegally declared independence. The purpose of this resolution is to advocate measures which will end that rebellion swiftly, effectively and without bloodshed. Why is it imperative to do so?
Since the war Britain has granted independence to 700 million people.
Today, the Commonwealth comprises twenty-four independent nations drawn from every continent in the world. Despite its imperfections, it remains the most hopeful and the most valuable experiment in bringing together people of all races and of widely differing living standards.
For the British people the choice is simple yet stark. Do they want to preserve that Commonwealth or do they want to perpetuate the Smith regime? They cannot have both. In southern Africa, do they want to allow 200,000 Europeans to create a miniature South Africa in Rhodesia or do they want 150,000 Europeans to continue to live in racial partnership in the seven black Commonwealth countries surrounding Rhodesia? I know the answer of a Liberal – I think I know the answer of a socialist, I sometimes wish I could be more confident of the reply of a Conservative.
In fairness to the Conservative record, a former Premier of Rhodesia, Mr Winston Field, was told before UDI that ‘the present difficulty arises from the desire of Rhodesia to secure independence on the basis of a franchise which is incomparably more restrictive than that of any other British territory to which independence has hitherto been granted’. The statement was that of Mr Duncan Sandys, when Secretary for Commonwealth Relations.
We are insisting that independence must first be preceded by universal adult suffrage. Mr Smith himself provides the reason. In April 1964 he declared that he did not believe there would be an African government in his lifetime – on 29 October 1965, he told the British Prime Minister that even if a referendum declared against independence on the basis of the 1961 constitution, he would feel free to reject it; and on the same day he made it clear that if he felt majority rule would be realised prematurely he must be free to arrest this process. In short, no constitution would be worth the paper it was written on. Having torn up the constitution he now asks for the exclusive power to amend my other. In the light of Mr Smith’s intractable opinions, how can anyone seriously suggest that any honourable or lasting agreement can now be reached through discussions? We would in fact be giving unlimited power to those who have already used their illegal independence to censor the press; to detain men without trial or charge for up to five years; to interfere with academic freedom; to perpetuate the hated Land Apportionment Act; and to clothe themselves in what Mr Heath, in one of his more candid moments, referred to as the trappings of a police state. And if Mr Heath’s own right wing have now caused him to modify that view, let him read the report of Amnesty International on police methods and prison conditions for political prisoners and restrictees.
In short, nothing less than universal suffrage would provide adequate guarantees against retrogressive amendments of African rights, and nothing less will now enable us to discharge our responsibilities towards the four million Africans.
Next, we call for stronger measures to bring down the regime. It is plain that Mr Wilson, in company with that proconsular figure Mr Bottomley, having virtually guaranteed a rebellion by announcing in advance that in almost no circumstances would Britain intervene to prevent it, has been proved to have misjudged and misplanned his subsequent policies to end it! Had there been better contingency planning at the outset, the Smith regime might today be a short-lived memory, and we would certainly not have had to rely upon the brilliant diplomacy of the Liberal Prime Minister of Canada to prevent the Commonwealth itself from disintegrating completely.
At present we are set on a course of sanctions. But sanctions are valueless unless they are effective; they cannot be effective unless they are enforceable. The logic of this is surely self-evident except to those Conservatives who support sanctions provided they are not likely to hurt.
At present oil is flowing into Rhodesia from South Africa and Mozambique; Rhodesian chrome has crossed the Atlantic; 30 per cent of the tobacco crop has been sold, with buyers drawn from no less than four of our NATO partners. However, in one context, sanctions have been supremely effective. On 9 April last the British government sought powers from the Security Council which in consequence ‘calls upon the government of the United Kingdom to prevent by the use of force if necessary the arrival at Beira of vessels reasonably believed to be carrying oil destined for Rhodesia, and empowers the United Kingdom to arrest and detain the tanker, namely the Joanna V, upon departure from Beira in the event of oil being discharged there’. In this context therefore HMG has already threatened the use of force – and its very credibility off the coast of Mozambique has ensured that no resort has had to be made to the use of such force – nor indeed is it likely. It has even enabled HMG to stop payment of £50,000 per month to Lonhro, the British pipeline-owning company, in return for their not pumping oil to Rhodesia.
Force is an emotional word, and it is the duty of a responsible party to define what we mean by it. It does not of necessity involve mounting an operation calling for the deployment of troops and resulting in the shedding of blood. I believe – and fervently hope – that both can be avoided. There are at least two preferable alternatives.
First, HMG should now apply to the United Nations for mandatory sanctions under Article 42 of the Charter to cover all of Rhodesia’s major imports and exports. It should then become the responsibility of an international naval task force to exercise the same right of search on the high seas as was adopted by the Allies during the war in respect of vessels making for neutral ports to ensure that they were not carrying cargo intended ultimately to fall into hostile hands. It should also be illegal for the ships of any nation to carry goods originating from Rhodesia. It may well be asked whether South Africa would herself use force to resist any such action. Well, faced with the determination of the world to end the illegal Smith regime; bound by a decision of the United Nations of which she is a member; realising that she exports £200 million worth of goods annually to the United Kingdom alone; compelled to provide naval escorts from the port of any exporting country to the South African port of arrival as the only guarantee of immunity from search; it would be for South Africa to decide whether this was a price she would be prepared to pay to maintain the Smith regime which the world was dedicated to bringing down.
But this is not all: there are only four routes through which supplies can reach Rhodesia – three by rail and one by road. The main supply of oil now travels on the rail line which crosses the border at Malvernia. If that supply were to continue it might be necessary to consider whether, with the backing of a United Nations resolution, it might be feasible for that line of communication to be nipped on Rhodesian soil by the use of high-flying planes, under United Nations command. It would merely involve the extension of the same degree of force as has already been provided for by the United Nations to prevent the Beira blockade being breached at sea. It would in particular exclude any international repercussions and would not involve the use of troops or the loss of blood.
Ultimately what will count is the determination of this country that sanctions will succeed and that Smith will be brought down. Once that has become plain, then the Prime Minister can with justification talk of ending the rebellion in weeks, not months, without the need for aerial intervention.
It will then be our responsibility, to quote the Commonwealth communique, to ensure that Rhodesia is based in the future on a ‘multi-racial society in which human and political rights will be vested in all the people without discrimination and in accordance with the true principles of democracy’.
We are now writing the last major chapter in a long imperial history. Are we to allow it to be said that at that stage we destroyed the multi-racial Commonwealth which we had created; that we appeared to reverse our belief in a non-racial society; that we abdicated our responsibilities towards the four million Africans living in Rhodesia, all because we were too weak in resources and determination to prevent 200,000 people from setting up illegally a political system based on racial discrimination in its every aspect?
I cannot believe that that is the course of Britain. But if that is to be our fate then we lose not only the respect of the world, but worse, our own self-respect.
All the information I was getting from South Africa suggested that the authorities there were anxious to take stock of the determination of the UK government to render sanctions effective. They were particularly interested in the supply of oil, which would come almost exclusively via them, and whilst they were prepared, if possible, to prop up a white minority government on their doorstep, they were not prepared to face the possibility of retaliatory oil embargoes being inflicted on them.
The railway line in question was in the middle of a desert, and bombing it would cause no risk to life or limb. It could no doubt be repaired very swiftly but a repeat performance would probably not be necessary to bring South Africa into line. Those of us who backed sanctions felt it was the best way of avoiding armed conflict, and it is sad to think that in retrospect there are people who regard it as an outrageous suggestion, whereas the alternative – force – produced 20,000 casualties ending UDI. My point was proved when, some years after the independence of Zimbabwe, the South African-backed Renamo terrorists based in Mozambique destroyed the railway line carrying oil to Zimbabwe, and within three days Harare was almost brought to its knees.
The next time I visited Rhodesia I had the experience of watching Rhodesian television news. The propaganda ploy was that I had advocated bombing city centres and men, women and children! I was shown complete with Nixon-type five o’clock shadow! As the result of this propaganda I was named as Prohibited Immigrant No. 8 by the Smith regime. Rhodesia gained its independence in April 1980 and on my first visit to the newly named nation I asked Mr Mugabe, the new Prime Minister, if I could have a copy of my banning order.
In 1967, when I was on business in Zambia, I was staying in Lusaka with my colleague, Anthony Mitchley, a white Zambian with whom I had been an undergraduate at Oxford. I asked him one Sunday whether he would drive me down to see the massive Kariba Dam, which had created a lake 175 miles long on the Zambesi River in Southern Rhodesia.
Apart from the fascination of the dam itself and the lake, I was interested to see what security arrangements existed. There had often been wild talk about some extremist lunatics destroying the wall of the dam (which seemed pretty indestructible) or wrecking the pumping station. My assessment was that if the wall of the dam were to be broken, it would wash away thousands of miles of topsoil and leave a vast desert, to say nothing of the loss of life in the area – hundreds of square miles – within its destructive powers.
We duly arrived at the main gate and were the only traffic about. Tony was slightly apprehensive. I asked the guard on duty: Who is in charge of security today? and was given the name of the officer involved. I asked the guard to telephone him at once to present my compliments and to say that Mr Thorpe was on his way up to the office. The gates swung open and we were on our way.
The chief of security was waiting for me, and gave me a warm welcome. I told him that I was not an engineer but would very much like to get a general idea of what was involved in this miraculous project. He took me up on the roof, which was guarded by a platoon of soldiers, and from there we got a superb view of the sheer scale of the dam and lake. I gathered that the force and speed with which the water fell had gouged a huge hole in the lower side of the dam, equivalent in depth to the drop of the fall.
On our way down to the pumping station, the security officer asked me if I would mind waiting for a few moments, as he had an important telephone call to make. He came back and asked me for my Christian name, which I told him. ‘In that case, I’m afraid I must order you to leave the premises at once, on instructions from Salisbury [the capital].’ We withdrew, but I felt reassured that the threat of sabotage in the future was unlikely in the extreme.
Should we spring him from prison? Should we form a government in exile? In 1971 there was a very real fear that the constitutional settlement for Rhodesia negotiated between Smith and Home would be foisted on the Africans against their will. At the same, time, there appeared in the British press a photograph of the leading African politician, Joshua Nkomo behind the barbed wire at Gonakudzingwa prison camp near the Mozambique border. It occurred to me that if the press could get that close, so likewise could a group of commandos!
Would there be a case for springing Joshua Nkomo and flying him out of the country to form a government-in-exile? At that stage, he was probably the only African nationalist with the authority to influence Her Majesty’s Government in a more determined direction. The first requisite would be to consult the front-line states surrounding Rhodesia, and this I did. The replies were sufficiently favourable to justify taking the project a stage further. I took the matter up at a fairly high level with the Israelis. I pointed out that, additional to the Africans’ cause, Israel herself was surrounded by countries hostile to her continued existence, and by associating herself with the movement of African independence, she could gain the friendship of Africans everywhere.
We decided we needed to establish whether there was an airstrip suitable for a jet or four-seater plane or helicopter to land near the prison. We needed to assess the disposition of the prison guards and the best way to dismantle the radio and telephone links which the prison had with the outside world. Here again the response was sufficiently favourable to justify taking things further. In September 1971, Judy Todd, daughter of Garfield Todd, one-time Prime Minister of Southern Rhodesia, and now under restriction on his farm, and Judy’s husband, Richard Acton, came to see me in my room in the House of Commons. I outlined my plan to them.
The next vital requisite was to learn Joshua’s reaction. The idea was to spring him from prison, fly him to Francistown in Botswana, on to Lusaka in Zambia and either direct to the United Nations in New York or to the UK. There would be some delicacy about the timing of the announcement of the government in exile. If Nkomo declared the creation of such a government in the UK, would the British government prevent him from going to New York? Conversely, if he made a declaration in New York, would the British government prevent him from entering the UK? Judy, who was to be in charge of the Francistown location, was enthusiastic. She subsequently consulted Josiah Chinamano, Joshua’s deputy, who had just been released from Gonakudzingwa, to find out Joshua’s reactions. Chinamano informed her that some women were shortly to visit the prison and would report back. Joshua’s reaction was one of gratitude but he insisted that he would not come out and leave his colleagues behind. They must all come out together. Alas, our capacity was a maximum of six, depending on what sort of aeroplane was used. Interestingly, Joshua said that there was now a spokesman for the Africans in the shape of a bishop called Muzorewa. The bishop was prepared to put the African case but wished to stand down when the African nationalists were released and could campaign themselves. The fact that Muzorewa subsequently clung to power partly accounted for the bitterness which Nkomo and Mugabe felt towards him. In short, the rescue operation was abandoned. Chinamano and Judy Todd were both arrested and assumed that the details of the jailbreak project had been discovered. Happily, no details ever leaked out. This is probably the first occasion that the matter has been mentioned.
My last visit to Rhodesia during UDI was in January 1975. Marion and I were taking a few days off in Mombasa, where we had a fascinating meeting with Jomo Kenyatta, President of Kenya. As we left we saw waiting in the garden outside his office three Africans – Joseph Savimbi, Holden Roberto and Agostinho Neto. They were the three leading figures in Angola, which was in turmoil following the departure of the Portuguese rulers. If Kenyatta’s influence could make them work together, Angola could become the richest country in black Africa. Kenyatta attempted to get a measure of cooperation between them, but tragically civil war raged in that country for many years to come.
Jim Callaghan, then Foreign Secretary, was touring Africa, and I thought it was only courteous to let him know that following a planned visit to Zambia, I proposed to go down to Salisbury from Lusaka to find out the current political situation as a freelance. He naturally would be unable to visit Rhodesia whilst it was in a state of rebellion against the Crown. He tried to dissuade me on the grounds that it might raise false hopes amongst the Rhodesia Front. I thought this was unlikely and decided to try to make the journey.
From Lusaka I telephoned Roy Welensky in Salisbury, asking him what would be my chances of being allowed into the country to see Ian Smith and those African nationalists not in detention. I indicated that if my entry were permitted, I would charter a plane from Lusaka to Salisbury. He expressed extreme surprise, and said he would enquire, but was not hopeful about consent being given, since I was a prohibited immigrant.
When I rang him back, he said that for some unknown reason the authorities had agreed, provided that the press was not alerted and that the visit was kept secret. The plane on arrival was to taxi into an aircraft hangar, and transport would be arranged from there. I readily agreed but the cat was out of the bag when it so happened that a photographer of the Rhodesia Herald was taking a flying lesson and was visiting the control tower when we drew into the hangar. ‘Isn’t that Jeremy Thorpe?’ he exclaimed, and the press was alerted and on the hunt. We managed to get to Ken Mew’s house at the Education Centre in Salisbury without being followed. There I met and had a session with the Reverend Sithole, one of the very few African nationalist leaders out of prison, along with some of his colleagues. He confirmed what I already knew, that opposition to the independence of Southern Rhodesia on a limited franchise based on white supremacy was as profound as ever, and that the white minority regime was becoming more and more repressive towards anyone holding such views.
Before I left Ken Mew’s Centre, I thought I would telephone Garfield Todd, who had been the last ‘liberal’ Prime Minister of Southern Rhodesia, now confined on his farm. I got through to his wife, Grace, to say that I was ringing to wish Garfield well, and to tell him that he was not forgotten. She told me that she knew that he would love to speak to me, but was forbidden to talk on the telephone by the restrictions. I told her that I planned to be at Ian Smith’s office at five o’clock that afternoon and would telephone Garfield from there between 4.30 and 5 p.m.
My next talks were with Ian Smith and several members of his Cabinet. I told him that whilst I was relieved to see that interim agreement had been reached between the Zambian and Rhodesian negotiators on eight points, there seemed to be a genuinely held difference of opinion as to the interpretation of these points. Would it not be advisable to have a reconvened meeting with, say, one person per side to try and reach agreement as to what the new agreement really meant? Mr Smith’s reply was revealing: ‘I am not aware of the existence of such points’. I pointed out that it was not often that the Zambian and Rhodesian newspapers carried the same story, but today’s editions of The Times of Zambia and the Rhodesian Herald, referring to the eight points as the lead story, had done precisely that. Mr Smith replied: ‘Well, I’ve been away on my farm’. I was not certain whether he expected me to swallow that, but in the unlikely event of my having believed him, it would have been a devastating indictment of his contact with day-to-day affairs.
At the conclusion of our meeting, I asked whether it would be in order to telephone Garfield Todd at his farm, ‘Well’, said Mr Smith, ‘this is a free country, there is freedom to communicate unless there are specific reasons to the contrary’. He asked the Permanent Secretary to put through a call. He duly returned, somewhat embarrassed, saying that there were long delays to Shabani and it was unlikely that I would be able to get through before my plane took off. I replied that Shabani had gone on to automatic dialling that very morning, which had enabled me to get through instantly, and I had spoken to his wife; as to my plane, there was agreement with the airport authorities that I could leave at any reasonable hour and I had previously arranged to leave two hours hence. Was it permissible to speak to Garfield Todd?
The Permanent Secretary disappeared, and reappeared to say that it was not possible to speak to Garfield Todd, since he was under a Restriction Order. ‘In that case’, I said, ‘I must ring Mrs Todd to explain that I was unable to speak to her husband, who has been awaiting my call’. I duly put through the call, which was answered by Grace Todd. I said that I was ringing from Ian Smith’s office, and would she apologise to Garfield about my inability to speak to him, which I had just learnt, and to say that he was not forgotten. I heard laughter in the background, which was Garfield registering the situation.
This experience prompted me to advise David Owen, when he was Foreign Secretary, that when he was negotiating with Ian Smith he should get him to initial and agree the minutes of matters discussed and agreed on the previous day before starting a fresh day’s work. I was ready to fly back to Zambia, and the final drama was to be played out at the airport. An army of press men had tracked me down, and were waiting to converge on me at the main terminal building. I was anxious to honour my undertaking not to give a press conference, and was aware that if I had answered questions from the media I would be accused of having broken my word. Fortunately the Rhodesian Foreign Office representative who was accompanying me had a key to the side gate leading directly to the tarmac. Once we were through the gate we drove at immense speed towards the plane, and boarded it and drew the curtains. In what seemed only like a matter of three or four minutes we were taxiing down the runway and taking off for Zambia.
Coincidentally, Roy Welensky was in Lusaka for his first visit since the end of the Central African Federation. As former Prime Minister of the Federation of Northern and Southern Rhodesia and Nyasaland, he had been deeply unpopular amongst African opinion in these countries which were seeking independence and majority rule. However, by this time Northern Rhodesia and Nyasaland, as Zambia and Malawi, had achieved their independence one man, one vote, irrespective of colour – but it remained for Southern Rhodesia to follow suit. Roy had paid great tribute that evening to Zambia’s achievements since independence. By the time I arrived in Lusaka, Roy and Kenneth Kaunda, President of Zambia, had established a firm rapport. Needless to say, we exchanged views on my day’s visit to Salisbury, Rhodesia – now Harare, Zimbabwe.
Roy was to become a close and valued friend. He came in for some very rough treatment after UDI. Since the altitude of Salisbury was bad for his heart condition, he settled in the UK. The first Lady Welensky had died, but he happily remarried and started a new family, who were with him when he died in Dorset.