African Sunset

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By JOHN BOYD-CARPENTER

THE bright sun of an African afternoon blazed on Chileka airport and on the dark storm- clouds massed in the eastern sky. The trim modern airport buildings were almost hidden by the mass of people at window and balcony. In front, rows of chairs seated ministers, civil servants and dignitaries of all kinds including hundreds of visitors and delegates to the Repub- lic Celebrations. On each flank stood some thousands of many races. Opposite the crowd and beyond a short stretch of tarmac stood a Viscount airliner gleaming in the smart livery of Air Malawi. Just inside the open door of the passenger cabin a blonde stewardess, happily oblivious of the thousands to whom the opera- tion was visible, was undertaking the strenuous maintenance of her complexion.

As with other crowds, a variety of reasons had brought this one together. Some in the front rows of chairs were there, no doubt, because they felt it their duty to their position to be present at the departure of the outgoing Governor-General of Malawi. Others with a feeling for history were there because they wanted to see the act which ended the formal position of Malawi as a Dominion of the British Crown. But most were there because they knew that Sir Glyn Jones was a good friend, to them personally or to their country, and they wanted gratefully to say goodbye. This was so, above all, of the Prime Minister, Dr Banda, 'the man,' in Sir Glyn Jones's words, 'who will be president tomorrow,' and whose long and happy partner- ship with the Governor-General was ending this afternoon.

Before he arrived, the troops came into position, filling one side of the square of which the crowd and the aircraft filled the other three.

resplendent guard of honour of the Ist Bat- Talton, Malawi Rifles, headed by the regimental band, marched in with the smartness and con- fidence which these fine fighting troops have in- herited from the King's African Rifles, of which they were a battalion. Their regimental sergeant- major, five-foot of resolute Yorkshireman known to the troops for obvious reasons as `Bvvana Smartly,' kept a watchful but unnecessary eye on their impeccable foot-drill.

A pause; and then, preceded by his white- uniformed motor-cycle escort, Dr Banda, Prime Minister and President-Designate, drove into the 'square' in his huge red open Rolls-Royce, attended by his ADC. He took a salute from the troops and the lovely Malawi National Anthem was played. In two or three minutes Sir Glyn Jones's motor-cycle escort could be seen, and with his wife and ADC he came in in an elderly black Rolls, a pennon streaming gallantly from the roof. He wore the full-dress uniform of a governor-general—that epitome of Edwardian splendour. Again a military salute and anthem— and then outgoing governor-general and in- coming president, each tailed by ADCs, identical in uniform and bearing but of different races, moved to a dais for speeches.

Dr Banda is an orator in the grand manner. He has Churchill's gift of securing effect by the powerful use of simple words. He has a voice of power and authority, and uses the handsome fly-whisk, which he is never seen without, to emphasise his points with dramatic force. He was plainly moved. He told the crowd much of the history of the last six years, and of how Sir Glyn had helped him again and again in his battles with 'Salisbury' (the city!). He empha- sised his sorrow that 'what some people call protocol' meant that with the constitutional changes Sir Glyn must leave. He plainly inti- mated that be would have liked him to stay as an adviser, and went on to stress that he would remove no officer, civil or military, because of the colour of his skin, adding in terms that he hoped that European officers would stay until Strix has been granted furlough. their normal retirement age, by when be hoped to have trained his own people to succeed them. He ended with an emotional tribute that brought a roar from the crowd.

Sir Glyn Jones, the feathers of his great cocked hat fluttering in the breeze, was much briefer. He expressed his affection for people and president-designate, and ended with a 'God bless yoti' which sent a tremor through the crowd.

Splendid in his uniform, he inspected his last euard of honour, 'Men of Harlech' being played in honour of a Welshman as he went down the ranks. Then a last salute, and again the short and hauntingly beautiful Malawi anthem.

Meanwhile, a red carpet of prodigious length had been unrolled across the tarmac to the air-

craft. One side of it was lined in strict order of

ascending rank by ministers, officials and other worthies. With Dr Banda at his side and his wife and ADC behind him, the Governor- General went down the line shaking every hand. At the fOot of the ladder a few last words with Dr Banda, and then Sir Glyn and his wife stood framed in the aircraft door to wave goodbye. At this moment, with an imaginative disregard for protocol, the army band crashed into 'God Save the Queen.' The huge crowd rose stiffly to attention and dead silence.

A moment later the aircraft door closed, and the Viscount, a governor-general's pennon trail- ing above the flight-deck. taxied away to the main runway for take-off. In a very short time it came thundering back, climbing quickly into the setting sun. As it came past, the Governor- General could be seen waving through the oval window—and the crowd, headed by Dr Banda, waved back.

All was not over. The aircraft climbed, made a sweep over Blantyre and then turned back, now at speed, and in a manoeuvre not in the rule book of air traffic control officers at London Airport, the airliner came past some fifty feet above the

runway. More waving, and then it climbed away towards the mountains. As we turned to go, the last light fell on the lonely figure of Dr Banda, still waving his fly-whisk at the darken- ing sky.