ABROAD FOR LANKA’S GOOD

by ECB Wijeyesinghe

Diplomats, like journalists, are born, not made. The only difference is that diplomats are well paid.

Nobody has yet given an exact definition of a diplomat, not even the Foreign Office in whose hands they are supposed to be like clay pigeons ready to fly to remote parts of the world at short notice. The best-known qualification for this tricky profession is that he or she must be prepared to lie abroad for the good of the Motherland.

There are those who take this too literally as soon as they settle down at their destinations. Only a General Election could rouse them to adopt some other angle of action. There are others who believe that mendacity should be their motto, especially when dictating reports that get into the diplomatic bag, In Society circles the definition most often quoted is the one that Robert Frost, the poet gave in one of his facetious moments. He said that a diplomat is a person who always remembers a woman’s birthday, but never remembers her age.

O. E. G.

I have seen a fair number of ambassadors in action in my time, but Sir Oliver Goonetilleke was the diplomat (de) Luxe. The fact that he started life, first as the Manager of a Bank that failed and later became the Manager of a newspaper that succeeded, gave him an early taste of Triumph and Disaster, and he treated those two impostors just the same. It is whispered that he deliberately developed a stutter merely to find time to think out replies to awkward questions.

During the last war the man everybody dreaded was Sir Geoffrey Layton, the Commander-in-Chief. Even Governor Caldecott developed hypertension in his presence. But not Sir Oliver. Before the War was over Sir Geoffrey was like a tame tiger eating out of Sir Oliver’s hand. O.E.G. not only knew everybody’s first name, but his pet name as well. Those who doubt his loyalty to his friends have only to recall the way he rushed to Calcutta to be at the bedside of Sir Ernest de Silva, when the latter was suffering from a virulent type of smallpox.

The laird of “Sirimethipaya”, the palatial house now used by the Prime Minister as his office never forgot this kind deed. The man who worked directly under Sir Oliver when he was Auditor-General still looks back at their old boy with nostalgic pride. One of them, R. A. Perera of Ragama, has written to me to say that the British Admiralty asked for a fabulous sum for the SEAL Naval Radio Station at Welisara after we got independence. The Station was the best in the East.

But OEG’s team “outsmarted the Britishers” in the negotiations. Sir Oliver said that Ceylon was not prepared to pay even one cent and kindly requested the Admiralty to remove the machinery. It soon became apparent that the dismantling and removal would be a messy and expensive business. The Admiralty then did the next best thing. They graciously donated the whole thing to Ceylon and everybody was happy.

For OEG it was a diplomatic triumph of the first order and one which saved the country millions of rupees. Many other Sri Lanka diplomats have left their footprints on the sands of time. As a matter of fact, I have seen some of them do it. For example, Sir Paul Pieris struck the first blow for Tourism when he spent half his budget advertising “Ceylon” – the supremely beautiful island” in every glossy magazine he could think of.

Then there was Mrs. Loranee Senaratne who mounted a cultural offensive with our arts and crafts and tried to compete with the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome. Loranee looked like one of the Roman matrons herself and ran a beautiful home in the outskirts of the Italian capital, where liveried servants moved on tiptoe attending to the guests. It was very much like a villa of the Medicis in an Oriental setting. She had everything except a venom taster.

Her predecessor, the self-effacing Herbert Hulugalle was the first journalist to be appointed an Ambassador and he gave his profession a much-needed fillip. He not only established cordial relations with the Italian Government, but went further to become a persona grata with the Vatican. When Hulugalle went for a stroll there were some Monsignori who thought he was a Cardinal roaming round Rome in disguise and were careful to be on their best behaviour in his presence.

Most of Hulugalle’s lone excursions on foot were undertaken in search of rare and old books during his leisure hours. Booksellers thought he was an ecclesiastical dignitary in a tweed suit. His readymade trouser helped to create the illusion. Meanwhile, his wife, the amiable Lillian, was busy at home cooking macaroni, spaghetti or vermicelli for the household.

The husband was a poor eater, but the balance was restored by her son Ranjan (now a doctor in Las Vegas) and her daughter Lilamani (now Mrs. Prasanna Goonewardene) whose healthy appetites had to be catered for. Lillian Hulugalle was a woman who had a full share of the storms and stresses of life. When her father, T.H. Arthur de Soysa was born he was worth a few million rupees. He built “Regina Walauwa” and lived there with his family. It is now occupied by the Colombo University. After de Soysa’s death Herbert Hulugalle met and married the daughter. A happy and fruitful union was the result.

GUESTS

An Ambassador’s wife must be ready for unforeseen contingencies. Minor but pompous politicos who think they have a primary mortgage on every Ceylon embassy may drop in at an ungodly hour and cadge for bed and breakfast. The stay would be prolonged if the first meal is satisfactory. Only a few Ambassadors have the heart to ask them to go to hell and so the poor wives have to bear the brunt of their visitations.

It is presumed that to be a successful Envoy one must be a good talker, That was the secret that I learned 23 years ago when I happened to be in America on a Leadership Exchange program. R.S.S. Gunawardene was our Ambassador in Washington and when he invited me to lunch it was not the quantity of the meal but the quality of his talk that fascinated me. For more than one hour he held forth non-stop. He talked and talked while I ate and ate. Now it strikes me that though he talked so much he said little.

DUDLEY

Ideal Ambassadors have that gift. Major-General Anton Muttukumaru was our man in Cairo when Dudley Senanayake visited Egypt in 1969. A most knowledgeable man, the general gave in a nutshell to the Pressmen who accompanied the Prime Minister all the strengths and weaknesses of the leading Egyptian politicians. His charming wife was his constant aide memoire.

At a party in Dudley’s honour he pointed out to Sadat as the coming man and added that he was perhaps the cleverest politician in the Middle East. Dudley was then in the pink of health and demonstrated his fitness at Luxor when he strolled down to the bowels of the earth to see the Tomb of Tut-an-Khamen. After inspecting the magnificent treasures the Prime Minister virtually ran up the steep) incline – a distance of nearly 30 yards – to the surface. Following him was the Admirable Anton, puffing and panting. Some journalists in the party had their hearts severely jolted by trying to keep pace with the athletic Prime Minister. It was during this visit that the final talks between Nasser and Dudley took place in the florid Kubbeh Palace, once occupied by the fat and foolish King Farouk. Arthur Basnayake, who later became Ceylon’s envoy to Tokyo was one of Dudley’s officials. Basnayake occupied an enormous room in the Palace. It had an enormous bed as well because it was the one on which Farouk used to sleep.

LIQUOR

The question of liquor at DPL parties crops up from time to time and sometimes leaves a bad taste in the mouth. Dr. G. P. Malalasekere, when he was High Commissioner in London, was a conscientious objector and one can surely understand his feelings. At one time he was the world’s leading lay Buddhist and by precept and example he did not want to encourage the use of alcohol.

(From The Good Among the Best first published in 1978)