CHAPTER 13
In 1985 at the age of 66, when many people have chosen to retire, Ed started work at the first regular job he ever had, as New Zealand High Commissioner to India, Nepal and Bangladesh.
In 1982 the increasingly erratic Prime Minister Muldoon, following a disagreement with the Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi at a Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting, had decided to close down New Zealand’s high commission in New Delhi. The reason given was that New Zealand needed to save money. The Indian Government did not reciprocate, instead noting, somewhat cattily, that ‘it understood the financial difficulties of the New Zealand Government and hoped that the mission would soon be reopened’.
His first snub having failed to wound sufficiently, Muldoon’s government then announced that it planned to sell a plum piece of vacant Delhi land in Chanakyapuri, the diplomatic nerve centre of Delhi. India had given this to New Zealand twelve years before as the site for a new building.
Relations had been pushed as far as they could go without collapsing altogether, but within a year—and before the land could be sold—there had been a change of government in New Zealand. When Labour’s David Lange—an enthusiastic Indophile—became prime minister, restoration of good relations between the two countries was a top priority. ‘David was very keen,’ says Lange’s first wife, Naomi, ‘knowing India and knowing so many people over there and they do amazing things with trade—he was just very keen to get it reopened. David thought it was crazy just to ignore them.’
Who better to mend the fence than Ed Hillary? ‘He was the obvious choice because Ed was loved by the Indian people because of his work in Nepal. The Indians thought the world of him; he had a great rapport with them . . . All the Indians knew who he was and how great he was.’
It might have seemed obvious, but it could have been disastrous. Ed was indeed adored by millions of Indians, but he would not be working with them every day. He would be representing New Zealand at a diplomatic level. And diplomatic was not a word that had often been applied to Ed. He was easily bored, and diplomatic functions usually have an element of boredom built into them. And he would be dealing with career diplomats who were set in their ways and possibly resistant to being saddled with an adventurer in the top job. But he was no stranger to bureaucracy in this part of the world, having survived the negotiations that ensued after the illicit climb of Ama Dablam. It remained to be seen how well Lange’s masterstroke would actually play out—if Ed took the job.
The phone call has become part of the legend. Ed answered it and the prime minister identified himself.
‘David who?’
The prime minister was unimpressed but ploughed on and invited Ed to his Auckland home, where they would discuss the possibility of him taking on the role. Ed described himself as ‘flabbergasted’.While Lange’s son Roy made the tea, a nervous Ed seemed most concerned with whether or not the job came with a car. He was an old India hand, but not at this level. Lange explained that there would be more than one car, plus a large staff. ‘I don’t think Ed had any idea of what it would involve,’ says Naomi Lange. ‘You learn on the job. There are other people taking care of things, but I think he was used to taking care of things himself.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Ed.
‘I want you to do precisely what you think is right,’ said Lange. As a job description, it was quintessential Lange—expansive, imaginative and very short on mundane detail.
Ed had felt the burden of his grief for Louise and Belinda lighten somewhat in India during the Ganges trip, notably when receiving a blessing from a young Hindu priest at Varanasi. Interviewer Maggie Barry, discussing the appointment in the 2007 Listener interview, asked whether India had a healing effect on him. ‘I suppose it has,’ said Ed. ‘I’ve never particularly thought of it in that way. But if an occasion occurs which I’m sad about, then I think India has a warming effect—and I’d go there tomorrow.’
Ed’s other major concern when considering the job was that he would be allowed to absent himself to carry out his aid work in Nepal, and Lange was happy to agree to that.
There was one other slight speed bump: June. The two were now so close that the thought of a long separation was not a happy one. Ed wanted June to accompany him but, true to form when it came to intimate communication, couldn’t bring himself to ask her. She was left to intuit his feelings on the matter. In the end she suggested the arrangement. After another phone call to Lange, checking whether it would be all right for Ed to take along an official companion—which it was—everything was settled.
For the media in New Zealand, June was coy. On a visit home during which she was planning to organise another of her group treks to Nepal, she was asked about marriage plans by the New Zealand Woman’s Weekly. She and Ed had been in India less than a year at this point. ‘I have frustrated other journalists, so I may as well frustrate you too,’ responded June. ‘I am Sir Edmund’s official hostess, official companion, that is my designation in India. In fact, my identity card even has OC printed on it.’
She went on to clarify: ‘Louise Hillary was what I would like to have called my best friend. Peter, my husband, was in the Antarctic with Ed. We were a foursome for donkey’s years so it [the role as companion] seems to fall into place quite happily. In India, I am Sir Edmund’s official companion and socially that is totally acceptable.’
Indians are conservative in matters of personal morality and that attitude extends to New Zealand high commissioners and their partners. Family friend and former governor-general, Dame Cath Tizard, is sure that the locals would have been more comfortable if the New Zealand High Commissioner and his consort had arrived united in holy wedlock.
‘I don’t think people said, “You can’t come to this function unless you produce a marriage certificate,” ’ jokes Ken Richardson, who visited Delhi with David Lange, ‘but the Indians have been for centuries under a very Victorian regime and maybe they inherited a lot of those attitudes. But of course it is gone now. The rumour was that the Indians would prefer them to be married, but I’ve never seen anything in writing.’
It’s not clear why—given that they did get married eventually—the pair did not formalise things at this point. They may not have been ready, but the likelier explanation is the one that Ed expressed freely on the occasion of their nuptials in 1989: it wasn’t necessary. He couldn’t see the point. They were fine as they were. And at least this way, when they finally did get married, it wasn’t so Ed would be eligible for a job.
Other diplomats expressed envy—they said they would have liked to have brought their secretaries, but hadn’t been allowed.
‘He was really pleased she was going,’ says Hilary Carlisle. ‘But I think the relationship cemented more to the possibility of a long-term relationship in India. They were a great team in India; they worked well together.’ And, somewhat romantically, every morning they could they walked together in Delhi’s beautiful Lodhi Gardens.
Their de facto status created some problems for the old India hands, but when they annoyed Ed by relegating June to the background when he presented his credentials to the president, they created a problem for themselves.
Ed adjusted well to the intricacies of diplomatic etiquette in general, though he struggled somewhat in Nepal when he presented his credentials there. Not only did he have to cope without the support of June—women being prohibited from the occasion—but he had to leave the royal presence walking backwards. ‘I don’t know much about backing out,’ he said.
Naomi Lange got to observe Ed at work—and the drawing power of the magic name—in the early days. ‘Ed seemed like he was in full control. He was a beacon. People would go to the High Commission for functions and there would be more prominent people there because it was him. You need a name to do that—it is a huge country. New Zealand is a minnow and overshadowed because of our size in the Commonwealth. That’s why Ed was so important. So Ed spent a great deal of his time travelling, hosting functions and just talking about New Zealand. He took the flag to various parts of India.’
Ed stayed in the job for four and a half years. He turned up at the office every day, taken by his driver, and with the help of his PA dealt with the correspondence, requests and invitations. He often went home for lunch and returned to the office before heading out again for one or two evening functions.
Ed was the familiar face that businesspeople were thrilled to see at trade talks. If the government really wanted to impress somebody, the high commissioner might take them on a trek. He could also turn his hand to judging an International Mango Festival, if called upon. ‘If the Foreign Minister of India wanted to discuss something about New Zealand,’ says Ken Richardson, ‘Ed would have to front up. He couldn’t send a deputy.’ Which might sound like a tall order for the ‘ex-beekeeper from New Zealand’. ‘I don’t think it came easy to him,’ says Richardson, ‘because he was basically a shy person. There are very few people, except those who started off with diplomatic lives and rose through the ranks, who can master the art of diplomacy. The best thing to do is to keep your mouth shut half the time.’
Keeping his mouth shut wasn’t Ed’s forte, but in this case he grasped the essentials and grew into the position quickly. If ever he should have failed at something in his life, it was this—a role for which he was apparently professionally unsuited—but in fact he had far greater failures on mountains than he ever had at the New Zealand High Commission in Delhi.
‘He had great speech-making ability, so he was a wonderful guy to have along,’ says Gill, who also got to see Ed in action when Mike Dillon was filming him. ‘He didn’t have to do subtle diplomatic manoeuvrings about arranging a treaty between China and Nepal. I think Ed increasingly quite enjoyed being in Delhi. I think if you are in the limelight all the time, you miss it when it’s not there.’
After Ed’s death, Pat Booth received a letter from a woman who remembered seeing Ed in India. ‘She was at the airport and Ed was wheeling a New Zealand climber, who had been injured, up to the plane. She thought that spoke a lot about the relationship he had—not just with fellow climbers, but also with anyone in trouble.’
Peter Hillary wasn’t surprised that he was able to adapt to the job. ‘I think as a young man he wouldn’t have been an appropriate choice,’ he says, ‘but later in life he had the ability to speak, to meet all sorts of people, be a tactical thinker about how to solve various problems. He was also a very sophisticated operator dealing with people and cultures.
‘He had techniques. If he didn’t know exactly what was going on, Ed had a very congenial way of just sitting back and letting things move around, if he didn’t understand what they were talking about, instead of putting his foot right in it. I think he was often quite good at thinking “I will just quietly sit back on this one.” ’
Both Peter and Sarah acknowledge, though, that Ed was there because of the power of his name rather than the quality of his diplomatic skills. ‘Obviously, in an embassy,’ says Sarah, ‘you have all sorts of other staff who deal with trade and those areas of expertise. They needed Ed to get back in.’
‘Dad could assist in various areas,’ adds Peter, ‘but in terms of breaking the ice and getting New Zealand back into one of the biggest, most important countries on earth with diplomatic representation, it was pretty phenomenal.’
As he had with other endeavours, Ed combined prodigious planning with a capacity to make things up as he went along. As the titular head of the High Commission, he met regularly with diplomatic assistants for briefings. ‘He took advice,’ says Tom Scott. ‘He wasn’t arrogant. “What should we do?” “That sounds good.” If he thought he was right about something, he took a bit of shifting. But he was a reasonable, intelligent man and the Indians were delighted.’
Ed’s name had been revered in India for more than 30 years by the time of his appointment—worshipped by many as, if not a living god, then at least the reincarnation of a god. The Indians were ecstatic to have him there. Other countries with diplomatic representation in Delhi might have had more trade power, more geopolitical influence and more money to throw around; but New Zealand had Ed Hillary. As Mike Dillon noted: ‘It’s very clever to have a god as your high commissioner.’
He was also popular for what he wasn’t. ‘If you look at the history of high commissioners,’ says Richardson, ‘invariably they have been politicians.’ Skills, Richardson seems to suggest, were the least of it. ‘He was welcomed everywhere. They just laid out the red carpet for him. They vaguely thought he was part Indian.’ In local eyes, the choice also reflected well on India—New Zealand had gone from treating Indian diplomatic relations with utter contempt, to paying it the ultimate compliment of sending its greatest citizen to live among them.
Ed had been in the job less than a year when Tenzing Norgay died. On this occasion, he and June did ignore the advice that he not try to attend the funeral because of political unrest in the area. As they headed towards Darjeeling, Tenzing’s home, accompanied by an army captain and driver, their way was blocked by an angry crowd. The captain told the mob who was in the vehicle and why, and hearing the name was enough. The crowd parted to let Ed and June through.
One important initiative carried out under Ed’s supervision was the commissioning of new buildings for the vacant lot at Chanakyapuri. Christchurch architect Miles Warren was given the job of designing the new complex. The imperial English architect Edwin Lutyens was responsible for the look of New Delhi—having based his designs on ancient Mughal architecture. Warren’s design in turn mirrored this look.
Ed and June made suggestions as work progressed, but the couple never got to take up residence in the Warren building, which did not open until 1992. For a time, while their official residence was being renovated, under June’s supervision, they lived in the Sheraton Hotel. When they finally moved back, June described their kitchen as being the same size as her small Auckland home, but she was thrilled to discover local craftsmen who could make furniture to her requirements.
June took her role as official companion seriously. By all accounts, Ed could no more have managed his work in Delhi without her than he could have lifted himself out of his old depression single-handed. ‘June was extremely careful to be at Ed’s side all the time,’ says Richardson. ‘I noticed also—and this is always a difficulty for famous people—that people came up to them and expected them to know who they were; and June invariably knew. I have heard her on a number of occasions saying to Ed as she saw someone approaching them—even me—she would say, “Do you remember Ken?” I don’t think Ed would have got past first base in India as high commissioner unless he had had that support from June.’
Hilary Carlisle agrees: ‘June did a fantastic job with setting up the High Commission there and making it work, managing that social stuff. They were very popular diplomats and of course they used to take other diplomats on trips, expeditions and adventures. They were a good team in India . . .’
June even learnt to drive—a hair-raising pastime in Delhi—putting to rest any last doubts about whether she had the courage and adventurous spirit to match Ed’s own. And the Indians took to June in this role, just as their counterparts had taken to her in Nepal. ‘Effectively, she was the Memsahib who had to manage the servants, the entertaining, the catering,’ says Gill. ‘It was a big job, very important, and June did it well. She is also organised, and she probably liked the entertainment side of it. You didn’t have to peel the spuds, but you had to tell them what to cook. I think she was very proud of what she did there.’ June reported that, when she got back to New Zealand, she had forgotten how to make a white sauce.
One obligation was that every country had to turn up at every other country’s national day. With 130 nations represented, that was a fair chunk of the social year automatically taken care of.
June did her bit representing New Zealand. In 1985 she had told the Woman’s Weekly: ‘I’m very nice to Cook because we haven’t had a meal from him yet. He doesn’t speak English unfortunately, but I have communicated with him and explained the sort of things Sir Edmund likes, which are basic things like a good stew and plenty of potatoes.’ But by 2007, speaking to the Listener, she seemed to have come a long way. She then recalled: ‘It was a big help that the Indians were very, very kind to us. And I enjoyed the Indian women. I was on all sorts of committees, which was an experience I’ll never forget. Everybody is the chairperson on a committee in India.’
She described those years as ‘probably the happiest time we had together’.