‘It seems to me,’ he added, ‘that this is the matter upon which the Government have virtually offered no case at all.’69
Gordon Walker found the debate heavy going. ‘I went over to the attack, having been so far conciliatory,’ he recorded in his diary. ‘I asserted our rights and said the critics had done harm by spreading misconceptions.’ But he found that:
The repercussions were altogether bigger than I had expected – though not nearly so big as the papers made out. Unfortunately the thing is news as a personal story. There is clearly a powerful world negro opinion – not as rich or well organised as the Zionists – but similar.70
Fresh calls were made for the Harragin Report to be published. In desperation, Gordon Walker resorted to the threat of Communism. If the arguments in the Report were published, he said, ‘they would be made use of by Communists all over the world – and not only by Communists but by all sorts of people – as official Government policy’.
Fenner Brockway and Liberal MPs interrogated the Secretary of State about South African involvement, to which Gordon Walker repeated the lies he had given earlier. Then Brockway tackled the main reason given by the White Paper for Seretse’s banishment – namely, the rift between Tshekedi and Seretse. The logical conclusion of this, he pointed out, was that if there were a reconciliation between the two men, there would no longer be any need to keep Seretse in exile. ‘Of course,’ replied Gordon Walker evasively, ‘a reconciliation between the two is very much to be desired. It would certainly, I think, reduce the tension and difficulties among these people.’ But he would not commit himself to any review of the situation: ‘I cannot give an absolute, categorical answer to a hypothetical question.’ He could not give an absolute, categorical answer, because he knew that, whatever happened, he could not allow Seretse to return home as the chief of the Bangwato.
When it was time for members to vote, the atmosphere was charged with emotion. It had been hoped that a free vote would be allowed, but the Government issued a three-line whip. Even so, seven Labour rebels voted against the Government – Richard Acland, Richard Crossman, Tom Driberg, Michael Foot, Jennie Lee, Woodrow Wyatt, and Ian Mikardo, who acted as the teller for the Noes.71 Others registered a protest by absenting themselves from the vote. The Conservative MP Reader Harris described the scene:
Members of the Labour Party went into the Lobby with tears running down their cheeks when they had to vote for their own Government’s motion in relation to Mr Seretse Khama. Mr Seretse Khama was sitting at the back of the Chamber, and I saw Labour Members go to apologise to him because, on the whips’ orders, they had to vote against him.72
But the Government had managed to pull through. ‘We are lucky in having Gordon Walker as Secretary of State,’ observed Egeland with satisfaction to Dr Malan. ‘He is showing great courage and commonsense.’ Egeland still regarded the Seretse issue in the UK as ‘explosive and delicate’, but believed that it had become less urgent.73 Now, he cabled Malan two days later, the ‘centre of interest has shifted to Bechuanaland’.74
13
In Africa, but kept apart
Seretse arrived at the Victoria Falls on 30 March 1950, after nearly two months in the UK. He stayed overnight in Livingstone and then flew south by charter plane to the airfield near the small town of Gaberones, which was the closest landing strip to Lobatse. The whole airfield had been cordoned off with wire fencing by police, and the only people allowed inside were members of the press and British officials, as well as Fraenkel. The waiting Bangwato were kept firmly at a distance. For days, they had been arriving in Gaberones by train and by lorry, staying in an improvised camp under thorn trees near the station.1 They had come to welcome Seretse home, but none of the officials bothered to give them any information. Only Fraenkel supplied them with any news and the time of Seretse’s arrival. A Movietone newsreel showed Fraenkel and Peto Segkoma walking together towards the camp: Fraenkel was handing Peto a telegram from Ruth, saying that Seretse’s arrival would be delayed for twentyfour hours.2
When the sound of an aircraft was heard overhead, everyone looked up at the sky – to see a bizarre sight. For Seretse’s plane did not arrive alone. It was preceded by five other tiny planes, all carrying journalists, which landed in a fairly haphazard manner.3 Seretse climbed out of his two-seater aircraft and, reported one of the newspapermen, ‘a roar of welcome went up from tribesmen waiting to greet him’.4 Seretse was dressed in a dark suit, with a trilby and sunglasses to protect him from the glare of the sun.5 He had a cigarette in his mouth and looked weary and drawn – he was no longer the carefree, almost boyish figure who had married Ruth less than two years before.
Four senior Bangwato men had been allowed to stand on the edge of the airstrip, with the diKgosi of the Balete and the Batlokwa. Seretse went straight over to them, to shake their hands. They led him under a nearby tree, where he spoke to the thousands of men seated on the ground, waiting to welcome him home.6 He was clearly unhappy that he had not been allowed to return to Serowe and as he wiped his brow with his handkerchief in the baking heat, he gesticulated in angry frustration. ‘As for Seretse,’ commented Movietone – ‘well, his gesture was certainly expressive.’7
The British officials thought they had prepared for every eventuality. But a crisis developed that took them by surprise. The night before Seretse’s arrival, an urgent message came through to Nicholas Monsarrat, the UK Information Officer, who had come to Gaberones to look after the press. The message stated that Seretse’s plane was not in fact flying directly to Gaberones, but was going to land at Mahalapye airfield – about eighty miles from Serowe. A large crowd and Ruth, too, Monsarrat was told, were waiting there for Seretse. This was a distinct departure from the plans that had been so carefully drawn up by the Administration. It had been contrived by Noel Monks, as a way of arranging for Ruth and Seretse to meet together briefly. Like the other newspaper correspondents covering Seretse’s return, Monks was treating it as a big story and hoping for a scoop. And, like them, he had gone to Livingstone to wait for Seretse’s flying-boat. But before leaving Serowe, he had told Ruth that his paper wanted a picture of her being reunited with Seretse – and asked if she would cooperate with a plan to get them together. She agreed readily. So did Seretse, when Monks spoke to him in Livingstone. Then Monks worked out the details with the pilot. They decided that the plane should land at Mahalapye, on the pretext of needing to refuel; this would seem perfectly reasonable, as he was flying in a small, light plane. Monks sent Ruth a telegram: ‘Be Mahalapye airfield at noon tomorrow.’
But the plot was foiled. ‘Somewhere along the line,’ wrote Monks years later, ‘an Administration official, who saw my telegraph through service channels, had a brainwave. There was a plot afoot to kidnap Seretse! Else why should Ruth want to go all the way to Mahalapye?’ This interpretation of the telegram was fed to the South African press, with the result that – just before take-off – Seretse’s pilot was ordered not to land at Mahalapye. The kindly pilot, who felt sorry for Seretse and Ruth, made repeated requests. But Monsarrat strictly forbade it.8
Monks planned afresh. It was now too late to stop Ruth making the hard drive to the Mahalapye airstrip, but the pilot of Seretse’s plane saw no reason why he shouldn’t fly low enough – while not actually landing – for husband and wife at least to see each other. Seretse and Monks thanked him for the idea. Monks’s plane was faster than Seretse’s, so he flew ahead to Mahalapye, landing some twenty minutes before Seretse’s plane was due. He found an ‘amazing scene’:
Ruth was there all right. So was my photographer. So, too, were hundreds of tribesmen and many police. Nobody knew that Seretse’s plane wasn’t landing there. The chief police officer told me the place was excited but orderly. He laughed his head off when I showed him a South African paper with kidnap-plot splashed all over the front page. ‘Bloody rubbish!’ he said.
There was just time to get Ruth to the centre of the field as Seretse’s plane came over. True to hi
s promise, the pilot flew low across the field, and then back again. Seretse spotted Ruth. They waved to each other, blowing kisses.9 Ruth was seven months pregnant now and her figure was cumbersome, but in her joy and desperation at seeing Seretse, she managed to jump about on the dry grass of the airstrip, waving her parasol in the air.
If Seretse had been able to land at Mahalapye, to touch and to hold his wife, his return to Bechuanaland would have been blessed with at least some happiness. But as it was, his return to the Protectorate was painful and distressing. Almost as soon as he had landed in Gaberones, he was told that an order was going to be served on him, confining his movements to Lobatse.10 This came as something of a shock: that he was going to be detained by the force of the law. He and Fraenkel were taken from the airstrip to the District Commissioner’s office, where Sullivan served the order. Seretse insisted that he wanted to see his wife, but he was told this was under review.
Seretse then drove to Lobatse with his uncle Peto, in his lorry. There, on the outskirts of the little town, surrounded by high granite hills, he saw the temporary home that had been arranged for him by the administration. They were appalled: it was a two-roomed house, furnished with a metal bed, two chairs and a table, two tin mugs, two tin plates, and two tin knives, forks and spoons. Such rudimentary accommodation was clearly regarded by local officials as appropriate for a ‘native’, but it was wholly inappropriate for the son of Segkoma, the grandson of Khama III. Peto immediately went out to buy proper furniture, crockery and cutlery.11
Seretse was miserable in Lobatse. Police officials kept a watch on the house and paid him periodic visits. Initially, there had been a plan to post a guard on his house, until Baring realized this might lead to criticism in the press. He instructed his officials to persuade the newspapermen to use different language in their reports. ‘The press consistently talk of “headmen”, “tribesmen” and the “tribe” when referring to Seretse’s advisers and supporters,’ he complained crossly. ‘We should try discreetly to get them to use “followers” and “supporters” if we can.’12 Forbes MacKenzie, the Serowe District Commissioner, believed he had found the best means of influencing the press – alcohol. ‘Relations with the Press representatives are good,’ he reported. ‘Several of them have consumed a decent quantity of my gin so there will be opportunities to try and get at them informally.’13
Monsarrat was annoyed at the journalists’ constant interest in Ruth. ‘The press have reverted to their bad habit of packing close round Ruth,’ he told Clark in ill temper, ‘and ignoring official channels (in any case we have nothing much to give, and she has plenty).’14 But Ruth had no time for journalists who supported the Government and she was furious at the man who had ruined her chance to be reunited with Seretse, however briefly, at the Mahalapye airstrip. On one occasion, the journalists hanging around her house joked that he was outside. Monsarrat was told by one of the correspondents that:
One evening we told Ruth, for a joke, that Godfrey (Rand Daily Mail man who broke the ‘kidnapping’ story) was outside and wanted to see her. She shouted: ‘I won’t let that bastard into the house! Keep him out, keep him out!’15
Tensions in the Bangwato Reserve were rising. On 11 April, a group of people in Serowe tried to stop some of Tshekedi’s supporters from taking cattle and wagons to the Bakwena Reserve. The police intervened, using tear-gas and injuring one man with a baton blow to the leg. MacKenzie addressed an assembly of about 400 people, telling them to stop interfering with the movement of cattle and goods. It was a stormy meeting and the police made a number of arrests.16 ‘The Govt and Tshekedi are only asking for trouble,’ observed A. J. Haile, the LMS missionary.17 The Administration had been on edge ever since they knew of Seretse’s imminent return, because of the success of the boycott. Numerous rumours about the insubordination of the Bangwato were spreading among the white residents and officials. One of these had warned of a strike of African servants at Serowe just before Seretse’s return, but it did not materialize.18 ‘If possible,’ Sillery had cabled Baring, ‘keep me advised when Seretse leaves England. I am keeping police at full strength and retaining those of other countries until [the] situation clears.’19
Tshekedi was travelling around the Bangwato Reserve, collecting evidence for the lawsuit over Khama’s will; he was separating his own cattle from those belonging to the herds of Sekgoma, which were the property of Seretse. He was accompanied by Michael Fairlie, a colonial officer, because he had argued that the pro-Seretse communities were so violently against him that he was in danger of assault. In fact, said Fairlie,
this threat was all in Tshekedi’s mind and it was no great hardship to move around the district with him. He was himself amusing and easily moved to laughter when his sights were not set on some consuming issue which drove everything else from his mind.20
Meanwhile, Seretse was stuck in Lobatse. He was making little headway in his negotiations to visit Serowe and had now been told that any application to leave Lobatse must be in writing, setting out the destination, purpose of the visit and its duration. He arranged to get a letter supporting his case from Ruth’s physician, Dr Moikangoa, who did not mince words:
Dear Seretse,
This is to advise you that I have become rather worried about your wife’s health since you left here for England. Since your arrival the condition has deteriorated further… She has stood quite [a] lot and I have fears that she will further deteriorate both physically and especially mentally. You will appreciate too that she has almost reached term and the possibilities of deterioration into psychopathic states which have to be seriously reckoned with.
‘The British Government’, he went on, ‘is taking rather long about getting you to Serowe. Please consult with your legal adviser about this situation.’ Seretse alone, he said, could give her ‘the necessary comfort to relieve her of the mental tensions and strains that have been her lot for so long. I consider that your coming back is quite imperative, and that too as soon as possible.’ He added in a postscript, ‘It is impossible for Mrs Khama to do any travelling whatsoever in her position and not for any distance either.’21
Dr Moikangoa also communicated his concerns to the High Commissioner’s Office and told Clark that Ruth had threatened suicide unless Seretse came quickly. This worried Clark. ‘Even discounting hysterical outburst,’ he told the High Commissioner, ‘there is reason for thinking that at one time at least in her pregnancy her physical health has not been good.’22 In London, too, British officials were starting to feel anxious. ‘You will see from the press,’ sneered a senior official at the Commonwealth Relations Office to a colleague, ‘that it is now argued that Seretse should be allowed to go to see his wife at once because the lady is pining away through his absence.’ Then he added nervously, ‘How easily we may be squeezed into a general retreat from the decisions in the White Paper!’23
The High Commissioner’s Office decided to send the Director of Medical Services, Dr Mendi Freedman – a white doctor working for the Government – from Mafikeng to Serowe, to see Ruth. But she refused to see him. She had no wish to see a doctor she didn’t know, she said, and had received a telegram from Seretse that morning, telling her not to submit to any medical examination. She also refused to see Dr Gemmell, the Senior Government Medical Officer at Serowe.24 Dr Freedman was annoyed. ‘If Mrs Khama were really ill,’ he argued,
she would have no hesitation in seeing me. If, however, she were medically fit, she would take steps to ensure she were not ‘found out’ and would not submit to a medical examination as she might erroneously believe that this might prejudice the chances of Seretse being permitted to visit Serowe.
He asked Dr Moikangoa to persuade her to see him. But Dr Moikan-goa soon returned, saying that Mrs Khama still refused a visit from the director. ‘I left Serowe the same evening without having seen Mrs Khama,’ reported Dr Freedman to Mafikeng.25 He added that in the opinion of Dr Moikangoa, Ruth was not in a fit state to undertake even a train journey to L
obatse. But, added Dr Freedman, he had had a chat with the Serowe district commissioner, who had ‘expressed the opinion that there were valid reasons for doubting the “bona fides” of Dr Moikangoa in this matter, and that his medical report was very probably biased by his political opinions’. A copy of Freedman’s report was sent to Clark by Nettelton, with the comment, ‘This seems a fairly good sample of doublecrossing on the other side.’26
At the very least, reasoned Baring, Dr Moikangoa’s reports had been exaggerated. After all, Ruth had recently driven from Serowe to Mahalapye.27 Nevertheless, he started to worry. ‘It is clear that [an] early visit by Seretse would help allay her anxieties,’ he wired the CRO. ‘This may be bluff but Resident Commissioner thinks there may well be something in it.’28 His attitude to Ruth was calculating and ruthless: he assumed that whatever she did was political. His own wife had given birth to three children, so he must have had some idea of the risks and discomforts involved. Moreover, he himself suffered badly from problems with his liver, so he knew what it felt like to be vulnerable physically. But he had no sympathy for Ruth: he had lost sight of her as a human being.
Sir Evelyn was also afraid that Ruth was planning to bring her sister Muriel to Africa. For one thing, the prospect of having to deal with yet another young woman from the Williams family appalled him. For another, he had heard a rumour that ‘Seretse’s closest supporters hoped that Ruth would be successful in her efforts [to bring Muriel] as this would give them an opportunity to emulate Seretse’s successful wooing.’29 There was no foundation whatsoever for this rumour, but Baring was predisposed to believe it and it frightened him.
It was true that Muriel had hoped to join her sister and support her in her pregnancy. But she was unable to raise enough money for the long and expensive journey to Serowe.30
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