The English language has immense resources, but the odd weakness. What, for instance, is the translation for ‘Auld lang syne’? We were discussing that profound topic while telling stories about absent friends, recalling the occasional bottle and thinking about Britain.
Nick Elliott’s response to grim news was to open a bottle of Mouton Rothschild ’82
A fascinating fellow called Tim Spicer, who commanded a battalion of the Scots Guards, has written a book about an even more remarkable chap called Biffy Dunderdale. Biffy was the sort of man who helped to win our nation’s wars, including the (first) Cold War.
In these pages a couple of weeks ago, Charles Moore brought a colleague of Biffy’s to memory. Charles had been to Eton to salute the enthronement – or whatever – of the latest Provost, Nicholas Coleridge, who must be one of the jollier chaps ever to reach that solemn ascendancy. Charles referred to an earlier Provost, one Claude Aurelius Elliott, who had previously been the headmaster.
He was not regarded as a jolly chap. But he had an amusing son, Nicholas Elliott, who had a long career in MI6. Alas, Nick will be principally remembered for failing to persuade Kim Philby to return from England to Beirut. But he had lots of good stories. In 1956, at the beginning of the Suez War, he was sent to help the Israelis against the Egyptians. He was also told to have a look at these Israelis: are they as effective as they are cracked up to be? He told his hosts that he was army-barmy and would like to see some of their men in action. No doubt spotting his purpose, the Israelis told him that they had no time to lay upon a tourist trip – but he could join a unit as a private soldier.
In those days, the Egyptians did not amount to much in the field, and as soon as the action started, they ran away. Within a brief advance, the Israelis were at the Mediterranean. Everyone was tearing off their clothes, including Nick. His colonel, the only person who knew who he really was, came sprinting up to him, gesturing at his groin. ‘Remember who and what you’re supposed to be.’ ‘That’s all right, colonel.’ ‘My God, you lot aren’t half thorough when it comes to cover.’ (Or should that have been uncover?)
As a schoolboy. Nicholas served under his father, who would occasionally ask him to vet remarks that he was proposing to make to the boys. On one stage, the headmaster was due to address those who were leaving school and showed Nick the text. ‘You absolutely cannot say that, Father.’ ‘I suppose it is another of your beastly double entendres.’ ‘Be that as it may, you must not use it.’ The headmaster had been proposing to say: ‘At Eton, you have learned how to handle boys. Now go into the world and handle men.’
Nick had a sardonic wit and a considerable sense of mischief. In his MI6 days, he would have come across Biffy Dunderdale and they would have known how to enjoy life while defending the national interest. Officially, officers in the Secret Intelligence Services retire at 55 or 60. Officially. Nick always knew what was going on. Alas, in his mid-seventies,cancer struck. He was stoical, but the disease was implacable. He was eventually told that there was about three months to go. He phoned chums, announcing that he would probably not be able to visit any of his clubs. He also said that his first response on being given the grim news was to open a bottle of Mouton Rothschild ’82. ‘One thing I can take with me.’ But it had not worked: his stomach and his taste buds were too stricken. ‘Don’t worry – come round and I’ll watch you all drink something decent.’
Again, alas. He only lived for a week. We toasted his memory with a 2010 Ducru-Beaucaillou, while hoping that modern Britain still produces characters like him.
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