bout de papier, Vol. 4, No. 1 (1985) — Winter 1985 // Hiver 1985, p. 27
Missing sons and those tense social functions comprise this time’s tales. Keep them coming.
W e in the foreign service revel in each other’s tales of the bizarre, often related to strange twists of events and foul-ups in dealing with consular matters at locations abroad. My own baptism into this branch of “public relations” came some time before I was launched onto the sea of consular woes at a post abroad. It occurred during my first stint as departmental duty office in Ottawa, and from it I learned that human behaviour can be curious abroad
The episode begins with a late Friday evening telephone call to my home from a distraught woman claiming her son, who was always most attentive and a model of filial devotion, had dropped from sight somewhere in the Caribbean since his departure from Canada more than six months earlier. Neither letters nor telegrams to him had elicited any response. Being a novice duty officer, I began to share the poor mother’s alarm that some mishap may have befallen her dear one, and assured her in confident tones that the full force of Canada’s investigative troopers in our missions dotted around the Caribbean sea would ferret out the lost traveller in short order and return him to his mother’s embrace. In other words, I would take “appropriate action”
From this original phone call there followed two or three other conversations that same evening, and into the night, each one seeking progress reports and each one punctuated with increasing sobs. The poor lady was feeding on her own distress.
My attempts to gather a few hard facts helpful in pursuing the investigation came to nought. Nevertheless I scribbled what I had into the form of a telegram to variety of posts and pedalled off to the Pearson building post haste from my residence in Sandy Hill (which, at the time, was still an affordable place to live). Fortunately for others I knew little of departmental regulations concerning telegram precedence so that none were hauled from their beds or their cups to take the matter in hand immediately.
There followed, on this particular case, a long burst of eerie silence both from the weepy mother and our posts in the sun. Evidently there were weekend distractions of greater priority on all sides, leaving me alone to stew over the fate of our compatriot of whom I knew little more than name, age and maternal next of kin. The communication void endured until the following Monday morning.
Having lost too much sleep over this worrisome situation, I dragged my bones to work and proceeded to my office (which in pre-rabbit warren days had its own private coat rack and leg room for four or more). On my always tidy desk lay a single telegram addressed to the duty officer and included my name. To my recollection the message was as follows:
“Contents of your telegram noted. Will phone mother today. No further action required”. Calling upon my “Fully Satisfactory” ability to “Analyze and Evaluate” I quickly reached for my copy of Canadian Representatives Abroad. I thumbed my way to the listing for post “X” from whence the message had come. There, immediately below the name of the Ambassador, was the objective of my concern – Mr..
Counsellor! I decided on the spot not to convey the news of “prodigal son found” to his mother for fear of exploding in wrath over having been totally duped. Ilearned my first painful lesson in the pitfalls of emotional indulgence beyond the call of duty. I still had more to learn but that is another story.
View the original scanned pages →
Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 4, No. 1 (1985) — Winter 1985 // Hiver 1985, p. 27. Read the rest of this issue →
