Wilfred Thesiger
The Life of the Great Explorer
Alexander Maitland
For Margaret
Table of Contents
ONE The Emperor Menelik’s ‘New Flower’
FIVE Passages to India and England
SIX The Cold, Bleak English Downs
SEVEN Eton: Lasting Respect and Veneration
TEN Across the Sultanate ofAussa
SIXTEEN Palestine: Shifting Lights and Shades
TWENTY-ONE A Winter in Copenhagen
TWENTY-TWO Camel Journeys to the Jade Sea
TWENTY-THREE With Nomadic Tribes in Other Lands
‘Even now, after so many years, I can still remember Wilfred Thesiger as he was when I first saw him,’ was how Thesiger suggested I might begin his biography. To this he had added: ‘The rest is up to you.’1
I met Thesiger for the first time in June 1964 at his mother’s top-storey flat in Chelsea. He was then aged fifty-four. He was sunburnt, tall, with broad shoulders and deep-set grey eyes. As we shook hands I noticed the exceptional length of his fingers. He wore an obviously well-cut, rather loose-fitting dark suit. I remember clearly that he smelt of brilliantine and mothballs. He spoke quietly, with an air of understated authority. His voice was high-pitched and nasal; even by the standards of that time, his rarefied pronunciation seemed oddly affected. He had a distinctive habit of emphasising prepositions in phrases such as ‘All this was utterly meaningless to me’. He moved slowly and deliberately, with long, ponderous strides; yet he gave somehow the impression that he was also capable of lightning-fast reactions. Later, I heard that he had been a source of inspiration for Ian Fleming’s fictional hero James Bond. Whether or not this was true, Thesiger, like Bond, was larger than life; and like Bond, he appeared to have led a charmed existence.
He introduced me to his mother, Kathleen, who had retired early to bed. Cocooned in a woollen shawl and an old-fashioned lace-trimmed mobcap, she lay propped up on pillows, with writing paper and books spread out on the bedcover within easy reach. Thesiger left us alone for a few minutes while he carried a tray with a decanter of sherry and glasses to the sitting room. It was then that his mother offered me the unforgettable advice: ‘You must stand up to Wilfred.’2
Thesiger preferred to sit with his back to the window, in the dark shadow of a high-backed chair. At intervals