Stories from another time

I was posted as the Air Attaché in the High Commission for Pakistan in London, UK, between 1992-96. I had not had the chance to avail a deputation to one of the oil-rich Gulf countries, which were building up their air forces from the ground up with the help of Pakistan – this was the quickest way then to separate yourself in material wealth on return from the riff-raff behind, who either had not had the chance or the luck or the acumen to be among the chosen. I was all of those. The deputationists were handsomely paid by the Gulf countries. Being deputed abroad was a frequent occurrence in the 1970s and 1980s and a prized assignment. It was, thus, that someone with a little heart, feeling for my predicament, had thought to spare me for the posting to London.

My options were three capitals, which I was offered by this noble man (May God elevate his status in Jannah). When I reluctantly suggested London, he proposed one of the other two because London would hardly help me save any money. The expense was just so high. I thought it would give my very young children a solid base for education, now that money had slipped past me – easily binned as destiny. Hereon the story shifts to London, where my family and I had the time of our lives. Having lived a life of bare necessities, everything to us was exciting and a bonus. It enriched us in the mind, if not the pocket.

The Royal Air Force was my principal office of interest, and the aim was to sustain and build the relationship between the PAF and the RAF, which would be mutually beneficial and complementary. Such diplomatic interaction included a spectrum of functions that air forces normally employ, but the most important diplomatic event remained the RAF Chief's annual reception for the sixty-some Air Attaches from around the world posted in London. The event was held at the RAF Club at Piccadilly. It was preceded by a presentation on the RAF, following which the RAF Chief took questions. The Attaches usually looked forward to such occasions when they could mingle with the Chief at a personal level. The Chief was assisted by his designated deputy, the Assistant Chief of the Air Staff (ACAS), who was also the presenter. The Chief himself was a four-star officer, as was the norm, but his immediate deputy at the Air Headquarters was a two-star – in this case, a very able man who then rose to be the Chief in his own turn. Else, eight other Air Marshals (three-star equivalent) served under the RAF Chief in various appointments across the country. It is important to note this distinction for the story that follows.

After the formalities were done and the briefing over, we dispersed in small gaggles to chat. At this moment, I happened to be standing next to the RAF Chief when he motioned the ACAS over and asked him how he had arrived at the venue at Piccadilly. The RAF Club is at a certain walking distance from the nearest Underground (Tube) Station which serves the area. The ACAS told him he had driven over in his personal car. He would have been lucky to find a parking spot on this most expensive and busy piece of real-estate in London. The ACAS asked him in return, "Why do you ask, Sir?" The Chief said only if the ACAS could give him a drop back to his residence. The ACAS, ever so polite and congenial, simply stated, "Why not, Sir. Sure."

What followed was a bombshell. The ACAS, puzzled a bit, asked the Chief, "How did you come in (to the venue)?" The Chief remarked, 'Oh, I was working late at the office and decided to take the train'– (Tube to Piccadilly and then walk to the Club). London was in the midst of a terror spree with the Sinn Féin, a perpetual threat, but the RAF Chief decided to train it down rather than call his official car and a spare with an escort. The ACAS only asked him to let him know when he would like to leave so that he could drive his car up to the Club and drop the Chief back. The RAF Chief also has a retinue of personal staff who work for him during duty hours. This event was in the evening. Most attaches would have driven in their Embassy cars and availed of a few selected free parking spots in the area. But not the RAF Chief. And he was no ordinary Chief. Just a man of integrity. I learned.

My next story from the days gone by is from Stockholm, Sweden, where I was additionally accredited as the visiting attaché. I was required to conduct a four-day-long visit of our Army Chief on the invitation of the Swedish Army Chief. Both got along rather well. The Pakistani General distinguished himself later through actions that are genuinely applauded across the board in Pakistani power politics. Having escorted him for those four days, I can understand fully well why. Ditto, the Swede. Both were keen horsemen, and it seemed that they always found a reason to ride away every day. A slew of other notable generals accompanying the Pakistani general gave up any pretensions after being quickly exposed on the rather robust Swede horses and became my regular compatriots in the horse-drawn buggy. When the Swede returned the visit next year, our Chief presented him a horse as a gift. The import restrictions did not permit the Swedish Chief to carry it along, so he left it in Estonia while the paperwork was completed. Later, it was sadly culled in Estonia when the paperwork was never approved. Sweden did not permit live animals from Pakistan per law. The real story comes next, though.

Sweden's Chief of the Defence Staff (CDS – another great soul) was at hand on the final day to conduct the departure ceremonies at a designated lounge for state visits. After the delegation left and the aircraft had departed, it was time for the two Chiefs and I to head back as well. I had to take a flight back home to London, and soon I was ambling across the divide into the usual side of the airport with routine departures and arrivals. As I walked past long waiting lines of passengers heading out to their week-end destinations, I noticed the CDS in his regalia standing in the middle of a queue. Shocked, I walked up and asked, "Why, Sir, was everything okay?" He told me it was, and he was taking a flight out to his parents for the weekend. For him no departure from the VIP lounge, or an escort to the plane when all were seated. The facility, per law, was for a duty to see off a visiting dignitary. That done, he or anyone else held no lien on it for his status, position, rank or heft. Sometimes they really surprise you. No special aircraft. No nothing; just an ordinary citizen following the law.