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  We lost radio contact with Lincoln and Steve Lawson reported the grim news over the telephone that Lincoln had been injured. He had received the back blast from an RPG fired carelessly by one of the Nigerian soldiers and then had sustained shrapnel wounds to his head and back. This was extremely worrying news.

  As the AFRC and RUF continued to shell the hotel, there was now very little fire being returned as the Nigerians had run out of ammunition. From on top of the hill we could see that the hotel had now caught fire. The situation was getting out of control.

  I telephoned Defence Headquarters. I spoke to a major and told him that his forces should stop firing at the hotel, where there were 800 civilians trapped in the basement. The Major claimed that his forces were not firing at the hotel. I told him that I was in touch with those in the hotel and indeed that I could see what was going on from my compound. I warned him that they had ten minutes to stop the firing. If not, I would get in touch with the American warship and tell them that innocent civilians, including Americans and British, were under attack and advise that they should deploy their marines against the AFRC and RUF forces. The Major said he would get back to me and ten minutes later, he did so to say that he had instructed his forces to stop firing. He assured me that it was safe for the civilians to leave the hotel.

  The firing had indeed stopped and although the smoke continued to rise from the hotel, there was an uneasy quiet. But could we rely upon the word of the Major in Defence Headquarters that his instruction had been passed to all those mounting attacks around the hotel, especially the RUF, who had not demonstrated much capacity to take orders from anyone? Andrew volunteered to drive down to the area and speak to those on the ground. Securing the biggest Union Jack we could find to his Land Rover, Andrew set off, with instructions to maintain a running commentary over the radio on what was happening. He reached the Lumley Beach Road but then we lost contact. It was not until much later that we discovered what had happened to him.

  In the meantime I had spoken to the Kearsarge and asked whether they could send in their marines to get the people out of the hotel now that the firing had stopped. They were concerned that by deploying, they could start the firing again and further endanger the lives of the civilians. They advised that the people should leave the hotel and walk along the beach. If they came under fire, this would give the excuse for the marines to go in and rescue them. If they did not come under attack, they would evacuate them, although as it was now getting dark this would not happen until the following morning. This all sounded very risky to me – as Will Scully said later in his book, a little like tying a goat to a stake in order to encourage the lion to come along and eat it.

  I spoke to Colonel Anderson at Defence Headquarters. He again assured me it was safe for the civilians to come out of the hotel but as neither he nor we had heard from Andrew Gale, I suggested that the ICRC should be used to escort the people from the building.

  I managed to talk to Lincoln over the telephone in the hotel. At least he was alive. I briefed him and Will Scully on my conversations with the Kearsarge and Defence Headquarters. Will reported that the ICRC representative had appeared at the hotel and was proposing to escort all the civilians out of the hotel under the Red Cross flag and across the Aberdeen Bridge. Will asked me what they should do.

  They were in a real dilemma. It was obviously not safe to stay in the hotel. Even if they brought the fires under control, the situation in the basement was untenable. They had no food or water and the hot humid atmosphere was unbearable. If they walked out with the ICRC across the Aberdeen Bridge, they would have to pass through the RUF, and heaven knows what they would try to do. If they walked along the beach, they would be totally in the open. To wait there all night until the evacuation in the morning made no sense. They would be totally exposed, stuck right in the middle of the line of fire between the Kearsarge and Defence Headquarters. I told Will that as the man on the ground, he was best placed to make the decision. I sensed that he was frustrated with my answer. I felt for him but took some comfort that there was a man with his experience among all those civilians.

  Graham McKinley contacted us from the Cape Sierra Hotel. Graham was a former defence adviser, Andrew Gale’s predecessor, who had retired from the UK forces and was now a resident businessman in Freetown. All week he had been helping us with the evacuations and had been monitoring events at the Mammy Yoko Hotel nearby. He advised that in his view it would be safe for the civilians to come out of the back of the Mammy Yoko and make their way to the Cape Sierra. I passed on this advice to Will Scully and Roger Crooks. The choice was put to the traumatized civilians in the basement. About half of them, mainly Sierra Leoneans, left with the ICRC representative, and walked across the Aberdeen Bridge, the rest, mainly expatriates, slipped through the back of the hotel and made their way to the Cape Sierra Hotel to await evacuation by the Kearsarge the next day.

  All this time we had been wondering what had happened to Andrew. As darkness fell, he finally arrived back at the office and recounted his experiences. He had visited the AFRC/RUF positions that had been shelling the Mammy Yoko. He had told them about the ceasefire that had been agreed by Defence Headquarters. They had agreed that he could go into the hotel to bring out Colonel Bio to work out the terms of the ceasefire, together with some wounded Nigerian soldiers. They had driven in Andrew’s Land Rover under cover of the Union Jack and a white flag to Defence Headquarters. As soon as they had arrived, a group of RUF lined them up against a wall and were going to shoot all of them on the spot. Andrew protested that they had come voluntarily under a flag of truce. After much arguing, the RUF backed down and allowed Andrew to remove the injured Nigerian soldiers to the military hospital.

  After all the drama of the day’s events there was not much time to rest. We now had to prepare for the next day’s evacuation of those rescued from the Mammy Yoko and any others. A telegram arrived from London saying that we were to close down the mission and join the evacuation. This came as a shock. We were not prepared to leave ourselves. We had too much to do dealing with the others, and in my view it would have been better for us to withdraw in some order. It was not a simple thing to close down a diplomatic mission. It was not just a question of walking out through the front door and turning off the lights. We had to destroy all our classified files, blank passports and communications equipment as well as make arrangements for all our local staff. Obviously we needed to get Lincoln out but the rest of us were OK. I called the others together. None of them wanted to leave. Once the next day’s evacuation was out of the way, we could better organize ourselves. We could then call up the EC helicopter in Monrovia, close the mission and leave in good order. I reported this to London, but they insisted that we leave on the Kearsarge. We worked through the night burning and shredding. There was no time to pack our personal effects or secure our homes, or get any sleep.

  Tuesday

  The night had passed quietly after all the noise of the previous day. I checked with the Kearsarge and sent a final telegram to London, signing off from Freetown.

  I called together those members of the local staff who had been with us at the office, including the guards, and explained that we had been told to leave on the American ship that morning. I trusted that it would only be a few days before we were back. I wished them all well and looked to them to guard our property while we were away, but on no account should they risk their lives unnecessarily – their lives were more important than our buildings. I handed over the keys to Solomon Lebby, the assistant management officer, and we drove off.

  We drove down Spur Road and then past the golf course along the Lumley Beach Road. The sight we saw was like a John Wayne movie. Scores of heavily armed American Marines were everywhere. We came to a well constructed road block where a very young US Marine stopped us and asked for our identification. I told him that we were the staff of the British High Commission, plus the European Commission Ambassador. He radioed the information ahead and we were wa
ved through. There were a couple of US armoured personnel carriers on the beach and machine guns mounted alongside the road, which had been floated in under cover of darkness from the USS Kearsarge, which remained out of sight over the horizon. All the guns were pointed towards Cockerill, the Defence Headquarters.

  We learned later that the Americans had been especially concerned with any attempts by the AFRC to deploy the helicopter gunship, which was parked at Cockerill. They had instructions to destroy it if there was any attempt to make it airborne. In one tense moment a Sierra Leone soldier had been observed walking towards the helicopter. The US Marines monitored the scene carefully. Unaware that there were a dozen guns pointing at him, the Sierra Leone soldier continued to approach the helicopter but then for some unapparent reason, he turned around and walked back to the building. The moment had passed. If the Americans had opened fire, I had no doubt that the AFRC/RUF resistance would have crumbled totally.

  On the beach across from what remained of the Chez Nous restaurant, large helicopters were taking off and landing. Hundreds of civilians were walking along the Lumley Beach Road from the direction of the Cape Sierra Hotel. Outside the restaurant they formed orderly queues as if in Disneyworld and were processed into lines of ten, sitting down on the ground under the watchful eyes of the marines. At a given signal each group was directed towards the helicopters, which, in a swirl of dust and sand, whisked the people off out to sea and onto the Kearsarge. It was a most impressive operation. In the space of about four hours, 1,260 people were lifted off Lumley Beach – reportedly the fastest evacuation of civilians in history.

  Over the previous week a total of over 4,000 expatriates had been evacuated by sea and air, including nearly 1,000 British passport holders.

  Within minutes we were being led by a US Marine onto a helicopter. As soon as we were on board, it took off. I peered through the window at the swirling sand as the beach disappeared below us. Farewell Freetown.

  Chapter Three

  Living in Conakry

  From the USS Kearsarge, I had been flown to Conakry, where Val Treitlein and a team from the British Embassy in Dakar were valiantly dealing with the hundreds of evacuees from Freetown. Soon after settling into room 503 of the Hotel Camayenne, I received a call from the Foreign Office in London. The Secretary of State wanted to have a word with me. Though I had never met him, I recognized the voice of Robin Cook on the other end. ‘Peter, I want you to know how grateful and proud we are of you. Well done!’ I reminded him that it had been a team effort and thanked him for calling personally. I was touched that the Secretary of State had taken the time to call. He later issued a statement paying tribute to me and the staff ‘who have done a magnificent job in very dangerous and very difficult circumstances, both in trying to achieve a negotiated resolution to the crisis in Sierra Leone and also in handling the evacuation of so many foreign nationals. We are very, very proud of the work that has been done. I pay tribute to Peter Penfold and all those who worked with him.’

  This was to be followed later by a letter from No. 10 Downing Street signed by the Prime Minister, Tony Blair:

  I should like to add my personal thanks and best wishes to you, Colin Glass and Dai Harries for your exceptional work helping to evacuate British nationals from Sierra Leone in what were obviously appallingly confused and dangerous circumstances. I know that you also did your best to bring the various factions together and to avoid bloodshed. Your efforts do great credit to the Diplomatic Service.

  Many other plaudits were received thanking us for the assistance rendered, both from foreign governments and individuals, including Sierra Leoneans living in Britain such as Ibrahim Suma and Momodou Sillah, the Sierra Leonean Labour Councillor in Hackney, who were both to remain staunch supporters throughout my time in Sierra Leone. There were a few complaints that we did not do enough. One of these was in a letter to Robin Cook from Rupert Bowen, the country manager of Branch Energy. He had been out of Freetown at the time of the coup and when he and his wife appeared at the gates of the High Commission the next day, he complained that he had been kept waiting fifteen minutes and was not offered a cup of tea. His wife was evacuated on our chartered plane and Bowen left later on the Kearsarge. The letter did not endear me to Bowen.

  The spin doctors in the Foreign Office had been anxious to capitalize on events. They arranged an interview with the Daily Mirror, which produced a two-page centre spread under the headline ‘Hero of Hell City – True Brit of envoy as 800 rescued’. London was delighted with the result. They said that it was the first time that they had had such a positive article about the Foreign Office in one of the tabloids.

  I had gone to see President Kabbah on arrival in Conakry. President Conte had accommodated him in a villa on a compound not far from the Camayenne and across from the Sierra Leone Embassy. The villa was one of several set in large grounds dotted with palm trees, with camels wandering around and all behind a 10 foot high perimeter wall. It was where former Sierra Leone Presidents Momoh and Strasser also had taken refuge when they had been forced to flee. The Guinean soldiers at the entrance to the compound had looked at me quizzically sat in the back of the dilapidated taxi that I had hired as I explained in my poor French that I was the British Ambassador from Sierra Leone. They were not altogether convinced but they let me in.

  The President looked drawn and tired. I briefed him on the discussions we had held in the residence with the AFRC and told him that I was surprised that he had taken so long to issue any statement to his people. They needed to hear from him. He mentioned the problems he had had with batteries for his tape recorder before he had left Freetown. After our meeting he issued a statement saying that his government accepted all the points we had negotiated in the residence with the AFRC and that he was prepared to adhere to them if the junta stood down and allowed the restoration of the legitimate government. The statement fell on deaf ears.

  It was felt that it would only be a matter of weeks before we could reopen the mission in Freetown and so it was decided by Tony Lloyd, the minister responsible for Africa, and Richard Dales, the Director for Africa in the Foreign Office, that I should remain in Conakry and set up an office there to stay alongside President Kabbah and his ministers as a clear demonstration that the British Government continued to recognize his government as the legitimate government of Sierra Leone. It would also enable us to maintain contact and provide support for our locally engaged staff (over seventy strong) and safeguard the substantial British Government estate there worth millions of pounds. In the meantime the British aid programme was suspended and would resume ‘once, but not until, President Kabbah is restored.’

  My bedroom (room 503) at the Hotel Camayenne became the office of the British High Commission to Sierra Leone, in exile. Running a diplomatic mission from a hotel room was not easy. The wad of US dollars that Dai had produced following the evacuation proved useful in setting up the office until we had established a bank account in Conakry, which required endless signatures.

  Val Treitlein operated her honorary consul’s office out of her home and was busy dealing with the flow of evacuees as well as the normal day to day Guinean business. We did receive some assistance from the resident German Embassy in the spirit of European Union co-operation but generally we relied upon the hotel telephone and fax facilities for communication. The age of internet communication and sophisticated mobile phones had not yet arrived. A satellite phone received from the Foreign Office never worked. Classified communication was especially difficult. The Foreign Office sent out a classified fax machine but then insisted that we keep it locked away in a security cupboard that accompanied the machine, but the cupboard was too big to fit into the hotel room and therefore both cupboard and machine had to be sent back. We stood for hours alongside the hotel’s fax machine to avoid prying eyes seeing our messages going back and forth.

  For a while both Colin and Dai were stationed with me, which allowed us short breaks back home from time to time, but then Da
i was posted to Mozambique. The High Commission’s locally engaged accountant, Brima Samura, had fled Freetown and turned up in Conakry. He was able to help us with our accounts – no easy task given that we were operating in four different currencies: pounds sterling, US dollars, Sierra Leone leones and Guinea francs. The only other ‘member of staff’ was Alphonse, the Guinean driver of our dilapidated taxi, who benefitted greatly from the generous weekly allowance we were paying him. Regrettably, he chose not to use this influx of funds to improve his taxi with modifications like air-conditioning or unbroken windows, let alone new tyres or brake pads.

  Most days I would telephone Solomon Lebby, our assistant management officer, back in Freetown, who was performing miracles keeping the staff in good heart and our properties untouched. A young, handsome Sierra Leonean, with a penchant for colourful ties and braces, he had been working at the High Commission for around twelve years. His efforts during these difficult times would later be recognized by the award of the MBE by The Queen.

  Every day, Solomon went to the office and the residence to check on the staff and that everything was OK. Johnny Paul Koroma had moved into a house right next to the office compound. We were not sure whether it was because he felt safer that Ecomog were unlikely to shell a building alongside the British High Commission or just that the soldiers guarding Koroma liked to enjoy the light from our compound’s generators when the rest of Freetown was in darkness. We would find all kinds of ingenious methods of sending in the salaries for all the staff each month and Solomon would distribute them. Our staff were therefore among the very few in Freetown to receive regular salaries and the High Commission compound and residence remained among the very few properties not to be looted by the soldiers.