In mid 1966 the Joint Administration in the New Hebrides learned, to the mingled
delight and horror of the French Residency, and pleasant anticipation in the British
one, that we were shortly to have the honour and pleasure of a visit from President
de Gaulle. This announcement sent the French Office into a frenzy of planning and
all else in the way of work was cast aside. After numerous conferences and heated
debate a programme for the visit was produced. Since, as British District Agent in
Vila (and therefore the joint administrative officer of the district), I was closely concerned
with the visit, I was sent a copy of the English version which I still have. The
text is less comprehensive than the French one was, but does contain all the appendices.
For a visit that was to last from 10.20 a.m. until 4.00 p.m. there were no less
than eleven detailed diagrams. Starting with the arrival at Bauerfield Airport, there
are carefully worked out plans for the ceremony at the Cenotaph, at the Colours, at
the French Office, of the routes, of the presentation order of "notables" at the French
Residency and so on, ending with a plan for handshakes on departure.
Having given painful gestation to this chef d'oeuvre our colleagues sat back with
sighs of pride and relief. We read this masterpiece carefully and then asked them for
the date and time of the rehearsal. They were astonished - "Rehearsal" they said,
"Why do we need a rehearsal - is not the plan perfect in every particular?" To this
our reply had to be that it was indeed magnificent, but that in our bumbling and inefficient
Anglo-Saxon way we had found over the years that a rehearsal for any major
state function was essential if a dog's dinner of a disaster was to be avoided. In an
unusual access of good nature, the French gave way and a rehearsal, if only for the
procession, was agreed to, though they felt that it was totally unnecessary.
It was a remarkable and unforgettable occasion; our colleagues did not have sufficient
transport, and had therefore been obliged to hire every taxi in Vila, with a motley
crew of Frenchmen, Vietnamese, New Hebrideans, Chinese and various permutations
of these, gabbling all together and at once in incomprehensible languages. Since by
no means all of them understood French, and if they did either failed to take in the
instructions, or just ignored them, the results were appalling, for the head of the procession
was arriving in triumph back at the airfield before the tail had left it, while there were
little knots of furiously competing taxis all over the course. It was after all just a
demonstration of Murphy's Prime Law, that in any given situation, anything that can
go wrong, will do so!
Tuesday 6 September 1966 dawned and from then onwards frenzied action was
the order of the day. I was only a minor participant, with no executive concerns and
what it must have been like for my colleague, the French District Agent, I shuddered
to contemplate. All the same all the officials, French, British and Condominial, had
to be out at the airfield by 9.30 and in uniform too, in order to witness the arrival of
His Excellency and to admire the proceedings. The General's arrival was impressive,
but his official entourage was quite modest, there were himself and Madame de
Gaulle, and just eight men and two women with him, but the DC4 was stuffed with
bodyguards. Secret Service men and a large scurry of press and photographers. The
proceedings started with the usual inspection of the Guard of Honour. Being the Condominium we had two of these, the French Police in one body with their
Gendarme officers in front and the British Police with their officers in full rig with
swords; the two forces used their own individual national methods to salute the
President. Then the top officials and their wives were presented; we had both the
French and British Resident Commissioners, plus our own High Commissioner from
Honiara. I do not know why he had got in on the act, unless it was to serve as a
counterweight to the French High Commissioner from Noumea, who was escorting
the President. Then came the turn of the Co-Presidents of the Joint Court and their
wives, followed by another twenty or so notables.
The whole rout then climbed into the assorted transport and sped off to the
Centopah for a wreath laying ceremony; since the Presidential vehicle got there first,
proceedings were necessarily delayed until lesser officials had arrived (all panting
heavily). The wreath laying was easy enough for the President, but as everything we
did was "joint", the two Resident Commissioners jointly laid one between them!
This only took a few minutes and then the President walked through a large crowd
to the forecourt of the French Offices nearby. Here the ceremony of the Colours took
place, with assorted and assembled school children wailing the Marseillaise and
then the Queen. Now it was time for the great man to make a speech, with the
British on tenterhooks for fear of some monumental but undoubtedly unintentional
gaffe from His Excellency. However he was on his best behaviour, and finished his
speech with a most unexpected and almost unheard-of clarion call. To a roar of
applause, "Vive la France" he intoned and then "Vive le Royaume Uni" - perhaps
the only time in his life he ever uttered the latter.
We managed to avoid a possibly nasty confrontation on this occasion, for our
keen Assistant Superintendent of British Police, assigned from our side to keep an
eye on things, had proposed to lurk in the background in mufti, armed with a pistol.
We managed to dissuade him, earnestly pointing out that to the Presidential goon
squad the sight of a strange European, obviously armed, would not only be a cause
for the blackest suspicion, but quite probably a target for their bullets.
By now it was well past eleven and De Gaulle disappeared into the French
Resident Commissioner's office for a quiet chat, followed by the formal visits of the
leading French and British dignitaries. Since it was a joint administration we had
plenty of these, and this gave a breathing space to the British officers who were in
uniform (starched white, with Wolseley helmet, medals and sword) a few minutes'
grace to rush off to the Transit house of the French Residency and change into
lounge suits.
We then trooped into the big reception hall of the French Residency and lined up
again in order of importance (French style) in readiness to be presented properly to
the President. Once again the line was headed by the French and British judges in
their Siamese twin capacity of President of the Joint Court, together with their own
senior staff, and followed by the Roman Catholic Bishop Juilliard, the (Protestant)
Reverend Peak and Father Graafe of the French Reformed Church, all the members
of the Advisory Council and then the two distinguished administrators of Vate
(Efate in English). This was where I came in, for while I figured rather low down on
the British Office totem pole, on this occasion I had to stand alongside my colleague,
the French District Agent, and in French official eyes the district administrators ranked well above mere secretariat officers, a terrible heresy in British eyes. In rapid
succession after us came the Chamber of Commerce, the WHO doctor, the district
agents from outside Efate, and then, way down the list the French, British and
Condominium senior functionaries, the ex-service luminaries, members of the liberal
professions, Boy Scout and Girl Guide leaders, local council dignitaries and anyone
else our colleagues could think of.
This presentation did not include any women, unless they achieved status by reason
of their personal qualifications; we were terrible politically uncorrect in those antediluvian
days. Of all the British ladies the only one to be presented was my wife,
who as a dental surgeon had to be included in the liberal professions. Once the hour long
reception was over the general rout of British and Condominium officers was
free until the departure of the President.
He and his entourage still had an exhausting programme, going on next to an official
luncheon. Our colleagues were properly prepared for this, for they had received
from Paris advice on His Excellency's preferences, together with a stern warning
from Mme de Gaulle NOT to give her husband any bread, for he would eat it and it
was BAD for him! No sooner had they eaten than they were off again, for visits to
the French Ex-Servicemen's Club and a couple of teaching establishments, before
they headed back to Bauerfield. Quite unhurriedly the President walked down the
long line of functionaries, firmly shaking hands with us all. He did not look in the
least jaded by the day's jollifications, but my colleagues of the French office were
thoroughly exhausted. All in all a most interesting day, if not one I would wish to
repeat too often. My turn to sweat came many years later in the Gilbert and Ellice
Islands, when I found myself heavily involved in a Royal Visit. Only then, as I
rushed frantically from point to point, did I really feel any sympathy for my erstwhile
colleagues.
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