GREETINGS FROM A FORMER PATRON ON THE OCCASION OF THE GREAT DRONES DINNER, MILLFLEET HALL, HERSELT, ANTWERP PROVINCE ON 5 OCTOBER 2002

by David Colvin

Herselt,  5 october 2002

Patrons, like Ambassadors and old soldiers, never die: ‘they only fade away’, in the words of the famous First World War song of the British Tommy. But while Belgium and diplomacy may have faded away for your former Patron, I am glad to report that nothing else has – so far. (I am not in a hurry to turn into the kind of man of whom Jeeves commented: “He was either a man of about a hundred and fifty who was rather young for his age or a man of about a hundred and ten who had been aged by trouble.”) And after meeting some fellow Drones at a cheery reception in the town hall of Antwerp recently, I was struck by how quickly Belgium and our eventful four years there came so vividly back to life – and by how much we enjoyed them.

So what do Patrons do after fading away? First and foremost establish a new base. That took us months and frequent visits to IKEA, the Swedish hyper-store which sells flat packs of furniture which you assemble yourself. Their latest idea could have come from PG Wodehouse himself; the pieces to be assembled are fitted with talking sensors which comment on what you are doing. Such as: “No, not that way, you damned fool. Try it the other way round!”  This idea could catch on. I can imagine any number of useful applications.

Second, they find a job. I now have seven. Unfortunately, they almost all pay nothing and cost a lot. The answer, I have found, is for Caroline to go out to work while I stay at home and polish the IKEA furniture. This she does – and enjoys every minute working once more in the Foreign Office, looking after the interests of the spouses, male or female, of British Ambassadors and High Commissioners abroad.

Third, they pursue their hobbies with renewed determination. Mine have taken me to Malaysia on a Rolls-Royce Enthusiasts Rally. There were many Wodehousean moments. My favourite occurred in a half-timbered Tudor Restaurant and Tea House, “Ye Olde Smokehouse”, in the Cameron Highlands, a marvellous simulation of suburban Surrey conjured up in the 1930s by a homesick Army Major, pining between home leave in England once every seven years. The kind of man who used to retire to Knokke, building himself an Indian-style bungalow next to the golf links. The Smokehouse served Mulligatawny Soup, Beef Wellington, Steak and Kidney Pie, Bubble and Squeak and other British delicacies in a low-beamed dining room festooned with horse-brasses and fox hunting prints. The Burmese Manager was smartly dressed, spoke impeccable English, with the manners and mien of Jeeves himself. We were in the manicured garden as the shadows lengthened, contemplating the menu over a Pimms No 1.  Guest (nervously): “Do you have mosquitoes?”  Waiter: “Certainly, Sir. How would you like them served?”When the steak and kidney pie arrived, the pie crust turned out to be round, thick and flat, like the hat of a Taliban tribesman. The simile prompted my neighbour to put it on his head, to the consternation of our Burmese Jeeves. Fortunately, we had the restaurant to ourselves or else a diplomatic incident and early expulsion from Malaysia, a Moslem country, would have ensued. Noone will ever understand the gnomic reference to ‘Taliban Pie’ in the Smokehouse Visitors’ Book. My fellow driver and I wrote an illustrated account of the Rally which won a Rolls-Royce literary prize. It includes a photograph with the caption “David Colvin seeks treatment after a bumpy rickshaw ride in George Town, Penang.” It was snapped outside the ‘Chinese Piles Centre’.

Fourth, former Patrons keep in touch with old friends, whenever they can and wherever in the world they may be. I promise one day to come in person to receive my Knighthood of the Order of the Millfleet Pigsty, the highest distinction which the Club can bestow – an honour which my previous employers never got round to bestowing. I shall wear it with pride. Meanwhile, I send you a message of greetings, in which Caroline joins me, to all Drones, young and old, Flemish and Walloon – even Bruxellois, assembled around this table for what, no doubt, is the usual sumptuous repast. Maybe Taliban Pie is on the menu, with a mosquito coulis. I hope that the group includes your new Patron, now that my estimable successor, Ambassador and poet Mohammad Zamir, has himself faded away back to the Sub-Continent. I hope that your new Patron might be my successor as British Ambassador to Belgium. If so (and if not), always remember the words of the Master: “It is never difficult to distinguish between a Scotsman with a grievance and a ray of sunshine.” My message is that, even in these menacing, post 11 September days, with a falling stock market, weak Euro and rumours of war filling our newspapers and TV screens, we must never lose hope or, above all, our sense of humour.  After all, PG Wodehouse coped with difficult times, including the unwanted attentions of a certain Adolf Hitler, and including incarceration in the un-heated fortress of Huy. No doubt PG had President George Dubya Bush in mind when he wrote:  “He was rather like one of those innocent-tasting American drinks which creep imperceptibly into your system so that, before you know  what you’re doing, you’re starting out to  reform the world, by force if necessary, and pausing on your way to tell the large man in the corner that, if he looks at you                       like that, you will knock his head off.”

So permit Caroline and me to wish you all the very best and to raise your glasses in the traditional toast of the Drones – ANYTHING GOES.

David Colvin

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