bout de papier, Vol. 23, No. 4 (2008) — Summer 2008 // Été 2008, pp. 23–26
Readers of bout de papier wil! be familiar with John Watkins, whose last letter to John Holmes was reprinted under the title “From one ‘fantaisiste’ to another” (Volume 23, Number 2). In the aftermath of the revelations by Igor Gouzenko about Soviet espionage in Canada in early 1946, relations with the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics had chilled and diplomatic representation had been downgraded, so that Canada was represented in Moscow for nearly eight years by a series of chargés d’affaires, while the nominal Ambassador of Canada to the USSR, Dana Wilgress, stayed away and then was reassigned. Robert Ford acted twice in this capacity, with Holmes and Watkins performing these duties in the interval between Ford’s assignments before Watkins returned in early 1954 as the Ambassador. Extracts from some of the official reports by Watkins from this period were published in Moscow Despatches: Inside Cold War Russia, edited by Dean Beeby and William Kaplan (published by James Lorimer & Company in 1987), but both he and Holmes corresponded privately with colleagues as well, with some of those missives circulating more widely in Ottawa than the “personal” label suggested.
The letter reprinted below was written 16 months after Watkins had replaced Holmes, so that the personalities and circumstances of the peculiar diplomatic existence in Moscow would be familiar to the latter. In a letter home to his family in February 1948, Holmes had commented about the determination of his cook and maid to stuff him with vast quantities of “marvellous” food and it was obvious that the same zeal was applied to expand the waistline of his successor.
As letters from both correspondents indicated, the diplomatic community in Moscow tended to be isolated from the local population and participated in frequent rounds of social interaction amongst themselves, with other foreigners more often present than Soviet citizens. While the hospitality functions served to supplement the meagre information available officially from their hosts, the letters and despatches to Canada indicated that familiarity did not always breed respect, particularly where the journalists who were longtime residents of Moscow were concerned. As Holmes commented to his family, an unanticipated benefit of his lowly diplomatic status was that he was spared compulsory attendance for the duration at some of the more tedious affairs and occasional snubs by his hosts likewise eased the strain of operating in an often hostile and frequently absurd context. The positive side of this assignment was that the Canadian diplomats developed close relations with some of their counterparts, notably from Commonwealth and allied governments, among whom were some exceptionally able representatives as well as a few duds. Whatever the pluses or minuses, it was certainly an unusual opportunity for two members of the Canadian foreign service who had been recruited from academe during the Second World War.
This letter comes from the John Holmes Papers at the Trinity College Archives, University of Toronto, with renewed thanks to Henri Pilon, the helpful and knowledgeable archivist there who facilitated access to that collection. Identifications of individuals, where possible, are given in square brackets. With the exception of the brief passages which Watkins wrote in Russian, silent corrections have been made to obvious errors in the original text.
John Watkins to John Holmes,
16 December 1949.
CANADIAN EMBASSY /
AMBASSADE DU CANADA
Moscow, December 16, 1949
Dear John:
I was very sorry to learn from Terry [MacDermot, Head, European Division, Department of External Affairs (DEA)] recently that you were ill. From his description it seems clear that it is an occupational disease and I trust that you have managed to get a little rest, for I don’t believe there is any other cure. Several of your friends have been asking for you since Terry’s letter came and I have not failed, as Marcel [Cadieux, Head of Personnel Division] says, to make your case as interesting as possible. I don’t think you’ll get any wreaths but you might just possibly get a letter from such conscience-stricken culprits as M[ichael]. Warr and J[ohn]. Waterfield [of the British Embassy, Moscow]. In the meantime both ask me to send their best wishes. Michael left this week on the same train with Mary Ogilvie Forbes (Neil is still waiting for his successor but hoping to get home for Christmas) and the Afghan ambassador and his daughter. Practically the whole Clorps]. D[iplomatique] was at the station. It was nice of them all to take the same train. [Manlio] Brosio [Ambassador of Italy to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), 1947-51; later Ambassador of Italy consecutively to the United Kingdom, the United States and Paris; Secretary- General of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, 1964-71] is now dean and should be a big improvement on his two predecessors. Michael had no idea where his next post would be when he left. [British diplomat] Gordon Whitteridge’s sudden translation to Stuttgart (somebody told me he had got married) made it impossible for M. to take a post that was open earlier and the F[oreign].O[ffice], has been promising to make up its mind ever since. Monstrous, J.W., calls it. John recently became engaged to a very attractive and intelligent American girl and looks positively blissful. He hopes to leave early in the year. Marusia [Maruskya? Maid at the ambassador’s residence] was distressed to learn of your illness and suggests that you come back to Moscow immediately, preferably with a wife and several children, so that she can feed you up properly. If you could manage to come while I can still get into some of my clothes, it would save the expense of sending me out in a stretcher. Others who have been enquiring recently are the [Rajeshwar (Minister in the Indian Embassy, Moscow; later Permanent Representative to the United Nations, Ambassador to Yugoslavia, High Commissioner to Pakistan, Ambassador to France and Foreign Secretary of India) and Sushila] Dayals and the [Brewster H.] Morrises [First Secretary, American Embassy, Moscow]. I see them oftener than I see John because they have to go to almost everything that I do. It’s worse than ever this fall. Sundays are no longer respected and if our profsoyuz doesn’t take some action under Brosio, we’ll soon all be wrecks. Tomorrow will be the ninth evening for me in a row plus several lunches and cocktail parties. Ellen caved in about a week ago and was ill in bed with grippe until yesterday. She christian-scientifically refused to have a doctor but seemed to be getting along all right when I called in yesterday. The Dayals find it highly amusing to live with the new ambassador and less of a nervous strain, I take it, than when Mrs. [Vijaya Lakshmi] Pandit [Ambassador of India to the USA and former Ambassador of India to the USSR; leader of the Indian delegation to the United Nations General Assembly] was here. Sheila told me that Dr. [Sarvepalli] Radhakrishnan [Indian philosopher and statesman, Ambassador of India to the USSR and later second President of India] came in waving a copy of TIME not long ago and saying: Now she’ll go and have it, now she’ll go and have it. Good gracious, who’s going to have what, Sheila demanded. Have you seen what Time had written: Plump Mrs. Pandit. She’ll have a nervous breakdown now, as sure as fate. Maxim [Constantinovitch, chauffeur for the head of mission at the Canadian Embassy, Moscow] had a chill one night not long ago and I made him come in for some treatment. He poured down two glasses of rum without blinking and took half a dozen aspirins home with him. The next day he rested and went to the baths and is quite sure that the rum, from which he says he could feel the heat as he walked home (I’m sure he couldn’t have felt anything else) saved him from being ill. One evening I had an extra ticket for the theater and couldn’t find anybody free to go, so I let him have it. They got the whole play in the kitchen the next day at noon and Marusia came in giggling and reported that Maxim said he was sitting there in the front row like a count. His comments on the new station waggon were amusing and characteristic. I asked him how he liked it. Otkrovenno skazat, ne ochen, he said. Boshaya no ne elegantnaya, kak malenkii gruzovik, fine for picnics but not decent (neprilichno) for formal receptions. Nikolai has just finished overhauling the Buick and we think it may run for another four months or so. The Nash is also in bad shape. I don’t know whether either M. or N. could be persuaded to drive to a reception in the station waggon. Their prestige among their colleagues depends entirely on their car and not in the least on the mission or rank of the officer. It was too bad Canada was so poor, N. remarked. The Australians had a Humber, the New Zealanders a Packard, the Indians a Cadillac. bad Canada was so poor. I said we were just thrifty. Thrift, he thought, was a virtue within reason, but to go to priems in a station waggon was not reasonable. It struck me as slightly ridiculous myself at first, especially in the rig prescribed for such occasions, but as long as I don’t go without my trousers some day (I went without a vest to the Poles) I think I’ll get by all right.
It was nice to get to Paris, Copenhagen, Stockholm, etc., after a year of Moscow but as far as UNESCO was concerned, you might as well have sent the East Block cat. I was afraid I would not be much use at a conference, as you will remember, but I did not expect to be quite so hopeless. Under severe prodding from the other three I managed to get to the platform about three times and read out something for the record. I refused to say anything at all that was not written down, less because I was afraid of saying something screwy, although in the state of my knowledge of UNESCO that could easily have happened, than because I felt sure that if I tried to speak impromptu, I’d get my mouth open but no sound would come. So most of the time I just sat and listened. There was no dearth of oratory, good, bad, and indifferent, and mine was certainly not missed, but since we have to pay our contribution, we might as well have somebody there who can give a little punishment as well as take it. Much of the time I was not quite sure what was going on or even what I was voting for. I don’t think I’ll ever make fun of the alphabetical misfortune of the Byelo-Russians again. The Etats-Unis were directly behind us and the Royaume-Uni was well down the hall. As a result I had often to sit at an awkward angle which the Hungarian would certainly have noticed if he hadn’t had to keep his eye on the Pole. Documents poured forth from the machines day and night and it was impossible to keep up with them. Harry day [Secretary, Canadian Delegation to the Fourth Session of General Council of UNESCO, Paris, September 1949] had absorbed a great deal of information about UNESCO in a short time but of course he couldn’t be everywhere at once. Guy Sylvestre [Private Secretary to Prime Minister Louis St. Laurent; later National Librarian of Canada] worked hard and his familiarity with parliamentary procedure was helpful. [Fulgence] Charpentier [Information Officer and Cultural Attaché, Canadian Embassy, Paris] was very hospitable and saw that we met quite a few people. Mr. Dorget [? Perhaps Victor Doré, Chairman, Canadian Delegation to UNESCO, Paris, September 1949] was a little shocked, I think, at our lack of enthusiasm for UNESCO, not to speak of the Canadian Government’s, and did his best to convince us that it was doing noble work in many fields. It probably is, and the division chiefs who spoke all seemed to know their jobs. But the Director, who is extremely able, astute, dynamic, and persuasive, had no intention of allowing a small economy-minded minority to cramp his style and knew that he could get just about what he wanted by perfectly democratic means, since the smallest contributors were often absorbing the largest grants and eager to continue doing so, and a vote is a vote. At the same time he was careful not to offend his larger contributors even when he felt, good Indian that he is, like sticking a knife in their backs. I can’t remember when it was that the illiterates started their last war but I predict that we’ll have wiped them out before they can start another one. In the meantime let’s hope the literates don’t get nasty again. Viva UNESCO on the Arno, but may I be on the Congo!
What a painful duty it must have been for [Ralph] Parker (pro-Soviet correspondent for a succession of foreign newspapers, with some articles appearing in The Daily Worker place as the Canadian Embassy. Now that we know how he feels about us, we can spare him in the future. I have said as much to the one or two people who are pretty sure to take it back to him. He and Valentina Mikhailovna were at the Finnish national day reception on December 6. They were also at the Iranian and Indian affairs and the Scandinavians and others still invite them to dinners, etc.; so one is bound to meet them. I had decided that his stupid, inaccurate, and mischievous remarks, though not worth even thinking about, would be a good excuse for avoiding him and not being pestered by invitations to lunch as I was for a while, but that out of courtesy for the host I would speak to him if I met him head on. At both the Indian and Finnish receptions (I did not go to the Iranian) I saw him before he saw me and we did not collide. But I ran into her at the Finnish party and was speaking to her for a few minutes. She asked if I was as much of a hermit as ever and I replied that I was still as much of a hermit as I could manage to be. I don’t think she’s too stupid to take a hint — when she’s sober. Randy and I left the Finns at 2 a.m. but the party went on until after three, and the Minister, who always goes home at midnight, had to stay up until all the foreign guests had left. The attache, Henrik Blomstedt, took a few of the guests over to his apartment for bacon and eggs after that. Henrik is very intelligent and well-read but quite naive about people. His guests included the Parkers, the Hafstads, the de Guinzburgs (Agence France Presse correspondent with an English wife who is not on speaking terms with V.M.) and Major Walters [American Embassy, Moscow]. Parker talked to Walters, not one of the brighter service attaches, who was so much impressed by his knowledge of the Soviet Union that he invited him to dinner. Walters said that he seldom met people whose views of the Soviet Union differed from his own and it interested him very much. I don’t suppose he had a ghost of an idea who P, was.
P. said he would telephone, but W. insisted that it be soon and asked what about the day after tomorrow. P. said he was expecting to leave for Italy very soon and would call when he
P. over [Andrey] Vishinsky’s [Minister of Foreign Affairs of the USSR] remark in N.Y. that he had decided not to return to England. He telephone P. and led up very gradually to an innocent mention of his surprise to learn of this decision. Poor old P. was very much embarrassed and after much hemming and hawing agreed that V. had been misinformed.) V.M. talked to Sigurdur Hafstad and behaved quite well until she had had a few schnapps. She then got on to the subject of the travel restrictions and proclaimed that there were only two places in the Soviet Union it was necessary for foreigners to visit: Stalingrad, because of its war history, and Gori [in Georgia], because it is Stalin’s birthplace. At this point de Guinzburg came along to say good-bye and politely kissed her hand. As soon as he had turned away, she announced twice in a loud voice so that everybody would be sure to hear: “There, you see, that man always turns his back when Stalin’s name is mentioned.” Other people have thought de G. more pro-Soviet than otherwise, but no doubt Stalin’s birthday is making V.M. more orthodox than ever. Later in the evening, about half past four, she got very angry at P., made a scene, and flounced out of the apartment, to the consternation of poor Henrik, who had no idea what was happening. She told Mrs. Hafstad later than when she got downstairs she found a beautiful big car full of charming men and took them all home for coffee and that they were still there at 5:30 when P. got home. This was part of the Finnish trade delegation, which was already disintegrating fast when I left at two. They did not know the next day where they had been or who V.M. was. The [Rolf] Sohlmans [Ambassador of Sweden to the USSR] had the Parkers to lunch last Saturday. Mrs. 8. says that she has lived through so much that she does not judge people. She said that P.’s wife and child had been killed by the Nazis in Czechoslovakia and that when he came here, he had sort of adopted V.M. and her two daughters. They had been seriously compromised by his friendship and no doubt he felt that he should help them as much as he could. When she was looking for a tutor to teach her son English a couple of years ago, Lady Peterson [wife of Sir Maurice Peterson, Ambassador of the United Kingdom to the USSR] had recommended P. He had done an excellent job and the boy, now here for the Christmas vacation, had been very fond of him and was anxious to see him. The most curious story, though, is that the Hafstads were invited to dine at America house tonight by a sergeant who works under Gen.[John W.] O’Daniell [Military Attaché, US Embassy, Moscow] and who said he was having the Parkers. I shall be interested to know whether this party really comes off.
Sophie [presumably Tatiana Sofiane, who had been Moscow correspondent for Time and Life] has now definitely fired she cuts herself off completely from the C.D. and she is very unhappy to do so, but she felt that for her daughter’s sake it was the only thing to do. She is already being looked at askance by her schoolmates, the young pioneers, etc. because her mother associates with foreigners. Similarly, V.M.’s older (17) daughter, the black one, product of an acquaintance with a negro tap dancer, who dances at the filial of the Bolshoi under the name of Scott (a good old negro patronymic) has had to move away from the P. menage to relatives who do not know any foreigners, even such friendly ones as P. I have never seen her dance but apparently she can do only small solo parts, since she is so dark that she cannot be used in a group even with make-up and has negroid features too. Mrs. Sohlman said that they were very hard up last year;
says, so he should make something out of that.
I go more often to the theater than to the opera or ballet, partly because it interests me more and partly because I would like to learn Russian. But unless I have time to read the play before I go, I don’t get any of the fine points.
Master at the Red Army Theater and to Shaw’s Pygmalian at the Filial of the Mali. Both were very well produced and acted, and somehow the translator has managed to get an equivalent for Cockney, to judge from the laughter. of the crowd. It was done partly by the coarseness of the voice etc. but there were many prosto-narodnie expressions used that were too much for me. I saw [Alexandr] Ostrovsky’s [Russian playwright, 1823-1886] Bespridannitza at the Maly [a theatre in the central district of Moscow which recently celebrated its 250th anniversary and where Ostrovsky’s work was first performed in the 19th century and is still performed today] last Sunday — superbly acted but not one of his best — an unconvincing tragic ending helps to spoil its effectiveness.
tzelomydronny in the approved Soviet style, is given depth and life by the Maly caste and makes an excellent evening’s entertainment. The parson from Helsinki has arrived, so I won’t be able to go to next Sunday’s matinee — a device I am planning to use to get to more theatres than our busy social life will permit in the evenings.
I hope to hear very soon that you have completely recovered. If not, perhaps you had better come back to Moscow.
With all best wishes, Sincerely, John B
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 23, No. 4 (2008) — Summer 2008 // Été 2008, pp. 23–26. Read the rest of this issue →
