My first Cambridge Letter was published in The Hindu on April 24, 1994. The invitation to contribute had given me enormous pleasure but, even in my wildest dreams, I never thought I would still be writing more than 20 years later. Regular readers will have noticed that I have not contributed an article for several weeks; the reason is simple. I have not been — and am still not — well. When I explained this, the editor very graciously said I could write again when I was well enough. That, incidentally, was typical of the newspaper’s extraordinarily friendly attitude.
Much as I appreciated this offer, I have come to the conclusion that it is not reasonable to be sporadic with my contributions. Either I write, or I do not; and, in my present state of health, sadly, the answer must be that I do not. I hope I may be excused a measure of self-indulgence if I use this last Cambridge Letter to set them all in a kind of context.
My journalistic career began in the U.K., notably in the 1950s and 1960s when I was appointed Africa Correspondent and Commonwealth Staff Correspondent of The Times . For someone who was not quite 30, this was a great compliment. This was the period of rapid de-colonisation, during which many African former colonies became independent. I found myself covering independence conferences in London, and travelling to Africa to visit the countries; I went to 18 African countries in two years. In those days, there were no e-mails and no mobile phones. Reports were typed, and sent by cable. By today’s standards that seems bizarre, but it was the norm.
At that time, The Times did not use by-lines. My name never appeared. What I wrote appeared as ‘From our Africa Correspondent’ or ‘From our Commonwealth Staff’. By-lines were introduced not long after I left, and their absence would be odd today. Interestingly, however, their absence did not trouble me because the people ‘who mattered’ — such as African politicians, UK ministers and civil servants — knew precisely who I was. General readers did not need to! During that period, and for some time afterwards, I wrote and broadcast a lot for the BBC African Service and World Service (under my own name, of course!).
I gave up full-time journalism to work first for the University of Oxford and then for the University of Cambridge as a careers adviser. I was conscious of the fact that, having worked for one of the world’s great newspapers and the world-renowned BBC, I then had the privilege of working for two of the world’s great universities.
Against that background, when the invitation came to write for The Hindu I could scarcely believe my good fortune; another of the world’s great newspapers was offering me a chance to contribute. The great difference, of course, was that what I wrote could be much more personal. Clearly, it had to be relevant, but it was comment rather than coverage of what was happening in today’s news.
I really relished that difference and also the fact that, increasingly, my articles provoked personal reactions. I quickly began to feel that I was writing for a group of people some of whom began to emerge as my friends. Over the years, I was able to develop quite close relations with some of my readers, meeting some of them in person when I visited Chennai. This was a fact which made writing my column even more pleasurable. That gathering of friends was one of the things which made my link with The Hindu an even greater privilege. It is one of the main causes of regret that my Cambridge Letter will be no more, but the regret is tempered by two things. First, the experience of writing for more than 20 years has been unfailingly pleasurable. Second, there is much to be said for giving something up when the time seems right, rather than continuing indefinitely.
To complete this farewell process, I should record that my first Cambridge Letter dealt with the war in Bosnia, as it unfolded in all its horror. The title was ‘U.N. credibility at stake?’
I have kept all my Cambridge Letters, and they form an important part of my personal records. That is a message that I would like to give to all my readers over the years. Thank you very much for helping to make writing the column such an enjoyable experience.
Bill Kirkman, an Emeritus Fellow of Wolfson College Cambridge, U.K., was born in Samastipur, India, in 1932, and returned to Britain in 1933. He revisited India when he was 55. Kirkman attended Oriel College, Oxford, studying modern languages. He was a journalist with The Times in the 1950s and 1960s, and was the paper’s Africa Correspondent and Commonwealth Staff Correspondent, covering the period of rapid de-colonisation. He left The Times in 1964, returning to Oxford as a careers adviser. His book Unscrambling an Empire: A Critique of British Colonial Policy 1956-1966 was published by Chatto & Windus in 1965. In 1968, he moved to Cambridge as Director of the University Careers Service, and remained in that post until 1992. After that, he advised the University on public relations for several years. He became a Fellow of Wolfson College (then University College) on moving to Cambridge, and was Vice-President from 1980 to 1984. He started the Wolfson College Press Fellowship in 1982, which has been responsible for bringing journalists from across the world to the college for a term, from all over the world. Bill and his wife Anne have two sons (one living in Australia) and a daughter, and seven grandchildren. E-mail him at bill.kirkman@gmail.com
