| Those familiar with the City of London and its institutions know her as the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street, an affectionate nickname for the venerable Bank of England. This particular sobriquet owed its origin, it seems, to a caricature in the late 18th century depicting the beleaguered Bank of England as an old woman who finds herself in dire straits (the Bank was under pressure at the time for having temporarily stopped cash withdrawals). Anyone looking for a similar parallel for our equivalent of the Bank of England might be forgiven for comparing it to another grand dame - Old Mother Hubbard, especially when recent events have made it obvious to anyone who had expectations - creditors, foreign investors, overseas Pakistanis and local residents - that this latter-day Mother Hubbard’s cupboard is absolutely and embarrassingly bone bare. |
| What has happened to the $11.2 billion worth of bones we thought were safely deposited in the cupboard? And why has even the last bone - the bone of legal contention - been withdrawn through the imposition of an Emergency? These and similar questions are agitating the minds of the public which continue to clamour for answers but hear only a resounding silence. At times of crisis, the public looks amongst itself for reassurance and above itself for leadership. It expects to be guided with an iron hand. |
| Published in DAWN 15 July 1998, and reprinted in THE BARK OF A PEN (2001). |
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