MR. O’MALLEY

Greymouth Evening Star, 14 May 1927, Page 12

MR. O’MALLEY

A' METEORIC DIPLOMAT,

Owen St. Clair O’Malley (pronounced O’Mailey), aged 3!) years and nine months, is one of the most talked-of men to-day. He is fairly tall, slim, and wears glasses.

A few weeks ago only a limited number of people had heard of Mr. O’Malley. Nowadays his name is writ big in the Press headlines of the world. Of this young man, who represented British prestige and honour at Hankow, right in the centre of the seething Chinese cauldron, the question is pardonably asked, many , thousand times a day, “Who is Mr. O’Malley?” Mr. O’Malley is the younger son of Sir Edward O’Malley, who had a long and distinguished legal career in British Possessions, and now lives in retirement in Oxfordshire, in his 85th year. The elder son is in the War Office.

They will toll you in diplomatic circles that Mr. O'Malley has strong gifts of humour. His friends add that he also possesses the gift of speaking exactly as he thinks.” “He never wraps up what he has to say,” I am assured, “and it does not trouble him whether people like him for it or not.” This would hardly seem to be appropriate armament ‘for the diplomat, yet in Mr. O’Malley’s case it has answered admirably, and at the diplomatically juvenile age of 39 he is Counsellor at the British Legation at Pekin, and the man chosen to negotiate with I Mr. Chen at Hankow. He entered the Foreign Office in 1911, acted for a time as a secretary in the Ministry of Blockade, and was second in command of the Northern Department, dealing with Russia and Scandinavia, under Mr. J. D. Gregory. Towards the end of 1924 he narrowly escaped the limelight which fell on the unwilling head of Mr. Gregory. When the historic Zinoviev letter was published the memorandum was signed by Mr. Gregory. In the normal course of events, it would have borne the signature of Mr O’Malley, for the chief and his second in command had just exchanged periods of leave. Shortly after this O’Malley, on his own initiative, made an extensive tour of Russia. When he was not abroad or in Whitehall he was to be found with his wife and three children in his cottage home at the little Surrey village of Ockham. He lived here for several years, leaving the pine woods late in 1925 for China. With him went Mrs. O’Malley, his charming and gifted wife, their three children, and the governess.

The diplomat was unconventional in his private life. He liked his old clothes best, and even wore them when he went to church. He knew his own mind, spoke it without fear or favour, and was often amiably chaffed by his wife on his “old-world courtesy.” fte ran a motor-cycle and side-car, and on one occasion, thanked by a woman to whom he had given a lift, said: “This is one of the kindnesses you can do without in any way inconveniencing yourself.” It was an instance of something that might, perhaps, have been more happily expressed.

But beneath his bluntness, which sometimes was almost alarming, he was genuine and kind. He had little taste or time for local affairs, al though Ockham would have heartily welcomed their diplomat of Empire to her own parish council. When he was at home he made himself thoroughly at home. It was not unusual for O’Malley, when his wife was entertaining guests on the lawn, to excuse himself from the social circle, wrap himself up in a rug, and slumber under the trees. Naturally he was not a communicative man. He never talked of his job, but could get enthusiastic, and almost excited, when it came to discussing bee-keeping.

Mrs. O’Malley, an expert linguist, took a keen interest in questions of the day and addressed a meeting at the Women’s Institute on what women should aim at in legislation. At the last General Election she was a willing worker in the Liberal cause. Of their children, Diana —or Jane—is 12, Patrick is nine, and Grania is about five. When Grania —an Irish name variation of “Grace” —was christened, it is related that Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley were not quite sure what names to give the child. At. the last moment it was decided to give her every name that had been discussed — five all told.