Nelson Mandela was finally released from prison to global acclaim on 11 February 1990.

Despite being First Secretary (Political) at our Embassy in Cape Town at the time, I missed it. My friend and colleague John (now Sir John) Sawers was there in the thick of the action, and was probably the first British person to greet Mandela in person after all those long years of imprisonment. Which diplomatic and personal nimbleness he is now deploying to good effect as HM Ambassador at the United Nations.

Anyway, I missed this historic moment because I was in deepest Transkei, Mandela’s Xhosa home base, at a rally of the ANC’s rival the Pan Africanist Congress.

This was a daunting affair, a heaving African crowd crammed into a sweaty hall chanting ‘one settler, one bullet’. Mine was the only pink and conspicuously settlerish face for many miles in any direction.

The ANC (with its steely core of Moscow communist discipline) went on to sweep the board in ensuing elections in South Africa, and the PAC disintegrated in the margins.   

Anyway, a few months later the Embassy had relocated to Pretoria for the non-Parliamentary season. The Ambassador was in the UK. His deputy set up a call on Mandela in Soweto and drove off, delighted with his likely ‘scoop’. I was left to run the ship on a sleepy afternoon. 

Zzzzz. 

The telephone rings. The security guard at the gate. "Nelson Mandela is here!"

Panic.

I race downstairs to greet Mandela and escort him to the Ambassador’s office. His people mutter something unconvincing (and it turned out untrue) about having called us to say that the meeting with the Deputy Head of Mission was to be here, not in Soweto. Urgent calls go out to try to get my boss back to the Embassy asap for the meeting.

So we sat and waited. I, lowly First Sec Pretoria, a very small ant crawling on the vast dunghill of world history, had the most famous person in the world and a couple of his people, all to myself!

We talked mainly about the ghastly violence in KwaZulu, where ANC/SACP members and Inkatha supporters of Zulu leader Mangosuthu Buthelezi were killing each other in large numbers.

At one point Mandela sharply said "Would you people support Buthelezi as President?"

I replied, "If he wins a free and fair election of all South Africans, why not?"

There was a long awkward silence.

Then one of Mandela’s people spoke through gritted teeth: "Good answer!"

Eventually Mandela decided not to wait for my boss to return from Soweto and departed, the ‘white’ South African local staff women in the Embassy jostling to meet him and being charmed to bits.

And to make an exciting day complete, my boss finally arrived. Too late to meet Mandela but complete with speeding ticket. By then I had drafted my telegram to London recording my fascinating encounter. 

Bliss.