2007 - Salmon Fishing in the Yemen (17 page)

Interrogator:

Please describe the events which followed Mr Maxwell’s departure.

Harriet Chetwode-Talbot:

Well, Fred was almost incandescent with rage after Peter left. He turned to me as the helicopter headed for the airport and said, ‘That man…’ a little too loudly, because the sheikh overheard him and said, ‘I am so pleased your prime minister is interested enough to send such an important man as Mr Maxwell all the way to my modest home in Scotland to meet me. I am so glad he came. His contribution was very valuable.’

Interrogator:

Describe the alleged incident on the river.

Harriet Chetwode-Talbot:

The sheikh decided that, as we had a few hours before we needed to get back to London, we would go and fish. I was invited to sit on the riverbank and watch. So that was how we came to be on the river that autumn afternoon, with the leaves turning buttery yellow on the rowans, and the clusters of gleaming red berries reminding one that winter was coming. There was enough warmth in the sun for it still to be pleasant to sit on the fine, soft grass. I knew I would be covered in pine needles and leaf mould when I stood up, but I didn’t care.

The dark waters of the Tulloch flowed below me. On each bank were scrubby woodlands of birch, rowan, and Scots pine. A few rhododendrons provided some cover. I heard a pheasant sounding its alarm call, not far away. I watched the two men fishing.

In his waders the sheikh lost some of his majesty. He was just a simple fisherman, at one with the river, his whole being concentrated on his next step and his next cast. I saw him form the double loop of his cast and heard the hiss of the line as, without apparent effort, a great length of it shot out silkily and the fly landed on the water with a kiss. Thirty or forty yards below him was Fred. On land, Fred was a little wooden in his movements at times. In the water he was graceful, moving easily, casting, as the sheikh did, with an economy and skill that were somehow surprising if you were used to seeing him behind a desk. They had both forgotten me, forgotten the project, forgotten everything except the immediate moment and the riddle of the dark waters that hid the fish they sought. Somewhere round a bend in the river was Colin, fishing as well, perhaps as recompense for a trying few days training the sheikh’s Yemeni future corps de Gillies, but I knew that if the sheikh so much as touched a fish with his fly, Colin would appear miraculously at his elbow with a landing net, ready to help bring the fish onto the bank.

It was so peaceful. My eyelids felt heavy. I was tired: shattered from weeks of work, exhausted by weeks of worry about Robert. I could hear the musical sounds of the river, the hiss of the line as it went out, the occasional chirrup of some small dipper or other wading birds balancing somewhere on a stone, its tail going up and down. A sense of deep calm flowed through me, a feeling that everything would be all right: the sheikh would have his salmon river, Robert would ring me from an airport saying he was on his way home, and everything would be fine and I would be happy again. Then I heard the alarm call of the pheasant again. It made me look up.

Coming between the trees towards us was a small, dark man in a kilt and stockings. His top half was encased in a bulky leather jacket. On his head was some kind of beret, perhaps more reminiscent of a French onion-seller than a Highland clansman. I heard his feet scrunching on the first fallen leaves of autumn, and I realised I had been half listening to that noise for a few moments before I saw him. Then I realised that the little man was not fat. He looked very thin, in fact half starved. What had made him look so big was some kind of pistol with a long barrel that he swept from underneath his jacket.

Everything then took on the aspect of an underwater ballet. I had all the time in the world to watch him cock the gun, all the time in the world to scramble to my feet, and all the time in the world to shout a warning to the sheikh. Except my voice froze in my throat, and the first person to speak was the little dark man. ‘
Allahu akhbar
, ’ he said conversationally, in a clear high voice.

The sheikh turned in the river at this sound and saw him, and without any sign of alarm replied, ‘
Salaam alaikum
, ’ raising the tips of his fingers to his brow and then opening his hand in a gesture of greeting. The little man raised his gun and sighted it on the sheikh, and the sheikh stood still in the river waiting to be shot.

All this happened very slowly, it seemed to me at the time, and took perhaps five seconds. Then everything speeded up again. I found my voice and a shriek came out, not the words of warning I had wanted to shout. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Fred moving towards the bank, wading through the waist-deep water with the fluency of an otter. But he had no chance of reaching us in time. And if he did, the little man would most likely have shot him too, and me. That was probably the plan. There were no bodyguards around. The sheikh never allowed anyone near the river to disturb the tranquillity of his fishing. I closed my eyes and then opened them again as the first shots were fired.

They went straight up into the air as the little man jerked inexplicably backwards, howling and grabbing at his face. The gun fell to the ground from his hand as he clutched at something invisible. Somewhere behind I glimpsed Colin straining on a big fishing rod bent nearly double. He had somehow cast and hooked the little man, and was now reeling him in.

Then I fainted, or at least somehow disconnected from the proceedings. When I became aware of events again I was lying on the grass and Fred was bending over me, patting the back of my hand and saying, ‘Harriet, Harriet. Are you all right?’ Or was he saying, ‘It’s all right’? There was a buzzing in my ears and I couldn’t quite hear. Then things came slowly back into focus, and I was able to sit up and look around me while Fred supported me with his arm around my shoulders.

The little man was now sitting on a bank some yards away, clutching his cheek with a bloodstained handkerchief. He was talking volubly to the sheikh in Arabic, and weeping at the same time. Four of the sheikh’s Yemeni guards stood nearby. They had abandoned their fishing rods, and stood with their hands on the hilts of the great, curved
jambia
daggers that they wore. I had no doubt they would cut the little man into shreds given the slightest encouragement to do so by the sheikh.

I heard Colin say, ‘Aye, I seen him come up the glen on the other bank, but I had just had a tug on my line from a fish, so I didn’t take much notice for a wee minute. Then I knew he was wrong. His kilt was a Campbell tartan. There’s nae Campbells in this glen. They were all chased away many hundreds of years since. So I left my fish for another day and came and cast my hook at the wee man, instead.’ Then he laughed and said, ‘He didn’t put up as much of a fight as the fish would have. I had him on the grass in three minutes.’

I never saw the little man again. I believe from what I heard from Malcolm later that a few days after that he was flown back to the Yemen inside a hamper marked ‘Harrods’, on the sheikh’s jet.

The sheikh told us that evening on the plane to London, ‘Poor man! He was no assassin. He was a goatherd whose goats had died. He had been told his family would be killed if he did not do this thing, and that they would be given thirty goats as
diyah
, blood money, if he did. How he got this far is a mystery. He spoke little English, and he was wearing the most extraordinary clothes.’

‘What will happen to him?’ asked Fred.

‘Oh, that is not up to me. He begged my forgiveness, and of course I forgave him. He is not an evil man. The people who sent him are another matter. Long ago we pushed them out of our country, but still they are a danger. See how they can try and strike me from their caves in Afghanistan or Pakistan. But the man himself will be tried by a
sharia
court, and I am afraid the penalty may be severe. I will take care of his family when I return. It is all I can do.’

‘At least you are safe now, thank God,’ I said. The sheikh looked at me fondly.

‘Yes, we should thank God for this escape. But they will try again, Ms Harriet. They will keep trying until I am dead.’

Extract from
Hansard

House of Commons

Thursday 9
th
October

The House met at half past eleven o’clock

PRAYERS

(
Mr Speaker in the Chair
)

Oral Answers to Questions

The Prime Minister

Mr Hamish Stewart (Cruives & The Bogles) (SNP):

If he will list his official engagements for Thursday 9
th
October?

The Prime Minister (Mr Jay Vent):

Later this morning I will be in meetings with ministerial colleagues, and for most of the rest of the day.

Mr Hamish Stewart:

Will the Prime Minister find time during the course of his meetings with colleagues to explain his support for yet another example of how this government and recent governments have considered it appropriate to interfere with the political, cultural and religious affairs of a sovereign Middle Eastern country?

The Prime Minister:

I presume the honourable gentleman is referring to the Yemen salmon project?

Hamish Stewart:

That is correct. Will the Prime Minister explain to the House why this government is sponsoring the export of live Scottish salmon to die miserably in a desert country? Is he aware that salmon fishing is not a recognised activity in the Muslim world? Does he appreciate the gross religious and cultural intrusion this project represents? Has the export of salmon been in any way regulated by appropriate agencies such as the Food Standards Agency? Is the RSPCA aware of this project? Can the Prime Minister assure us that he is content these Scottish fish will not suffer as they die from heat stress in the sand?

The Prime Minister:

That is quite a lot of questions to answer at one time. However, if the honourable member for Cruives & The Bogles has paused to draw breath, I will respond as best I can. The Yemen salmon project is a privately funded project which does not involve this government in any way. Nor does it constitute interference, political, cultural or otherwise, with the affairs of the Republic of the Yemen. On the contrary, it is a vindication of this government’s multicultural policies that a Yemeni citizen has come to think of this country as his second home, and that as result of his UK residency he has developed an interest in salmon fishing and as a result of that, has involved UK scientists and engineers in this project.

Of course we are also aware that a government agency, the National Centre for Fisheries Excellence, has been selected as the primary source for the science for the project. And that is why this government can rightly be proud of its continuing support for environmental science and environmental projects, something that does not appear to be a priority for the party opposite.

Mr Andrew Smith (Glasgow South) (Lab):

Is the member for Cruives & The Bogles aware that the export of salmon to the Yemen actually represents a very large order with the respected Scottish firm of McSalmon Aqua Farms? As a result of that order I believe six more Scottish jobs are being created in a region where unemployment has always been high. Of course, these jobs are not in the member for Cruives & The Bogles’ constituency, nor are they in mine, but I welcome this tribute to Scottish environmental engineering and this boost for Scottish jobs. I am surprised the member for Cruives & The Bogles is not more supportive of such matters.

Mr Hamish Stewart:

The right honourable member for Glasgow South might do better to become more familiar with the affairs of his own constituency before he offers me advice on the affairs of others.
[Cries of ‘Shame!’ The House is called to order by Mr Speaker.]

Will the Prime Minister explain to the House, if the government is not involved in this project in any way, as he has just stated, why his director of communications, Mr Peter Maxwell, has recently spent two days as the private guest of Sheikh Muhammad ibn Zaidi bani Tihama on his estate in Glen Tulloch? Is the Prime Minister not aware that Sheikh Muhammad is the chief financial sponsor of the Yemen salmon project?
[Interruptions from the Opposition benches]

The Prime Minister:

The right honourable gentleman correctly refers to my colleague Peter Maxwell’s job title as director of communications. As such, his job is not only to communicate with the nation about this government’s policies and its many achievements
[Cheers from Government benches]
but also to communicate to my office and to me personally matters in which I take an interest. I am personally interested in this project not only because I have always been a keen angler
[Laughter from Opposition benches]
but because I think it is a splendid example of how, despite the many differences that exist between our nation and some Islamic nations in the Middle East, cultural and sporting values can transcend such religious and political differences as may exist. And that is why I have instructed my director of communications to make it clear to my friend Sheikh Muhammad that while the government has no official position on this matter, we would not wish any unnecessary obstacles to be placed in his way, and would wish to be kept informed at all times of his progress. That is the reason for Mr Maxwell’s recent visit, except I might add I believe he used his influence to ensure that the order for salmon, to which my right honourable friend Mr Smith alluded a moment or two ago, was placed with a Scottish firm rather than a Norwegian one.

Mr Gerald Lamprey (South Glos) (The Leader of Her Majesty’s Opposition):

Would the Prime Minister consider whether it is not odd, at a time when 30 per cent of the armed forces budget is spent supporting military operations in Iraq, and now in deployments to defend the Saudi Arabian oilfields and the oilfields in Kazakhstan, that Mr Peter Maxwell, this government’s highest-ranking unelected and
ex officio
Cabinet member—
[Interruptions from government benches. Mr Speaker calls the House to order.]
—I say, Peter Maxwell, should be spending significant amounts of his time thinking about salmon? Surely this government needs to consider the consistency of its policies? We have been told too often in this House that democracy can flower from the barrel of a gun, but we have never yet heard of democracy being hooked on the end of a fishing line.
[Laughter]