High life
Bravest of the brave
Taki
Andrew Fraser, the youngest of Lord Lovat's children, was a friend of long standing. Last week he was charged by a wounded buffalo while on safari in Tanza- nia and gored to death. As a Frenchman said upon hearing of his death, 'it was a vachement chic way to go.' . Well, perhaps, but I wonder if chic is the word his poor mother, sisters and father would use. Andrew was no Hooray Henry. Extremely well-read and travelled, he seemed to prefer foreigners and exotic far- away places. He had come to Greece many times and we had sailed together on my boat. His knowledge of Greek mythology was better than mine, but he knew little about the sea. Once, sailing off Santorini, we hit a storm as it got dark. He was with his wife-to-be, Charlotte Greville. While I stayed on deck with the mother of my chil- dren and my then infant daughter, Andrew and Charlotte went below and began to sing hymns. They were under the impres- sion we were about to sink. But all we had done was to furl the sails and head out to sea. Land is what sailors fear during a storm, not the open sea.
I thought their behaviour was extremely brave. They never complained, I never explained, and six hours later we laughed about it. Andrew had a very brave side to him, as well as a funny, dark one. Don't we all? We were very close in the Seventies and I remember the actress Rachel Ward being madly in love with him, but Fraser wouldn't bite. When he married Charlotte, I was one of the ushers, and for a while his life took a turn for the better. The daugh- ter of David Warwick was rich on both sides, and Andrew took good care of her after she was struck down with Multiple Sclerosis. Therein lies the tragedy. I doubt if Charlotte can find a more devoted com- panion. He was 42 when he died.
On a 16-day hunting trip, Andrew had bagged a leopard as well as other game before he was struck down. Some have been appalled by the fact he was hunting the few leopards left, and I'm afraid I was among them. In fact I know the spot where he died well. Back in 1970, Stas Radziwell, then married to Jackie Onassis's sister Lee, missed repeatedly while trying to kill a leopard, but I shot it with my Nikon. In camp that night Stas and I got drunk and almost came to blows about the fairness of it all. He believed in guns, I in cameras.
I simply could not understand what plea- sure one got from shooting a leopard with a powerful rifle where the odds are 5000 to 1 stacked in one's favour. I could under- stand Radziwill doing it, he was a short fat man who was in real estate and had never seen action in war-time. Andrew was differ- ent. He was romantic and brave and intelli- gent. But I wonder if he knew that wounded buffalo is the most dangerous game in the world. One thing is for sure. It was not nature's revenge, otherwise Prince Philip, Prince Bernhardt and thousands of other phoney machos would have gotten their just deserts by now. . .
And, speaking of Africa, I wonder what all those poofter civil servants in the For- eign Office are thinking of when they help Nelson Mandela come to power. Britain should be helping the Zulus to create a sovereign state, not the ANC establish a murderous, totalitarian dictatorship. The world has conducted a vendetta against the whites of South Africa for 35 years, calling them names such as neo-Nazis and other drivel. Now they've turned against the Zulus, a warrior people who have never lost in battle to other black tribes and who identify with the old social structure. This is the way it should be, but poofter left-wing journalists cannot be expected to under- stand. Five million Boers and the bravest of the brave, the Zulus, are being sold down the river by American and European effetes who use democracy as an excuse. If the ANC is democratic, I will perform cun- nilingus on Andrea Dworkin under Nel- son's statue in Trafalgar Square, on 21 June, the longest day of the year.
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