The term the Great Game was first used by a British intelligence officer Captain Arthur Conolly to describe imperial rivalry in Afghanistan. It was popularised by Rudyard Kipling in his novel Kim, and still resonates in England today . . .
THERE was consternation in the Colonial Office. Trouble was brewing.
Carstairs’s face was a picture of concern. ‘I’m afraid it’s the North West Frontier again sir. Afghan fighters are massing on the border. We are not sure where they’ve come from, or how they’ve got here but it looks like there are many thousands of them.’
Permanent Secretary Sir Geraint Garfield, an old India hand, was shocked. He immediately discarded his crossword where he was stumped by ‘A feline creature (3)’. ‘Good heavens, Carstairs, I thought we had sorted all that out with the Rawalpindi Treaty in 1923.’
‘I regret to say, sir, that this problem has all the characteristics of a bad penny.’
Sir Geraint rose slowly from his large leather chair. He paced the floor sucking on an empty pipe. He glanced at the busts in his office; Clive, Hastings, Curzon and Mountbatten. Would any of them give him inspiration? After a prolonged silence he drew down a map of the area. ‘Well who is it this time? The Russians I suppose, or is it those blasted Turks again?’
‘Well, sir, we understand that there are a significant number of Turkish barbers in the area in question but at this stage it is too early to tell. What we are most concerned about is the reaction of the tribesmen from Lahore and Kashmir in Bingley and Dewsbury not to mention the Pathans in Nelson. We have absolutely no idea how they will react to the Afghans getting so close to their territory.’
‘And then there’s the Bengalis,’ Sir Garfield added.
‘Precisely!’ said Carstairs. ‘We have to take into account their traditional homelands around Blackburn, Burnley and Bolton. Things could get rather hairy. They won’t take kindly to any intrusions.’
The two sages stared long and hard at the map. Both men stroked their chins. They had never actually been to the hills and valleys of these mysterious places but knew of their existence from scouts and travellers’ tales.
‘What about the Persians?’ enquired Sir Geraint.
‘Gosh, I’d almost forgotten about them. I think there are concentrations in Leeds and Manchester. I will see if we have anyone on the ground there who can fill us in.’
After more than a century the Great Game had once more kicked off.
‘I’m minded to blame the Russians,’ muttered Sir Geraint, ‘Yes, it’s usually old Ivan.’
With these profound words, the two masters of strategy and intrigue retired to their respective clubs to ponder their next move.
Rest assured, the good citizens of our land can sleep soundly in their beds knowing that the cream of the Civil Service, that great unseen hand which guides the nation’s destiny in times of strife, are aware of the complexities of the emergency.
