To Cut a Long Story Short

This particular Minister, Mr Will Whiting, known at the Foreign Office as ‘Witless Will’, was, The Times assured its readers, to be replaced in the next reshuffle by someone who could do joined-up writing. However, thought Henry, as Whiting was staying at the High Commissioner’s residence overnight, this would be his one opportunity to get a decision out of the Minister on the swimming pool project. Henry was keen to start work on the new pool that was so badly needed by the local children. He had pointed out in a lengthy memo to the Foreign Office that they had been promised the go-ahead when Princess Margaret had visited the island four years earlier and laid the foundation stone, but feared that the project would remain in the Foreign Office’s ‘pending’ file unless he kept continually badgering them about it.

In the second pile of letters was the promised bank statement from Bill Paterson, which confirmed that the High Commission’s external account was 1,123 kora better off than expected because of the coup that had never taken place that weekend. Henry took little interest in the financial affairs of the protectorate, but as First Secretary it was his duty to countersign every cheque on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government.

There was only one other letter of any significance in the ‘For Your Consideration’ pile: an invitation to give a speech replying on behalf of the guests at the annual Rotary Club dinner in November. Every year a senior member of the High Commission staff was expected to carry out this task. It seemed that it was Henry’s turn. He groaned, but placed a tick on the top right corner of the letter.

There were the usual letters in the ‘See and Bin’ pile - people sending out unnecessary free offers, circulars and invitations to functions no one ever attended. He didn’t even bother to flick through them, but turned his attention back to the ‘Urgent’ pile, and began to check the Minister’s programme.

August 27th

3.30 p.m.: Will Whiting, Under-Secretary of State at the Foreign Office, to be met at the airport by the High Commissioner, Sir David Fleming, and the First Secretary, Mr Henry Pascoe.

4.30 p.m.: Tea at the High Commission with the High Commissioner and Lady Fleming.

6.00 p.m.: Visit to the Queen Elizabeth College, where the Minister will present the prizes to leaving sixth-formers (speech enclosed).

7.00 p.m.: Cocktail party at the High Commission. Around one hundred guests expected (names attached).

8.00 p.m.: Dinner with General Olangi at the Victoria Barracks (speech enclosed).

Henry looked up as his secretary entered the room.

‘Shirley, when am I going to be able to show the Minister the site for the new swimming pool?’ he asked. ‘There’s no sign of it on his itinerary.’

‘I’ve managed to fit in a fifteen-minute visit tomorrow morning, when the Minister will be on his way back to the airport.’

‘Fifteen minutes to discuss something which will affect the lives of ten thousand children,’ said Henry, looking back down at the Minister’s schedule. He turned the page.

August 28th

8.00 a.m.: Breakfast at the Residence with the High Commissioner and leading local business representatives (speech enclosed)

9.00 a.m.: Depart for airport.

10.30 a.m.: British Airways Flight 0177 to London Heathrow.

‘It’s not even on his official schedule,’ grumbled Henry, looking back up at his secretary.

‘I know,’ said Shirley, ‘but the High Commissioner felt that as the Minister had such a short stopover, he should concentrate on the most important priorities.’

‘Like tea with the High Commissioner’s wife,’ snorted Henry. ‘Just be sure that he sits down to breakfast on time, and that the paragraph I dictated to you on Friday about the future of the swimming pool is included in his speech.’ Henry rose from his desk. ‘I’ve been through the letters and marked them up. I’m just going to pop into town and see what state the swimming pool project is in.’

‘By the way,’ said Shirley, ‘Roger Parnell, the BBC’s correspondent, has just called wanting to know if the Minister will be making any official statement while he’s visiting Aranga.’

‘Phone back and tell him yes, then fax him the Minister’s breakfast speech, highlighting the paragraph on the swimming pool.’

Henry left the office and jumped into his little Austin Mini. The sun was beating down on its roof. Even with both windows open, he was covered in sweat after driving only a few hundred yards from his office. Some of the locals waved at him when they recognised the Mini and the diplomat from England who seemed genuinely to care about their well-being.

He parked the car on the far side of the cathedral, which would have been described as a parish church in England, and walked the three hundred yards to the site designated for the swimming pool. He cursed, as he always did whenever he saw the patch of barren wasteland. The children of Aranga had so few sporting facilities: a brick-hard football pitch, which was transformed into a cricket square on May 1st every year; a town hall which doubled as a basketball court when the local council wasn’t in session; and a tennis court and golf course at the Britannia Club, which the locals were not invited to join, and where the children were never allowed past the front gate - unless it was to sweep the drive. In the Victoria Barracks, less than half a mile away, the army had a gymnasium and half a dozen squash courts, but only officers and their guests were allowed to use them.

Henry decided there and then to make it his mission to see that the swimming pool was completed before the Foreign Office posted him to another country. He would use his speech to the Rotary Club to galvanise the members into action. He must convince them to select the swimming pool project as their Charity of the Year, and would press Bill Paterson into becoming Chairman of the Appeal. After all, as manager of the bank and secretary of the Rotary Club, he was the obvious candidate.

But first there was the Minister’s visit. Henry began to consider the points he would raise with him, remembering that he had only fifteen minutes in which to convince the damn man to press the Foreign Office for more funding.

He turned to leave, and spotted a small boy standing on the edge of the site, trying to read the words chiselled on the foundation stone: ‘St George’s Swimming Pool. This foundation stone was laid by HRH Princess Margaret, September 12th, 1987.’

‘Is this a swimming pool?’ the little boy asked innocently.

Henry repeated those words to himself as he walked back to his car, and made up his mind to include them in his speech to the Rotary Club. He checked his watch, and decided he still had time to drop into the Britannia Club, in the hope that Bill Paterson might be having lunch there. When he walked into the clubhouse, he spotted Bill, seated on his usual stool at the bar, reading an out-of-date copy of the Financial Times.