Aid Memoir. Larry Hollingworth

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СКАЧАТЬ was pacing his office like a caged tiger. He wanted and needed a shower but could not relax. Could not stand still. He told me the whole story in short bursts as he paced and turned, paced and turned. Thanks to his debrief, the next attempt would succeed but not without incident.

      Fabrizio was called to greater things; he was appointed special assistant to the Special Envoy. He left for Zagreb, and I moved into his office. I was sitting behind his desk when I was visited by Jeremy Brade, an Englishman, an ex-Ghurka officer, the recent head of the European Community Mission Monitors in Sarajevo, and now Lord Carrington’s man on the ground in former Yugoslavia. Jeremy knew everybody and everything. He knew the principal players, the splinter groups, the goodies and the baddies, and he knew the geography and the history of the place. By nodding wisely and listening intently, I was able to sketch in whole areas of deficiency in my knowledge. Jeremy is an excellent mimic. He is an expert at capturing the essence of the mannerisms of those whom he meets. His descriptions are accompanied by mini portrayals.

      Before leaving, Jeremy warned me that there were two imminent visits from the UK. One from the Foreign Office and the other from a member of the cabinet. Jeremy ensured that I was part of the itinerary. The first visit was from Dr. Glynne Evans. She was accompanied by Andrew Pringle, a Brigadier, later of the Royal Green Jackets, then working within the cabinet office. Glynne is diminutive in stature, formidable in intellect, and gigantic in drive. Whatever a microchip processor does to a computer, Glynne does it to UN programmes. She is head of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office UN section.

      To see her alight from the rear of a Hercules C130 aircraft with flak jacket, high heels and earrings is an experience. She strides across the bullet-scarred tarmac as if it were a military catwalk. She is imperious, compelling, and in charge. Her—Tell me Larry… in a clipped crystal-clear aristocratic accent commands undivided attention.

      She risked the bullets and the shells to visit the warehouse, and then she left Sarajevo and crossed three front lines to travel to Kiseljak to meet one of the earliest road convoys into Sarajevo.

      She fires penetrating, deadly, and accurate questions that demand a rapid response. All delivered with charm. Tricky pauses are defused with a smile and a steely glint from her eyes.

      One Glynne story should sum up her abilities.

      Larry—she said at the end of the long tiring day—what would most make life easier for you here in Sarajevo?” I had no hesitation. I was running into the centre of the city and crossing front lines every day. – An armoured vehicle of my own. At the moment, I either waste hours begging lifts from a French APC or I risk life and limb in a soft skinned vehicle.

      Right—she said. The following morning she left. Three days later an armoured range rover rolled out of the back of a British Hercules. Glynne had located one in Madrid belonging to the Embassy and persuaded the Ambassador to loan it. She had it driven to London, serviced, and then flown to Sarajevo! And, remember, I am a UN employee, not a member of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, not even an employee of the ODA.

      This was to be only a minor miracle. She was soon to have three thousand British troops on the ground, fully equipped and fully trained.

      The cabinet minister proved to be the Foreign Secretary Mr. Douglas Hurd. He arrived on a very hot day. After a short meeting with General Mackenzie he came up to our hangar and had a guided tour. He had been well briefed by Glynne. He knew about the request for the armoured car, and he knew my background. At a lunch in the PTT building hosted by the French, he had a conversation with everyone. When it was my turn, I was, unusually for me, a little tongue tied and we had a “Mutt and Jeff” session. Later when I told my daughter that I could not think of anything to say, she reminded me—You could have asked him how his son was. He was at Exeter University with me and you met him there.

      Next time!

      Having visited President Izetbegovic, I wanted to visit Dr. Karadzic. All negotiation with the Serb side was done through the Serb Liaison officers. There were three. Brane was a professional soldier who had served at the airport prior to the war. He is my height with slightly greying hair, bright, warm, with moist, brown eyes. A neat toothbrush reddish brown moustache, a voice which is deep, friendly, and conspiratorial. A man of charm, humour, and honour. Misha Indjic, slightly smaller, losing his hair, lost some of his “smiley” teeth, eyes like olives, dark and bitter, with a brown moustache. Misha is intolerably Serb and pathologically anti-Muslim. Both men speak excellent English. The third, a professor of geology, Dr. Vlado Lukic. A Balkan intellectual who knows many subjects inside and out but can only argue from one standpoint. Bright but inflexible, a tall heavy man, shy to use his English, he was closest to my age. He was teased mercilessly by Brane. They lived in one room in the PTT building. They slept around the walls. Their job was incredibly difficult. They were four doors away from the Bosnian Government Liaison officers. Whenever there was shelling UNPROFOR would run to the Serb Liaison officers and demand they stopped it. The LO’s would then use an antique field phone to contact their Army headquarters in Lukavica on the outskirts of the airport in Serb held territory. In addition to stopping shelling, all patrols and convoys were cleared through the Liaison officers.

      Dr. Lukic was the most conscientious, indeed the most pedantic. He would take ages to get a decision because he would progress the request meticulously. Brane would pressure his masters for an answer. Misha was the most sinister. I reckon he made a lot of the decisions himself. To those he had to refer, he built in a delay factor. Both Brane and Misha spent a lot of time translating for the top generals. They both know too much. Watch your backs boys!

      When I eventually left the rigours of the airport for the comfort of the PTT building, I shared for many a month the next room to them. We sank quite a few jars together. Dr. Lukic was later elevated from the floor of the office to the position of Prime Minister of Srpska Republika.

      Stopping shelling, clearing convoys and arranging interviews, all legitimate LO tasks. Hence—Brane, I would like to see your big white chief. Can you fix? If you asked Brane a rhetorical question, he answered not with words but with a smile.

      He fixed me up with an appointment at midday the following Sunday. I have only ever seen photos of Dr. Karadzic, in which he is always wearing a double-breasted suit, so I thought I had better wear mine. When I put it on, the cheeky Leyla wolf-whistled. It was the first and, with only one other exception, the only time they saw me wear it. They cruelly nicknamed it my “Karadzic” suit.

      I arrived at Lukavica on time. Serb television cameras were waiting to record the event. Not surprising, as the agency SRNA is a propaganda machine much favoured by the media happy Doctor. I was taken up the stairs and into the end room on the right. Dr. Karadzic was there on his own. There was a buffet type lunch on the table. He is an easy man to be with. He greeted me as if we were old friends. He asked me about the health of Jose Maria. He complained that Mrs. Ogata had recently seen Izetbegovic but not seen him. He asked me where I was from, and through all of this, he is helping himself and me to food.

      – I’m from Liverpool. The inevitable happened—I get his favourite Liverpool line up. We talked about the Sarajevo football team to whom he was the team doctor.

      – Why do they need a psychiatrist? Do they keep on losing?—I asked. Liverpool humour—he answered.

      I gather you are a poet—I said as we ate. I was tucking in heartily. He had more food than we did. This changed the direction of the conversation completely.

      – Do you like poetry?

      – Very much.

      – Who is your favourite poet?

      – СКАЧАТЬ