In the spring of 1964, I was student teaching at the Kings College, Budo, the “Eton” of East Africa. Budo's cornerstone was laid by Winston Churchill way back before the First World War. It was an Anglican secondary school, and all the elite of Uganda attended Budo: members of Parliaments, captains of industry, and of course the kings of Uganda's five African kingdoms. Budo was an all-African school: no Europeans, no Asians, just the “cream” of Ugandan society. The staff was also first rate, all trained at England “public” (private) schools such as Eton, Oxford, and Cambridge, except for a few red-brick sorts, universities like Durham and Manchester, and included, oh my, a Scot, Gordon MacGregor out of Glasgow. And horror of horrors, a Yank. Yes, a Yank, Jay Anderson, Hamilton College, Teachers for East Africa. Now student teaching here and only because he was first in his class of eighty at Makerere College in Kampala, Uganda. Yes, he was also first in his class at Aberdeen University in 1960-61. Took a 1st Class Diploma at that Scottish University: not bad for a Yank. But still, he's pretty uncouth.

     Now, we were having midmorning staff tea. About ten-thirty. All the limeys were grouped together enjoying each other's holier than thous. Gordon and I were blithering with the red bricks. Lowly. A student hanging around the doorway caught Ian Cameron Robinson's, the headmaster's, eye. “Please, sir, you're wanted.” Out Ian walked, all pomp and circumstance. A few minutes later, he came back in and sidled up to me of all the people, the Yank. “You're on call.” He explained that it was not ME exactly but an American, a youngish teacher that was needed to be interviewed by an American, woman, oldish, so go, we will cover your classes, I think she is some sort of writer person. Be polite, if you can. “Now out!”

     So out I went. She was oldish, blond, good-looking, familiar. I introduced myself. She said, “Martha, Martha Gellhorn.” I told her I liked her writing and I liked her former husband's writing also. “I don't mind talking about Papa,” she said. We both relaxed, and she lit up the first of many fags, and I got out my pipe, and we spent hours and hours talking about W.W.II, Key West, the Wild West, Africa, and Papa. She did interview me and, yes, I'm in one of her wonderful books, sort of…. At staff tea the next day, I got curious looks along the lines of “You Yanks are a funny lot and who was that lady?” Martha Gellhorn was Ernest Hemingway's third (out of four) wives and the only one who divorced him!