The Deputy Prime Minister

Following my posted blog "Mum, mum where are we going mum" I was amazed to find a reference to Sierra Leone on the news that very evening. The news item stated that Sierra Leone was one of the poorest countries in Africa. Brought about through the ravages of a civil war, the burden of third world debt, and the oldest problem of all. "Corruption".

As a twelve-year-old back in 1958, I was not of course aware of such things. To me the country was in the main a scenically beautiful place, and provided a potential for great adventures. Of which there were many, some just real good boyish fun, some that were bloody dam dangerous, and other situations that involved other army families in the Freetown community.

I have often thought about my childhood friends, where are they now? The only childhood pal that went on to achieve fame was a certain "Glynn Pardoe", who played football for Manchester City and England. The only adult that I know of that went on to greater things was our scoutmaster "Ronnie Sampson" who was at the time a staff sergeant in the pay corps. Ron after leaving the army as a Major went on to a distinguished career in the diplomatic corps. Following, the end of the Falklands War, Ron was installed as Deputy Governor of the Falkland Isles from 1978- 1981. Now well into retirement Ron still gives talks on cruise liner’s mainly in Caribbean waters and the South American and Panama Canal area’s.

So over the years I have tried to keep a casual interest in Sierra Leone. One reason for this is that I would have loved to go back to see what had become of the place. There were of course a number of reasons why this as never happened. The first being, I was fourteen and a half when we left Freetown, so between then and the many years later as a married man with two kids, it wasn’t ever likely to happen. The second reason in the mid eighties through to the late nineties, at a time when it would have been financially practical to visit, one of the bloodiest civil war did rage throughout the country.

And the third reason, How long do you think they keep records of undesirables? Yes that’s me a fourteen year old undesirable. I suppose, if I had to plead my case today this is how it might go.

For some weeks Dad had been feeding a rather nice brown and white mongrel dog, which had parked itself under the window of his office. It was there in the morning and still there as he left for home. Now there were no shortages of dogs in Freetown, but they were skin and bone or rabid, and attracted fly’s in swarms. But to find a dog that looked healthy and friendly was about as rare as Rocking Horse manure. Then one afternoon the dog started to follow dad’s Land Rover, through the camp, out of the gates and on the road to home. Well what would you do? Dad stopped the vehicle and on jumps the dog.

On arriving home my brother Stewart who was two and a half at the time, immediately took to the dog. Perhaps because he had never been so close to a dog. For my part it was something I had always wanted, but it was never going to happen not whilst we were in Africa. So everyone was happy including Mum. We gave our new dog the name of Patch, because of his brown and white patchy markings.

So for the next six months both Stewart and myself spent many happy hours on the beach, in and around our compound, walks through the local village,and what a fantastic guard dog, he could bark for England, If any strangers approached the bungalow we knew well in advance.

Arriving home from school one day, I was surprised to find that Patch wasn’t waiting at the compound gate, which is where he normally met me from school every day. "Mum where’s Patch Mum" " Don’t know son I’ve not seen him since coming back on the shopping bus". (A three-ton army truck). Right, I’ll go and have a look in the village. Not really a clever thing to do alone, but I had to find my dog.

The local village was called Willberforce and although it was only a few hundred yards from the bungalow. I suppose a hamlet would be a better description then village, there were about a dozen houses (brick built) and about twenty shanties made from corrugated iron sheets. A central well which also supplied the water which ran into a sunken sump to wash their clothes in, and also doubled as the local baths, and a small shop selling just about anything the Syrian owner could get his hands on.

Well after about an hour of searching, which must have been about four or five times round the village, I returned home hoping that Patch would have turned up by now, That however was not the case. Not to long after I got home Dad arrived home, once he had been told that Patch was missing, he too went out to look for him. On returning, he told me that the chances of finding Patch were very slim indeed. In fact a really healthy dog with plenty meat on his ribs, was probably in someone’s cooking pot by now. Stewart was devastated, I was reduced to floods of tears. And so we resolved that that was the end of Patch.

About a month later, who should be sat under dad’s window. Yes got it in one. "Patch" Not quite as plump as he was and had some small lacerations on his hind quarters. But this was quite definitely Patch. So Patch is brought home to be bathed and cuts treated. You had to be there to see the fuss he made of the whole family.

Five days later the S- -T hit the fan, outside the bungalow was a very large black Rolls Royce, the chauffeur steps out, and opens the door to let out a very grand coloured gentleman, which you didn’t tend to see to many of. I was on the veranda with Stewart and Patch. When over comes this smart man and demands that I give him Patch, because it was his dog. Mum was at bingo in the Sergeants Mess and wouldn’t be home till dad picked her up after work, What was I to do, well I had acquired a few choice words from being round the army lads. So I told him to F- -k off you f- -king bas- - -d teefman and you can pi-s off cus your not having my dog.

TEEFMAN, I should explain at every window of all the army properties were steel grids to stop thief’s but the locals could not pronounce the "th" so they used to say he is a teefman, and the wire at the windows was always referred to as teefwire. Anyway my tirade of abuse seemed to have the desired affect as he withdrew back to his car, "I’ll be back to see your father" was is parting words.

True to his word, just after tea he was back. Having told dad that there was a bloke who came to take Patch because he said it was his dog. "What did you do son" "I told him to buzz off dad" " good lad son, I’ll sort it". So as the man approached, dad went to meet him. It started off in a normal volume for conversation, but suddenly the volume got louder and louder, till "KEITH come here now". "Yes dad" " Did you call this man a f- -cking bas- - - d and a teefman" " who me dad, no not me dad". When the man starts calling me a little liar. "Now look if my lad say’s he didn’t call you a teefman and told you to f- -k off, then he didn’t tell you to F- -k off. But I’m telling you right now, whoever you are you can f- -k off right now".

"I am Dr Karefa Smart, Deputy Prime Minister of Sierra Leone." Said the smart man, " and I’ll have you thrown out of my country immediately" " You do that, you just do that, it will be the best days f- -king work you have ever done. Shall I start packing now" said dad. With that once again Dr Karefa Smart retired back to the Roll’s. " not so bloody smart now is he dad" say’s I . As I felt my left ear starts to sting, "what did you do that for dad". "For swearing, don’t do it again". "Yes Dad".

The following day, dad was sent for by his Commanding Officer, Captain Panton, who proceeded to read him the riot act, got to do it Harry, orders from the governors office. But don’t take it to heart the governor say’s you’ve got to give the dog back, ring this number and arrange for the dog to be handed over. With regard to the deputy P.Ms threat to have me thrown out of the country, when do I go Sir? "Nice try Harry but you’re here till 61 when this lot get there independence". Apparently, dad said " oh shit sir I was hoping he meant it. "He did" said Captain Panton. "But you will be staying and that’s official".

Well dad should have had just over a year left on his posting, but six months later we were stepping on to the tarmac at Heathrow. Whether Dr Karefa Smart had any thing to do with our early repatriation we shall never know. But do you think my name as a undesirable is still on record somewhere. Not that it matters, for I shall never return. But the memories linger on.

Footnote:- In the elections that followed independence in 1961 the opposition party won the election outright. And therefore Dr Karefa Smart never became the Deputy Prime Minister of a independent Sierra Leone.
Should you wish to check it out GOTO http://www.awarenesstimes.com/ you can see that Dr Karefa Smart is still going strong today. Though frail at 86 he is the leader of the UNPP party. But it would seem that he has been making his own rules as he goes along. Other members of the UNPP have called for a distancing policy from Dr Karefa Smart. Seems to be that he still wants it all his own way. Nothing changes does it even after 46 years.