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The Society of Malaŵi Journal

Warden of the Scottish National Memorial to David Livingstone, in Blantyre; and Mr.
Donald H. Simpson, Librarian, the Royal Commonwealth Society, the Project’s
London Representative. Their fingerprints are all over not only the Project work, but
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everything I’ve ever written about the Livingstones.
Before I left Scotland on July 1, to be home in time for my country’s
Centennial, I handed to the Professor the first chapter of my Ph.D. thesis on Charles
Livingstone. The full thesis was completed two years later, and the Project’s
Catalogue was finished that same year, and published in 1979. All success of my role
in either/both goes to the Professor: musicians play the tune, but the conductor sets the
tempo and the volume.
From the three years that the Professor and I worked together, I have memories
worth sharing. After our first year, the Professor said: “Mr. Clendennen, from now
may I call you Gary?” Shock! I did not expect such honor. Of course, and “… you
can call me ‘Sam.’” As we sometimes say in the US: “I was blown away!” (“Well
blow me down!”). This was about the hardest thing Sam asked me to do: it never
entered my mind even once to call any of my many teachers by their given or chosen!
Names. Nevertheless, I soldiered on (a phrase he taught me); and we had a rare and
special bond: both had been wartime soldiers in jungled Southeast Asia. We often
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shared experiences.
Months later, when I knocked on his door and was entering, he said: “Come
in Gary, and talk to your favorite uncle.” Wow. I never called him “Uncle Sam,”
but I appreciated that, and with the grace of time’s passage, I realize that he was the
best “Uncle Sam” I ever knew – or knew about.
Another time I made an unscheduled visit to Sam’s office on a day when I had
my six-year-old towhead (Andrew Bruce) in tow, and the Professor was delighted to
welcome him. He sent the Faculty Secretary out to a nearby kitchen, to bring the boy
a snack… fathers remember things like that.
During our final meeting, just before I left Scotland, Sam gave me a going-
away-present: a Bicentennial Silver Crown from the Isle of Man, featuring the Queen
on one side and our Washington (born a British citizen) on the other, nicely ensconced
in a protective plastic case. By then both knew we had been stamp collectors in our
childhoods (as were Churchill and Roosevelt), and Sam knew that in Edinburgh I was
always on the lookout for florins, of which I made a tidy collection.
Once again only did I meet Professor Shepperson, when I briefly visited
Edinburgh in 1979. Rather than ending our relationship, it ended one stage, and
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began another: from then through 2012 we corresponded regularly.
I once mentioned to Sam of meeting Sir Edmund Hillary (December 28, 1993).
It was a late night on ship off Ushuaia, off Tiera del Fuego. Sir Edmund’s climbing
group and my birdwatching group had left the dining room. Seeing him sitting alone
at the far side of the hall, I approached and said: “Excuse me Sir Edmund, may I talk
with you?” “Of course,” and he pulled out a chair. He was just beginning dessert, and
the waitress soon came with mine.
He asked what had brought me there, and I said “Birdwatching.” He spoke
very well of birders, nature people who supported conservation, and mentioned that
next day, he was going climbing in a national park just west of the city. I didn’t know

1 My most recent project was an examination of the brief and terribly tragic life of Elizabeth Pyne
Livingstone.
2 Sam shared with me (June 22, 1995) two poems which he wrote in Burma, 1944, after the battle of Imphal,
and I sent him two short stories I wrote in Qui Nhon, Republic of Viet-Nam, in 1970.
3 Today I have over 50 postcards he sent me, plus a smaller collection of aerogrammes, many of philatelic
interest.
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