POONAH - WALLAH

Colonel H.R.Hardinge Indian Army (Retired)

 POONAH – WALLAH

by
Colonel H. R. Hardinge
Indian Army (retired)

Foreword

What sort of men were British Officers of the Army in India in long
past days and how did they live a life that will never be again?
This book is an attempt to answer these questions with the unvarnished
record of one of them.
It’s of note the Hardinge’s took their children on all their
postings, this must have been in no small measure a factor, when their
son Rex went on to create Sexton Blake.
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Published by Ronald Rae Mowat

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© Ronald Rae Mowat 2006

For more information regarding this manuscript
please contact

Mr RE Hunt
Torranbuie
Strathdon
Scotland
AB36 8YS

rogerehunt@tiscali.co.uk
 One of my earliest recollections is of a morning walk. We were on
our way home, when from the topmost branch of a tree that overhung the lane
there came a raucous squawk from our green parrot, which had escaped
earlier that morning when the parlourmaid was cleaning out the bird’s cage,
which stood on a side-table in the dining room. Whether Polly was recaptured
or not, I do not remember. This event must have taken place about the year
1881, when I was barely three years old. Our home at that time was at
Salthill, about three miles from Galway in Ireland, and I was being wheeled
up the hill in a perambulator by my nurse.
I was born on the 20th May 1878 in one of a row of officer’s quarters
that front Woolwich Common, not far from the Royal Military Academy. My
father was at that time a Captain in the Royal Horse Artillery, who already had
served for a number of years in India after having passed through the R.M.A.,
Woolwich, and the college founded by the East India Company at
Addiscombe. In 1868, at the age of eighteen years, he went out to India in
charge of a draft of young artillery recruits. The passage to Bombay was
made in a sailing Ship round the Cape of Good Hope, in the course of which
the vessel was blown by gales far to the south and within sight of Tristan da
Cunha. They were more than five months on that voyage, and on reaching
Bombay it was to learn that their destination was in Northern India, involving
a further journey of several weeks duration by road. It is difficult for us to
appreciate nowadays what hardships past generations suffered in order to
establish and maintain our position and prestige in those far-off lands.
 My father's father held the appointment of Keeper of the Landed
Estates Records in Ireland. He was a distinguished member of the Royal Irish
Academy and contributed many works upon ancient Irish history to its library.
It was after the transfer of my father to the British establishment and during a
visit to his home, that he met and fell in love with Kathleen, daughter of
James Cusack, Surgeon in Ordinary to the Queen in Ireland, a member of the
family of Cusack of Gerardstown, which, according to Burke's Irish Landed
Gentry, was 'one of the most eminent families in Ireland.” Kathleen was
noted in Dublin for her beauty, her masterly performance upon the piano, her
fine contralto voice, and last but not least, her horsemanship. The marriage
took place in 1876.
An officer of the R. H. A. in those days must needs have had
substantial private means to be able to meet the expense of serving in that
distinguished corps. My father was one of five brothers, of whom three
entered one or other of the armed services, and two the Indian Civil Service.
Though my grandfather was a well-to-do man, there was a limit to what he
could afford for so large a family, and so it came about that my father
eventually, transferred to the Garrison Artillery and came to reside at Salthill
as Adjutant of the Galway Artillery Militia, an appointment he held, I think,
until about 1883.
My mother had a favourite brother Reginald. I well remember her
telling me when I was old enough to understand such things, that they used to
sail their small yacht, flying the burgee of the Royal Kingstown Yacht Club,
and how on more than one occasion, crowds had gathered on Kingstown Pier
to see them beating their way back to shelter and their moorings in the teeth of
one of the many gales that spring up so suddenly and without warning in those
waters.
In the year 1881, which is about as far back as I can remember the
Fenian trouble in Ireland was at its height. My father frequently used to go
into Galway, to the County Club, and my mother, accompanied only by a
groom, drove a dogcart into the town after dark to retch him home. The Irish
mare between the shafts had been bought as a filly and broken by her to
saddle and harness. On these occasions she carried a small loaded revolver,
and it was probably because she was a good shot with it, as she had openly
demonstrated by way of target practice in our back yard, that she was never
molested. It was about this time that Sir Valentine Blake of Menlo Castle near
Galway, who was one of Ireland’s hated landlords, round it expedient to have
bullet-proof screens consisting of steel boiler plate covered with cretonne and
mounted on castors, wheeled between the windows and the dining table
before the family sat down to their evening meal. One morning, on stepping
out of his front door he was confronted by a freshly-dug grave at the root of
the steps, the implication of which was sufficiently obvious.
Sir Valentine, who was an uncle of my father’s, his younger brother
Thomas von Donop having married Eliza Maria, one of Sir Valentine’s
daughters, must have been a bit of a lad in his day. I recollect overhearing in
my later years that he often had to be strapped into the seat of his outside car,
so that he would not fall off when he fell asleep in the course of the drive back
to Menlo after a hilarious evening at the Club.
I can vaguely picture my nursery in our house at Salthill. It was an
upstairs room with a window looking out over the stable yard at the side of
the house, and I spent many interested moments at this window. On one
occasion recollect seeing my mother superintending the harnessing to the
dogcart of the young mare Norah, which by then was only partially broken in,
and seeing a shaft broken as the result of Norah having reared up, followed by
a bout of kicking that sent some of the bottom boards of the dogcart flying.
Another event that my memory records was the dreadful screeching of a pig
that had been reared and fattened in our piggery and was having its throat cut.
Subsequently, there was great activity in the kitchen regions.
I have already mentioned my nurse. She was a Tartar if ever there
was one. Her favourite method of getting me to do the many things so
objectionable to the young - such, for instance, as having my face washed -
was to threaten me with being carried off in the dead of night by some
fearsome demon, with the result that I dreaded being left alone in the dark for
years afterwards. She was an ill-tempered, stupid woman. On one occasion, I
had picked up a knife off the tea table. Instead of telling me quietly to put it
down, she grabbed my hand roughly, with the result that the old-fashioned,
almost razor-sharp steel knife was pressed to the bone at the end of one of my
fingers. I carry the scar to this day. However, it brought matters to a head;
my parents were furious, and she left. I do not remember her successor, from
which fact I assume that she must have been a more reasonable person.
Another of the scars of my childhood that I still carry was the result of
falling on the corner of the blade of a new and truly sharp mowing machine.
My father had laid out and levelled a tennis lawn in the large garden at the
back of the house, and I think it was the first occasion on which he was using
the newly-acquired machine upon the grass court then taking shape. He had
allowed me to hold the cross-bar and push, while he bent over me and
provided the motive power. We were going along thus quite nicely, when I
lost my grip and, falling forward, a corner of one of the blades caught me just
between the bridge of my nose and my right eye, providentially - as it
subsequently proved but was not then evident, since I bled profusely just
missing the eye. My father caught me up in his arms and rushed me to a large
butt of rain water from the roof, where, turning me upside down, he plunged
my head into the water. Needless to say I well remember that experience.
Norah was quickly harnessed to the dogcart and I was rushed in to the hospital
in Galway, where the wound was dressed and strapped. I was much intrigued
by the way in which the surgeon softened the strips of sticking plaster by
holding their backs, with two pairs of forceps, against the shade of his oil
table lamp which he had lighted for the purpose.
In due course my father’s adjutancy of the Galway Artillery Militia
came to an end and we left Salthill. All I can remember of that time was our
journey by train from Galway to Dublin, which must have been by night,
since I now seem to see the guard come into our compartment with a couple
of the boards which appear outside carriages to indicate the train’s destination.
These he placed across the space between the seats, and upon them one of the
cushions was spread so that I could lie down and sleep. The fact that my
mother’s uncle was Chairman of the line doubtless explains why we received
so much helpful attention and service. The compartment had been reserved
for us, and footwarmers - long, flat steel containers of hot water -were brought
on a truck and placed beneath my parents’ feet.
It was still dark when, in the early hours of the next morning, r we
reached Kingstown Harbour. Of this my only recollection is of flames
pouring out of the funnels of the paddle-steamer which was about to carry the
mails and ourselves across the Irish Channel. I remember nothing of that part
of the journey, which ultimately landed us back in Woolwich and an officer’s
quarter on The Common, but not the same one as that in which I had been
born.
 II
Then began a fresh episode in my young life. Shortly after our arrival
from Ireland and possibly as the result of a chill contracted on the night
journey, I developed what turned out to be a very severe attack of bronchitis.
I well remember a kettle with a long spout on the bedroom fire, pouring out
clouds of steam into the warm room, and those dreadfully messy, hot linseed
poultices which in spite of my protests were plastered on my chest at frequent
intervals. I must have been very ill indeed. All that I can now recollect
clearly is that I was fussed over a lot, and as I became convalescent - which
proved to be a long process in my case - I was loaded with attentions and
delicacies, in fact, I probably thought that it had all been worth while. But my
illness had been grave. It left me for weeks quite unable to utter a sound, and
I had to have exercises in speech.
I now think - and it is a depressing reflection - that all the coddling I
then received was the cause of my becoming, I greatly regret having to record,
a thoroughly spoilt, naughty and troublesome small boy. My mother, who
was largely responsible for the relaxation of that strict discipline for children
which was so admirable a feature of the Victorian era, was not slow to do
what she could to remedy matters, in extreme cases by the administration of
corporal punishment by means of a riding switch or twisted whalebone in an
ivory handle. I am now quite sure that it was the right thing to do, and what a
pity it is that the practice is no longer popular, but must admit that I was not of
this opinion at the time.
It must not be thought that my mother was unkind, or a martinet by
nature. She was very fond of me, was very patient as my teacher during my
early years, and often played with me. Across the Common, facing our
quarters, lay the Rotunda Gardens. They consisted essentially of an extensive
wood of magnificent old oak trees, in the middle of which stood the circular
edifice known as the Rotunda, housing a great collection of artillery weapons
dating from the time of the invention of gunpowder. There was nothing I
liked better than to potter round this exhibition, accompanied by my mother,
who did her best to reply to my innumerable questions. I think that my
interest in scientific and mechanical subjects dates from those days.
But by no means was all the time spent in the Rotunda. Much of it
was passed under the trees, and if my mother could spare the time, she used to
take a basket with her and we picnicked in the wood. In addition to the
Rotunda itself, there was some sort of artillery depot there, and on occasion
my father would also be there with party of men from his battery, practising
the erection of sheers and the mounting and dismounting of heavy guns. On
such occasions he also would join in the meal, more often than not
accompanied by one or more or his junior officers, and I would then go out
with them to watch some of the operations in progress, while my mother, who
was a very passable artist in water-colours, painted some attractive tree
studies.
 Memories of childhood can be so vivid. After all these years I have
only to close my eyes to see clearly my mother seated on the grass at the root
of the great tree against which she leant. On her knee rested her sketch block,
and by her side her paint box lay opened out. Then in the prime of life and
dressed in a close-fitting vieux rose costume that differed little in appearance
from modern fashion, but the skirt of which reached to her ankles, and with a
little bonnet composed entirely of black jet beads set jauntily upon her masses
of auburn hair - large hats were not fashionable in those days - she looked
lovely.
According to present-day standards, a gunner officer’s every-day
uniform seventy years ago, was fantastic. Close-fitting dark blue trousers
with wide stripes of gold lace down the sides were strapped down over
Wellington boots from the heels of which box spurs protruded. The cloth
patrol jacket, moulded to the figure and with padded shoulders and a high,
stiff collar, was without buttons - the front edges of the jacket were fastened
together by many concealed hooks and eyes and were trimmed with black silk
braid. The collar was similarly trimmed, and the chest was adorned with
several frogs of the same material. Upon the head a small round cap like the
lid of a large pill-box, its rim completely covered by a broad band of gold lace
and with a gold lace button on top, was worn perched well forward and at an
angle over the right eye, being retained in that position by a narrow chin-strap
of black patent leather.
The setting for all this could hardly have been more beautiful. A fine
summer day, the splendid oak trees, and the centuries-old turf beneath their
shade. The thought of it reminds me that one day just about that time there
was much bustle and excitement in our quarters, when my father and mother
dressed for a Presentation to Her Majesty Queen Victoria at Buckingham
Palace, where my mother was presented by her cousin Georgiana,
Marchioness of Aylesbury. A baby's cloak and bonnet made by my wife from
the train of the Court gown worn by my mother on that occasion, has since
been worn at the christenings of our youngest son and four of our grand-
children.
One of my early misfortunes was to be caught smoking a clay pipe
left lying about in the harness room by our groom. But my recollection of that
event is that my chastisement was a trifling affair compared with my
sensations after a few whiffs of strong shag tobacco. A much more serious
misdemeanour with correspondingly painful results, this time inflicted by a
thoroughly angry father, I was when I got hold of a bar of chocolate and,
being unable to break it, tried to cut a piece off with one of my father’s razors.
There were two of them in a leather case, with ivory handles upon which
monograms were engraved. Even now after all these years, I shudder to think
of that act of ignorant vandalism. They were very fine examples of the skilled
craftsmanship of pre-Victorian days, the monogram being my grandfathers.
As was to be expected, though I did not know it, the highly-tempered, hollow-
ground blade broke, leaving a large piece of steel sticking in the chocolate.
My father used his heavy hand on that occasion, and no wonder.
 I suppose all young people have to learn from experience the truth of
the old adage, “Be sure your sin, will find you out!”. A case in point was
when I surreptitiously took some blackheart cherries from the sideboard in the
dining room and stuffed them into my nice clean white drill sailor jumper. I
had hardly got out of the room before the ripe fruit was squashed, with dire
results as regards my general appearance.
One of my most spectacular efforts took place on a Sunday afternoon.
Grace Going, one of several daughters of our cousins in Tipperary, was at that
time staying with us. She was then in her middle teens, and from the moment
of her arrival, some impish instinct had impelled me to harass her in every
way that I could think of. It was not that I disliked her - she was a nice girl -
but probably due to jealousy at having to share attentions that I, an only child,
had hitherto regarded as my sole prerogative. We had been invited to tea with
our cousins Woolfield and Isabella Hardinge at their country house up
Shooters Hill, same distance from Woolwich. My mother drove the sturdy
cob and wagonette which, along with Norah and the dogcart, were kept in our
stables. Since the party also included my aunt Loo - Charlotte Louisa, my
father’s spinster sister - I had to sit on the floor between their feet.
Having overheard during lunch a discussion regarding this
arrangement, the bright idea occurred to me of smuggling out one of my
mother's long hat pins, and of sticking it through the cushion from beneath
where it would be likely to have its maximum effect upon Grace, at whose
feet I would be seated on the floor. The result surpassed my most hopeful
expectations. With a squeal of pain, she bounced into the air like a jack-in-
the-box. But my merriment was short-lived, and I was in disgrace for the rest
of the afternoon.
It is interesting to compare the manner of our going and return on that
occasion with what it would be like nowadays. It was in all respects a smart
turnout. Our groom was resplendently attired in white doeskin breeches,
black Wellington boots with brown leather tops, a bright blue three-quarter
length coat with shiny brass buttons, and an equally shiny top hat upon one
side of which appeared the black cockade that only retainers of members of
Her Majesty's services were entitled to sport. Nowadays, I suppose, we would
have walked that part of the journey that could not be covered by bus. There
were no country buses in those days.
 The author, aged 6 years.
It was a large party, including as it did, Woolfield's brother, the Revd.
Sheffield Hardinge and ,his wife Caroline, also the latter’s two sons. Thomas,
at that time a cadet at the Royal Military Academy, was in uniform - the same
gold-lace-striped trousers over Wellington boots, but without spurs, and the
same pill-box cap, as worn in the commissioned ranks, but in place of the
weekday patrol jacket which was without the braided frogs that embellished
the patrols of fully-fledged officers - since it was Sunday, he had to wear his
blue tunic with its big brass, buttons, high scarlet collar and braided shoulder
straps. His younger brother, who had not yet left school, was also there.
Sheffield and Woolfield had been inflicted with the full names of Molyneux
Sheffield Crampton FitzHardinge and Woolfield Henry FitzHardinge at the
instigation of Sir William Betham, Ulster King-of-Arms, their maternal
grandfather. It was shortly after this outing that our guests departed and my
father left with his battery for training with heavy artillery at Lydd in Kent,
where the practice ranges of the Shoeburyness artillery training centre were
situated. Suitable lodgings for us having been secured in Lydd village, we left
our quarters in the dogcart with Norah between the shafts, accompanied only
by the groom. It was glorious summer weather and an interesting journey by
road, part of the way through the hop-fields of Kent. And how different the
roads were! No snorting buses and cars, almost bumper to bumper - only
horse-drawn carriages and country carts, and not many of them - and no petrol
stations and vast advertisement hoardings. Only quiet green country -
cottages, often with children running to the gates. But there was also the dust
that modern hard roads have done away with. In those days the hedges were
white with dust. So were the travellers long before the end of the journey!
We stopped at Canterbury for two or three days on the way, and here
my mother took it into her head to have me photographed. It was quite an
ordeal in those days, no portrait being considered complete without the
inclusion of a plush-covered easy chair upon the back of which to rest the
hand, a column surmounted by a vase of flowers, or what not according to the
taste of the photographer. In my case the "set” consisted of a painted
background of a tempestuous sea, while I posed in my sailor suit holding a
telescope like a budding Nelson, with one foot upon the studio replica of a
rope ladder forming part of what presumably was intended to represent the
maintop of a battleship. In order to guard against my moving while the
exposure was being made - a slow process in those days - I had to lean against
carefully-adjusted supports clamped in position upon a stand behind my back.
To be invited to “look pleasant” after all these preparations was the last straw
as the resulting photograph clearly indicates.
Lydd is situated upon the margin of the solid mainland, beyond which
a spit of loose shingle, several miles long, projects into the sea, and it was
upon this stretch of shingle that the artillery practice ranges had been
established. A light railway line ran for their entire length. A favourite
method of getting to the firing point or beyond, when an engine drawing an
open truck fitted with seats was not available, was to ride on a ganger's trolley
upon which a mast had been fitted, on which a small sail could be hoisted.
Provided the direction of the wind was favourable, quite a good speed could
be attained in this way, and I much enjoyed those occasions when we were
allowed to go out thus and watch the practice. The high-explosive Lyddite,
first used in the Boer war of 1899 and thereafter, took its name from this
place. It burst with a bright green flash, and noxious greenish-yellow smoke.
I have no recollection whatever of how long we were at Lydd of how we got
back to Woolwich, presumably in the same way that we had come.
 III
Later on during the summer my father took a few days leave and we
left for a round of visits to relatives. Since the standard of living in the
average upper-middle class family was in those days so very different to what
it is now, a somewhat detailed account of some of our visits may prove of
interest. The first was to the home at Wraxall Lodge, near Bradford-on-Avon,
or my uncle Erly - Erlysman Pinckney Esq., J.P., who had married my
mother's sister Frances, my aunt Sissie, by which name she was universally
known in the family. They had two sons, Erlysman and Hugh, the latter about
my own age and the former about seven years older. It was quite a large
family gathering, which included my mother's other two sisters, my aunts Ella
and Margery, together with their respective husbands, George Baker,
Barrister-at-Law and Bursar of Magdalene College, Oxford, and William
Laxton, a House Master at Clifton.
Upon the stroke of the appointed hour, whether the meal was
breakfast, lunch or dinner, a second gong sounded and all were expected to be
ready to troop into the big dining roam with its long table and take their
appointed places thereat. At breakfast the butler, the cook, personal, parlour,
house, kitchen and dairy maids, gardeners and grooms, spread themselves
around two sides of the room and knelt down racing the wall, for the most part
in front of chairs that stood there. My uncle followed, carrying a large bible.
Having taken his seat at the head of the table, he read a short passage
therefrom, which was followed by a prayer in which all present were expected
to join, and concluding with grace. The staff then filed out; but before anyone
dared fall to on the breakfast, we had to wait while my uncle took up the small
sealed post bag placed alongside the plate, which he proceeded to open and
distribute its contents to those concerned, letters for the staff being handed to
the butler.
Uncle Erly certainly was one of the old School, very much the squire
and master of the household, but by no means an unkind man or one lacking
in a sense of humour. One of his peculiarities was that he hated the smell of
tobacco and would not permit any smoking about the house. I recollect my
father saying aside to my mother that he and uncle Willie were told that, if
they wanted to smoke after dinner, they could do so in the Servants' Hall
downstairs. But I gathered that my father's opinion or my uncle Erly
underwent a change when it was found that in the Servants' Hall - which was
unoccupied at that time of night, the staff having gone to their beds, and was
moreover very comfortably furnished - there was a tray on the table, with
glasses, a decanter of whisky, and a syphon or sodawater. I was not allowed
to stay up for dinner, but recollect overhearing that one could choose between
champagne and light wines and, of course, there was the time-honoured
custom of the passing round of port, sherry and madeira at the end of the
meal.
Meanwhile, I had been left in the care of the Pinckney boys' nurse,
and I shared their day and night nurseries - an embarrassing experience for
me, who had not hitherto shared a room with other young people. However,
she was a good sort, and both Erlysman and Hugh were very decent about it,
so all went well and no doubt the experience was good for me. One of uncle
Erly’s peculiarities was that, while during the week we could amuse ourselves
to our hearts content in the extensive grounds of in a nursery well stocked
with toys and picture books, on Sundays we had to appear dressed in Etons - I
in my best sailor suit - and behave accordingly, and all the playthings were
gathered up and locked away in a cupboard. Of course we had to attend
morning service in the local church. This was quite a parade, led by uncle
Erly in the quaint square-topped bowler hat sported by gentleman farmers in
those days, with his wife and followed by his guests, we boys with nurse, and
lastly such members or the indoor and outdoor staff as were not busy with
preparations for the substantial Sunday dinner.
It was a weekend visit so far as my parents were concerned, and in
due course we left, being seen off with much fuss from the front door steps.
We were driven to the station in the same carriage and pair that had met us on
arrival. Our next destination was a fine old mansion standing in lovely,
wooded grounds, near Honiton in South Devon. Two elderly spinster ladies
lived here, by the name of Tanner, aunts or my mother’s. The Tanners were a
wealthy family and it was a luxurious home, but both were very austere and
prim, dressed invariably in black silk with little caps of old lace, and they
disliked small children. Afternoon tea was the only meal at which my
presence was tolerated, and that, I fancy, only as a concession to my mother's
protests, and I have a dim recollection of rebelling against my mother's
admonition to behave myself, and having to be removed before the meal was
finished. However, there were compensations. I occupied a seat in the
Servants' Hall alongside the cook, who sat at one end of the long table, which
position normally was given to none of social status below that of the personal
maid to a lady visitor. The head of the table was taken by the butler. Cook
was a cheery soul, fond of children, and I had a wonderful time, being stuffed
with good things and made much of by all. Afterwards, one of the under-
gardeners used to play cricket with me on a back lawn, and I was sorry when
the time came for our next move, to Broomfield Hall, Bridgwater, county
Somerset, to stay with my mother's aunt Hannah and her husband Richard
Price.
Great-aunt Hannah was the youngest of the several daughters of
William Tanner or Blacklands House, Calne, Wiltshire, two of whom we had
just left at Honiton, but though she habitually appeared in the same black silk
dress and lace cap as her sisters, in no other respect was she in the least like
them. Both she and her husband were cheery and good-tempered, and fond of
children. To my mother's delight, I responded to this atmosphere and was
quite good for several whole days, and I had all my meals with them.
Morning prayers and all the other ceremonial was upon much the same lines
as at uncle Erly's, but in some ways was even more feudal - Sunday morning
service was in a private chapel in the grounds, and the home farm was on a
larger scale.
 We were taken round the dairy, and saw a couple of dairy maids
making butter in the Somerset manner. The milk had been allowed to stand in
large, flat pans, and each maid dipped a hand in cold water, then, keeping it
open and flat, plunged it into the pan and stirred the cream that had formed,
round and round until it turned to butter; this was then collected on muslin
cloths and the whey squeezed out in a press.
Except as regards the prayers that preceded it, breakfast here was a
much less formal proceeding than at uncle Erly's. The butler having set the
tea and coffee urns before aunt Hannah, and with the help of the parlourmaid,
a row of covered hot-water dishes having been placed on the sideboard,
together with the large cold ham and plates, they withdrew and we helped
ourselves to whatever we fancied. There was also the egg boiler, set in front
of Mr. Price, who seemed to enjoy superintending the boiling of eggs for
those who wanted one - and having put the lid on with the regulation quantity
of water, and the eggs, inside, filled the spirit lamp and lighted it, it was a
regular practise for him to throw the lighted match the length of the table,
over aunt Hannah's lace cap, into the fireplace behind her - and for her to
protest vigorously. I was very impressed with the egg boiler and when we
returned to Woolwich I insisted that the golden sovereign that Sir Ralph
Cusack had given me for a previous birthday and my mother was saving for
me, should be spent upon the acquisition of such an egg boiler from the Army
& Navy Stores. Doubtless my parents had to make up the difference between
my twenty shillings and the actual cost.
Great-aunt Hannah died some twenty years later. She bequeathed the
greater part of her very considerable fortune among her many relatives,
including substantial legacies to "my godson and great-nephew James
Chandos Brudenell-Bruce commonly called the Earl of Cardigan", and to
"Reginald Hardinge a son of my niece Kathleen Hardinge the wife of Colonel
Henry Hardinge.”
It was not long after our return from these visits that my father's
battery was ordered at short notice to Jersey in the Channel Islands. The
packing up would have been more hurried than it was, had not information
that such a transfer was pending, reached the battery some time earlier
through the Canteen Contractor. A chronic grouse to this day is that the
“powers-that-be" appear to take a fiendish delight in keeping back orders for
such moves until the last moment. Norah, the dogcart, and my mother's grand
piano, were shipped along with the other baggage. In those spacious days,
things were done on the grand scale. I remember nothing of the journey, from
which it can be assumed that it was without any noteworthy incident.
 IV
We were met on arrival in Jersey by General and Mrs. Pipon, old
friends of my parents. They had secured temporary lodgings for us near their
house, which was situated in what was then a fashionable part of the town of
St. Helier. General Pipon was on half-pay prior to his retirement; he was the
most senior officer of the Royal Regiment or Artillery and its Commandant.
A typical Victorian of bygone days, he was immaculately dressed and always
wore a top hat, slightly tilted back and at a rakish angle. The Pipon household
included two unmarried daughters, and the family played a leading part in
Jersey’s social circles.
There were no married officers’ quarters in Elizabeth Castle, where
the battery was posted, and it is very doubtful if they would have been
occupied had it been otherwise, since the Castle stood high upon a great mass
of granite rock in the middle of the bay, being at all but low tide completely
surrounded by the sea and cut off from the shore. When the tide was in,
communication between the harbour and the Castle was dependent upon
occasional trips of the Garrison Boat with a coxswain and crew or ex-naval
ratings clad in blue jerseys and shiny-topped naval caps. At low tide, it was
possible to walk across the sand and rocks to the Castle from a slipway on the
Esplanade, and at this point stood the Picquet House, manned each night by a
party of gunners under a Non-Commissioned-Officer. This picquet scoured
the town from time to time in order to collect the “drunk and disorderlies"
who passed the remainder of an uncomfortable night upon a bare plank bed in
the Picquet House, before their return under escort next morning to the Castle,
to appear before the Officer Commanding. French brandy of a sort was
procurable at a penny a glass, and drunkenness was a serious problem.
My parents rented a villa at Milbrook, on the road which ran from St.
Helier round the bay to St. Aubin's at its other extremity. In those days
nothing but sand dunes lay between our back garden wall and the seashore,
and I spent many happy hours playing on those sandhills. We were cut off
from the seashore itself by the railway that ran round the bay to St. Aubin's.
Whether the line had then been extended to the Corbiere, or this extension
was effected at a later date, I cannot remember, but however that may be, the
entire line has since disappeared, a service of motor coaches taking its place,
while a fine road runs along the shore round the bay, and where there were
sand dunes, is now covered with houses.
By this time I was between six and seven years old, and I had a room
of my own. My parents had decided that my health was not yet sufficiently
robust to permit of my being sent to school, but my mother was most
painstaking in her efforts to overcome my distaste for anything savouring of
the enforced acquisition of knowledge, and I developed a passion for reading
every book I could lay my hands on. While the “Swiss Family Robinson” - a
most instructive work, by the way - was perhaps my greatest favourite, I also
devoured “Ganot's Physics”, Professor Tyndall's “Heat a Mode of Motion”,
and my father's military manuals on drill, artillery fire control, and field
engineering, with intense interest.
My father possessed a small lathe, set up in a room on the ground
floor that served as a combined study and workshop. I often watched him
making or repairing things, and he allowed me the use of some carpenter's
tools, providing me with pieces of wood upon which to experiment. Looking
back, it seems to me that all this was an excellent groundwork for more
serious studies at a later date.
My mother used to drive my rather in to St. Helier's Harbour in the
mornings and see him off to the Castle in the Garrison Boat. As a general rule
I went with them, returning with my mother for lessons and lunch. My father
usually lunched in the officers' mess at the Castle, and my mother drove in
again to meet him and bring him home later on in the afternoon. There were
frequent occasions, however, during the summer months, when we all crossed
together to the Castle, and I spent many happy hours paddling about in the
rocky pools beneath its walls, with a shrimping net or collecting the many
strange things and creatures that abound in such places. If the tide was
favourable, my mother and I would picnic on the rocks, otherwise we would
climb to the Castle and lunch with my father in the mess, and wait there until
he was ready to leave.
On Sundays we used to go over for the morning church service,
conducted by a clergyman from St. Helier in a long room in the upper tower
of the Castle. There was a small harmonium, and the improvised altar and
lectern were draped with Union Jacks. This room was of particular interest,
since it contained relics of the residence in the Castle of Charles II during the
closing days of his reign as King of England. These relics are carefully
preserved in this room, which therefore is virtually a small museum.
My father was always a keen walker and used frequently to take me
out for walks in the country. I was never fond of walking for walking's sake,
though always ready for it at a more mature age if there was some shooting,
fishing or other object in view. But there were compensations. As a rule we
would stop on the way at one of the numerous small inns in the country
districts, and I was allowed to have a small glass or beer and some cheese and
biscuits. It was about this time that I began to have my silver christening mug
filled with draught beer at lunch. We always had a small cask of it on tap in
the house.
There was nothing unusual about allowing young people to drink beer
in those days and even at a much later date when my sons were at their public
schools, they used to have beer at the midday meal. When I was a cadet at
Sandhurst, not only did we have jugs of beer on the lunch tables, without any
limit to the amount one could drink, but at mess in the evenings, a chit to the
buttery would produce a small bottle of claret, and port and sherry were
passed round at the end of dinner, when the Queen's Health was drunk.
But these pleasant days in Jersey were destined to come to an end.
One day, just as my mother and I were about to sit down to lunch, a carriage
drove up to the door and, helped by the driver, my father got out. We hurried
out to meet him, and I well remember how ghastly ill he looked, and that he
was shaking with ague. My mother got him to bed and the doctor was sent
for. He had developed an abscess on the liver and was desperately ill for
many weeks. My mother, herself a most capable sick nurse as I had good
reason to know as the result of her care of me when I was so ill with
bronchitis in Woolwich, telegraphed for my aunt Loo to come, which she did,
and between the two of them he was nursed back to life.
After a lengthy convalescence, it was decided to cross to St. Brieuc
in Brittany, taking Norah and the dogcart, and go on a driving tour through
that part of France. I do not recollect much about that tour - it was not the sort
of thing likely to interest a child - but I remember the strange dresses of the
peasantry and our putting up at all sorts of funny little inns, mostly for a night
only, but now and then for longer, and at a nunnery, where we were waited on
by some of the sisters in their, to me, strange dress, with the large sun-bonnet
type of white headdress worn there.
Ultimately we reached Dinan, where my parents provided me with a
fishing rod - my first - and the essentials to go with it, while my mother made
me up a fly-book, still a treasured possession, and tied some flies, an
accomplishment she perforce had to learn when she used to accompany her
brother Reginald on his fishing expeditions in days long since past. But I was
rather too young then to manage a fly. Watching a quill float, beneath which
was a worm on a hook, I found much more interesting. In due course we
passed on to Dinard and thence to St. Malo, returning from there by sea to
Jersey,
It was not long after our return from this trip to Brittany that my
father’s battery received orders for another move, this time to Gibraltar. The
first part of the journey was to be to Portsmouth in a gunboat that acted as
station vessel in the Channel Islands. Her draught was too great to permit of
her entering the harbour of St. Helier, instead, she stood off Gorey at the
eastern end of the island and at a considerable distance from the shore owing
to the rocky nature of the coastline. The battery marched to Gorey and was
billeted for the night in Mont Orgueil Castle, that splendid old fortress dating
back to mediaeval time and which has figured much in past history, perched
high upon a great outcrop of rock. The old barracks in the castle were opened
up for the occasion, while my father and mother and I put up at a small inn
facing the harbour.
The embarkation was carried out without incident next day, and in
due course we reached our destination in England and embarked in the
troopship “Euphrates" in which we sailed down the English Channel, across
the Bay of Biscay, to Gibraltar. It was my first experience of being brought in
contact with several other children, to share with them in a night nursery and
the childrens' meals in the ship's saloon. As will have been realised, until then
I, an only child, had lived alone with my doting parents and been kept away
from other children, upon the grounds that I was too delicate for the inevitable
rough and tumble with them. That course, I have always felt, was a mistake
on their part - I was shy and ill-at-ease with the others of my own age, and in
same ways too old for my years. But - and I cannot resist telling the story,
boastful though it may sound - an incident during the voyage showed that I
was not quite so soft as they thought.
There were a number of young subalterns on board, going out with drafts for
other units, and to pass the time they put me up to fight another small and
rather pugnacious boy of about my own age. Having had a nasty Irish temper
aroused by a blow in the face, I proceeded to blacken my opponent's two eyes,
and when the fight was called off in my favour, he had in addition a cut lip
that bled while my own injuries were comparatively light. I remember that
our respective parents turned up at this stage and exchanged some caustic
remarks concerning the affair, each of course accusing the other's offspring of
being a horrid child - while needless to say, the subalterns responsible had
quietly faded away. I do not recollect anything else of material interest
regarding the voyage, and after several days at sea, we arrived and
disembarked at Gibraltar.
 V
Gibraltar, or "The Rock" as it is called in the service, is a most
impressive sight from an approaching ship. It’s northern extremity, rising
almost perpendicularly for hundreds of feet, faces Spain, to which Gibraltar is
connected by the strip of flat, low-lying land known as the Neutral Ground.
Farther to the south, this great ridge of rock rises to its highest point, upon
which the Signal Station is established, and from there slopes downwards to
Europa Point, the southern extremity. The harbour and town are situated
below the towering cliff pierced by the Galleries from which the muzzles of
heavy guns protruded at frequent intervals, and which had played so vital a
part in the defence of The Rock during the great siege of 1779-83.
We were quartered at Europa Point. The barracks lay close to the
lighthouse at the end of the point, which was strongly fortified. The officers'
quarters of the battery were a little farther inland, on the other side of the road
which led to the town, and consisted of two single-storied blocks, each
divided into two sets of quarters; we had been allotted that at the
southernmost end. Behind these quarters the ground sloped steeply upwards
to the foot of a cliff, at the top of which it levelled out again. Windmill Hill
was the name given to this comparatively level part of the spur, occupied by a
fort in which a British Infantry unit was stationed. The cookhouses of three of
these quarters were separate from and a few yards behind them, while ours
was on the far side of the road that ran past our frontage. The stables for all
the four quarters were a short distance behind our cookhouse.
My parents engaged a Spanish cook, a middle-aged woman, Maria by
name, and there were two other servants - my father’s batman, a young gunner
from his battery who seemed capable of turning his hand to any sort of job
from helping the cook to waiting at table, and a groom, also from the battery.
But my mother had plenty to keep her busy for some time to come, one of her
first tasks being to impress upon Maria that we did not like garlic in
everything. Since Maria understood no English and my mother knew no
Spanish, this and other essential instructions had to be conveyed with the
assistance of a phrase book. But my mother possessed a flair for languages -
she already spoke French, German and Italian fluently - and it was not long
before that disadvantage was overcome.
It was some time before things settled down and the routine of daily
lessons began again. Meanwhile, ably abetted by our groom in, his spare
time, I took a look round, which included sundry visits with him to the
Canteen, where, however, I was treated to cheese and biscuits only. It was in
the course of this tour of discovery that we found a cave in the cliff behind the
quarters and perhaps a couple of hundred yards from it, in which, with the
help of various articles begged - or on occasion purloined - from our quarters,
I spent many happy hours playing at Robinson Crusoe.
Shortly after our arrival, my father bought a horse which became his
official charger, and being also trained to harness could be driven in the
dogcart, relieving Norah who needless to say came to Gibraltar with us.
When my aunt Loo arrived from England she bought a cob, which she called
Skittles on account of its unpredictable skittishness, but aunt Loo was a keen
and experienced horsewoman and would, I think, have scorned a mount
without spirit.
The Calpé Hounds were quite a feature of social life in Gib during the
winter months. The meets took place in the Cork Woods, some miles inside
Spanish territory. On those days on which my parents and aunt Loo had
decided to join the hunt, I used to watch them ride off in the early morning,
my rather on his charger, a bay gelding which had been named, not
inappropriately, Beer, my mother on Norah, and my aunt on Skittles. They
had a long way to go to the meet - into the town, across the Neutral Ground
and past the border town of La Linea - and then followed a long day with the
hounds. There were plenty of foxes in those days, and it was good hunting.
Small wonder that they all returned in the evenings thoroughly tired.
Meanwhile I made a day of it in company with the batman and the groom, and
we all sat down in the kitchen to a spread provided by Maria, though I believe
my parents never knew this. I was supposed to have a lonely and austere meal
in the dining room, which would have been altogether too dull.
Occasionally my father took me with him when he went to inspect
some of the heavy siege guns in their massive stone casemates and their
Equipment Stores adjoining. I was particularly interested in these and their
contents - gunsights, fuzes in their tin containers, and many other things. On
one notable occasion I was allowed to go round an Ammunition Magazine. I
was solemnly searched for matches by the gunner in charge, and had to put on
the smallest pair of magazine boots -in which there were no nails which might
strike sparks with disastrous results - over my own small shoes. All I saw was
row upon row of long metal canisters neatly arranged on shelves, anyone of
which would have blown us sky-high had it exploded accidentally.
One morning, my mother took me to watch practice from a row of
heavy mortars - a weapon of about ten-inch bore, long since obsolete - on a
strip of ground overlooking the harbour and not far from our quarters, where a
whole battery of them stood in a row. The distance of the target - a raft
surmounted by a canvas screen, well out in the bay - having been found by
means of a rangefinder, this figure was passed to the magazine, where the
precise amount of black powder needed to propel this particular type and
weight of shell including its bursting charge the required distance, was
carefully weighed out and filled into a silken bag. There were as many fillers
at work as there were mortars, and gunners waited with leathern containers in
which to convey the charges to them.
While this was being done in one section of the magazine, in another
bursting charges were being weighed out and poured through copper funnels
into the shells. Meanwhile a hole had been bored through the appropriate
point, depending on the range, on a scale pasted round the wooden fuze, with
a special tool. The fuze was then driven into the shell with a mallet, and it
was conveyed to the mortar by two gunners who carried it between them by
means of a wooden crosspiece to the centre of which two lengths of chain
were attached, each with a hook at its end which was inserted into
countersunk eyelets cast in the surface of the shell on opposite sides of the
fuze-hole. The charge having been conveyed to and loaded into the mortar,
the shell was guided into the muzzle, and another gunner stripped off a band
of metallic tape round the top of the fuze, exposing strands of quickmatch.
The shell was then lowered into place and the hooks disengaged. All that now
remained to be done was to sight the mortar.
Mortars were always sighted at an angle of forty-five degrees to the
horizontal, which had to be carefully adjusted by means of a clinometer. The
mortar was then slewed to right or left with handspikes in response to orders
called out by the gunner acting as layer, who stood immediately behind
holding up a plumbline. The fore and backsights - a groove at the muzzle, and
another on the breech - were aligned thus on the target. The elevation was
then checked, and if necessary readjusted by means of a moveable scotch
(wedge) which supported the barrel. A gunner then pressed a small copper
tube containing detonating material, termed a friction tube, into the vent of the
mortar, inserted a hook at the end of a lanyard in an eye at the end of a
roughened strip of copper that passed at right angles through the top of the
friction tube, stepped back until the lanyard was stretched taught, and awaited
the order to fire.
It may be thought that all this took some time. Actually, it was all
done so smartly, the entire process occupied only a couple of minutes. Each
squad being exercised was timed by the officer in charge and there was keen
competition between them. When the mortar was fired by a smart pull on the
lanyard, the shell was hurled forth with a tremendous report and a big cloud of
black smoke, and its flight through the air could be followed by eye in the
great arc it described, and the mighty splash it made was clearly to be seen,
while the appearance of a puff of smoke just before it struck the water
indicated that the time fuze had been correctly set, and the position of the
splash in relation to the target, the degree of accuracy attained, which depends
not only upon the layer, but also upon other factors such as height above sea
level and direction and force of wind, all of which have to be allowed for. For
practice purposes, the charge loaded into the shell is sufficient only to blow
the fuze out. A full bursting charge would shatter the shell, with widespread
destructive effect.
Housekeeping in Gibraltar was no easy matter, as my mother soon
discovered. There was a large market on the far side of the town, just within
the gate that led to the Neutral Ground and Spain beyond. This market was
thronged with Spaniards with meat and fresh vegetables, Moors with
chickens, ducks and eggs from Morocco, and there were stalls filled with
oranges, grapes and other fruit. My mother had to drive Norah in the dogcart,
into the town, two or three times a week to do her shopping, and as a rule I
accompanied her. Bread came from the army bakery, butter was for the most
part tinned, supplemented by what was landed weekly from the outgoing
mailboat from England. Since all grass and fodder had to be brought in from
Spain, the only individual allowed to keep a cow was the Governor; everyone
else had to be content with goats’ milk, the goats being driven round in herds
and milked at the door. Goats' milk is all right if it has just been milked, but
after standing for an hour or two it develops a strong and extremely
unpleasant flavour.
Any sort of regular continuity as regards my lessons having become
impracticable on account of my mother's household and social obligations, my
parents decided to send me as a day boy to the local Convent of the Sacred
Heart, which was situated on the road into the town and about a mile from our
quarters. On the first day I was taken there by my mother, on subsequent
occasions either our batman or the groom accompanied me, and collected me
in the afternoons. I was still a somewhat delicate and a very shy small boy so
my embarrassment can be imagined when I found that I was one of a couple
of dozen children of various ages, all excepting myself being girls, Spaniards
or the daughters of officers of the garrison. Some of them bullied me, others
were well disposed but it was some time before I ceased to dread those days.
I was greatly relieved when my father’s battery was transferred from Europa
Point to the barracks in the Moorish Castle overlooking the town and harbour,
and too far from the Convent for me to continue my schooling there.
The Moorish Castle consists of a great, solitary square tower of
considerable antiquity, perched high up on the precipitous slope and
surrounded some distance below by the battlements within which stood the
barracks and officers quarters, in the midst of which was a gateway that led to
the Galleries in The Rock's northern face. Our new quarters were built on the
battlements, the windows of the front rooms overhanging a street in the town
far below, with a magnificent view of the bay and the mountains of Spain
beyond. On the far side of the bay, the town of Algeciras could be clearly
seen and behind it the hill known as the Queen of Spain’s Chair. In the course
of one of the great sieges of Gibraltar, a Spanish Queen is reputed to have
seated herself on this hill and expressed her intention of remaining there until
The Rock was once again in Spanish hands.
It was here that an accident befell me that might have had most
serious consequences, but happily did not. One of: my favourite toys was a
small brass cannon mounted on a carriage of correct artillery pattern, and in a
rash moment my father had shown me how to load it with black powder,
prime the vent, and fire it with a match. One day I thought I would do this for
myself. It did not take me long to find his powder flask, and with this and the
matches from the dining room I retired to a secluded spot in the garden, and
proceeded to load my cannon with an outsize charge and prime it. So far all
was plain sailing, but when I applied the match, it did not go off. So I picked
up my cannon and looked down the muzzle - and as I did so, the charge
exploded.
Blinded and in pain, I groped my way to the house - warily, not
wishing to be seen, knowing that I would be punished - and fortunately
encountered my mother, who put me on my bed and sent posthaste for the
doctor. My face must have been a shock for her. I was kept in a darkened
room, wearing a lint mask and smeared with carron oil. It was some days
before anyone could be sure that my sight was not at least affected, if not
destroyed. However, I eventually came through without even a scar - but with
a healthy respect for explosives.
One morning, glancing through the local weekly newspaper that had
just been delivered, my mother saw an announcement that there was to be a
bull fight at Algeciras, the small Spanish town across the bay. It was to be, as
was usual, on a Sunday afternoon, and my parents decided to cross in the
small Spanish ferry steamer that plied between that town and Gibraltar, on the
Saturday afternoon, stay the night at a hotel, and return the following evening.
The crossing was uneventful, and the only hotel was within easy walking
distance of the landing place. It proved to be small but clean. Dinner that
night was our first experience of Spanish cooking - olive oil and garlic
dominated all other flavours - even the bread was seasoned with garlic!
The following day, after a stroll around the town and lunch, we drove
out to the bull-ring in one of those strange conveyances with a gaily-striped
canvas awning in place of a hood, of which many are to be seen in Malta. The
arena was packed with men and women from the town and surrounding
district all attired in their Sunday best, the women wearing handsome lace
mantillas and with fans, for it was a hot day. Soon after our arrival, a fanfare
of trumpets heralded the opening or gates, from which emerged a procession
headed by the Picadors, with long pikes and mounted on what we learnt were
old cab horses. They were followed by Matadors with scarlet cloaks, and
Banderilleros who held short javelins with barbed points and their shafts
decorated with gaudily-coloured paper frills. All were very gorgeously
dressed in their knee breeches, white stockings and buckled shoes, and gold-
laced jackets, with black tricorn hats. But the solitary individual who brought
up the rear and upon whose appearance the plaudits of the assembled
spectators were redoubled, was the most magnificent of them all. He wore a
scarlet cloak embroidered with gold over his left shoulder and held aloft a
long sword. He was the Toreador, who would deliver the coup de grace.
The performers having made a circuit or the arena, turned inwards
and fanned out. As they did so, a gate on the opposite side or the arena was
thrown open and a bull rushed out, pulled up, and stood pawing the ground
with lowered head, its long horns almost touching the ground and looking
from side to side, it snorted angrily. Then the Matadors and Banderilleros
took the stage. A Matador would advance and incite the bull to charge, by
waving his red cloak in the bull's race. The bull charged - but the Matador
moved nimbly to one side, and the bull passed beneath the raised cloak - to be
met by another Matador who repeated the performance, and so on.
Meanwhile, the Banderilleros were busily planting their barbed shafts in the
poor beasts flanks, where they banged about with its movements and added to
its fury. Now and then the bull would single out one of the performers and
refuse to be distracted thus - then we saw some frantic sprinting by the hunted
man to one of the numerous boarded shelters around the arena, with just
sufficient space between them and the surrounding wall to permit of the entry
of a man but not of a bull. One could almost wish to see the bull get some of
his own back, but there always seemed to be one or more Matadors so placed
as to be able to prevent it.
When the spectators were judged to have had enough of this, the
Picadors took the stage with their lances - but they had no cloaks with which
to confuse the bull. In fact, had it not now become dazed, the first Picador to
draw blood with his lance could not possibly have saved his mount from the
bull. But even so, it was not long before the infuriated animal succeeded in
goring one of the horses. A horn entered its belly and tore it open. Screaming
in agony, the poor beast fell to the ground, its blood and entrails spreading
over the ground. At this point, the Matador advanced his cloak, attracted the
bull’s attention to himself - then moving swiftly to one side as the bull
charged, he plunged his sword into its neck between and behind the horns,
despatching it thus. Both horse and bull were then dragged by gaily -
caparisoned mules from the arena, followed by the now reformed procession
to the accompanied plaudits of the spectators, who had risen from their seats
and were now cheering excitedly and throwing money and flowers into the
arena.
Needless to say this horrible scene had filled my parents with disgust
and anger, while I was terrified and in tears. My mother, who loved horses,
could not restrain herself -she loudly expressed her feelings, much to the
annoyance of Spanish men and women who had been seated near to us. It did
seem so strange to us that Spanish women seemed thoroughly to enjoy seeing
this torturing of animals. It was a relief to get away from the place and try to
forget what we had seen.
I understand that bull-fighting in Portugal is not like that. No horses
are used, the bull has brass balls fitted to the tips of its horns so that it cannot
wound its opponent, and it is not killed at the end or the contest, nor are
banderillos used. As a demonstration of toughness and agility on the part of
the men, such a display would be worth seeing. The Spanish type of bull-
fight we saw was a thoroughly nasty affair.
Shortly after our return from Algeciras my father, who had obtained
his majority before we left Jersey, was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant-
Colonel. Winter had come round again, and he, with my mother and aunt
Loo, hunted fairly regularly with the Calpé Hounds. It was on one of these
occasions that aunt Loo nearly lost her life. It had been raining heavily, and
one of the streams in the country hunted over, which normally was readily
fordable, had become a swollen torrent or considerable width. They were
then on their way home and a crossing had to attempted. When it came to my
aunt's turn, her mount stumbled in midstream, where the rushing, muddy
water was up to the saddle girths. Her riding habit (no woman rode astride in
those days) became heavy with water, and both horse and rider were swept
away in the current. But for the presence or mind or an officer in the gunners
who had joined the party, aunt Loo would probably have been drowned, since
my mother and rather had ridden on, not realising there was anything wrong.
He rode along the opposite bank to where the bed or the stream - now a river -
was wider and the current not so swift, and managed to rescue my aunt. Her
wet habit bad wrapped itself round her safety stirrup, which consequently did
not release her foot when her mount fell, and she had been dragged for some
distance almost completely submerged. To make matters infinitely worse, her
leg had been broken when her mount fell with her. She was pulled out onto
the bank and Skittles scrambled out lower down, none the worse for what had
happened.
Meanwhile my mother and rather, realising that aunt Loo was not
following, had turned back. How they managed to get my aunt home I do not
recollect - they were very late and aunt Loo was in some sort or a carriage and
had to be carried into the house. Then there was much coming and going or
doctors for same days. Later on, my aunt spent some time on a long chair out
in the garden, followed by a period during which she used crutches to get
about again. She had always been very lame, having had her foot crushed in a
gate when, a girl in her teens, she was as on this occasion, in the hunting field.
In due course she was getting about again as usual, apparently none the worse
for the mishap.
Shortly after this my father was appointed Commanding Royal
Artillery, Northern District. This meant that he had to relinquish command or
the battery and vacate our quarters in the Moorish Castle, those allotted to the
C.R.A. being situated on sloping ground just beyond the town. It was a nice,
roomy bungalow in a fair-sized garden, at the bottom or which were the
stables and coach-house, close to which was a large tree, and from a branch of
this tree our groom suspended a swing for me. From the time that we left
Europa Point, I had contrived to shirk lessons most days, but now my parents
decided that something really must be done about it. Mrs. Stringer was then
the head army schoolmistress in Gibraltar, and it was arranged that her
daughter Mabel should come to us daily and act as governess.
During the period of which I am writing, the position as Governor of
Gibraltar was held by Sir Arthur Hardinge. Although not closely related, my
father was so like Sir Arthur in face and figure, that on one occasion when
both were out of uniform, the sentry on duty at the Cathedral, the Governor's
official residence, turned out the guard for my father. The Governor alone is
entitled to this salute when in civilian dress.
 VI
It was about this time that my father took ten days station leave and it
was decided that we would spend it in Tangier. A small steamer flying the
Spanish flag plied between Gibraltar and that place, and after a crossing that
took a few hours only and a landing in small boats, we reached our
destination, the Hotel de France. This hotel stood on a hill overlooking the
Suk (pronounced Sook), a large open space just outside the walls of this
Moorish town, which on market days was crowded with camels, cattle of all
sorts, donkeys with their loads, and what not.
It did not take me long to discover a kindred spirit in the son of one or
the hotel gardeners. He showed me how to pick and skin a prickly pear.
Covered with needle-like spines, so fine as to be almost invisible but which
penetrate the skin and cause intense irritation, this strange fruit grows upon
the surface or the large and almost equally prickly leaves of the cactus plant.
A short, length of split bamboo is sharpened at one end and is then stuck into
the pear - a twist detaches it - with a sharp knife, both ends are sliced off, and
a slit made lengthways permits the outer skin, with the prickles, to be peeled
off with the knife. The fruit can then be eaten - it is rather like a banana in
flavour.
The snuff habit seemed to prevail among the Moors, and I was given
a snuff-box made by the gardener's son, consisting or a short section of
bamboo with a cork in one end, a notch in one side or which was closed with
a small bamboo spigot. I was shown how to withdraw this plug and tap some
of the contained snuff onto the back of my hand, and then sniff it into each
nostril in turn. However, my parents expressed strong disapproval when they
caught me in the act, and my snuff-box was confiscated. One morning during
breakfast, we heard the sound or firing coming from the direction of the Suk
below. Going out on the terrace, we saw several Moors in their richly-
embroidered waistcoats and flowing white robes, mounted upon spirited Arab
horses which were pirouetting about, mostly on their hind legs, while their
riders shouted what sounded like war-cries and discharged their long Moorish
firearms into the air. It was a stirring sight. The day was a festival or some
sort, and it was decided that we should have a look round the town.
The native town or Tangier was then - and probably still is -
indescribably dirty, smelly, and fly-infected. The flies doubtless account for
the fact that opthalmia and partial or total blindness is so prevalent. Since
religion forbids the killing or these pests, they crawl largely undisturbed over
the faces or their victims. We did not stay long, and I fancy our departure was
hastened when it was observed that some of the vendors of fruit and other
things were busily engaged in searching the voluminous folds of the burnous
each wore for the fleas that, for the same reason, had to be handled gently and
dropped unharmed upon the ground.
Upon a hill overlooking the town, stood an old fort, then used as a
prison. Here we, in company with a very mixed throng of visitors including
relatives of the prisoners, passed along the front of what reminded me of
cages at the Zoo. In each, behind the bars, was a prisoner, loudly supplicating
alms - if he had a tongue with which to do so, otherwise making strange
noises that served the same end. I overheard it said that no food was given to
the prisoners by the prison authorities - they had to eat only what they could
beg or buy. It was a gruesome sight, and the more so since, in addition to
imprisonment -maybe only for debt - it was usual to cut off an ear, or a hand,
or the tongue, or to put out an eye. More severe sentences imposed the loss of
two limbs or both eyes. I remember my parents trying to hurry me away, but I
had seen enough. I woke screaming with fright during the night that
followed.
Towards the end of our visit to Tangier, we rode out to Cape Spartel.
It was a long way from Tangier, and our mounts were mules, the behaviour of
which is at all times unpredictable. Moreover, their saddles were of the
Moorish pattern with high pommels and cantles, the whole covered with red
Morocco leather and liberally studded with mushroom-headed brass nails, and
the stirrup irons were of the type seen in museums, fashionable in the days of
the Crusades or thereabouts. It was a very hilly ride at times, and as our
mounts took these hills with goat-like ease - it was a cross-country ride all the
way, there being no made road - we had to accustom ourselves to swaying in
time with the movements of our mounts in order to avoid being bumped in the
middle of the back by the cantle or the saddle, or in the pit of the stomach by
the pommel. My mother made some caustic remarks concerning her saddle.
It was of quite special design - that of mediaeval days, when wives rode
pillion behind their husbands - a sort of armchair set sideways, with a
suspended footboard. Her movements had to be sideways instead of fore and
aft as in my father’s and my case.
After a very welcome rest and lunch from the contents of the red
leather saddle-bags suspended behind each saddle, we were shown over the
lighthouse by one of: the keepers, a Frenchman, and I was very interested in
the great lantern with its occulting mechanism. Nowadays, I suppose, this
lantern would have been illuminated by electricity. At that time it had to be
lighted with oil.
An incident on the homeward journey might have had most serious
consequences but for my mother’s presence of mind and prompt action. We
had just descended a steep slope into what appeared to be the bed of a dried-
up watercourse, when my mother, who was riding close to and slightly behind
me, shouted excitedly “Gallop!”. Turning my head, I saw to our right and not
fifty yards away, a small group of mounted Moors only partially screened by a
row of cactus on the edge of the declivity - and they were pointing their long
guns at my father, who was riding ahead. Fortunately he took in the situation
at a glance and urged his mount forward without a moment's delay.
Meanwhile my mother had used her riding switch to good effect upon both
my mount and her own, and the three of us went helter-skelter across the bed
of the nullah and up its steep opposite bank. The Moors presumably decided
that their extremely inaccurate firearms were not equal to such a target and
they held their fire, but it certainly was an exciting moment.
 Otherwise the return journey was uneventful, but by the time that we
had reached the hotel I was nearly asleep in my saddle, and had to be lifted off
and put straight to bed. A day or two later we returned to Gibraltar as we had
come.
We had not been back long, when the officers of the Royal Naval
gunboat that served as a station vessel in those waters, invited some of the
senior officers of the garrison and their wives for a day's outing, and I was
allowed to accompany my parents. We crossed the Straits to the Moroccan
coast, where the party was landed in the ship’s boats and a liberal picnic lunch
was spread on tablecloths laid on the ground. It was not long before a motley
crowd of wild-looking Moors appeared. They squatted round at a respectful
distance and watched our every mouthful. This was embarrassing, but the
climax was reached when a bearded veteran approached and, going up to an
officer whom he must have concluded was the leader of the party and after
saluting him in oriental fashion, proceeded to make a long speech in Arabic.
Translated by an officer who knew the language, it transpired that the elderly
Moor, after a somewhat flowery account of his wealth and importance as a
local chieftain, offered several cows and a substantial number of sheep in
exchange for the wife of one of the senior artillery officers present - a very
fair, handsome and buxom lady - whom he had decided would be an attractive
addition to his harem.
When this became known, the assembled company burst into roars of
laughter. But the Moorish chief had intended his offer to be taken seriously,
and he immediately showed great offence. Turning to his followers, he
addressed a few words to them, with the result that they immediately began to
murmur angrily. Our party broke up hurriedly and retired to the boats,
followed by the mob, and we all were much relieved when we had got away
in good order and re-embarked on the gunboat. There is little doubt that the
incident might easily, have developed into something really serious.
 VII
It must have been later on that same year that my father was able to
take sixty days privilege leave, and it was decided to spend it in Algeria. We
went by Messageries Maritimes to Oran, and thence by rail to a small station
where we transferred to a ramshackle diligence behind a couple of scruffy
horses in harness that appeared to be broken in several places and tied
together with string, which conveyed us along a very rough road that wound
up the slopes of the Lower Atlas Range of mountains to a small village named
Hammam Rirha. The drive was long and exceedingly bumpy, and the driver a
Frenchman of the peasant class who urged the horses along, mostly at a hand-
gallop, more by means of a volley of curses than the use of the whip. The
horses were changed every few miles, but I was asleep long before we
reached our destination, a small inn where we were to spend a few days. We
were greeted on arrival by the proprietor and his wife, a genial couple, both
French, but all I remember is that after a nice hot drink of some sort I was
soon in a comfortable bed and fast asleep, the greater part of our drive having
been made in the darkness of the gathering night.
Hammam Rirha, as the first part of the name indicates, possessed
some medicinal springs and was destined to become a fashionable spa, but in
those days its large and luxurious hotel was as yet only in course of
construction. No doubt my parents enjoyed their mountain-climbing in the
neighbourhood, but the only recollection I have of that time is of a little
workshop where an old man sat behind a small and primitive lathe which he
drove with his root, turning out bottle corks of all shapes and sizes, some with
grotesque animals carved on top, from the bark of the cork trees that grew on
the lower slopes of the mountain. At weekends, finely dressed Arab
gentlemen, whose manners and general demeanour showed clearly the effect
of their upbringing in French surroundings and who spoke fluent French,
came in for the evening meal, and my mother much enjoyed meeting and
conversing with some of them.
In due course we left Hammam Rirha by road and rail for Algiers. I
was impressed by the sight of mile after mile of orange blossom in the Blida
district through which the line passed. Orange-growing is a very important
industry in Algeria. But for the great preponderance of Arabs of both sexes
and all classes, the fine terminus at Algiers might well have been in France,
and we were soon on our way in an open landau behind a pair of carriage
horses and driven by an Arab resplendent in a richly-embroidered waistcoat
over his white shirt and wearing a fez, to a pension run by an American lady
on the outskirts of Mustapha Superieure, behind and above the city. My
outstanding recollection of that pension, where we stayed for two or three
weeks, is of my disgust at having placed before me at breakfast what was
alleged to be a boiled egg, but which appeared to be a raw egg broken into a
wineglass. Actually it had been just warmed through. We had to explain that
the English way of boiling eggs was not like that.
 The city of Algiers is essentially French in layout and general
appearance in so far as the main thoroughfares, or Boulevards as they are
termed, are concerned, but there was a large Arab quarter not unlike that at
Tangier, though of course on a much more extensive scale. The Algerians are
a fine-looking people, and many of the women are very beautiful. The
tramway system which traversed the principal boulevards and Mustapha
Superieure was horse-drawn at the time of which I am writing. One of the
sights I well remember was a big parade on the Champ de Mars. The Zouaves
and Spahis in their bright uniforms and the Chasseurs d’Afriques in their
flowing white robes, riding magnificent Arab horses, made a very fine display.
Needless to say the cavalry, artillery and infantry of the French regular army,
though less spectacular in dress, were no less smart in drill and movement.
The date of expiry of my father's leave drawing near, we embarked in
a ship of the Messageries Maritimes bound for Gibraltar. It was now early
autumn, and as was not unusual at this time of the year, the ship had hardly
left Algiers before we ran into a full gale of wind and very heavy seas. Both
my parents, and I also, were good sailors, and the rolling and pitching of the
ship did not upset us. The only thing that stands out in my mind was seeing
my father in the early morning, trying to shave with an old-fashioned "cut-
throat” razor - safety razors had not then been invented - with the ship rolling
and pitching heavily. Goodness knows how we he managed it - I had my turn
in later years - I would much rather do it myself than watch anyone else
shaving under those conditions! Somewhat behind schedule, we reached our
destination, disembarked and returned to our quarters, to find that Maria and
our soldier servants had everything ready for us.
 VIII
The winter that followed passed off much as usual. My parents
hunted with the Calpé Hounds and played their part in the round of social
events that figure so largely in a garrison such as that stationed in the
extremely restricted area of Gibraltar. My only outstanding recollection of
that period is of numerous children's parties, to which I gradually became
accustomed but which I never really enjoyed. I must have been one of the
oldest there, since most boys and girls of my age had been sent to boarding
schools in England. What I enjoyed much more than a party was when my
father took me with him into the Galleries, where I saw drill on some of the
heavy guns mounted there.
A red-letter day was when my mother and I went to see one round
fired from the great 100-ton gun in its emplacement, which was not far from
our quarters. The bore at this gun was such that a man could worm his way
into it in order to examine its condition. The target was several miles away,
out in the middle of the Straits. All householders in the neighbourhood had
previously been warned to open their windows so that the glass would not be
broken. The charge, in several sections, and the shell, were conveyed to the
gun upon small trucks running upon rails, hoisted into position by a steam-
driven winch, and rammed home by a hydraulic rammer operated from an
adjoining engine room. When the gun was fired by means of an electrically-
operated fuze from a casemate on one flank, to which the gun crew had
retired, the noise of the explosion was terrific. It was quite a long time before
we saw a tremendous column of water go up quite close to the target. I
recollect overhearing that one shot cost several hundred pounds. There were
two of these monster guns on The Rock at that time.
The fact that I am now writing of events during the winter and spring
of 1887-8, when I was nearly ten years of age, is evidenced by a small, much
worn and soiled envelope I still have, at the top of which in my mother’s
handwriting appears my name followed by Gibraltar, March 1888". Upon this
envelope the following is printed:
First Aid to the Injured.
ST. JOHN AMBULANCE ASSOCIATION
A Pocket
AIDE-MEMOIRE
compiled
For the Instruction of the Troops in Zululand
by the late Surgeon-Major P. Shepherd, M.B.,
shortly before his death
At Isandula, January 22, 1879
Reprinted for the use of St.J.A.A. Pupils.
 Copies can be obtained from
The Honorary Director of Stores,
St. John's Gate, Clerkenwell, London, E.C.
Priced. 3d.
I suppose there must have been a war scare about that time. Classes
were formed which were attended by many ladies of the garrison and my
mother took a leading part in this work, one of these classes being held in our
quarters. I was allowed to attend some of these gatherings and was much
interested in the demonstration of various bandaging operations. The
envelope referred to above enclosed a folded card upon which brief
instructions were given regarding bandaging, broken bones, stretcher drill,
and the treatment of certain ailments, among which drunkenness, delirium
tremens and itch suggest conditions happily no longer prevalent. Notes
regarding sore feet and sunstroke have a more familiar ring, but an item about
frostbite would appear to have been superfluous in Zululand. The Aide
Memoire is accompanied by a triangular bandage upon which is printed a
series of illustrations depicting the bandaging of a number of different sorts
of wounds and fractures . I still have one of these bandages. The scare
presumably having petered out, these activities soon did likewise. Some
months later my father found that he could again take sixty days privilege
leave, and it was decided that we should spend it in Italy and Switzerland.
 IX
We left for Genoa in a ship of the Lloyd Triestino line. The voyage
was uneventful, excepting that I was now considered old enough to have all
my meals, including late dinner, with my parents and the other passengers.
The food was good and I soon grew to like breakfast of no more than coffee,
rolls and butter in place of the substantial meal customary among English
people. At lunch and dinner I was allowed to have a glass of white wine -
white or red wine was provided without extra charge - and after the evening
meal my mother used to put a little from her liqueur glass of cognac in my
small cup of black coffee.
What struck me most on landing was the excitability of the Genoese.
Porters wrangled with a torrent of words and much gesticulation as to which
of them was to handle our luggage, and competing drivers of hackney
carriages pounced upon whatever they could lay their hands on. My rather
had considerable difficulty in getting everything loaded on one vehicle.
However, this was done, and we drove through the town to a hotel. On the
way I noticed what a lot of beggars there were about the streets. We found
subsequently that it was impossible to walk in the streets of an Italian town
without being pestered by them, and learnt that many were professionals who
earned a living that way.
My only other recollection of Genoa is of a visit to the Campomento,
that famous mausoleum of former days, crowded with beautiful statuary in
memory of the dead. Our stay in Genoa was a short one, and from there we
went to Lugano, on the shores of the lake of that name in Switzerland. The
hotel faced the lake. Stepping out of the French windows of the public rooms
and crossing a stretch of lawn, we came to a flagged terrace against the
retaining wall of which lapped the deep blue waters of this lovely lake, upon
the opposite shore of which rose Monte Rosa. The air was simply marvellous.
We used to come out on that terrace in the early petit dejeuner mornings for
the petite dejeuner of delicious rolls with curls of butter and cafe au lait which
were served out there.
A band played on the lawn in the evenings during and after dinner,
and there was dancing in the public rooms. Then there were trips about the
lake by small steamers - we went on some of these, and for a day trip to Lake
Como with a circular tour of that beautiful lake on a small excursion steamer.
Between whiles I used to fish in the lake from the hotel terrace, but I do not
remember catching anything.
After about a fortnight at Lugano, we moved to Stresa on Lake
Maggiore. Stresa was only a small place and the hotel there, little more than
an inn, but it was very comfortable. This lake is renowned for its three small
Islands, of which I can recall the name of one only - Isola Bella, upon which
stands the palace of Count Borromeo with its collection of white marble
statuary. There were excursions by boat and steamer about this lake also, but
the only thing during our stay at Stresa that impressed itself upon my memory
was seeing the unloading of a large boat something like a Thames barge,
which seemed to be filled with grapes. Men with large wooden shovels
walked barefoot on the fruit as they shovelled it and the exuded juice into
what looked like barrels that had been cut in half down the middle, and then
fastened to a flat wooden backing to which two leathern straps were attached.
As soon as one of the half-barrels was full, a man hoisted it onto his back and
carried the load along a plank to the shore, where the contents were dumped
into receptacles in a cart. I wondered if they washed their feet before starting
work!
Our next move was to Milan. Even I could hardly have failed to be
impressed by the beauty of its famous cathedral, but I was even more
impressed by the mysterious relics we were shown in the vaults below. For
further particulars, see Baedeker or any other guide book - I have no intention
of writing one. Here I may remark that I was shortly to find churches and
picture galleries, boring in the extreme. But I was after all, still only a small
boy.
After a few days of sight-seeing in Milan, we moved on to Venice.
This involved a railway journey of several hours, since there had been some
serious floods in the country through which the line passed and our train was
considerably delayed in consequence. Gangs of men were at work here and
there, repairing damaged embankments and culverts, and I was very interested
in what I saw being done.
When we reached Venice, it was a strange experience to have our
luggage placed in a gondola and to be paddled so silently along the narrow
waterways which led to the Grand Canal upon the margin of which our hotel
was situated. The gondolier stands upon a bridged-over part of the stern,
operating his single oar through the crutched stick which projects a couple of
feet above the gunnel on his right hand and serves as a rowlock. He both
propels and steers the craft with this single oar.
Our hotel was situated almost opposite a very handsome church
known as Santa Maria della Saluté that stood upon the other side of the Grand
Canal and within sight of the Rialto, a bridge over the Canal having rows of
shops on both sides from shore to shore. The cathedral of St. Marks with its
golden mosaic domes and interior faced a large Plaza of that name, quite close
to our hotel. On one side of this Plaza stood the Doges Palace, which was
connected to another building on the opposite side of a small waterway that
led into the Canal, by the Bridge of Sighs. It was in the notorious days of the
Medicis that this bridge, constructed entirely of white marble and completely
enclosed from end to end so that those who crossed it could not be seen from
outside, acquired its sinister name. Political prisoners who crossed the bridge
after their trial and condemnation, never returned that way. Summary
executions or dreadful tortures culminating in death was the reason. It was in
the days of the Inquisition, and the rule of the Doges was autocratic.
We toured the principal canals in a hotel gondola and climbed to the
top of the Campanile, the bell-tower of St. Marks which stood in the Plaza
apart from the cathedral, from which a fine view of the city was obtained.
From the hotel terrace we could see the gondolas, launches and sailing boats
of all sorts passing up and down the Grand Canal. It seemed strange that a
people who obviously liked bright colours should make no attempt to brighten
the funereal black of the gondolas, which appeared out of place in so
otherwise gay a scene. A little lower down but well in sight, several small
warships and other craft lay at anchor.
A very interesting trip was to the Murano Glassworks, on the opposite
side of the Canal. Here we saw rows of glowing furnaces full of molten glass
into which highly-skilled craftsmen were long steel blowpipes and drawing of
molten glass. Then, by a combination of blowing through the pipe and
manipulating the glass with a pair of tongs, or of rolling the pipe backwards
and forwards on a pair of rails attached to a bench while using the tongs,
exquisite specimens of Venetian glassware were produced. In the course of
this clever manipulation the glass being worked upon was maintained in a
sufficiently plastic condition by being periodically held for a few moments
over the molten mass in a furnace.
What I found most interesting of all the sights in Venice was in a large
museum where there was a wonderful collection of old armour and weapons
of all sorts, and most thrilling of all, every imaginable variety of the most
horrible instruments of torture. These included thumbscrews and a rack to
which the victim was attached, and then by turning a winch his body and
limbs were gradually stretched until the bones and ligaments gave way -
unless, of course, he had decided to confess before that point was reached. A
highly ingenuous device was a steel shell the shape of a human head, in two
halves and fitted with clamping screws which permitted of the skull being
crushed gradually. Then there were marquise rings having a concealed needle
that injected deadly poison when projected into the flesh by a spring, this
being released when the victim closed his or her hand. For the punishment of
relatively minor offences there were specimens of various types of whip of the
cat-o-nine-tails variety. One of these I saw had rows of steel beads with small
spikes on them at intervals along each lash.
A different sort of exhibition which there were several of somewhat
different design, was really amazing, the import or which I was too young to
comprehend at that time. It can best be described as a pair of ladies' “panties”
made of thin and comparatively light steel, in two halves hinged together and
fitted with a padlock. This, we were solemnly informed by the English
speaking guide, was the invention of a jealous husband who suspected the
chastity of his wife and used to have it clamped onto her before he departed
upon a journey!
 A street in ancient Pompeii.
It was quite a relief after this to pay a visit to the Lido, the public
bathing place situated on one of the numerous lagoons near Venice. Here we
were able to see mixed bathing, a custom that was not accepted in England
until many years later. The bathing dresses of the ladies in those days were
more elaborate and ample than many present-day fashions for everyday wear.
A couple of days before we were due to leave Venice there was a
carnival on the Grand Canal. It was a wonderful sight to see hundreds of
gondolas all hung with coloured paper lanterns and, lavishly decorated with
flowers, passing and repassing in the night, and from many of these came the
soft music of guitars or violins and the songs of the parties of young men and
women.
My recollection of Florence is very hazy. There were, of course,
more churches and what not in the way of things that, according to the guide
book, really must be done, but I think my greatest trial was the Pitti and Uffizi
picture galleries, in which there was also some famous statuary. I feel sure
that I would now find these extremely interesting, but to expect a small boy to
be thrilled by the sight of row upon row of pictures, doubtless by famous
artists and of immense historical importance, many of which depicted San
Sebastian pierced by numerous arrows and in various poses, or of the
wonderful figure in marble of the Venus de Milo, was to expect too much.
From Florence we had another long run by rail to Rome. Here
everything I saw interested me greatly -Trajan's Column - the Roman Forum -
the Coliseum - Capitol Hill - the story of Romulus and Remus. My parents
did their best to answer my innumerable questions. In my mind, I was
carried back to the days when Roman history was made. I pictured Senators,
Romans, soldiers and slaves in the Forum - gladiators, Christians and lions in
the great arena of the Coliseum - the wolf that, according to legend, suckled
the founders of Rome. Everything I saw had to be fitted into the wonderful
picture my imagination had conjured up. I think that I got a bigger kick out
of Rome than either of my parents - and what a background it became in later
years when I was at school, and had learnt enough Latin to be able to really
enjoy Roman history!
From Rome we went to Naples, where we stayed at a hotel high up on
a hill at the back of the city, with a fine view of the bay and of Vesuvius. A
funicular railway ascended the hill, and I enjoyed .going up and down in it. A
feature that appeared to be peculiar to Naples was the sight of rows or long
lengths of freshly-made macaroni suspended from ropes stretched across the
back gardens and yards of some of the houses on the outskirts of the city,
where they dried and hardened in the strong sunlight. Otherwise Naples was
to me much like any other city in Italy.

A victim of the eruption of Vesuvius, A.D. 79.

Vesuvius was an awe-inspiring sight at night, when the columns of
ashes that every now and then were ejected and rose to a great height, glowed
an angry red from the fires below. One of the trips we made was to Pompeii,
the Roman city that was overwhelmed in A. D. 79 by a tremendous outburst
of lava and ashes from Vesuvius, the ruins of which city had since been
excavated. In a small museum there were what appeared to be plaster casts
of men and dogs in their death agonies. Casts they certainly were, but not
man-made. Overwhelmed by the deluge of volcanic ash where these living
creatures had fallen, in the course of the ages the ash had hardened while the
flesh had disintegrated and it seems that as this change was taking place, a
calcareous deposit was formed to take the place of the disintegrated flesh,
from infiltrated water carrying lime in solution. Of the many thousands
overwhelmed in that terrible holocaust, the forms of not a dozen preserved in
this miraculous manner have come to light in the course of the excavations
and can be seen in the little museum.
But to my young and imaginative mind, the narrow streets of Pompeii
were the most interesting feature of all. They are roughly paved with blocks
of stone, and here and there are crossings of stepping-stones for foot
passengers set high above the level of the roadway, suggesting that these
thoroughfares were on occasion very muddy - and the stones had been so
spaced from one another that these spaces permitted the three horses of a
chariot, harnessed abreast, to pass freely. Moreover, since the two wheels of
the chariot were in line with the near and off-side horses, these wheels
followed through these particular gaps - and in these gaps were deep ruts
worn in the stone by the passage through the years of countless chariots. It
was a very impressive sight.
We returned from Naples to Gibraltar as we had come to Genoa, in a
passenger steamer of the Lloyd Triestino line, and we had been back only a
short while, when my father received orders to proceed to Burma, there to
take over the appointment of Commanding Royal Artillery, Rangoon
Defences.
 X
A voyage to the East in those days necessitated considerably more
special preparations than is the case today. It took far longer, accommodation
on board was more restricted, and the cabins had no electric fans or other
means of keeping the air moving. Lighting was by candle in the cabins - they
were in spring holders with small glass globes, and swung in gimbals with
the rolling of the ship - and lamps burning colza oil elsewhere. A
considerable stock of thin clothing was essential, there being no laundry on
board. Since there was no such thing as cold storage, soon after leaving port
only salt beer and pork was to be had, of bully beer, the only edible excepting
butter and jam then obtainable in tins. There was no bakery, so when the
stock of bread ran out, the only alternative was ship's biscuit, usually full of
weevil. After the first couple of days at sea, tinned condensed milk only could
be had, and in those days a thoroughly nasty substitute it was. Fresh water
was strictly rationed, the allowance for washing, contained in one small tin
ewer in each cabin, being quite inadequate, while for baths only salt water
was available, and for this reason we had to provide ourselves with a special
sort of soap that would lather in salt water.
The dogcart and horses were sold, with the exception of Norah; she
was to accompany us, being entitled to conveyance at public expense as my
father's charger. The first part of the voyage was only as far as Malta, where
we were to join a troopship from England en route for Bombay. I do not
recollect the name of the one in which we travelled from Gibraltar to Malta.
All that I can remember is that she seemed to be packed full of troops. It was
an uneventful voyage. I was too old for the nursery, and in a three-berth cabin
with my parents. I took my meals with them at the Captain's table, and
although I consider that my behaviour was all that it should be, he was an
elderly man of the old school, a great stickler in all matters affecting the
customs of the service - all troopships in those days were Royal Naval vessels
- and it was quite evident that he heartily disapproved of my presence at his
table. However, the voyage fortunately did not last long and nothing
untoward happened.
When we reached Malta and disembarked at Valetta, it was to learn
that we would have to be there for several days, and we went to a small hotel.
Our stay was quite uneventful - I came to the conclusion that Malta was very
like Gibraltar in many ways. In due course Her Majesty's Troopship
“Himalaya" arrived, and we embarked in her, to find that my father was
allotted to a cabin with another senior officer, my mother to another with a
couple of other ladies, while I, being over-age for the nursery, was to share a
third with two army Captains!
It was late in the afternoon when the ship sailed to the usual
accompaniment of a band on the jetty and much cheering, and it was not long
before the dinner bugle sounded and we proceeded to the saloon. My parents
were at the Captain’s table and I was shown to another some distance away. It
soon became evident that it was one allotted to all the most junior subalterns.
There were no separate small tables in ships' saloons in those days. Each long
table accommodated about two dozen passengers. I think they were sorry for
my obvious nervousness on that first night and left me alone, but this display
of consideration for my feelings was not destined to last through the voyage,
as I soon found to my cost.
I went to bed in an upper berth long before the two officers whose
cabin I was sharing came down to turn in. The noise they made woke me up,
and it was to find that I was feeling horribly ill. I had always been such a
good sailor. I fancy it must have been due to something I had eaten at dinner.
I was much too shy to say anything - until it was too late. The outcome was
that two highly indignant army captains registered a strong complaint with the
appropriate authority next morning, and in due course I was informed by my
parents that, in future, I was to be accommodated at night in a sling cot, in a
space below decks and in the stern of the ship along with several junior
subalterns accommodated in like manner. This particular space was known as
Pandemonium, and it could not have had a more appropriate name, as I soon
was to learn.
A sling cot is a sort of shallow tray of canvas, the bottom stiffened
with a wooden frame, containing a mattress and made-up bed, the whole slung
like a hammock. A favourite pastime of some of my companions was to untie
the lashing at one end - always the head end - and allow it to drop, upon
which the sleeping occupant somersaulted backwards onto the deck with the
mattress and bedding on top of him. I must say in common fairness that I was
not the only victim. The trick was repeated often during the voyage but never
again on me. I was then able to sit up and laugh with the others. Pillow fights
were another frequent diversion.
On another occasion I woke with something being pushed into my
mouth. I had been sleeping on my back - about the only comfortable position
in a sling cot - and, I was told, snoring loudly. The exceedingly nasty taste
was that of soap. But that night at dinner large glass of lemonade was brought
to me by the waiter. It was from the subaltern who had put the soap in my
mouth. I looked along the row to nod my thanks - then, looking at the glass, I
saw a red streak descending in the lemonade. Realising that the trick had
failed, the culprit sitting next to me, who had hoped that I would not have
noticed him squirting some cayenne pepper sauce into my glass, had it taken
away and a fresh lemonade brought for me. They turned out to be a very
decent lot and we got on very well together, but I always had to be on the
lookout!
The Royal Toast was drunk every night at the end of dinner, and I was
always given a little port in a wineglass so that I could do the correct thing.
Then Grace followed. The naval officer at the end of the table stood up,
everyone did likewise, he said “Thank God!”, everyone then sat down and
tackled the nuts and more port. It was on such an occasion that one of my
subaltern friends showed me how you could crack a Brazil nut by putting it on
the table with one finger on top, and then hitting the flinger with the clenched
fist. I was told how easy it was and induced to try. Needless to say the nut
survived, and it was my finger that suffered.
I spent much of my time between meals during the day, pottering
round the ship, after a daily visit to see Norah, nibbling her corn in one of a
row of horseboxes on the forward well deck. The head cook was responsible
for the care of a number of pets for which accommodation was also provided
on the fore-deck - dogs and cats, and there were several canaries and other
birds. I learnt quite a lot about the engines and saw the stokers shovelling
coal into the furnaces in the boiler room. The steering gear and the mysteries
of the compass were explained to me. A ship’s quartermaster showed me how
to knot and splice. For tours of the troop decks at the dinner hour and at night
when the men were in their hammocks, slung so close together that one had to
pass under them at times, I had to thank one of other of the young subalterns
with whom I shared Pandemonium and whose turn it was to be Military
Officer of the Watch for a spell of twenty-four hours.
I do not recollect what an average days run amounted to. The ship
seemed to wallow along and I doubt if it made ten knots. There were no
mechanical logs in those days. From time to time a small party of the ship’s
crew went to the stern with a big reel of line 'at the end of which was a small
triangular piece of board. This was attached to the line by three short lengths
of cord, one at each corner, two of them fixed and the third having at its end a
small bone plug which fitted tightly into the third hole in the board, which had
a leaden weight let into its rounded edge between the two fixed cords. The
line was marked at intervals with strips of bunting, the first strip at some
distance to the board, and those that followed, spaced at regular intervals of
47 feet, each with as many knots in it as it was distant from the first strip.
Two men held handles at the ends of the axle upon which the reel
could rotate. A third fitted the bone pin into the board and threw it over the
stern of the ship, where it floated in an upright position a little below the
surface and remained in approximately the same position while the line was
being allowed to run out freely. A fourth man held a sand-glass and watched
for the first mark on the line to pass him, whereupon he turned the glass to
permit the sand to start running out. It took 28 seconds to do so, and as the
last grain of sand ran through, he called out "Stop!". The man who had
thrown the log overboard and was now standing by, then gripped the line and
checked it, whereupon the bone pin was pulled out of its hole and the board
ceased offering resistance to being dragged along. An examination of the line
which was then reeled in showed how many lengths of 47 feet each had run
out, as shown by the number of knots in the last strip of bunting out, and this
number indicated the approximate distance run in nautical miles per hour.
When the direction of the wind happened to be favourable, a large
triangular sail was hoisted on the foremast. It was held that this not only
improved the days run but also somewhat reduced rolling. It seemed very
doubtful that only one such sail in a ship of considerable tonnage is likely to
have had any really appreciable effect either way. I am inclined to think the
reason for its hoisting may have been due more to sentimental than practical
reasons. Senior members of the navy, who had been brought up in sail, found
it difficult to accustom themselves to the new mode of propulsion by steam.
 XI
We anchored in Port Said harbour soon after breakfast one morning.
In those days it, was only a small settlement backed by an Arab village, with a
few buildings erected comparatively recently by the Suez Canal Company in
the foreground. It was a place with a very bad reputation to which the scum
of Europe had been attracted by the prospect of gain likely to result from the
opening of this most vital waterway. Even in daylight it was considered
dangerous to go ashore alone unarmed, while at night it had a world-wide
reputation as a hotbed of depravity. Needless to say, some or our young
bloods did go ashore that night, and from the little I could gather from what
they told me, which did not amount to much, they must have had a pretty
hectic time.
We remained there until the following day. The local populace put
on much the same sideshows as they now do - diving from small boats for
coins thrown into the water - a boatload of musicians who played and sang,
high diving from the ship, and so on. But my young subaltern friends soon
tired off all this. Even the conjurer who came aboard and produced fire from
his mouth and small chicks seemingly from nowhere palled after a time. So
one of them went below and returned with an air rifle.
What was considered to be a suitable target soon appeared - a couple
of Arabs in a small boat, attired in nothing but their waistcloths, who were
standing by to release the ship's cables from a mooring buoy. At such a
distance, a leaden slug from an air rifle seldom draws blood, but it does sting,
as was evident from the antics of the first man upon whom a hit was
registered. Seizing a small sack, he crouched behind it in the bottom of the
boat. Fire was now directed upon the other man, who leaped up and grabbed
the sack. It became apparent that they had only one sack in the boat, and
there followed a tussle between them as to who was to have the sack, which
was not large enough to provide cover for both. While this went on, fire was
concentrated upon whatever vulnerable target presented itself. By then the
general hilarity, not only on the upper deck but also on the troop-deck below,
had risen to such a pitch as to bring a senior naval officer on the scene and the
rifle practice had to be discontinued.
We got away that afternoon, but since at that time no ship was
allowed to move at night, it was not long before we had to stop and tie up. It
must be borne in mind that I am writing of the days when the Canal had been
completed only a comparatively few years earlier. It still was no more than a
big ditch dug in the sand, considerably narrower than at present, and without
any of the stone revetting of the banks. Consequently progress had to be very
slow to reduce the wash of the ship, which caused sand to be dislodged from
the banks with the result that the depth was reduced, and grounding of vessels
was by no means unusual. We took several days passing through, about
which the only thing I can remember is the great heat, and this remark applies
not only to the passage through the Canal but also to several days in the Red
Sea, a short stop at Aden, and finally across the Indian Ocean to Bombay.
There were no fans and no ice in those days. Punkahs did no more than stir
the hot, humid and stale air in the saloon. Elsewhere, there were windscoops
that did little more. The quarterdeck, was not large enough to accommodate
at night more than a few of the seniors, and the ladies on board.
Pandemonium was almost unbearable and sleep, when it did come was
unrefreshing. The atmosphere on the troop decks indescribable. There were
several burials at sea, a solemn and moving ceremony that I will not attempt
to describe.
All we could do was to lie about on deck, perspiring. The troops
were far worse off, since it was a crowded ship and the deck space allotted to
them was sufficient only for a small proportion to be on deck at one time.
They were divided into batches, each coming up in turn for a brief spell from
the fetid, air below. The sea was smooth as glass, the surface broken only
from time to time by schools of porpoises and innumerable flying fish. At
night, the wake of the ship glowed phosphorescently.
One day in the Arabian Sea, this deadly monotony was broken by the
appearance of an Arab dhow flying a signal of distress. Our engines stopped
and a boat from the dhow drew alongside, manned by a crew of emaciated
Arabs. The dhow had been driven off its course by a gale and ran out of fresh
water. There was a row of water butts in the boat, which were speedily
refilled from our tanks by means of a hose, and a pathetic sight it was to see
the men mopping up some water that had spilled in the process with bits of
rag and sucking them. An old chart was handed up, upon which a naval
officer marked their position. Possessing no instruments other than a
compass, their mode of navigation was by dead reckoning and the gale had
blown them far off their course.
As the coast of India drew nearer, preparations for landing had to be
made and there was renewed activity on board. We knew that our destination
was Rangoon, but the units and drafts on board would be proceeding to the
Rest Camp at Colaba, or to Deolali, there to receive their posting orders. The
ship's crew cleared away the winches, fatigue parties of troops brought the
light baggage on deck, officers and their wives packed ready for the landing.
At last Colaba Light Lighthouse hove in sight, a pilot boat came out to meet
us, the pilot came aboard up a rope ladder, and we entered Bombay Harbour
and dropped anchor in midstream.
 XII
Bombay, seen in those days now sixty-five years ago, would have
been quite unrecognisable to anyone of a later generation than mine. Where
fine modern buildings of several stories, including the imposing Taj Mahal
Hotel, now stand behind a substantial sea wall, there was only a row of
scattered bungalows and the flat land sloped gently to the water's edge, upon
the muddy shores of which lay native craft varying in size and appearance
from small rowing boats to dhows. Where the Gateway of India is now to be
seen, a small, lattice-steel pier similar to those in many of the lesser English
watering places, projected into the sea with a pagoda-like building at its end
that housed Green's Oyster Bar. Immediately beyond this was the Bombay
Yacht Club, not as yet honoured with the prefix of Royal, a bungalow of
modest proportions and without the fine sea wall and terrace. It was indeed a
very different panorama that met the eye.
The wearisome business of disembarkation over, my parents booked
rooms at a small hotel long since defunct, in the Hornby Road. It was a long
double-storied building with a broad front verandah on both floors; we had
our meals in the ground-floor verandah. The following few days were
occupied with engaging servants - my father's Bearer (valet), an Ayah (maid)
for my mother, and a Syce (groom) for Norah - and shopping. There were
khaki and white uniform suits to be made for my father at Cheap Jack's, a
native tailoring firm, and we went to Badham, Pile & Company for other
things. Treacher and Company, a general store, was another establishment
visited.
In those days and for long afterwards, social calls had to be made
between twelve noon and two o'clock in the afternoon. This did not interfere
with the midday meal as might be supposed. The first meal of the day was
chota hazri (little breakfast) - tea, toast, butter and marmalade with some fruit,
on rising at an early hour. Tiffin took the place of lunch, but was at eleven.
Afternoon tea in one's room followed a period of rest during the hottest part of
the day, and dinner was not until half-past eight or even later.
One of the few calls my parents made was up Malabar Hill, the
fashionable residential area of Bombay, where Mr. Justice Orr, a Judge of the
High Court and a widower, lived with his unmarried daughters in a large
bungalow surrounded by a fine garden. The particular reason for this call
was that one of these daughters was engaged to be married to a cousin of ours,
Lieutenant-Colonel Pelham von Donop, Royal Engineers, an officer on the
staff of Army Headquarters, India and Burma. A few nights later we dined at
the house.
The first part of the dusty road ran round the bay and not far from the
sea. It was the fashion in those days for both Europeans and prosperous
Indians to "take the air” in the cool of the afternoon, by a drive along this
road. Conveyances of all sorts were to be seen. We were in a landau behind
a pair of horses driven by a venerable Hindu with a long white beard and
wearing a long scarlet coat and white pagri (better known by the Mahomedan
equivalent of turban). Two horse-holders similarly attired stood on steps at
the back, armed with chowries - thick tails of horsehair fastened to short
handles and used to drive off flies when these men got down and held the
horses during the stop for a breather at the end of the road.
The tikka ghari a sort of box on four wheels with windows having
wooden venetian shutters instead of glass and the driver on a perch high up in
front, as often as not had all the shutters closed, indicating that the occupants
of these strange vehicles, of which there were many to be seen, were
Mahomedan purdah women out for an airing. But what impressed me most
was the shigram, rarely seen nowadays and never in Bombay. It consisted of
an oblong wooden frame across which a strong netting or rope was stretched,
and upon this a mattress and cushions were placed, all with covers of snowy
white. This contraption was supported upon two grotesquely small wheels,
and to the centre pole were yoked two diminutive, all-white, fast-trotting
bullocks - lovely little creatures in perfect condition, rare and much prized by
their wealthy owners. All the visible woodwork of the shigram was painted
in bright colours with intricate oriental designs.
The shigram is a type of conveyance peculiar to the Indian State
Marwar, and the occupants of those we saw in Bombay, were Marwaris -
almost invariably bankers or moneylenders, the curse of India, whose peasant
classes from time immemorial have mortgaged their crops in advance, at
exorbitant rates of interest, for loans needed to meet the cost of extravagant
marriage feasts or the dowries of daughters. The two or three we saw taking
their ease in each shigram on the Bombay road, sat cross-legged or reclined
on their mattress and cushions. They wore long white coats of fine linen and
the head-dress was distinctive - flat and quoit-like, composed of narrow bands
of red material tightly wound in a neat criss-cross pattern, the edge of this
head-dress finished of with a narrow band of gold lace.
Our first visit to Green's Oyster Bar was upon our return from this
drive, to partake of the customary snack of oysters and stout. My reader may
by now be wondering how it was that my father, destined to take up an
appointment in Rangoon, was able to stop for so long in Bombay. The
explanation was that notwithstanding the fact that since the extension of
railway communication in India, long journeys by road had become the
exception instead of the general rule, Army Regulations had not yet been
amended in this respect, and it was still permissible to reckon “joining time”
needed to complete a journey from one place to another upon the basis of
movement by road, plus a day's rest at not infrequent intervals - a month or so
in all perhaps, whereas maybe the time had come when the journey could be
completed in a few days!
Consequently my parents were able to decide upon a coastal trip via
Ceylon to Madras and thence to Rangoon, in a vessel of the British India
Steam Navigation Company. Travelling allowance to Madras by rail and
thence to Rangoon by sea for my father, mother and myself, with three
personal servants and a liberal allowance for baggage, including saddlery,
stable gear and camp equipage, and for my father’s charger, upon the
permanent duty scale, was generous in those days, and may well have covered
the cost of the round trip by sea.
We left the Apollo Bunder, a small jetty adjoining the Yacht Club,
since improved beyond all recognition and backed by the Gateway of India,
and proceeded with other passengers in a large launch to board our ship in
midstream. The lunch to which we sat down in the saloon was much the
same as the tiffin to which we had by then grown accustomed. Goanese
waiters served the meal and the punkah was pulled by a lascar.
Our first stop a couple of days later was at Mangalore in Mysore
State. The anchor was dropped off-shore and a crowd of small native craft
soon surrounded the ship, some of them loaded with what appeared to be
cocoanuts and fresh fruit. A few native passengers came aboard and a few
left. All these were deck passengers, of which the ship carried a considerable
number. We also took on some cargo. We stayed here for a few hours only
before proceeding on our way to Colombo, the next port at which the ship was
due to call. Landing there we drove several miles through cocoanut palm
groves to a seaside hotel where we had a lovely lunch; this was at Mount
Lavinia. None of the big hotels at Colombo had been built then, and the town
seemed quite small.
Our next stop after Colombo was at Negapatam in the Madras
Presidency. All we could see of this place from the Ship's anchorage was of a
few native huts amid a forest of cocoanut palms, all upon a coast so low and
flat that it looked as though these were growing out of the sea. The native
boats that came out were much more interesting than at Mangalore. All along
this eastern coast of the Madras Presidency, which stretches to the north for
over a thousand miles, the catamaran was to be seen. This is a long, narrow
canoe, constructed of numerous narrow planks literally stitched together with
the strands of a tough creeper, across which two light poles were lashed fore
and aft of the central space in which the crew of at most two men is
accommodated. These poles projected some ten feet to one side only, and
their ends were similarly lashed to a long, solid piece of wood with canoe-
shaped ends. The stability thus given to this apparently somewhat crazy type
of craft by this outrigger float, made it possible for a mast and small sail to be
added in the boat. Steering, and propulsion when the wind dropped of was
unfavourable, was effected by the use of a paddle.
When we did eventually reach Madras, it was to find that we had to
be landed in surf boats as there was at that time no harbour for ships. Great
waves beat incessantly upon the shore here and the landing was quite exciting.
Surf boats, in design very similar to those in use on the bathing beaches of
Australia, were constructed upon the same plan as the catamaran, of planks
stitched together, but the stitching was of raw hide. These boats were canoe-
shaped at both ends and broad for their length; they were rowed by eight or
ten men seated in pairs, each to one oar, and steered with an oar by another
standing in the stern. All went smoothly until we got close to the shore and
had to get through the very heavy swell and the great breakers. Our boat rose
and fell, dipped, plunged and climbed. Nothing but the experience and skill
of the crew, and in particular of the steersman, could have got us through, well
drenched with spray. No sooner had the boat touched bottom, out leapt every
rower, intent upon dragging us up the shore before the next wave threatened
to suck us back.
Madras can be regarded as the birthplace of the East India Company.
It was here that some of the earliest British adventurers established
themselves and built Fort St. George. Madras was the base from which
operations against our competitors, the French with their headquarters at
Pondicherry, were directed. In the course of time, trade prospered
exceedingly, and the servants of the Company settled down in fine, large
bungalows surrounded by spacious gardens. Nowhere in India are there finer
private residences, and spaciousness is the outstanding feature of Madras to
this day. Since the climate is humid all the year round and there is little
difference in the temperature throughout the year, all the buildings have large
and lofty rooms, and venetian shutters are to be seen everywhere - glazed
windows are the exception rather than the rule.
One would have to go far to find anything in India that excelled the
luxurious comfort of the Madras Club, its epicurean meals, or its well-stocked
cellars. But the climate is so enervating, common sense suggested that
Europeans who had to live here for years on end should do all that was
practicable to make life as bearable as possible. One of the most important
things done by the early settlers was to establish what in many ways is the
most pleasant hill station in all India - Ootacamund, situated upon rolling
downs high up in the Eastern Ghats - a lovely place, where one can live in a
climate, and in surroundings, more European than Asian. It is, I believe, the
only hill station where one can ride far and wide across country and hunt the
jackal, or jack as it is commonly called, the eastern equivalent of the fox, with
the Ooty Hounds.
Our return to the ship was very similar to our landing, but in reverse.
Getting away from the shore through the great breakers was quite a thrilling-
experience, but having done so with nothing worse than a wetting, we reached
the ship in comparatively calm water and embarked without incident. Some
deck passengers had long since come aboard, others had been landed, cargo
had been unloaded into surf boats and other cargo shipped. All this activity
was over when we arrived and the crew was busy tidying up and preparing for
our departure.
The few remaining days of our voyage to Rangoon were quite
uneventful but most unpleasant. The atmosphere was similar to that of a
Turkish bath. It was quite impossible to feel comfortable and we had our first
experience of prickly heat, an exceedingly irritating rash caused by excessive
perspiration that inflames the pores of the skin. In anticipation of the
likelihood of becoming inflicted with this complaint, “scratch-backs" had
been purchased in Madras. These are little hands carved from bone or ivory,
the fingers with nails protruding suitably arched and attached to handles of
similar material of a length permitting the middle of the back to be reached
with reasonable ease by thrusting this instrument down inside one's shirt or
other garment. Having reached the centre of disturbance, the business end is
then operated by remote control.
Since the foregoing was written, I am reminded that a close family
association existed with Madras. George Hardinge, my father’s eldest
brother, who had entered the Madras Civil Service and later married Venetia
Tillotson, a descendant of the Archbishop of that name, died here in 1869.
William, a younger brother of George, was also in the Madras Civil Service
and held the appointment of Deputy Commissioner of Madras when my father
first reached India in 1858.
 XIII
Rangoon is situated at the end of an arm of the Gulf of Martaban that
penetrates the low-lying land midway between the mouths of the Irrawaddy
and Sittang Rivers to a distance of some fifty miles. At this point the broad
waterway divides into two branches and the extremity of the spit of land
between, upon which the city of Rangoon stands, is known as Monkey Point.
My first impression as we drew near to the port was of the magnificent sight
presented by the Shwe Dagon Pagoda which, rising majestically above the
city from the higher ground behind, blazed in the sunlight. This great
Buddhist shrine, its immense bulk coated with gold leaf and topped by a
crown-like ornament encrusted with precious stones, is a sight never to be
forgotten. Around it cluster innumerable smaller pagodas and grotesque
figures of dragons and other mythical creatures, fashioned in plaster and gaily
coloured.
Disembarking at Rangoon was a much simpler operation than at
Bombay. Our ship went alongside a substantial wharf and tied up. We
remained on board until the horsebox containing Norah, which had stood on
the fore-deck during the voyage, had been hoisted out. Our baggage was
handled on the jetty by Indian coolies. Practically all the manual labour of
Burma was performed by Indians or Chinese.
The Burmese, both men and women, always seemed such a happy lot.
Both sexes dressed in much the same costume - a sarong, of loincloth, of
brightly-coloured silk, a white linen jacket to the waistline having frogs of
white cord in place of buttons, and a bright silk kerchief as a head-dress. All
were short in stature, smoked huge green cigars irrespective of sex, and
seemed to regard life as one big joke. A very noticeable feature about the
men is that no hair grows on their faces - a moustache or beard is never seen.
The younger women are for the most part tiny, beautiful, and very dainty.
The men seemed always to be just hanging about while their "better halves" -
as undoubtedly they were - ran the businesses. In fact, they ran the country,
since in Burma it is the women that take precedence everywhere and in all
respects.
Thousands of coolies crossed from Madras to work in the fields and
factories, and the domestic servants of the European population were almost
entirely Indian. Carpenters and mechanics were almost invariably Chinese.
The police force was manned by Sikhs from the Punjab. With the exception
of a few large European establishments, the shops were for the most part in
the hands of Indians, largely Parsis from Bombay, or the Chinese.
Having disembarked our belongings and installed ourselves in a hotel
somewhere in the town, and my father having reported his arrival, taken over
his appointment, and made the customary courtesy calls in company with my
mother, my parents started to look round for a suitable residence. I was left
to amuse myself on these occasions, and it did not take me long to explore the
hotel from top to bottom and make friends with the staff. In the course of my
investigations I discovered that the hotel electric bells were not functioning,
and since my interest in my father's technical books had taught me how
electric bells worked, and realising, young though I might be, that to establish
good relations with the management might be to my advantage, I offered to
get them working again.
It may be thought that it was a rash, undertaking on my part, but
before making my offer I had taken the precaution of having a good look at
the installation. The battery was on a shelf in the pantry, and having already
made friends in that department, I had no difficulty in discovering that the sal-
ammoniac solution in the Leclanché cells to which the bell was connected,
had dried up, and the zincs were eaten away. Having sent the manager out to
buy fresh zincs and some sal-ammoniac, I disconnected the battery and gave
one of the pantry boys the job of cleaning it out. All that remained for me to
do was to await the manager's return, apportion the sal-ammoniac equally
between the cells, add water, insert the porous pots and the new zincs, connect
them up - and the bells worked again. Everyone was very pleased, and the
manager stood me a shandy.
Meanwhile my parents had seen and decided to rent a large bungalow
in a correspondingly large compound - as gardens are called out East - on the
outskirts of the military station, or cantonment, on a hill above the town and
quite close to the Signal Pagoda. This bungalow until recently had been a
“chummery” shared by a few young English business men, and had come to
be known in Rangoon as The Marquis of Granby on account of the lavish
hospitality in the way of free drinks that they extended to their friends, who
were numerous. Bungalows in Lower Burma were invariably built of teak
upon piles, the floor being at least six feet above ground level, and roofed
with shingles of the same wood. It is a country, in the coastal districts in
particular, with a very humid climate. Ground mists are very common, and it
is to escape these mists which are unhealthy and malarial that all dwellings
are raised thus above ground level. Also, throughout Lower Burma there are
large areas where the land is so low-lying and water-logged, flooding is
frequent and it is essential to raise dwellings thus. But the bungalow we were
to occupy was unique in this respect. Only the front portion was supported
on piles, the main building being firmly established upon the flattened base of
what had been a small Burmese pagoda. It was on steeply sloping ground,
and at the back, the concrete floor was level with it.
It was some days before my parents had either bought, or hired, the
essential furniture and household necessities and had them installed, and we
were able to move in arid get unpacked. Servants had to be engaged - a
butler, khitmatgar (waiter), cook and kitchen boy, paniwallah (water carrier),
mehtarani (female sweeper), pantry boy, mali (gardener) and a coolie
(labourer) to assist him. Then a buggy and horse were bought, and this meant
another syce, and there had to be a grass-cutter to cut fresh grass to
supplement the forage. My parents already had their personal servants, my
father’s bearer, or valet, and my mother's, ayah, or maid. The khitmatgar had
to be my valet in addition to his other duties. In those days the most highly-
paid servant, a butler, received only twelve to fifteen rupees a month, and the
least, a coolie, seven rupees only. The exchange value of the rupee at that
time was 1s/4d, so the cost of such a staff was not as heavy as might have
been expected. It may seem that these low salaries involved sweated labour,
but that was far from being the case. The cost of living for Indians was so
low at that time, Indian servants were quite content with such salaries, and
doubtless were better off then than they now are upon rates of pay greatly in
excess of those then customary.
I have stated that the main part of this bungalow rested upon the base
or the old pagoda and only the front portion on piles, but strictly speaking this
was not so. Later on it became evident that when first erected, the entire
building had been supported in the orthodox manner upon piles above the flat
base of the demolished pagoda which presumably had been levelled. But at
some later date two large rooms had been added, one to each side of a central
space, built of brick between the concrete floor below and the boarded floor of
the room above, and the piles that previously had supported the building on
these two sides could be seen embedded in the brickwork. At the back of
each of these two ground-floor rooms there was a much smaller room, with a
connecting door between.
The building was entered by way of a flight of steps up the front of
the old pagoda base. A teakwood stairway on the left led to the upstair front
verandah. The open space between the downstair rooms was at the back level
with the rising ground, and behind again was the kitchen, and away to the
right, the servants' quarters and the stables. The downstair room to the left
became our tiffin room with the pantry behind. That opposite was allotted to
me as a play and work room. The small room behind was the lamp room,
since lighting throughout the building was by oil lamps.
A broad verandah upstairs that extended the entire length of the
building and out over the carriage-way beneath, became a drawing room and
lounge, and the central room behind it, the dining room. Another large room
to the left of the dining room was my parents' bedroom. The small room
behind it was mine, and at the back of this was a bathroom. An exactly
similar suite of rooms to the right of the centre room was similarly furnished;
when not occupied by guests, my father used these rooms, the front one as a
study, and I shared his bathroom. Between the two bathrooms at the back
there was a verandah, which had in it two large almirahs (cupboards), one for
dining room china and glass, and the other, of which my mother kept the key,
for tinned and other stores, wines and spirits. A stairway descended to a point
near the pantry below. There were tables for service and a "hot case”.
 The author, aged 11 years.
A hot case was to be found in every European household throughout
India and Burma. It looked like a packing case stood on end, with the lid
hinged so as to convert it into a cupboard. The inside was lined throughout
with tin and there were several iron gratings one above another, serving as
shelves. In the bottom stood, a brazier filled with glowing charcoal before a
meal. Dishes brought from the kitchen, and plates, were kept hot in this
manner until wanted. Toast was made on a small grating that was placed on
top of the brazier.
Having installed ourselves, my parents had to make several rounds of
social calls. The residential part of Rangoon was extensive and the
bungalows were widely scattered and in spacious compounds. They also had
to become members of the Rangoon Gymkhana Club, the Rangoon Boat
Club, and the Rangoon Turf Club. In addition it behoved my father to get
himself put up for the membership of the Pegu Club, an exclusive men's club.
In those far-off days, the etiquette of calling had to be strictly
followed. Newcomers had to call on residents, who were bound to return the
compliment within a week - but if returned sooner than was customary it was
intended to be taken as a rebuff. These first calls had to be made between
twelve noon and two o'clock in the afternoon, and far more often than not it
was to find a small box with a slit in the top and “Not At Home" painted on
the front, hanging on a nail at the front gate. In such case the appropriate
assortment of visiting cards according to the number and status both of the
callers and the called upon was inserted in the box, and the deed was done. A
few of the more sociably-disposed people did not always have their boxes out,
in which case you went in and met them. Of course my parents had already
purchased such a box, and it was hanging on the gatepost as we were going
our rounds.
Meanwhile, after considerable discussion and local enquiries, an
arrangement was made by my parents with one of the young English tutors at
the Rangoon University to come to the house for a couple of hours daily with
a view to my education being continued. He had away with him or making
subject I hitherto had loathed, quite interesting, and as the substantial amount
of homework he always left me to do never failed to have an obviously
practical use, we got on very well together and I made some real progress.
It was about this time that my parents commenced giving me riding
lessons. We used to ride out after tea, my father on the horse that had been
bought with the buggy, my mother on Norah, and I on a pony that must have
been borrowed from a friend, of perhaps - as was not unusual at that time -
was being looked after in our stables while the owner was on leave. We rode
past the British Infantry lines at the back of the Signal Pagoda and some
distance into the country, to the Lakes, where the Boat Club was located. A
track had been cut through the tropical jungle, round the Lakes, and it was on
this track that I was taught my seat on a horse, how to hold my reins and ride
on the snaffle as a rule, bringing the curb into play only when essential. I
soon mastered the art of rising in my stirrups then trotting, and the rest
followed quickly. Before we left Rangoon I frequently rode Norah round the
Lakes, accompanied only by a running syce, who was often hard put to it to
keep up with me.
Most evenings I used to accompany my parents to the Gymkhana
Club. There was always something to watch - polo, or the end of a cricket
match, or tennis - and within the building, where there was a ballroom and a
library, there was also a small shooting gallery for air rifles, and I was never
so happy as when I could get in there alone and fire darts at the target to my
heart's content.
But a bad time was coming to me, though I did not know it then. I
think it was soon after the break of the monsoon, when it seemed to rain
incessantly and everything got the damp into it, when I went down with a
severe attack of dysentery. For many weeks I was not allowed any solid food
and losing weight continually until I was little more than a skeleton. In those
days emmetine had not been discovered, and the treatment consisted of
frequent small doses of castor oil and a diet of nothing but milk and soda
water.
 The author with his father and mother in fancy dress, Rangoon, 1889.
A few weeks of this treatment resulted in my becoming so thin and
weak, my parents decided that as it was not having the desired result, they
would take upon themselves the responsibility of modifying it. As may be
remembered, my mother had undergone a course of training while at Gibraltar
by the St. John of Jerusalem Ambulance Association and had qualified for
their certificate. Much to my relief the castor oil was discontinued and my
diet was supplemented by a midday meal consisting at first of a minute
portion of a puree made of chicken mashed to a pulp with pestle and mortar,
and made into an exceedingly nice dish with milk, butter and seasoning. This
she herself cooked upon a small oil stove purchased for the purpose.
Meanwhile a small tent was pitched on the lawn a short distance from
the bungalow and under the shade of a tree, and here for some weeks I spent
my days. Regular lessons had been discontinued but as the result of what,
looking back to those days, I now realise was nothing less than a stroke of
genius, my parents bought and presented me with a large, polished mahogany
box having a lock and key, which they bad come across in a local European
store. It was a Statham's Chemistry Cabinet, a high-class article containing a
liberal assortment of chemical apparatus, and in racks round the back and
sides and in an upper tray, bottles and boxes filled with chemicals. With this
was included a book on inorganic chemistry in which many experiments were
fully explained. I was delighted and settled down forthwith to the intensive
study of chemistry and a full series of experiments with the help of this
equipment.
 I became very interested in these studies and experiments and believe
that the restful period that followed, my mind absorbed with this fresh
interest, went far to help me to get better, as I did steadily from that moment.
In fact it was not many weeks later that I took part as a page in some
“Tableaux Vivants” of episodes in the reign of Louis XIV of France, staged by
amateurs at the Rangoon Gymkhana.
During the dry season that meanwhile had followed the monsoon, a
popular recreation among officers of the garrison, both military and civil, and
their wives and daughters, were the paper chases. A cross-country course
having been chosen, artificial jumps were erected at intervals where natural
obstacles were lacking, and it was customary to have the last jump in the
compound of some individual who wished to extend hospitality thus by
sending out invitations to a Paper Chase Finish. If the residence was not
large enough to accommodate such a gathering, one of more shamianas (the
eastern equivalent of a marquee) were erected on the lawns.
In due course it came round to my parents' turn, and a fine show it
was, with crowds of people and a regimental band. When the guests had left,
I discovered that there was quite a lot of ice-cream both strawberry and
vanilla, left over in the large containers surrounded with crushed ice, so I got
hold of a soup-plate and spoon and had a large plateful of each variety. No
doubt it was very foolish of me, especially as it was not so long since I had
recovered from serious tummy trouble, but I was still young and had much to
learn from experience. This I certainly did soon afterwards. I was horribly
ill, but having owned up to the cause, my mother's drastic action saved me
from what she feared might have been a return of the dysentery.
I have omitted to mention another thing my parents did during the
course of my serious illness, which I am quite sure had a lasting effect upon
me. It was to order for me a regular delivery of the periodical entitled "The
Boys’ Own Paper", which at that time published good serial stories, many
based upon outstanding events in the history of the British Empire, and simple
technical articles about electricity, carpentering, engines, photography, and
what not. But what interested me as much as any of this varied fare was a
series of articles by Dr. Gordon Stables upon bodily hygiene - cold baths in
the morning, physical exercises, fresh air, diet, and so on. I am quite certain
that the thorough manner in which I began to observe these rules and,
moreover, kept them up as far as circumstances permitted throughout the rest
of our residence in the East and thereafter, accounts in no small measure for
the steady improvement in my general health, and ultimately in my passing
without difficulty the medical examination qualifying me for entry into the
army.
It was during this same cold weather that, among guests who from
time to time came to stay with us, were our cousin Pelham von Donop and his
wife, and Sir Mortimer and Lady Durand. Pelham was at that time Inspector
of Submarine Mines in India and on a tour of inspection. Sir Mortimer
became famous by reason of his delineation of the Durand Line. Lady
Durand was one of the most beautiful women of her day.
 One afternoon we drove out to Monkey Point in a hired landau and
pair, passing through an area of Rangoon inhabitated for the most part by
Chinese, of whom several thousands were employed, mostly as artisans,
throughout the district. My father explained that what we saw was like a
little bit of China with its temples and shrines. But what interested me most
were the great timber yards towards the extremity of Monkey point. Here
great logs of teakwood which had been floated down the river in rafts from
the distant forests were brought ashore, and numbers of elephants dragged
them to the timber yards and there stacked them side by side and layer upon
layer, each layer at right angles to that below it. It was a wonderful sight to
see an elephant, apparently of its own accord and without any act by the
mahout seated on its back, carefully arranging the logs so that they should be
in line and parallel to one another - and, it would appear, taking a last glance
at what it had done, and if not satisfied, going back to remedy matters.
It was the custom in those days for any but the smallest place in India
or Burma where there were British troops, to have its annual "Week". This
was a period, lasting for ten days or more in most cases, during which there
was an almost non-stop round of sports, entertainments, and gaiety of every
description. Moulmein was a small port situated near the mouth of the
Salween River where it flowed into the Gulf of Martaban, and only a few
hours run from Rangoon in a flat-bottomed paddle-steamer of the Irrawaddy
Flotilla Company. My parents, were included in the invitation extended to
residents of Rangoon to attend the Fancy Dress Ball that brought the
Moulmein Week to a close, and they made up a small party in which I was
included, sufficient to justify the charter of one of these vessels for the
outward and homeward trips with the intention of taking advantage of the
cabin accommodation on board for such portion of the night of the ball as
might remain when it came to an end.
I well remember that night. The ballroom and anterooms were
packed, there were some very fine fancy dresses, and it was quite evident that
the Club Bar was doing a roaring business, but the outstanding fact that
impressed me was the large number of extremely pretty young Eurasian girls
there were at the ball. I overheard some of our party discussing this fact later
on. It transpired that they were the daughters by marriage with Burmese
women, of British officials, and that a considerable proportion of the residents
of Moulmein were Eurasians, or half-castes as they were called in those days,
by reason of such unions.
On the homeward voyage the Captain of the vessel, a tough elderly
Scotsman, produced a large jug from his cabin - the jug that stood in his
washbasin - and proceeded to mix a cocktail in it with the assistance of the
barman. It consisted of milk, eggs, crushed ice, gin, and sundry other
components. He distributed it in tumblers, and after the second round the
party started a sing-song. I was allowed a small portion. It was very nice.
Not long after this trip to Moulmein the Rangoon racing season
started and continued for several weeks. The Burmese are inveterate
gamblers almost to a man, and woman. Moreover, they love their little
Burma ponies. The Rangoon Racecourse with its fine row of grandstands, its
enclosures and its totalisator, was quite a sight on race days. One would
think that the entire population of the district-was there; in fact, most of it
probably was. I was much interested in the totalisator, the working of which
was explained to me by my father. I think that my parents must have
attended on every day of the meeting. They both had been brought up with
horses and loved them, and my mother in particular did like to have a little
something on the horse she fancied.
After the first two or three days it occurred to me that it would be
good fun to organise races between members of the domestic staff. So I set
to work, with the help of the garden coolie, to put up a name board for runners
complete with starting bell on top, and a little enclosure of bamboos and
bamboo matting with a small window for the tote. I made tickets for the tote,
painting them distinctively with colours from my water-colour paintbox. The
coolie cleared a course running round the compound with jumps at intervals,
and all was ready. These preparations were not completed in a day, but it was
not long before my parents went off to some afternoon function I could not
attend, and having assembled and explained my plan to the staff, who entered
into the game with enthusiasm, I took up my position in the tote and solemnly
sold tickets at a pice (about a farthing) each. The race started, the bell rang,
and in an atmosphere of great excitement the cook came in first. Who
followed second and third I cannot recollect, but I paid out from the tote - it
worked out at a few coppers per ticket - the cook was an outsider, so the
figure was considered good, and I contributed a cash prize from my pocket
money, so everyone was satisfied. We repeated the game on two or three
subsequent occasions before my parents heard of it from neighbours and
further race meetings were prohibited.
It was after one of these race meetings of mine that I did a thing I was
sorry for afterwards. An article in “The Boys' Own Paper" on making
fireworks, coupled the knowledge gained from my chemical experiments, had
induced me to try my hand at making such things as, among others, squibs.
The diabolical idea then occurred to me of attaching one of these to our cat's
tail on the end of a piece of string. It was out on the lawn and fortunately the
squib was a small one, nevertheless the streak of sparks that resulted stretched
as far as the front steps. At this point came the concluding bang. This
caused the poor cat to take several steps at one bound in its efforts to get away
from the horror that doubtless it thought was chasing it. It took me a long
time to re-establish friendly relations with that cat. It was a thoroughly cruel
thing to do, and I hate thinking of it even now.
Occasionally, instead of going to the Gymkhana of an evening, we
used to drive out to the Boat Club and take out a boat. It was then that I
received from my father my first lessons in sculling. On one of these
occasions on the drive out, we saw a huge snake crossing the road some way
ahead. Neither its head nor its tail could be seen at first, so it must have been
quite twenty feet long, but that is not an extreme length for a python. These
huge snakes are not poisonous, but provided they can get their tail round the
trunk of a tree, they I can kill by winding the rest of their body round their
prey and so crush it to death. Driving back after dark, the air was full of
brightly glowing fireflies.
It was about this time that my father received an unexpected offer -
that of the command of a Royal Field Artillery Brigade stationed at Mian Mir
near Lahore in the Punjab. While it meant the break-up of an establishment
that had been expected to last for the normal period of his Rangoon
appointment, since the offer implied a definite advancement he could do no
less than accept it. There followed the hectic clearing up and packing to
which by then I was becoming accustomed, and it was not long before we
were on our way from Rangoon in a ship of the British India Steam
Navigation Company, bound for Calcutta.
 XIV
The voyage from Rangoon to the mouth of the River Hoogly, where
the sluggish, muddy waters of that river flow past the great delta of the
Ganges into the Bay of Bengal, occupied several unpleasantly hot, steamy
days and was quite uneventful. Here we took on a pilot and proceeded
slowly up-stream between mudbanks of like colour to the water through
which the ship was literally feeling its way, since soundings were being taken
at frequent intervals.
Until the coming of means of attack from the air nullified the
defensive value of such works, Fort William guarded the port of Calcutta on
the south, and it was the first interesting feature that we passed before entering
the docks and going alongside one of the many wharves in this very busy port.
Dating back to the days of the East India Company, it is a classic example of a
military redoubt built according to the design for which a distinguished
French military engineer, Vauban by name, had become famous throughout
Europe. Its ramparts with their protruding bastions were surrounded by a
broad ditch, beyond which stretched a gently-sloping glacis, and at two points
only roads led in zigzag fashion through cuttings in this glacis to drawbridges
across the ditch and thence through similar cuttings in the ramparts, to
massive gates within which guardrooms stood and sentries denied entry to
civilians without passes.
Within the fort were casemates, bombproof in those days, quarters for
the garrison, a bakery and other establishments needed to render the fort
independent of supplies from outside if necessary, parade grounds, a church,
some small shops, and even some tennis courts. A British Infantry regiment
formed the main garrison, but there were also detachments of other branches
of the service and doctors and a hospital with all that implied. Since many
Indians were employed in Fort William, they had their quarters and shops. In
fact, the place was a complete community in itself.
My outstanding impression of Calcutta was its colourlessness.
Bengalis invariably go bareheaded and wear a white loincloth and a white
shirt with the tails hanging out. Coolies wear the loincloth only. Only the
better-off classes wear shoes, usually over socks held up by suspenders of
European pattern. Houses, offices and shops were almost invariably
whitewashed. In the days of which I am writing, the tikha ghari was
everywhere to be seen, and bullock carts, hackney carriages - mostly landaus
with jaded horses and shabbily- dressed Indian drivers - also the smart
turnouts of European and wealthy Indian residents.
Having disembarked, we were driven straight to the railway terminus
at Howrah on the bank of the river opposite to that upon which Calcutta
stands, and passed the time in the Station Rest Rooms until we were able to
entrain that evening. The Calcutta and Howrah banks of the Hoogly were
connected by a fine suspension bridge, a central span of which could be raised
to allow the passage of sea-going vessels.
 The Punjab Mail, drawn by a powerful engine, consisted of several
coaches for third-class passengers and two or three for those with first or
second-class tickets. Between the last coach and the guard's van was a
covered truck specially designed for the conveyance of horses - and there was
Norah in a horsebox, with a canvas sling supporting her between its padded
sides, nibbling contentedly at the corn in a manger before her, and in the open
space adjoining stood her syce Nathoo, who would be travelling close beside
her. While my mother and I stayed in the Rest Rooms, my father had been
busy reporting his landing and collecting the Railway Warrant upon the
authority of which the railway staff had reserved accommodation for us and
arranged for Norah's conveyance.
First-class accommodation on the railways of India has always been
roomy and comfortable, and the second-class only slightly less so. Each
compartment occupied nearly half the length of the coach, with a bathroom
complete with shower, half the width of the coach and in its centre. The side
doors were at the ends, and between each and the bathroom partition was a
long, cushioned seat which could be drawn out several inches at night and was
long enough to make a comfortable bed. Above each an upper bunk hooked
up during the day, could be let down at night, so that in each compartment
there was sleeping accommodation for four passengers. Nearly all the
principal railway systems in India were broad gauge, and in such case there
was plenty of room between the seats that faced one another. The usual
racks, also a hinged table on the bathroom partition, completed the furnishing.
Second-class was very similar, excepting that a third long seat or bed was
installed down the centre on all but narrow-gauge lines, which rendered the
space rather cramped but provided sleeping accommodation for five persons.
At the ends of each first- class coach there were small compartments labelled
“Servants”.
There were no refreshment cars in those days. The train stopped at
stations where there were refreshment rooms for as long as an hour in the case
of dinner at night, and we all had to get out for meals. The exceptions were
chota hazri and afternoon tea, which were brought to the carriage by
refreshment room khitmatgars on small trays, one for each first-class
passenger, arrangements for this having been made in advance by telegraph,
by the railway staff.
We were in our carriage for two days and three nights. The State of
the line in those days did not permit of high speed. We all felt the heat not
only during the day when it seemed almost unbearable, but at night also, and
it would have been even worse but for the cooling device known as a
thermantidote, fitted over one window opening on each side of the
compartment. This consisted of a large wheel padded kuskus, a vegetable
fibre that readily absorbs water. This wheel dipped into a trough containing
water, and on the outside there was a metal wind-scoop. The wheel was
fitted with a handle and an occasional turn of this kept the kuskas damp, while
the train's progress drew air into the wind-scoop and through the damp screen,
cooling the compartment very appreciably. To derive benefit from this device
it was necessary to keep all the glass windows closed, and most of the wooden
venetian shutters outside these were also closed to keep out the glare. In
extreme cases a large block of ice weighing a maund (eighty pounds) or more,
was placed in a bath tub in the middle of the compartment, cooling the air and
also the bottles of minerals and other liquid refreshment placed around the
melting ice. There were no electric fans or lights.
My first impression of Lahore was that it was very hot, much hotter
than it had been in Calcutta, but a different sort of heat. Instead of an
atmosphere charged with moisture that caused one to perspire freely even
when just sitting about and was extremely enervating, here the very dry air
prevented all that discomfort and indeed was relatively bracing in its effects.
The outlook too was more colourful than in Bengal. Not only did the
Mahomedan turban of varied hue prevail, but there were many Pathans to be
seen, very noticeable in their brightly-embroidered waistcoats and the kullah,
a conical cap of quilted cloth richly embroidered in gold and protruding above
the turban loosely wound about it. All wore baggy trousers of Jodhpur
breeches, the latter close-fitting to above the knee. Coolies and menial
classes generally alone wore the loincloth. Then there were the Mahomedan
purdah women in their bourkhas, long white, sack- like hoods reaching to the
ground, gathered closely to the head and with apertures through which it was
sometimes possible to see glimpses of fine, dark eyes.
We drove to a hotel in a landau behind a pair of horses with a driver
and footman somewhat similar in appearance to those I have already
described in my comments upon the sights of Bombay. The tikka ghari was
not to be seen here. Its equivalent was the ekha, a strange, roughly-made
affair on two wheels behind a small, skinny horse. It consisted of a wooden
frame over which a ropework netting was stretched of a size to accommodate
one person sitting cross-legged upon it. From the four corners of this
framework rose pillars supporting a slightly domed canopy of brightly-
coloured cotton cloth with gay fringe. To add to the otherwise strange
appearance of this conveyance, the canopy was appreciably smaller than the
framework that supported it, forcibly reminding one of a Heath Robinson
cartoon. Beneath the seat a net was suspended in which the horse’s nosebag
and hay, and light baggage, could be stowed. The driver sat upon a shaft to
one side. Bullock carts in plenty were also to be seen.
 Norah and her syce Nathoo, Mian Mir, 1892
Our bearer remained behind to escort the baggage, which had been
loaded into one or these bullock carts. He and Norah’s syce Nathoo alone or
all our servants in Rangoon were willing to leave Burma and follow our
fortunes. My mother’s ayah, a Madrassi, wept when she parted with us on
the landing stage at Rangoon, and my mother was very sorry to lose her.
Indian servants became devoted to these British masters and mistresses who
treated them well, as all but a very small minority undoubtedly did, and
nowhere could one find better or more faithful servants. We had remained at
the railway station until Norah had left her horsebox and led by Nathoo,
accompanied the baggage cart upon which her stable gear and Nathoo’s
personal belongings had been loaded.
The faithful Nathoo was a good example of an Indian servant.
Engaged in Rangoon, he remained in my parent’s service until we left India.
He had been the syce of an officer at the time of the war in Burma and had
been wounded in the thigh by a poisoned bamboo stake, one or many such
planted by rebels in the Kachin Hills around their villages. When he came to
us the wound was quiescent, but soon afterwards the deeply-seated abscess
broke out afresh. Nathoo never allowed the pain he was suffering prevent
him from grooming, feeding and exercising Norah as usual. Noticing one
day that he was limping, my mother enquired the reason and learnt the cause.
She thereupon told him to come to the house every morning, and she
personally prepared a quantity of small bits of lint soaked in dilute carbolic
acid. Nathoo had to squat down, remove a bandage, and with a pair of
forceps she handed him, pack the deep, suppurating wound with these bits of
lint. Each day he had to remove these and repack it with fresh pieces. This
treatment continued without a break until the wound closed up and was thus
permanently cured.
We remained in Lahore for a few days only. On the morning after
our arrival we drove out to the military cantonment of Mian Mir, renamed
Lahore Cantonment many years later. It was situated several miles from
Lahore. The whole of this district is flat and barren excepting where artificial
irrigation has been introduced. Our destination was a large bungalow
standing in a correspondingly large compound adjoining the Royal Field
Artillery mess. This bungalow was being vacated by the officer whom my
father was about to relieve, and his wife and family. It was fully furnished
with all essentials hired from a Lahore firm, and my parents decided to take
over everything from the outgoing tenants.
Most of the smaller bungalows in Mian Mir had thatched roofs. The
one we were taking over had a flat, terraced roof, and the accommodation it
afforded was upon a design to be found throughout Northern India. The
carriage-way passed under a porch, and a few steps led to a pillared front
verandah, thence to a large and lofty drawing room and beyond this again to a
dining room. These two rooms were separated by a large arch across which
stood a screen. At the back was a verandah with a pantry at one end and a
storeroom opposite. On either side of these centre rooms were two large
bedrooms, lighted from small, windows near the ceiling, and beyond these
were dressing rooms with ceilings somewhat lower than those in all the larger
rooms, and beyond again there were bathrooms, and doors leading out to the
garden. A row of servants' quarters stood away to the left and at some
distance from the bungalow, and in line with this were the stables and coach-
house.
The compound was large and fully cultivated. There were fruit trees,
vegetable and flower gardens, all irrigated from little water channels that
radiated from a large well, from which the water was raised by means of a
water-wheel. This device, in common use throughout Northern India, greatly
interested me. It consisted essentially of two large wheels made of roughly-
hewn timber, their axles turning upon well-greased wooden bearings which
were supported by beams stretched across the well and resting upon pillars of
sun-dried clay. These wheels were most ingeniously geared together. One,
in a horizontal position, was turned by a long pole protruding some little
distance over the coping of the well, and to its end a bullock was yoked and
plodded leisurely round and round a well-beaten path, turning the wheel
slowly. The second wheel, vertical and geared to the first through wooden
pins around its periphery which engaged with closely-set rungs set ladder-like
round the rim of the other, hung above the water below and had a broad drum-
like periphery around which slowly rotated an endless band that looked like a
narrow rope ladder, and at regular intervals along this rope lay, large, round
earthern pots were lashed. As the wheel revolved, pot after pot reached the
water. They went down empty on one side and came up filled on the other.
Each pot in succession emptied itself into a large wooden trough suitably
positioned to carry the stream to the main irrigation channel, from which
radiated sub-channels that ran all over the garden. Since the quantity of
water raised thus could do no more than feed one sub-channel at a time, the
mali (gardener) and his assistants were kept busy opening up or closing with
little mud dykes, the points at which these sub-channels joined the main
stream.
At some distance from the bungalow and on the side opposite to that
on which the servants quarters and the stables were situated, there was a
chicken-house and wired-in run, also a rabbitry and a quailery. The latter, a
relic of earlier days and fast disappearing, consisted of two shafts dug to a
depth of several feet about five yard apart and connected by a subterranean
tunnel. Into this, once a year, several hundred quail netted in the countryside
and brought in by Indians who made their livelihood thus, were released and
prevented from escaping by netting spread over the mouths of the shafts.
They were fed daily with grain, and when wanted for the table the required
number were caught from above with what looked like a large butterfly net.
My parents took over most of the servants or the previous tenants.
This domestic staff was very similar to what we had in Rangoon, but the
sweeper was a man - a mehtar - and not a woman, and in place of a
paniwallah, water for the household and stables was fetched from the well and
distributed by a bhisti. In Burma and Southern India the paniwallah, conveys
the water in a couple of old kerosine oil cans, the tops of which have been cut
out and a wooden crosspiece, substituted. These are slung at the opposite
ends of a bamboo yoke supported upon his shoulder. In Northern India the
bhisti uses a mussack - the tanned skin of a sheep having a strap attached at
one end to the two forelegs, and at the other to the two hindlegs. This
contraption is filled through the neck, which is then bound up by a leathern
thong, one end of which for convenience is attached to the neck end of the
carrying strap. The mussack is slung over one shoulder, and when filled the
very considerable weight is supported upon the bhisti's back.
The origin of the Indian names of mehtar and mehtarani given to the
sweepers, male and female - among the lowest class of “untouchable" in India
- is of peculiar interest. When many centuries earlier, Mahomedan hordes
from the North invaded India, they came to a Hindu Indian State where a
princely caste held out for long in their great fortress, but eventually the
fortress fell to the besiegers and the garrison was captured. The princes and
princesses who survived were condemned to be reduced to the lowest caste of
all and forever to perform the most repugnant of all menial tasks. To this day,
therefore, the descendants of these princes and princesses not only sweep up
the garbage, but in those innumerable places where there is no main drainage
and the old-fashioned commode still reigns supreme, theirs is the insalubrious
duty of doing what is so necessary. Meanwhile somewhat paradoxically, the
princely rank of mehtar, and consequently also of mehtarani, still prevails.
For instance, the Mehtar of Chitral still reigns in that Border State.
It did not take us long to settle in. There were four similar suites of
rooms. One of these became my parent’s bedroom, with my mother's
dressing room and bathroom beyond. The suite next to this was my bedroom
and bathroom, the intervening smaller room becoming my workroom and
chemical laboratory One of the suites on the opposite side of the bungalow
was taken over by my father as his study and office, dressing room and
bathroom. The fourth suite was occupied only when we had guests staying
with us.
Fortunately for us all, by this time the great heat had rapidly given
way to the cold nights and chilly morning mists that proclaimed the approach
of the cold weather. Punkahs became unnecessary and it was not long before
we were enjoying not only the sight but also the feel of large log fires in the
evenings, later on to become very desirable throughout the day. My parents
had the usual round of calls to make and return and Clubs to be joined. These
were the local Gymkhana Club with its hard tennis courts and the golf links
not far away, the Punjab Club in Lahore for men only, and the Lawrence
Institute, a fine building situated in the extensive gardens of that name, also in
Lahore, where weekly dances and other social events took place, and there
was a good library.
As soon as he could spare the time, my father gave me my first
lessons in golf upon links that were almost entirely destitute of anything
resembling grass, and in place of greens there were “browns” small levelled
areas, rolled smooth and thinly spread with fine gravel. I possess to this day
two of the clubs with which I was then provided. But more often than not it
was to the Gymkhana, not far from our bungalow, that we all walked in the
early afternoon and I was able to make a start at lawn tennis. My father and I
nearly always contrived to get in at least two or three sets of singles before the
crowd arrived. Then there were days when I was allowed to take Norah out,
and many a gallop I had on her. The ground was firm and the country open.
One could ride almost anywhere.
There were, of course, days when we did not go out. Now and then
my mother would be entertaining people to tea, with music afterwards - a
grand piano had been procured from Lahore - or my parents would be out
attending some social function. Upon such occasions I was left to my own
devices which I must admit were not always commendable. I undoubtedly
did devote much of my time to my chemical studies and experiments, but my
parents would not have felt so confident that in these at least I was profitably
employed, had they but known that I was contemplating an investigation into
the method of making guncotton from nitro-glycerine which very fortunately
was unsuccessful.
We had not been long at Mian Mir when my father's command,
consisting of three Field Artillery batteries and an Ammunition Column, left
by road for Muridki, a village some miles beyond Lahore. Here the great
stretches of open and uncultivated country were ideally suitable for the
establishment of an Artillery Practice Camp. My father accompanied the
Brigade and remained in camp with it for several weeks. One morning later
on my mother and I, together with the wives of some of the other gunner
officers, drove in a party to Lahore and from there went out to Muridki in a
shuttle train that plied to and fro between the two places, consisting of a
saloon coach drawn by a light engine. Quite a show was put on for our
benefit. Having gone round the lines with its rows of well-groomed horses
tethered to their heel-pegs and admired the gleaming rows of guns, limbers
and ammunition wagons with their smartly-turned out guards, we had a lovely
lunch in the officers mess tent.
Then a trumpet sounded, and others took up this call to arms. From
the peaceful quiet which until that moment had reigned, broken only by the
neighing of the horses and the sound of a concertina that drifted across from
the rows of tents in which the men were taking their ease, all became bustle
but not confusion. In a surprisingly short time, horses were harnessed and
hitched to their limbers and wagons, drivers mounted their horses and gunners
their seats, and the whole brigade left at a canter, led by its officers.
The target consisted of canvas screens of various sizes and shapes,
some in the open and others behind earthworks that had previously been dug
by working parties from the brigade, the whole representing a hostile force.
Reaching a suitable site a mile or more from this target, the gun teams
wheeled about, the guns were unlimbered, the limbers withdrew to the rear,
the ammunition column taking up a position behind them. Range-takers got
busy with their mekometers calling out the ranges, whereupon fire was
opened by one gun per battery with percussion-fuzed shell while officers
watched with their fieldglasses for the cloud of smoke and dust thrown up by
the burst. If behind the target, the ranging of the next sighting shot was
shortened; if short of it, this range was lengthened, the object being to get the
target between an "over” and a “short” with two successive shots, a process
known as “bracketting". The next shot would be ranged at half the difference
between the two that preceded it, and this was repeated until a direct hit was
observed. Orders then quickly followed for the entire brigade to open fire
with time-fuzed shrapnel, with the satisfying result that the target soon
disappeared in clouds of dust.
The cease fire having been sounded, we were driven out in the truck
that had brought us to the firing point, to have a look at the targets. They
were riddled with shrapnel bullets and one realized what the casualties would
have been had these targets been of guns and men and not of canvas dummies.
I secured some trophies in the form of battered fuzes, shrapnel bullets and
fragments of shell.
I think it must have been as the result of the impression made upon
me by this experience, that on return home I bethought me of the little brass
cannon which had been out or favour since my unfortunate experience with it
in Gibraltar. So I searched it out from among my treasures and decided that I
too would have some target practice. Powder presented no difficulty.
Sufficient for several charges came from one of my father’s shot gun
cartridges, from which I got at the powder by extracting the wads and small
shot. But the missiles were a problem until it occurred to me to melt the
leaden shot in a spoon and pour it into holes of the correct size drilled in a
large chunk of chalk. The result was most gratifying, so now I was ready for
action.
I stepped out of my room onto the small verandah beyond and
surveyed the scene. Away to the right and at a distance of nearly a hundred
yards our sweeper's wife was busily engaged in washing up after their midday
meal - and ideally placed for my purpose upon the neatly-plastered ground
immediately outside their quarter, was a collection of white china plates and
bowls, all brightly decorated with coloured designs.
 It did not take me long to load my cannon, direct it upon this target
and open fire. The first shot fell short, so profiting from what I had observed
at Muridki, I increased elevation with my next, and to my joy scored a direct
hit. But what was to follow was not so good. The sound of breaking
crockery brought the mehtarani to her door. She saw the wreckage and,
looking round, unfortunately spotted, me. Grabbing up some of the broken
china as evidence and with a string of comment all of which I could not
understand but the implication of which was sufficiently obvious, the
"princess" rushed round to the front of the bungalow and loudly demanded
redress. While I suspect that my parents appreciated the humour of the
situation, they, were careful not to let me see this, and further demonstrations
of the sort on my part were sternly forbidden.
On one of the afternoons when I had accompanied my parents to the
Laurence Gardens in Lahore, there to have tea on the lawn while a British
regimental band played a selection of music, I well remember meeting
Rudyard Kipling. At that time he was still a reporter on the staff off The
Civil & Military Gazette, published in Lahore. Already his name was
becoming widely known. I remember well the little booklets with their grey-
blue paper covers, in which some of his earlier short stories that had appeared
in the newspaper were reprinted. They were on sale at Wheeler's Railway
Station bookstalls. I have often wondered since what became of the
collection of these booklets my parents possessed. I saw them many years
later when on furlough from India. In the course of time they would have
become very valuable. One of the great disadvantages suffered by those who,
like myself, served in the East, is that when the older generation passes away,
in the natural course of events those on the spot get the plums.
Shortly after Christmas and being aware that my pocket money had
been augmented, our old bearer conceived the idea of doing everyone,
including of course himself, a good turn, by taking me down to the local
Indian bazaar and to a small blacksmith's shop there. Iron was being made
white-hot in the charcoal fire that glowed brightly under a cowling. An
assistant operated a strange sort of bellows consisting of a tanned sheepskin
similar in, appearance to the bhisti’s mussack, but with a long nozzle attached
at the neck end, and at the other, a slit to the sides of which two short pieces
of cane were sewn, with loops of leather for thumb and finger at their centres.
Squatting upon the plastered clay floor, he held this substitute for a valve and
by opening and closing the slit as he raised and lowered the end of the skin,
drove air through the buried pipe that led to the bowl-like depression in the
floor, in which the fire was now burning fiercely. The lohar (blacksmith)
then set about showing what he could do with a length of glowing iron or
steel, anvil and hammer, tongs and punch of cold chisel, and so quickly.
Meanwhile, having seated myself upon the dhurrie that had been
spread upon the floor for me, a lad in his sunday-best long muslin shirt and
embroidered waistcoat, who was introduced as the blacksmith’s son, brought
out the family hukha, the Mahomedan equivalent of a pipe. This consisted of
a fancy glass flask containing, in the best circles, rose water, otherwise
something as much like it as possible, into which dipped the long tube that
passes through the stopper from a small earthern bowl above. This bowl
contained a little glowing charcoal, and upon it was placed the small piece of
a mixture of tobacco leaf ground up with molasses and other ingredients.
Smoke is drawn in bubbles through the water by way or another tube through
the stopper, to which a long flexible tube is connected having a mouthpiece at
its end.
Etiquette demanded that the mouthpiece should be handed first to me,
and I knew that I must take at least one whiff of smoke, also that the smoker's
mouth must not on any account come in contact with the mouthpiece. The
hand must be closed around it and the smoke inhaled thus. Many of the
Mahomedan customs, and the caste rules of the Hindus, are based upon sound
hygienic principles of like nature.
It was now my turn to do the correct thing by handing a donation to
the lad who had brought the hukha. I parted with a whole rupee, a very
substantial sum in those days among the village folk. The blacksmith must
have felt that it was up to him to show his appreciation, which he did by
rummaging through a heap of scraps in the corner, from which he extracted
the shortened remnant of a cold chisel which he proceeded to tidy up and re-
temper before presenting it to me. I still have that little tool, its cutting edge
as good as ever it was when I gratefully accepted it some sixty-four years ago.
Looking back, I realise that Indians in general, and my parents'
servants in particular, seemed to think it unnecessary to mind their manners
and guard their tongues when I was about, regarding me as a child and of no
account. In my later years, serving in the Indian Army, I think that the
understanding I then acquired, largely sub-consciously, of at least some of the
rudimental differences between the Indian and the British way of looking at
things, was quite an asset.
It was during the cold weather of which I have been recalling some of
the events that Prince Galitzin suddenly turned up in Mian Mir, accompanied
by a big, bearded and armed Cossack in his picturesque uniform. It was
difficult to think of anything useful that a spy could pick up in Mian Mir, but
at that time the scare about the possibility of an invasion of India by Russia
was at its height, so everyone was buzzing with excitement about this visit. I
remember the Prince, a very courtly gentleman, coming to lunch with my
parents, for which occasion the Sheffield plate was got out and the lunch
something out of the ordinary. After lunch my mother played and sang. It
was all very pleasant. Meanwhile, as we learnt afterwards, the Cossack had
gone nosing round the lines, but was politely warned off in accordance with
orders given in anticipation.
 XV
With the approach of the hot weather, my father took sixty days
privilege leave and it was decided that we would spend it in Kashmir. In
those days much had to be done before one could set out. There were no
hotels in Kashmir, so tents had to be bought or hired, together with all
essential camp furniture. The cook with his pots and pans; the butler with
table appointments, china and glass; the bhisti with his mussack; the mehtar
with his basket and broom; all had to accompany us. The pots and pans,
china and glass, oil lamps and what not had to be reduced to the barest
minimum and packed in kiltas - large cylindrical baskets with lids, covered
with leather and secured with padlocks. Other kiltahs contained tins and
bottles or provisions. Bedding and personal clothing were packed in yakdans
- rectangular wooden, leather-covered trunks, designed for transport in pairs
upon the backs of bullocks or other pack animals.
While all this preparatory work was keeping my parents busy, I was
left more than ever to my own devices. It was customary for everyone to rise
at an early hour in order to make the most of the comparatively cool air before
sunrise, and since Rangoon days I had kept up the regular habit of taking a
cold bath. When we arrived in Mian Mir, my father had told me how in his
early days in India, the bhisti used to come to the bathroom with a mussack-
full of water from the well and empty it over him as he squatted down where
the bathtub usually stood. I forthwith adopted the habit and thoroughly
enjoyed this primitive form of showerbath.
If my father did not need Norah, I used to go for a morning ride on
her. Otherwise there was nothing to do but potter about the garden or watch
the fowls, ducks, rabbits and quail being fed. What a menagerie it was! It
was on such a morning that I got one of my bright ideas. It came to me
suddenly as I was watching two young cockerels competing for the possession
of one piece of meat remaining from the table scraps which the sweeper had
thrown into the fowl-run. Hurrying to the house, I collected a piece of bacon
rind from what we were to have for breakfast, divided it in half, and tied a
piece at each end of a short length of string. Returning to the fowl-run, I
threw my contrivance to the fowls. In a moment two birds had got hold of
the baits and there followed a tug-o-war between them. One having got the
bacon a bit further down its throat than the other, would win the tug and dash
off with its prize dragging behind it the other tempting morsel, to be snapped
up by another contestant. The fun became fast, furious and extremely noisy.
Our servants, with their wives and numerous progenies, came running to see
what was the matter and they in turn thoroughly enjoyed the entertainment.
Finally my mother, who had been busy making out lists of the groceries and
other things that had to accompany us on our projected trip, heard the
commotion and appeared upon the scene. Having dispersed the crowd and
had my device removed, she said various things to me that I will pass over as
not being of sufficient interest to record here.
 Shortly after this episode we left Lahore one evening by mail train for
Rawal Pindi. Our camp equipment and stores had been forwarded several
days beforehand to an Indian firm there which had a branch in Kashmir and
specialised in making all necessary arrangements for intending visitors to that
Indian State. Rawal Pindi was reached at an early hour on the following day,
and after breakfast in the Railway Refreshment Rooms, we left on the fifty-
mile drive up the hill to Murree. My parents and I were in a tonga and the
servants in ekhas. The tonga seemed to me so very similar to the French
diligence in which we had reached Hammam Rirha in the Lower Atlas Range
of Algeria only three years previously, that a description of this Indian model
seems unnecessary. The ekha I have already described.
Murree, then only a comparatively small place, was a typical hill
station of Northern India. There were a few European bungalows, a church, a
couple of hotels, some shops and a native bazaar, all perched upon the summit
or in niches cut out of the precipitous slopes of the lower ranges of the
Himalayas which none but a goat can comfortably negotiate. With the
exception of the cart road from Rawal Pindi and beyond, mountain paths were
the only means of approach to these dwellings. We remained in Murree for a
couple of nights at a hotel to permit of the ekhas, which travelled more slowly
than tongas, to reach the Vale of Kashmir as nearly as possible at the same
time as ourselves. Meanwhile our heavy baggage had previously arrived at
Rawal Pindi and been forwarded by bullock cart ahead of us.
The change from the heat of the plains to the cool air of Murree is an
experience the relief and enjoyment of which cannot adequately be put into
words. But even more remarkable was the sense of having left India and
returned to the Swiss Alps when we left Murree and drove mile after mile
through the mountains, ever climbing higher and higher. It took us two days
to reach Baramoola on the banks of the River Jhelum, a tributary of the
Chenab, after a night's stay at a Rest House on the way. Here we found our
servants and baggage already assembled.
The part of our journey thence to the capital of Kashmir, Srinagar
(pronounced Sirinagar) was to be by boat. Two dungas had been reserved for
us - long, broad, flat-bottomed country craft rather like crudely-built Thames
punts, but much larger. Each had amidships a small hut with a roof of thatch
and sides of bamboo matting, and divided into two rooms by a matting
partition. One of these dungas was for us and the other for the servants. In
addition, tied up to what was to become our headquarters for some weeks,
was a shikhara - a small, flat-bottomed boat with seats near the stern, in which
we would be paddled upon excursions from our temporary home.
In the forward end of the servants' dungs the essentials for cooking
were installed - fireplaces for charcoal fires upon a crust of sun-dried clay
plastered upon the bottom-boards. In a very short time- Indian servants are at
their best in such circumstances - our kit had been embarked, camp furniture
set up on dhurries spread upon the floors, cooking pots, china, glass, plate and
cutlery distributed and within the hour we were sitting down on board to a
well cooked and served lunch. Meanwhile the crews, who lived in the stern
of each dungs with their wives and families, cast off and got under weigh,
poleing us along the shallow stretches of this slow-flowing, lovely river. I
cannot adequately describe the beauties of the Vale of Kashmir The green
fields, the trees of species not seen since we had left Europe, and in the
distance and seemingly on all sides, the towering heights of range upon range
of the mighty snow-capped Himalayas. Perhaps the best description is that it
all seemed like a greatly- magnified replica of Switzerland itself and to top it
all was the marvellous air and the crystal-clear waters through which we were
passing so very peacefully.
We were four days and nights floating along like this. In the
evenings we tied up to the bank, the beds were made up and mosquito curtains
erected - a very necessary precaution here - and we were glad to be under
blankets, the very idea or which not so long before would have been
positively repulsive. Chota hazri in the mornings out on deck in the rising
sun and the crisp, fresh air was a real joy. During the long days the country
through which we were passing was full of interest.
One day I went out in the shikhara and was shown how to spear fish.
A boatman paddled us slowly along where the river was not more than four of
five feet deep. I stood in the bow armed with a long spear at the end of which
was a barbed trident, watching intently the depths immediately to my front.
Fish abound in the Jhelum, and when one appeared to be conveniently placed,
the spear had to be lowered gently into position - within striking distance.
This requires a good deal of practice since the shaft appears to be bent at an
angle from the point at which it enters the water, giving the impression that
the business end is considerably further forward than actually is the case. A
quick thrust should then secure the prey, but the chances are greatly in favour
of the fish, and the shikhara being a very light craft, the inexperienced hand is
quite likely to lose his balance and topple over into, the water.
On the third day of our passage we entered the Wular Lake, that great
expanse of shallow water fed at one end and drained at the other by the
Chenab, in which lake there was no noticeable current. Passage through it
was confined to a channel kept fairly clear of the Kashmir lotus plants that
covered the greater part of its surface, and their flowers were a very beautiful
sight. Shortly before reaching the lake we passed some native dwellings and
a Rest House on the bank at a point we learnt was considered to be one of the
most favoured spots for mahseer fishing. The mahseer, a fish in many ways
similar to the salmon, is a very sporting fish and attains a great size.
Specimens exceeding eighty pounds in weight are recorded as having been
landed here by rod and spinner.
The first sight we had of Srinagar was of one of its bridges over the
river, constructed entirely of timber and supported at intervals upon piles of
logs placed criss-cross, layer upon layer. Passing under this, we reached a
mooring on the bank where a long line of dungas were tied up. There, were
also a few large houseboats of British design belonging to retired officers of
the Indian services who had settled in Kashmir with their wives and families.
Reaching nearly to the water's edge was a forest of magnificent fir trees - the
chenar, a species that flourishes throughout the State - and this stretch of the
bank reserved for the mooring of houseboats was known as the Chenar Bagh.
Nowadays the entire journey from railhead at Rawal Pindi to Srinagar can be
completed in a day by a car powerful enough to negotiate the hills upon a
well-surfaced road. But can it be doubted that our old-fashioned and slow
method of making the journey was much more enjoyable?
We remained at the Chunar Bagh mooring for several days. My
parents called upon the British Representative as in duty bound, and wrote
their names in the Visitors' Book of His Highness the Maharajah of Kashmir.
Then there were friends in other houseboats to meet, and between whiles we
had a look round the city, which was clean and tidy but uninteresting as such.
But the small native shops where we saw the famous Kashmir papier maché
articles made and painted, and the hand looms upon which the puttoo, the
lohis and the pashmina shawls were being woven from thread hand-spun by
Kashmiri women, were well worth a visit.
The workshop of a gunsmith greatly impressed me. He and his
assistants were turning out not only such things as hunting knives and axes,
but express rifles and 12-bore shot guns of high finish and with beautifully-
engraved locks and other components. Rifling was done with an ingenious
hand tool, and the little factory was equipped with much the same tools as I
had seen in the blacksmith's shop in Mian Mir. It was an amazing display of
skill combined with unlimited patience, time being of no account. My
parents placed orders for folding hunting knives in sheathes and a camping
axe, which I still possess.
My mother had a skirt made of puttoo - a rough, homespun tweed -
and both my father and I, knickerbocker suits from the same material. The
nearest modern equivalent of such a garb is plus-fours and a sports coat. A
lohi is a large puttoo shawl; every Kashmiri possesses one which serves as an
overcoat, and very necessary it is at night in these parts. Pashmina is a
material so beautifully fine and soft in texture that a large shawl woven of it
will pass through a wedding ring. The silky hair from which it is made
comes from the mountain goat of that name. Puttoo, and the lohi, derive their
wool from the fat-tailed sheep, and in some cases from the Thibetan yak, a
small, quaint-looking ox of somewhat similar build to the Scotch bull, but
with long hair that covers it completely and reaches nearly to the ground.
Richly-chased vases, plaques, cigar and cigarette boxes, trays and
other such articles of silver, copper and brass, is another of the local industries
dependant mainly upon visiting tourists and export for their profitable
existence. The same remark applies regarding the carved boxes, small tables,
and even chairs, of Kashmir walnut. It is remarkable that the design, whether
applied to papier maché, wood or metals, is nearly always the same - a looped
border, understood to represent the tortuous windings of the River Chenab as
it meanders through the Vale of Kashmir, within which appear the lotus plant
and flower, or the leaf of the chenar tree. While the painting or carving is
well and artistically done, the wooden or metal article displaying it is more
often than not of indifferent finish.
 We soon found that the Kashmiri shopkeeper was by no means
content to await a visit to his establishment. Too often during the day a
shikhara would slide noiselessly alongside our dungs, paddled by a grinning
waterman and carrying an exceedingly voluble salesman with a load of his
wares. Then you would hear "Sahib - Memsahib - Sahib - Kashmirwallah,
Sahib – bohut achha cheesen (very nice things) - Sahib – Memsahib!". Such
a nuisance did this become, that eventually it was decided we would leave the
Chenar Bagh and move to the Nashin Bagh on the banks of the Dal Lake. So
one morning after breakfast our flotilla cast off and paddled away. The river
was too deep for poleing, by which means almost the whole of the trip from
Baramoola had been accomplished.
The Dal Lake is situated to the north of the city of Srinagar and is
connected to the Chenab by a short length of canal. This lake is famed for
the crystal clearness of its waters. All pashmina shawls woven in Srinagar
are brought and washed here before they are considered to be fit for sale. It is
moreover a beauty spot. The Nashin Bagh, where it was intended that we
should camp, consisted of wide strip of fine turf well above the level of the
lake, and behind this a grove of chenar trees.
Having reached and tied up here, our tents were got out and pitched
under the shelter of these trees, furnished and equipped, those for the servants
and the cookhouse being placed in the rear. Here we remained for nearly
three weeks. There were other similar camps nearby and it was not long
before we had made the acquaintance of our neighbours and established thus
what was quite a little community of our own. The importance of the
shikhara now became evident. It was our sole means of communication with
Srinagar, while there were places of interest elsewhere on or near the shores
of the lake, and several picnic parties took place during our stay at the Nashin
Bagh.
It was a red-letter day for me when one of the young officers camped
near us offered to take me out with him to shoot markhor, a game bird very
similar in appearance to and as strong on the wing as the Scotch grouse. My
father had not brought a shot-gun, so a 16-bore was borrowed and although I
did not succeed in hitting anything owing largely to my being all strung up
with excitement, from that moment and throughout my life, shooting both
small and big game has always had an irresistible attraction for me. My
father never cared for shikar. For my part, at that time in Kashmir I realised
what a difference it would have made had my father been fond of it, since
small game within easy reach abounded and one had not far to go into the
mountains to have a good chance of bagging one or more black or brown
bears. What a hero I might have been later on at school, had I been able to
talk about my big game hunting. But I suppose none would have believed
me!
Having exhausted the local resources, my parents decided to explore
the Sind Valley. Leaving the Nashin Bagh in our dungas, we descended the
Chenab to a point where it is entered on its right bank by a tributary, and up
this we were paddled to a small village. Here we disembarked and with only
one tent, a minimum of camp equipment, and two servants, started climbing a
mountain path. Our baggage was carried by Kashmiri coolies collected from
the village near our landing place. These coolies carry their loads upon their
backs, but the weight is taken largely by a broad band across the forehead and
attached to a rope around the load. They proceed upon their way in a
stooping posture, with the assistance of a short crooked stick which is used as
a support for the load when taking a rest. The weights they carry is really
amazing. In the Simla Hills I have often seen one man climbing a steep and
stony pathway with a large almirah (cupboard or wardrobe) on his back. On
one occasion the load was a cottage piano! The sight of such an object moving
slowly up a hill in front of one with a pair of what seemed to be utterly
inadequate, skinny legs as the sole support and motive power, has to be seen
to be believed.
We climbed far into the hills, each of us armed with an alpenstock
made of Kashmir rosewood and shod with steel, to reach eventually a small
waterfall below which was a pool where fish could be seen swarming in the
water. Here was Gulmarg, at that time, in the year 1890, just the name of a
hamlet in a beautiful valley through which a trout stream flowed. There were
then no bungalows or golf links at Gulmarg. We stayed for a couple of days
only and returned to Srinagar and the Nashin Bagh as we had come.
Our Kashmir trip certainly was a great success. It is a lovely country
and the Kashmiris are an interesting people. It has been suggested that they
may be one of the lost tribes of Israel. They have finely-moulded features,
aquiline noses, blue eyes, and a complexion often no darker than the peasantry
of Southern France or Italy. But by now my father’s privilege leave was
nearing its end and we had to be back in Mian Mir before it expired.
Moreover the first signs of the approaching monsoon became evident, so we
would have had to leave or, find more suitable quarters than a tent or a dunga
in any case even had there been no other good reason.
As by now will be realised, my parents were pretty good at organising
trips abroad, but on this occasion they had overlooked the desirability of
booking well in advance, the tongs and ekhas for our return journey by road at
a time when all those visitors who, like ourselves, had postponed their
departure as long as possible, were now flocking away from Kashmir before
the rains set in.
Although the monsoon period in Kashmir is nothing like as long or as
severe as it is in Southern India, it usually starts with a terrific thunderstorm
and torrents of rain, with the result that the rivers become swollen and the
current swift. To risk the possibility of being overtaken by such conditions
when drifting down stream, or even worse, when in the middle of the Wular
Lake, in a dunga, would be foolhardy, so we had to return all the way by road.
Sufficient ekhas being procurable, it was decided that all of us and not only
the servants would return that way.
An ekha is not a comfortable vehicle in which to make along journey
over what was then a rough road. Devoid of springs, all its joints loose so
that it wobbled from side to side even when the road was passably good, its
seating accommodation consisting of a framework filled in with rope netting
and little more than two feet square, there is just enough room to sit cross-
legged and none in which to move when cramped. Meanwhile the
temperature had dropped sharply and it was decidedly chilly. The cold could
be countered by draping a lohi round one like a small tent, and having
between one's knees under the lohi a small chula ( firepot ), this being the
Kashmiri peasant's method of keeping the cold out during the long and bitter
winter. The chula consisted of a small earthenware bowl covered with wicker
basketwork and having a basketwork handle. In this burning charcoal is
placed, and it is remarkable how effective it is. We each had one and
managed thus to keep warm, but aching bones and cramp just had to be
endured.
Ekhas travel slowly and it was several days before we had left the
Vale of Kashmir behind and entered the gorges in the massive foothills of the
Himalayas that debouch upon the plains of the Punjab. By then we had
become accustomed to putting up for the night at a dak bungalow (rest house)
on the road, and our stiffness was beginning to wear off. Then, one
afternoon, the storm burst. It was as though the heavens had been a trap-door
in the bottom of a large tank of water and some unseen hand had drawn the
bolt that held that door closed. On top of this deluge came the thunder and
lightning. None but those who have experienced a tropical thunderstorm,
with the almost ceaseless flashes and the terrific crashes of the thunder that
follow one another in rapid succession, could possibly imagine how truly
awe-inspiring such an experience can be.
Very fortunately we were approaching a village and were able to take
refuge in a small shop. The bunniah (shopkeeper) was most hospitable.
Doubtless, being a bunniah, he had quickly appreciated the situation and
visualised baksheesh and possibly some sales. We were soon having our wet
things dried, and eating hot chapattis prepared behind the shop by his
womenfolk. They were made of ground Indian corn or maize, and spread
with butter, were very nice.
Meanwhile word came in that at a point a little farther on, where the
road crossed from one side of the gorge to the other by way of an Irish bridge
through what normally was no more than a trout stream, a torrent of water
was pouring down from the hills and was waist-deep over the crossing. My
parents held a hurried conference. My father was worried at the possibility of
further delay resulting in the over-stayal of his leave. Then the rain stopped
as suddenly as it had started, and it was decided that we should push on at all
costs. The ekhawallahs were extremely reluctant to move and I fancy that my
father had to promise them some extra baksheesh in order to get them to do
so, but we did move on and came shortly afterwards to the swollen stream.
Presumably by then it was going down a little, but the muddy waters swirling
between and over the boulders in the channel looked most formidable.
The method of crossing was ingenious but somewhat tedious. The
baggage was unloaded (our heavy things had gone ahead by bullock cart),
horses taken out of the shafts and the wheels off the ekhas, and these bits and
pieces were taken across by the exhawallahs and helpers from a nearby
village, wading precariously through the rushing waters. Then we were
carried across, each of my parents by two men, and I pick-a-back by another.
The ekhas having been re-assembled and the horses harnessed to them -
getting the horses through the stream had been quite an exciting spectacle -
the baggage was re-stowed, and much sooner than at first had seemed
probable, we were on our way again.
In due course, after a night at Murree, we reached Rawal Pindi
Railway Station, the ekhawallahs were paid off, and we were able to have a
much needed wash and brush-up in the Rest Rooms. The subsequent journey
back to Lahore and thence to Mian Mir was just a repetition of that part of our
outward journey, but in reverse, and by the following evening we were home
again.
 XVI
When we returned to Mian Mir the hot weather was just about at its
worst. That it was likely to be so became evident as we drove down the hill
from Murree. By the time we reached Rawal Pindi coats had been discarded,
collars and ties removed and shirtsleeves rolled up, but all to no purpose -
perspiration soaked through our few remaining garments. The night journey
by mail train was a nightmare and Mian Mir like a furnace. Moreover the
atmosphere was no longer dry. I was damp, which made matters even more
trying.
Only a small proportion of the officers and other ranks in an Indian
cantonment were able to leave it at one and the same time. The majority
were obliged to remain in the great heat throughout the long hot weather,
confined to darkened rooms and barracks from sunrise until after sunset.
There were no electric fans. Punkahs were kept going throughout the twenty-
four hours, each punkah requiring three coolies, the recognised custom being
that a punkah coolie must be allowed four hours off duty after pulling a
punkah for two hours. In barrack rooms and to a lesser extent elsewhere, two
or more punkahe were ingeniously connected by ropes passing over pulleys in
order to reduce the number of punkah coolies otherwise needed, but the
coolies were fully alive to this threat to their calling and demanded higher pay
for pulling greater weight.
The punkah coolie was a most exasperating person. At night when
you would be lying upon a piece of fine China matting spread upon your
charpoy (string bedstead) the coolie ,squatting outside in the verandah would
pull fairly satisfactorily until he thought you were asleep. Then, having
arranged himself to his liking with his back against the wall, he would insert
the knotted end of the rope between the toes of one foot and agitate the
punkah gently in this manner until he fell asleep. You would then wake up
bathed in perspiration and make a few appropriate comments in his native
tongue, whereupon the whole process would be repeated. Hardened cases
can be treated with a light dusting of castor sugar, surreptitiously applied.
Ants then render sleep impossible.
There was a lot of malaria about at the time, and we had not been
back long when I went down with a sharp attack. My temperature rose
rapidly, while I felt bitterly cold and was shaking with ague. Treatment in
those days was drastic. Blankets and a strong diaphoretic produced profuse
perspiration which was sponged off with cold water, and in extreme cases the
patient was wrapped in ice-cold wet sheets. Recovery was followed by
extreme exhaustion and depression. A few days later I had another acute
attack and my parents held a hurried consultation. It was decided that I must
go back to the hills, so my father took ten days leave and we left Mian Mir
again, this time for Simla. The drive up the hill from Kalka seemed to me
very similar to that between Rawal Pindi and Murree. It was not until we had
reached a hotel in Simla that I learnt I was destined for a boarding school.
 It was fortunate that I had been very fit when we got back from
Kashmir, consequently I picked up health and strength quickly in the
invigorating air of the Simla Hills and greatly enjoyed drives in rickshaws
about the place. Within the week I went with my parents to meet the
Reverend Tompkins, principal or a preparatory school for the sons of officers.
I well remember thinking what a pretty drawing room they had and how nice
Mrs. Tompkins was. My spirits rose, and the idea of being left alone here
did not seem as distasteful as hitherto it had been. As a matter of fact, though
it was as well that I did not know it, that was the one and only occasion upon
which I entered that drawing room.
A couple of days later my trunk and other possessions having been
sent on by coolie, we all drove in rickshaws down the Cart road to the school,
and I was shown the room I was to share with two other boys. My parents
said goodbye with many kindly admonitions and good wishes, and for the first
time in my life I was left to the tender(?) mercies of others, feeling as I had
never felt before.
My first school days were, I suppose, much like those of any other
small boy at that time. The life was hard and comfortless, the food was
stinted and unappetising in the extreme, discipline was strict, old Tompkins
(as we called him - behind his back, of course) was a martinet, and Mrs.
Tompkins we met only upon the weekly occasions when she took the drawing
and painting class. The Tompkins had two sons, both in their later teens and
assisting with the tuition, while the elder also ran the games and supervised
the physical exercises. There was a daughter, but she was away at a girls'
school during my time with the Tompkins.
My first official interview with the Head fairly shook me. I had been
sent for and I entered his room without misgivings - to see old Tompkins
seated there behind his desk with my letter in his hand - the letter, a long one,
which I had written home in the fond belief that none would see it but my
parents - and what a letter! It was quite an essay upon what a school should
not be. I did not know that all the boys' letters were censored before
despatch. On top of all the things he said to me on that occasion, the worst
was to come at tea that evening.
Old Tompkins sat at the end of the table and I saw out of the corner of
my eye that he was watching me as I helped myself to some of the white,
tasteless butter made from buffalo milk, and noticed that his expression
became even more baleful as I spread it as lavishly as I would have done at
home. The climax came when I reached for the jam - home-made from sour
wild cherries. Unable to contain himself longer, he called out something
which I did not hear properly but imagined was a question as to whether I
liked jam with my bread - which incidentally was stale and hard - and butter.
To this I replied "Yes, Sir, I do!". “You can have butter or jam", said old
Tompkins, I thought with quite unnecessary emphasis, "but not both together".
The class-rooms were in a small, detached bungalow a short distance
down the hill. The hours were long and, looking back, I think the tuition was
probably good. There were less than a couple of dozen pupils in all and we
got lots of individual attention - too much to please most of us, I fancy. The
boys were a nice lot, and I settled down after a decidedly bad start, soon
picking up all the tricks one had to be up to if life was to be tolerable. One of
these was to creep out of one's room after dark and steal down to the servants'
quarters on the hillside below and at a short distance from the main building.
Two annas (twopence) secured from the bearer's wife a large green leaf with
upon it a big dollop of rice in the middle of which reposed a liberal portion of
excellent curry, with a bit of poppadom - a thin, highly-flavoured wafer - on
top. With this prize one had to creep back and shut oneself into the
bathroom, and having partaken, the remnants had to be taken out and dropped
down the khud (steep declivity).
On Sundays after breakfast we were marched up the Cart Road to the
church on The Ridge, where as a rule the service was taken by old Tompkins.
That was a change from the week's monotony the only other entertainment
being our Saturday afternoon trips down to Annandale to play cricket or
football. On Sunday afternoons there was the school walk in our Eton suits,
usually round Jakko, followed by evening service.
Jakko is one of Simla's outstanding features. The ridge upon which
Simla stands, links the military cantonment or Dagshai and the Simla Hills
beyond on the one side, with Jakko, a hill rising a few hundred feet above
Simla on the other. The road round Jakko for a walk or a drive in a rickshaw
is as popular as the sea road in Bombay is for an afternoon outing. On the
top of Jakko stands the Monkey Temple, where Hindu priests feed the hordes
of monkeys that roam the countryside hereabouts. It is an amusing sight to
see these monkeys with their babies in full possession, evidently well aware
that they had a right to be there.
I have said that old Tompkins' two sons helped with the tuition. In
this respect the elder played an outstanding part. He was at that time, I
suppose, between eighteen and nineteen years or age and being crammed
between-whiles by his father for entry into the Indian Police. His character
can be judged from the fact that, in spite of what must have been a difficult
start in life, not only did he pass in with distinction, but eventually rose to be
Director-General of Police in India, a most responsible position. It was he
more than old Tompkins who created an esprit de corps in the school, and I
think did much towards turning out boys who in several cases rose to
positions of eminence in the public service, both civil and military.
I had been at the school for a couple of months when Tompkins
Primus (I forget his Christian name) who was a sergeant in the Simla
Battalion of the Punjab Volunteer Rifle Corps, roped me in as a cadet in that
Corps, and I recollect how proud I was when I was measured for my uniform.
Meanwhile I was issued with a rifle from the school armoury together with a
belt and sidearm, and the following Saturday afternoon, having been shown
how to handle my rifle, I and those other boys who were cadets were marched
down to the ranges at Annandale for target practice.
 At that time the military were armed with the Martini-Henry rifle
which fired a heavy .450 bore all-lead bullet. The cartridges were bottle-
shaped, the chamber of the rifle being considerably larger than the bore to
take this long, bulky cartridge. It was a single- shot rifle and when fired,
kicked like a horse. My shoulder was black-and-blue next day after firing ten
rounds, but one learnt from experience that by pressing the butt well into the
shoulder before pulling the trigger, this effect ceased to be a serious
disadvantage of an otherwise excellent weapon. Tompkins Primus impressed
a most- important maxim upon all of us - no matter how tired one might be,
never to omit cleaning and oiling the bore of a gun or rifle after it has been
fired before putting it away on return from a shoot.
I was getting to almost enjoy school life when without any warning
our bearer arrived from Mian Mir with a letter for me from my mother, and
another for old Tompkins. These letters were to say that my parents would
shortly be returning to England and my stay at school must be cut short.
With the assistance of Mrs. Tompkins it did not take long to collect
and pack my belongings, seats for myself and the bearer were booked in the
mail tonga due to leave next morning, and in due course we were on our way
back to Mian Mir. There was a toll on the road where one rupee per
passenger was collected, and it was not until then that I learnt that the bearer
possessed only about a couple of rupees, and I not as much. We learnt
subsequently that my mother, in her letter to old Tompkins, had asked that a
sum sufficient for expenses en route be given to the bearer, but for some
reason unknown this had not been done. The return journey to Mian Mir
would take over twenty-four hours and after paying the toll, the combined
funds of the bearer and myself amounted to less than two rupees. What about
meals on the way, tips to coolies and other inevitable expenses?
I had breakfasted at eight o'clock that morning. A late lunch at Kalka
consisting of some biscuits and milk was my next meal. But I could not have
eaten more in any case, since soon after we left Simla I realised that an attack
of malaria was coming on. Malaria is one of those tiresome complaints so
common in the East in those days, and once it got into your system, several
years in the temperate zone is needed to eliminate the disease. Of course this
unexpected development considerably simplified what otherwise would have
been the difficult problem of ekeing out our very limited resources. An
occasional cup of tea at stops during the long journey was all that I could
stomach. As was the case invariably with faithful Indian servants, the bearer
must have gone hungry in order to do all he could for me. That journey
certainly was a most unpleasant experience, and I well recollect how thankful
I was to reach Lahore and be met there by my mother. I was bundled into a
carriage, driven out to Mian Mir, and put to bed.
 XVII
The attack of malaria ran its normal course, and fortunately there was
no recurrence. When I was well enough to take in what was going on, I
learnt that my father had decided to retire on pension and my parents were
already busy with preparations for our departure. There was much to be
done, and it must have been some two or three weeks later before we left
Lahore en route for Bombay. During this period I was feeling much too
listless to take much interest in all the clearing up. The long journey by rail
followed, and after a few days stay in a hotel at Bombay we embarked on a
small steamer which carried only a few passengers, being mainly a cargo ship.
The sea air was what I needed, and in a matter of days only I was feeling fit
again. Our deck space was very limited, but the weather was ideal for what
was destined to be a voyage of at least five weeks to Liverpool. The days
began to seem very long with nothing to do but read a book, play deck quoits
or bull board, eat, or sleep in a deck chair. Then it was that my father got one
of his brain waves and after a consultation with the ship's captain, a sextant
was produced, I periodically regulated my watch by the ship's chronometers,
and started to learn how to work out the position of the ship at noon daily.
Had I not always preferred mathematical and scientific subjects to
those of a literary nature, I do not think that I would have been able to
surmount all the intricacies that followed. Upon the grounding in algebra that
I had received at Simla, my father superimposed another in trigonometry and
the principles and use of logarithmic tables. Then I had to learn how to use
the sextant to take the altitude of the sun, and having done so, apply the
necessary corrections and then work out a series of sums consisting of long
rows of figures from the log tables. Meanwhile the time shown by the
chronometer, also needing correction by a factor of loss or gain as noted
against each instrument when tested at Greenwich Observatory, had to be
taken into account. I survived the ordeal and in due course became able, all
on my own, to arrive at figures of latitude and longitude most pleasingly close
to those worked out on the ship's bridge. The experience went far to
demonstrate to me that even algebra and trigonometry had their uses and were
not only devilish devices with which to harass small boys.
The ship coaled at Port Said and made a brief stop at Gibraltar. Even
crossing the Bay of Biscay We had fine weather, and after a seemingly endless
voyage we eventually docked at Liverpool and proceeded thence by train to
London, where my parents had booked rooms in advance at 156 Queens
Road, Bayswater. This was a favourite rendezvous when in London of my
aunt Loo, whom we had not met since she left us in Gibraltar and was now in
Zanzibar with her brother John. He was then a Commander in the Royal
Navy and holding the appointment of Port Officer at Zanzibar, and Naval
Adviser to the Sultan of that East African State. The furnished apartments of
those byegone days no longer exist. Their place has been taken by the
boarding house or so-called private hotel. I have yet to find any such modern
establishment that can provide at a moderate cost, either the comfortable
accomodation or the good cooking or lodgings run by such a proprietress as
Mrs. Kibby, a retired domestic servant who, as she would have put it, had
“served the gentry" in her younger days.
My parents had planned to make only a short stay in London before
going on to Jersey where they had decided to settle, but it was not to be. The
strain of packing up before leaving Mian Mir during the worst season of the
year had been too much for my mother, the homeward voyage did not entirely
remedy matters, and a serious breakdown followed closely upon our arrival at
Mrs. Kibby's. For several weeks she was confined to her room and in the
doctor's hands. My father had a very anxious time, but now and then we
were able to go out together and I had my first view of some of the sights of
London.
From the open top of a horse-drawn bus, we saw the infamous
Newgate Prison for debtors, so dramatically described by Charles Dickens
and shortly afterwards demolished, after having driven under Temple Bar in
the Strand, destined to remain standing until a considerably later period.
Then there was lunch at Simpson’s, where liberal helpings of English saddle-
of-lamb were carved and served by a white-aproned and capped chef from the
trolley upon which the joint was wheeled round the dining room. Upon
another occasion we had a fish lunch at a little restaurant near The Monument,
and Billingsgate Market, commencing with oysters and with Dover soles to
follow. Of course we went to the Zoo and Madame Tussaud’s and later on
when my mother was convalescing, spent some days watching the cricket at
Lords and The Oval. Of all the museums we visited, the one that interested
me most was the Science Museum at South Kensington.
As soon as my mother was pronounced fit to travel we left for Jersey,
disembarking next morning at St. Helier and being welcomed by General and
Mrs. Pipon, just as had been the case only four or five years earlier. On this
occasion, however, lodgings had been secured for us in Roseville Street near
Havre des Pas, and we had not been there many days before I began attending
Victoria College as a day boy.
I can never forget what a humiliating experience that was for me. I
was placed in a form with boys of ages averaging quite two or three years less
than mine. While I had gained much profound if somewhat sketchy
knowledge of worldly affairs - far greater and more varied in fact than perhaps
most of my fellow pupils would ever acquire - and I could understand and
express myself well enough for all practical purposes in French, Spanish and
Hindustani, my knowledge of the elements of the, grammar of my own
language was deplorable. I knew quite a lot about scientific subjects and
could work out the position of a ship at sea, but the childish problems I was
now set confused and defeated me. I soon learnt that it was inadvisable to
say "Oh, yes, I’ve been there!" during the geography lesson, or to show any
signs of being able to furnish some additional facts I had picked up in the
course of our travels when not only geography, but history also, were the
subjects.
 In the house next door lived the Belfords. Mr Belford, a retired Petty
Officer in the Royal Navy, was the prosperous proprietor of Jersey's leading
tobacconists, and his only son Jimmy also went daily to Victoria College, as
did young Hubert du Parcq, a shy little chap younger than me, but always at
or very near the top of the form in which I plodded along near the bottom.
Jimmy Belford and du Parcq used to call for me on their way up to the
College in the mornings and we became great friends. When last I was in
Jersey, Jimmy had taken over his father's business and had put on weight,
while little du Parcq of our younger days, who entered the Bar, was later to
become Mr. Justice du Parcq, K.C., and not long before his death had a
peerage conferred upon him by our late King.
We had not been long in lodgings when my parents decided to look
round for a suitable residence, and in due course we moved to Rocquaine, a
small double-storied house on the sea-front at Havre des Pas, where we
remained for a year or more before moving to more commodious
accomodation at No.2 Landsdowne Villas, Dicq Road, St. Luke's.
Meanwhile I had settled down to College life and thanks to some coaching by
my father, had managed to work my way somewhat farther from the bottom
of the form in which I started, and I took part in the rugger games and in the
College cross-country paper chases, while photography was a hobby in which
I became an enthusiast.
By that time I was nearly sixteen years of age and it was decided that
to have any chance of entering the army, I would have to go to a crammer. It
so happened that such an establishment existed within a short distance from
where we were living, run by a Mr. Bailey. Accordingly I left Victoria
College at the end of term, and joined Mr. Bailey’s class after the holidays.
Another of his pupils - there were only about a dozen in all - lived with his
parents in a house immediately facing ours and we became great friends.
Harold Matthews was the only son of a retired ship's captain of the Castle
Line that linked South Africa with England, and Harold was destined for the
Training Ship "Conway" and the Mercantile Marine.

The author, aged 16 years.

 Harold and I became inseparable companions. He it was who taught
me to swim in what must surely be record time. We waded out until the
water was breast-high and turned to face the shore. He then told me to strike
out, first with my hands and then with my legs, while he supported my chin
with one hand to ensure that my mouth remained above water. I did as I was
told and felt that I was getting on quite nicely thus, when I suddenly realised
the supporting hand was no longer there and I was swimming all on my own!
I doubt if this first and only lesson occupied ten minutes. From that day he
called for me at six-thirty every morning wet or fine throughout the ensuing
winter, and we ran to the men’s' bathing place at La Collette and dived off the
rocks into deep water, returning in time for a hearty breakfast and our walk to
Bailey's.
It was during the summer of 1895 that I suffered a mishap destined to
render me a cripple in my old age nearly sixty years later. It became quite a
craze with me to take running dives off one of the Jersey Bathing Club's
stages into water the depth of which was changing with the tide, when it was
much too shallow for safety. This necessitated a quick upwards turn
immediately after striking the water, putting a severe strain on the backbone.
One day, one of my most spectacular efforts resulted in an excruciating pain
in my back. Harold had to help me out, get me dried and dressed, and home.
I was on my back for weeks before the young and soft spine, a segment of
which, it has since transpired, had become crushed, joined up again with
sufficient strength not only to allow me eventually to emerge apparently fully
cured of what, in the absence of X-rays in those days, the doctor had
diagnosed as a sever strain, but to carry me through an extremely active
outdoor life until 1953, nearly sixty years later.
 XVIII
It was about this time something happened that was destined to
become a turning point in my life. It proved to be a case of deep and
enduring love mutually exchanged between two young people, both still in
their early teens. Mabel was a strikingly pretty and an entirely artless girl,
but it soon became evident that beneath her childish manner lay an instinctive
dignity, the explanation of which became evident as I began to know her
parents and some of her relations. Her paternal grandmother, who came from
Devon, was named Sarah Olva Dene Pollard, and it would seem obvious that
she was descended from the family of that name, mentioned as follows in the
current edition of a small guide book published at Ilfracombe: “There is an
effigy in alabaster of Elisabeth Pollard, 1377-1430, with three children
nestling in the folds of her gown and with her head resting upon tasselled
cushions, in the Dene Chapel of the church of St. Michael’s in Norwood, on
the road between Barnstaple and Bideford. There are several John Denes
buried in the church; two of them were Rectors for over half a century.” The
maiden name of Mabel's mother was Herivel, or Harivel, the family of her
maternal grandfather, Peter Richard Herivel. First heard of in Normandy in
1390, Herivels settled in The Vale, Guernsey, in 1400. John Herivels were
Bailiffs from 1045 to 1644. Branching off to Alderney in 1720, they were
among the early judges in that island.
I have before me a French book of 391 pages, published in Paris in
1895 by Perrin et Cie. of 35, des Grands-Augustins, and entitled “Military
Souvenirs of Colonel de Gonville, published by the Countess of Mirabeau, his
daughter.” from which the following facts are extracted: Aymar-Olivier le
Herivel de Gonneville was born in 1783. He served with great distinction
throughout the wars in the Peninsular, and died in 1872. The following is the
translation of an extract from page vi of the preface to this book, by General
Baron Amberf “The house of Le Herivel de Gonneville, of Danish origin,
belongs to the most ancient nobility of Normandy. A warrior of that ancient
race accompanied William the Conqueror to England, and became head of the
ducal house of Northumberland, which still bears the same arms as those of
Le Herivel de Gonneville.“
Commander Sidney Peck Herivel, C.B.E., D.F.G., was mentioned
three times in despatches during the Second World War. Among his
numerous exploits, when in command of H.M.S “Kelantan", Leader of a
Flotilla of Minesweepers at the “D” Day Landing, he earned his Distinguished
Flying Corps honour, announced in the New Year’s Honours list of 1953. He
now holds the appointment of President of the recently-constituted States in
the island of Alderney, with which his forbears have been associated for so
many hundreds of years.
My mother died suddenly on May 4th, 1896. She had been ailing
for some time past, nevertheless her death was a terrible shock for us all. She
was buried in St. Saviour’s churchyard. The funeral was attended by the
Military Secretary representing the Governor or Jersey, and by General Pipon
and numerous other friends.
From the day following that upon which Mabel and I had become
engaged, concentrated with feverish activity upon working for my army
entrance examination. I drew up a detailed programme of home work,
reckoning Saturdays and Sundays as full, working days. By rising an hour
earlier for the morning swim, I put in an hour before breakfast. This was
followed on weekdays by two four-hour spells at Bailey's with an interval for
lunch, and I finished up with an hour before going to bed at night. Ten hours
daily. The weekends were mostly spent in my laboratory, and I secured high
marks for, chemistry and geology in the examination. My father coached me
in higher mathematics.
Shortly after my mother's death, aunt Loo arrived. She had returned
from Zanzibar and was staying in London, so my father telegraphed for her to
come over, which she did immediately. Having helped my father with the
settlement of my mother's affairs, she turned her attention to me. Aunt Loo
was a very broad-minded person with a heart of gold, who divided her time
between riding to hounds whenever possible, and helping others when in
difficulties. Babs and I have a great deal to thank her for, but at the stage of
which I am writing she decided that I must at once go to a leading crammer in
London if I was to have any chance of passing into the Army.
So it came about that within the month I found myself in lodgings at
57 Longridge Road and working long and intensive hours at Maguire's in
Earl’s Court Square. Eight hours a day at Maguire's, with a couple of hours
in one's room after the evening meal. I managed to get in a few rounds of
golf at Wimbledon on Saturday afternoons with a fellow-student staying at the
same lodgings. On two or three occasions went to St. James's Restaurant -
commonly known as "Jimmy's" - then a famous night club, where one of
several haughty footmen attired in white satin knee breeches, bright scarlet
coats and with powdered hair, condescended to take our coats and top hats
and deposit them in the cloak room. This cost sixpence, and a similar sum
when we left. Only those in full evening dress were admitted. But an
excellent supper cost only half-a-crown, and champagne ten shillings a bottle.
What used to be Jimmy’s is now the Piccadilly Hotel.
The weeks passed and the first day, of the exam approached. My
father arrived from Jersey and went to a hotel. Then at last the day came
when I had to take my seat in a large room at Burlington House and the first
paper set by the Civil Service Commissioners was set before me. The
examination was spread over ten days with two three-hour papers daily.
When it was over, my father took me down to Bath, there to await the result.
It was a great disappointment for my father when my name did not appear in
the list of successful candidates for entry into the Royal Military Academy.
He had hoped that I would follow in his footsteps and become a gunner. But
when the full list arrived by post from the Civil Service Commissioners, we
learnt that there had been nearly six hundred candidates for the forty
vacancies and that I had qualified fifty-ninth in that list. My rather had to
admit that having regard to the irregularities in my earlier education, I had
done remarkably well.
Meanwhile aunt Loo had completed the clearing up and disposal of
Bel Air in Jersey and rejoined us. It was then decided that I must go to
another crammer and work for entry to the Royal Military College, since by
the time that the next exam for entry to the R.M.A. became due, I would be
over-age, since candidates for the R.M.A. had to be a year younger than
those for the R.M.C. So it was arranged that I should go and live with an
uncle and aunt, Charles and Venetia Stephenson, at Merton near Wimbledon,
and attend the classes of Watt and Thompson at the latter place.
A further period of weary slogging followed, unrelieved by any
occurrence worth mentioning, and again the day approached when I would
have to undergo another examination at Burlington House. Shortly before
that day I began to feel seriously unwell. I was running a temperature when
the day came and how I got through those that followed was little short of a
miracle, since before the end I had high fever and was light-headed. I
staggered back to Mrs. Kibby’s in Bayswater where my father had secured
rooms for us both during the course of the exam. A doctor was sent for and
he diagnosed my case as measles, by then in an advanced stage. I have often
wondered to how many fellow-candidates I had passed it on during those ten
days!
My illness was severe and convalescence slow. We were still at Mrs
Kibby's when the list of successful candidates appeared in the daily papers
and there, near the bottom, was mine! Looking back, I think it was the feeling
that I must succeed that had kept me going. As soon as I was sufficiently
recovered and I and all, my belongings had been disinfected, I went with my
father and aunt Loo to lodgings on the West Cliff in Bournemouth, where I
picked up rapidly.
The sitting room looked out over the sea and there was a pier below
with a flagstaff at its extremity. Looking out of the window one morning, I
noticed an untidy-looking coil of wire hanging at the top of the flagstaff, and
learnt later that it was something to do with Marconi's experiments with
wireless telegraphy, then in its initial stages. I did not know then that many
years later when radio had spanned the world, I would be actively engaged in
work of a similar nature.
 XIX
I was in my eighteenth year when, in the autumn of 1896, I joined the
Royal Military College as a Gentleman Cadet. Life at the R.M.C. was pretty
tough in those days, very different to what it was like when my youngest son
was there thirty-five years later. The cadets were organised in six companies,
each of about sixty. Of these about twenty would be the fresh arrivals, the
juniors, a like number up for their second term were known as the
intermediates, and the third term batch were the seniors. Under-Officers,
Sergeants and Corporals were appointed by selection at the end of the first
term, from the first-term cadets in each Company. It did not take long to
learn that the Company Anteroom with its newspapers, and the Billiard Room,
were forbidden territory for the juniors, that intermediates entered them on
sufferance and only by invitation, and that to all intents and purposes these
amenities existed for the benefit of the seniors alone.

The author, aged 18 years.

Nowadays there are nice white-tiled bathrooms all complete with
showers, hot and cold, and other indispensable conveniences in every
corridor. In my day there were no bathrooms whatever, no hot water was
procurable, and the "conveniences" were outside the building, in the open and
of a pattern precisely similar to those of primitive design provided for "other
ranks" in barracks. The single rooms, of which there were only a few, were
shared between the Under-Officers, cadet N.C.Os. and the seniors. I found
myself allotted to a large room, no.99 in “C" Company, a part of which was
subdivided into three cubicles, each with a bedstead and a small dressing
chest, the space remaining being furnished with a large table and three
windsor chairs. The quite inadequate illuminant at night was gas from a
central pendant. Incandescent mantles had not then been invented, and the
old “batswing” burner gave a poor light. There was a large fireplace,
fireirons and a copper coal scuttle. The floor-boards were bare and unstained.
Reveille sounded at 6.30 a.m. daily, summer and winter, and one had
to be out on parade by 7. Every night while we were down at mess, the old
soldier servant whose job it was to keep several rooms like ours clean and tidy
and make our beds in the mornings, used to pull out from under each bed what
was known as a sponge bath - like a large saucer and little more than three
feet in diameter, and place in its centre a galvanised can containing about a
bucket-full of water. Another of his duties during the winter months was to
lay and light our fire of an evening and leave our scuttle filled with coal.
All this may sound very homely, and since we all three clubbed
together and hired a carpet, arm chairs and other home comforts from a shop
in the village of Camberley, the room soon became transformed. But in other
ways it was not so good, especially in the winter months. As reveille
sounded, the batman went round knocking at our doors along the corridor in
case we had not heard the bugler. We then leapt out of bed and, in the winter
months having first broken the ice on the top of the water in the can, emptied
the water into the bath tub, did a very rapid sponge-down in the inch-deep icy
water, dried, shaved - in cold water - and dressed. We then had to dash along
the corridor and down the stone steps to our messroom. Here if time
permitted a cup of scalding coffee was procurable. Then belt with sidearm
and rifle were seized from the racks along the walls, and after a frenzied rush
to the main entrance, we proceeded to descend the steps leading to the parade
ground “in a smart and soldier-like manner" and without showing any signs of
unseemly haste. A critical inspection by the Under-Officer followed, and
woe betide any cadet whose turnout out showed the slightest defect, even to
the extent of a tiny bit of fluff on his blue serge uniform. A first offence
would get off with a reprimand, but any indication of habitual slovenliness
meant one or more extra drills in the evenings.
Our drill sergeants were Guardsmen, and since the reputation of the
R.M.C. for being as smart at drill as any Guards Battalion had to be
maintained, the hour between 7 and 8 a.m. was pretty hectic. We had a good
breakfast at 8, and class-work started at 9 and continued until 1 p.m. when we
lunched and you helped yourself to beer from the jugs on the table. The
entire Company sat at one long table, the Company Commander - a Regular
officer - at the head, then the senior term, the intermediates next, and the
juniors occupying the lower end of the table, the seat at the foot facing the
Company Commander being taken by the Under-Officer.
The afternoon working hours were from 2 until 4, and again from 5
until 6 p.m. Between 4 and 5 p.m. we were free to join the crush in the
College Dry Canteen in the competition to buy cakes and milk for tea, the
latter in a double-thickness paper bag, the conveyance intact of which to one's
room always was somewhat problematical. We had our own kettle and tea
things there, and the brief respite could be very pleasant.
 Mess dinner was at 7 p.m. and we had to be in the Company
Anteroom by then, correctly dressed in full messkit of stiff-fronted white shirt
with collar and black tie, close-fitting overalls over Wellington boots, dark
blue waistcoat and scarlet shell jacket with dark blue roll collar and facings.
A three-course dinner followed, at the end of which the port and sherry went
round - if you took a glass. It was of course charged in your mess bill. It
was obligatory to do so on the weekly occasion when the health of Her
Majesty Queen Victoria was drunk.
The curriculum for the eighteen months in three terms which we spent
at the R.M.C. varied according as to whether it was one's first, second or final
term, but the following list of the subjects in all of which we had to qualify at
the passing-out examination will suffice to show that we did not have many
idle moment's:
Drill, physical training, bayonet and sword fighting, riding and
swimming. Military History and Law, Administration and Interior Economy,
Strategy and Tactics. Fortification and Military Engineering, Military
Topography. In these subjects there was a considerable amount of outdoor
work in the surrounding country, digging trenches, building bridges, military
sketching and surveying. A full Recruits' Course with service ammunition
had to be fired on the College ranges. We were armed at that time with the
.303 Lee-Metford rifle. I qualified as a Marksman and thereafter sported
crossed rifles in gold thread on the sleeve of my serge jacket.
I found everything interesting except drill, which became very
monotonous, and riding school. To fall in at 7 a.m. on a winter's morning,
frequently on a parade ground covered with snow, and march thence to a
freezing cold, gas-lit riding school at the back of the College building, was
sheer torture. We then had to buckle on a belt to the slings of which a heavy
cavalry sabre was attached, mount, cross our stirrups, drop our reins, fold our
arms, and be walked, trotted and cantered round and round the school. Later
on two jumps would be brought in, one on each side of the school. To keep
one's balance and, therefore, one's seat, was an achievement not to be acquired
without considerable tribulation, not to mention a few falls. The horses were
not, as might surely have been expected well-trained and with nice paces.
Far from it - many of them were vicious and some exceptionally
uncomfortable mounts. The development of all-too-common chafed thighs
and knees was not considered sufficient to excuse anyone from this parade.
The Riding Master was a brute, and we hated him. In later terms, there was
riding and jumping in the paddock, which was far less of an ordeal, though
jumping with a heavy cavalry sabre held at the slope, the blade resting on
one's shoulder, was a tricky business and a painful one if not correctly
performed.
Work finished at 11 a.m. on Saturdays for those who did not hunt.
Cadets who intended entering the cavalry almost without exception kept
horses in the village, and were excused all work on Saturdays if they intended
to ride with any of the Hunt Clubs thereabouts. There was Church Parade on
Sunday mornings in full- dress tunics and helmets, followed by a march to our
chapel in the College grounds for those who had not been excused this Parade
by the Company Commander, a privilege readily granted if one's conduct
sheet was clear. Provided that an entry in the book kept in the Hall for the
purpose was made to the effect that one would be absent from mess that night
and had received the permission of the Company Commander, we were free to
leave the College on Saturday morning after parade and return by 10 p.m. on
Sunday.
Every night during the week "Lights Out” sounded at 10 p.m. and a
cadet N.C.O. hurried round the rooms to see that the order had been obeyed.
In the winter months this also involved tipping out the burning coals in the
fire grate onto the stone hearth. It was hinged to permit of this being done
with the aid of the poker. We were supposed to spend the evenings in our
rooms upon evening study, but I very much doubt if anyone did so. During
the first and second terms when our presence in the ante and billiard rooms
was discouraged by the seniors, these evenings during the winter were passed
in front of a nice fire and in comfortable arm chairs, while glasses, a bottle of
whisky, sugar, a lemon, and a kettle on the hob, provided all the essentials for
an enjoyable evening.
During the summer months there was boating and canoeing on the
lake, or in a punt with a bag of cherries bought at the Dry Canteen. Then of
course there were the Sports, when the College was inundated by cadets’
fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters and other relatives and friends. Members of
the senior term alone had the privilege of entertaining relatives and friends -
ladies included - to tea in their rooms, the Company Commander's permission
having first been obtained. But the event of the year was the Sandhurst Ball.
In those days I had not yet learnt to dance, so I passed a lonely evening with a
book in our room and was in bed and fast asleep long before my room mates
returned from the Ball, full of the good time they had enjoyed. I feel sure
there can be very few who were cadets in those days and are still alive, who
do not look back upon their days at the R.M.C. as on the whole, some of the
happiest and most enjoyable of their lives.
A red-letter day during the summer of 1897 was the Diamond Jubilee
of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. We paraded very early that morning in full
dress and left Camberley by special train for Nine Elms in South London.
From there we marched to Wellington Barracks, where we had breakfast.
The sight of us marching thence to Buckingham Palace behind our own band,
some three hundred and sixty young officers-to-be all in full dress scarlet
cloth tunics and helmets with their bright brass ornaments and chin straps, but
wearing sidearms and carrying rifles, with the precision of any Guards
Battalion, impressed the crowds already gathered along the streets and they
cheered us heartily.
The little boys from H.M.S. “Britannia”, representing the Royal Navy,
all very dapper and wearing their dirks, took up their station immediately
outside the big gates. Next to them were he cadet Artillery and Royal
Engineer officers from the Royal Military Academy, and we Cavalry and
Infantry cadets followed them in the line. Our respective bands, drawn up in
rear, took it in turns to play while we waited for the great moment. A royal
salute fired in the nearby Park was the signal for us to be called to attention,
and the order "Shoulder Arms!" followed as we heard the National Anthem
rollout from a Guards band within the courtyard.
Then our Commandant gave the order “Present Arms!” and out or the
corner of my eye I saw a wonderful sight approaching. Seated upon a dozen
or more magnificent horses wearing richly-embroidered saddle cloths and
about to pass in front of us at walking pace, were the crowned heads of all the
great countries of Europe and beyond, in royal splendour and each grasping
the baton of a Field Marshall. In the forefront rode the Kaiser, with silver
helm surmounted by a golden eagle. It was a sight never to be forgotten - and
close behind them, seated in an open landau drawn by six white horses with
their mounted postilions, a little, grey-haired old lady dressed all in black and
wearing an old-fashioned bonnet, was bowing to left and right - it was the
Queen! Princess Alexandra was the only other occupant of the carriage, seated
with her back to the horses, facing Her Majesty.
My recollection of that event is so vividly impressed upon my
memory that, in recounting what was its greatest moment I have omitted to
mention that the procession was headed by a regiment of the Life Guards with
their mounted band, a magnificent spectacle in itself, and there followed
behind Her Majesty, mounted and foot troops of every branch of the services,
the Royal Navy, the Royal Horse Artillery, the Dragoon Guards, Guards
regiments and regiments of the line, the militia, colonial troops and so on.
We returned to the shoulder when Her Majesty had passed, but were standing
motionless for what seemed an interminable time, in cloth tunics and under a
broiling hot sun, before we were able to march back to Wellington Barracks
for lunch. Shortly afterwards we were marched back to our station outside
the Palace, and the entire ceremony had to be gone through again for the
return of the procession. One thing only, stands out in my memory of that
part of the day. It was the sight of the Queen, now looking what she was, a
very tired old lady, with tears running down her cheeks. Many who saw that
must, I think, have had some difficulty in not following Her Majesty’s
example.
When the tail of the procession had passed, we marched back to Nine
Elms. It had been a gruelling day for us all, and the crowds now dispersing
along the roads gave us a hearty send-off. Night had fallen by the time we
reached the College, almost too tired for the hot supper that awaited us, but
still left with sufficient energy to cheer the announcement that there would be
no early morning parade next day.
At last the end came and after the passing-out examination which
occupied several days, we were inspected on parade by the Commander-in-
Chief, Field Marshal Sir Garnet Wolsey, who made a brief speech and wished
us success in the service and subsequently took the salute at a march past.
Finally there was the time-honoured custom of retirement up the steps and
into the College, the Commandant on his charger bringing up the rear.
 XX
My father met me at Waterloo Station and we drove together to the
old lodgings in Queens Road, Bayswater, there to await the result of the
passing-out examination that would decide not only whether I had qualified to
receive a Commission in the army, but also, depending upon the place I
secured in order of merit if successful, whether I was likely to be posted to the
unit of my choice and to decide the order of my seniority in the service. It
was an anxious time for us both and the days dragged by in spite of visits to
Lords and other diversions.
Then one early morning my father woke me by dashing into my
bedroom excitedly waving the daily paper he held in his hand. Not only had
I passed. My name appeared at the top of a list of about 120 cadets! I gazed
at it in speechless amazement. Surely there must be some mistake? But it
was no mistake. The official intimation was delivered by post shortly
afterwards, and it showed that I had secured first place in almost every
subject.
It was not long before telegrams of congratulation began to come in
from uncles and aunts, cousins and friends. Later on I learnt what a shock it
had been for them. They knew how my education had been neglected in my
earlier days and could hardly believe their eyes when they saw what I had
achieved. I felt much the same about it, though I knew that I had liked the
subjects taught at the R.M.C. and had worked hard. Then all of a sudden I
realized how it had come about. It was because of Babs, of course! We had
kept up a correspondence without a break since I left Jersey and it was the
thought of her that had spurred me on.
The delight of my father knew no bounds. He immediately set about
planning a tour of visits to relations, including those in Ireland. Shortly
afterwards we left King's Cross for Holyhead and the North Wall in Dublin,
where we spent a few days sight-seeing before leaving by train for Westport in
Connaught, and thence on a twenty-seven mile drive on an outside car to
Leenane; a tiny hamlet on the shore of Killary Bay in Connemara. It was a
delightful spot, with the mountains of Connemara in the distance appearing
pale blue through the early morning haze that presaged another perfect
summer day. But it was for the salmon fishing and not the view that we had
gone there, and that was a treat indeed.
Trolling from a boat rowed slowly over the waters in this long and
relatively narrow arm of the sea was the method of fishing adopted for both
salmon and sea trout. There was plenty of sport to be had, but what I
recollect more clearly than anything else is what a difference there is between
salmon that has been in cold storage for some time before reaching the table,
and salmon cooked and served within a few hours of having been caught.
How we enjoyed grilled salmon cutlets for breakfast, cold boiled salmon with
cucumber, and mayonnaise sauce for lunch, and salmon pie for dinner! But it
is remarkable how quickly one can tire of such delicious, but over-rich,
delicacies! By the second day it came as a shock for us to learn that but for a
very occasional chicken, Leenane could produce no other eatable - except sea
trout.
The village inn, just one of about half a dozen thatched cottages and
known locally as the shebeen was quite an institution. Each evening a select
circle of old cronies foregathered in the small parlour principally composed of
the Parish priests from the surrounding district. It seemed that there were few
funny and at times rather broad stories one or other of these regular customers
did not know and recount as opportunity offered. They were very jolly
evenings, mellowed as the darkness fell and the air became chilly when,
gathered round a turf fire, these young priests demonstrated how expert they
were in producing excellent punch from the locally-brewed and wholly illicit
potheen, as this much above- proof Irish whisky is called. Irish whisky, the
peculiar smoky flavour of which I came to like, should never be drunk with
soda water. It is at its best when mixed as punch, with hot water, sugar, and a
slice of lemon floating on top.
A very enjoyable week at Leenane was followed by another long
drive through the mountains and lovely scenery, often between hedges of wild
fuchsias in full bloom, to Kilkee on the south coast and thence by train to
Galway, the scene of my early childhood. Some fifteen years had passed
since my father and mother had lived at Salthill about three miles beyond the
town. The children of those days had grown up, and those of their parents
who were contemporaries of my parents had grown old. I met many pleasant
young people and their parents made much of me, recalling as they did those
earlier times when I was a delicate and troublesome small child and
marvelling to see me grown so well and strong.
Compared with a photograph taken in Burma shortly before we left
there for Mian Mir in India which showed me as a sickly- looking, weedy
bag-of-bones, the change had indeed been marvellous. While the healthy life
with the daily dip in the sea in Jersey had greatly improved my general health,
it was the eighteen months of rigorous drill, physical training and outdoor
exercises at Sandhurst that had made the greatest difference. In my twentieth
year my chest and other measurements were fully normal for my age and
height, I weighed eleven stone, and was bursting with good health and energy.
Moreover I no longer slouched about. I was well set up and my general
bearing showed the effect of all the drilling I had undergone.
What I enjoyed most during our stay in Galway was our visits to
Menlo Castle on Lough Corrib, the seat of Sir Valentine and Lady Blake.
They had grown old but were as hospitable as ever. We stayed at Menlo for
several days and I soon realised that afternoon tea on the lawn that stretched
down to the shore of the lough more often than not became quite a social
gathering, and it was seldom that the company did not include one or more of
the officers of the Connaught Rangers whose depot was in Galway. I came to
the conclusion this could reasonably be attributed to the fact that the
unmarried daughters of the house were decidedly attractive young women.
There was also a son, Thomas by name, destined to inherit the baronetcy upon
the death of his father not long afterwards.
 As I have previously explained, Sir Valentine's eldest daughter had
married my father's brother Thomas. Another of my father’s brothers, John,
who was in the navy, turned up in Galway while we were there, and uncle
Jack and I used to row in and out of Galway along the lough, with my father
steering. There was a bridge over the short stretch of river that joined the
lough to the sea in Galway Bay. From that bridge one could look down into
the clear water and see the salmon in closely-packed rows across the narrows,
flicking their tails now and then and maintaining thus their position near the
bottom.
From Galway we took a ferry steamer to Ballyvaghan in Clara, and
from there we drove on an outside car through Lisdoonvarna, since become
famous by reason of its golf links, and Ennistymon to Kilrush, a small
watering-place on the banks of the estuary of the Shannon. We stayed at
Kilrush for a couple of days before taking an excursion steamer up the river to
Limerick. Here we entrained for Cahir, near Clonmel in Tipperary, where we
were due to stay with our Going cousins. It was upon one of the daughters,
Grace by name, that I had, played some scurvy tricks when she, then in her
teens, had stayed with us at Woolwich during the days of my early youth.
Fortunately for me, she was away from home during our visit, otherwise it is
more than likely that my misdemeanours would have been recalled and my
reputation then at its peak, would have slumped badly.
Altavilla, the home of the Goings during several, generations, was a
large, old-fashioned house standing in spacious grounds upon the bank of a
tributary of the River Suir, upon which they had a boat. There was salmon
fishing within their boundary, and a bathing stage. All the Goings in varying
degree were fond of horses. There were several in the stables and much
riding and hunting in the winter. While we were there, a garden party was
organised and the two tennis courts were well patronised. Looking back, it is
amusing to realise a fact of which at that time I was blissfully ignorant,
namely, that in the course of my wanderings then and later on, I met quite a
number of decidedly attractive girls who, though I failed to appreciate it, were
quite prepared to flirt had I been responsive, which I was not. For me, Babe
was the only girl. What a prig they must have thought me!
The Horse Show at Clonmel took place during our visit, and we all
drove over to see the jumping. Everyone of importance for miles around
appeared to be there, and among them who should I see but the Riding Master
from Sandhurst! It sent a cold shiver down my back. Some years later I
learnt that in his earlier days he had witnessed a terrible accident in the
hunting field and his nerve had never been the same since then. In the riding
school he was always in dread of seeing one of the cadets seriously injured,
and used to cover up his nervousness by cursing them.
From Caher we went by train back to Dublin and stayed at a hotel
from which we visited some of my mother’s relations. The first of these
visits was the most interesting for me, since it was to Abbeville, situated some
miles outside Dublin, which had been my mother’s home when a child and
where she had lived upto the time when she first met my father. It was a fine
old place. There was a lake with swans swimming upon its surface within the
grounds, and it gave me quite a thrill to see in the big hall, the large model of
a full-rigged ship on top of which her brother Reginald had crashed when he
and my mother were sliding down the banisters and he had lost his balance.
We had not been back at Mrs. Kibby's long when we read in the
papers that I had been gazetted to the 1st Battalion of The Hampshire
Regiment, and by the first postal delivery came the official intimation from
the War Office, together with my Commission, which I was proud to realise
had been countersigned by Her Majesty Queen Victoria. Accompanying
these documents was a Memorandum setting out full instructions regarding
the provision of uniform, drawing of pay and allowances, reporting for duty
and so on. Last, but by no means least in my estimation, was the welcome
news that I was granted a month's joining leave with effect from the date of
my commission, which was the 7th May, 1898.

The author, aged 20 years.

 XXI
A busy time followed with the regimental tailors, Messrs. Flight of
Winchester, at their fitting rooms in London, being measured for and
subsequently fitted with my various uniforms, and how different they were to
the prosaic styles of modern times! Full dress consisted of a scarlet cloth tunic
with white collar and cuffs, moulded to the figure and richly adorned with
shoulder cords, collar and cuff trimmings of heavy gold lace, worn over close-
fitting, scarlet-piped dark blue cloth overalls strapped down over calf-high
Wellington boots. The sword belt and slings were of gold-embroidered red
leather, but these were for very special occasions only, those for less normal
occasions being of white buff leather. Over all went the deep scarlet silk sash
with heavily-fringed ends, worn crosswise over one shoulder. The helmet was
white with gilt metal fittings and chin strap, and an expensive ornamental
badge of silver with the regimental badge in coloured enamels in the centre.
White buff leather gloves completed the turnout.
Drill order was the normal daily dress, and it consisted of a scarlet
serge jacket with white cloth collar and cuffs, dark blue piped serge trousers
worn over laced boots, and a webbing sword belt with white buff leather
slings to be worn under the jacket. When off duty the scarlet serge jacket was
replaced. by one of similar pattern of dark blue serge, and with outside breast
and side pockets. The helmet was worn with full dress only. On all other
occasions the field service cap took its place.
Mess dress was a gorgeous affair consisting of a white waistcoat cut
low to be worn over a stiff-fronted white shirt and collar with a black silk bow
tie. This waistcoat had four small gilt buttons each bearing the regimental
crest in silver. The white-piped scarlet cloth shell jacket with its white roll
collar and cuffs had both lapels adorned with the regimental badge in silver
and coloured enamels. The full dress overalls were worn with this dress, but
over Wellington boots of patent instead of ordinary leather.
There had to be similar visits to the regimental bootmakers for fittings
with the several different sorts of boots. The heels or the Wellington boots
worn by officers of field rank (major) and above were fitted with spring
“boxes” let in, to carry the spurs worn by all above the rank of captain. Spurs
for wear on all occasions except when in mess dress had sharp rowels. Those
worn with mess dress had blank rowels. Spurs with sharp rowels at a
crowded after-dinner reception, and far more so at a dance where all the ladies
wore long dresses, would have been calamitous. Then of course some boots
and shoes for off-duty occasions and games were needed. A sword of a length
of blade to suit me had to be procured from the Wilkinson Sword Company.
Finally, my plain- clothes outfit had to be overhauled and supplemented - and
all this without any dress allowance whatsoever! It was an anxious and
expensive time for young officers' parents.
As soon as I could get away from all these activities, which of course
gave me many a thrill, and I had received my first cheque book from Messrs.
Cox & Company, the army agents of those days, I left on a visit to my uncle
George and aunt Ella Baker at Charlbury in Oxfordshire. Hugh, the eldest of
their two small sons, insisted upon my teaching him the manual exercise with
his toy rifle. His brother Kenneth was still in the nursery. During the first few
days of my stay we drove over to Blenheim Park, to a garden party given by
the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough. Blenheim is indeed a lovely spot.
From Charlbury I went on to Clifton, to my uncle William and aunt
Marguerite Laxton. I was shown over the College and watched a cricket
match during my short stay before leaving for Wraxall at Bradford-on-Avon to
visit my uncle Erlysman and aunt Sissie.
By the time that my visit to uncle Erly's came to an end, I had decided
to go over to Jersey and see something of Babs. The feeling that I was now
independent, with my own banking account and my army pay supplemented
by the small allowance made by my father - it was an understood thing in
those days that a young officer could not possibly live upon his pay alone -
was a wonderful sensation, and I was longing to get away on my own and feel
really free to do as I liked.
I shall always remember my feelings of excited anticipation as I left
Wraxall on that summer morning and boarded a train for London. A good
lunch followed, and then the purchase of presents for Babs, the night train to
Southampton and the crossing on the channel steamer. I must leave to my
reader's imagination what I felt when early next morning we drew alongside
the pier at St. Helier and I saw Babs there, waving to me.
I took a room at the Grasshopper Hotel, and there followed one of the
most delightful periods of my life. I was able to get my early morning plunge
off the rocks as in my younger days, since it was not far to the men’s' bathing
place. Then followed long days with Babs, visiting our old haunts, taking
charabanc trips about the island with lobster lunches at the hotels overlooking
Jersey's lovely bays, a night at the Opera House and another for a slap-up
dinner complete with champagne at the Pomme d'Or Hotel, and so on. It
lasted for a week only, but what a week!
I returned to London and to our lodgings in Queens Road where my
father had remained during my absence. Time was getting short, and final
preparations had to be made for my departure. Uniform cases, leather trunks
and bags had to be purchased for all my kit , and this had to be packed. Since
the 1st Battalion of my regiment to which I had been posted was at that time
stationed in India and the trooping season would not commence until early
September, whereas it was now only the last week in May, I was to report for
duty with the 2nd Battalion at Cork in Ireland.
At last the day for my departure came round and my father saw me
off from King's Cross bound for Cork via Holyhead and Dublin. After an
uneventful journey I arrived at the barracks on top of the hill and reported to
the Adjutant, a fiery-looking individual with along, drooping moustache much
in vogue in the army of those days. I was soon in my new quarters, a room
reasonably well furnished by the Barrack Department. A soldier servant had
been allotted to me who turned out to be a real treasure. He had been a valet
and subsequently a waiter at a fashionable hotel before he enlisted, and had all
my things unpacked and arranged in record time. His name was Want, and
when I called out for him, the other batmen along the corridor took a delight
in passing it on as "Want, your wanted!”
I had not been long in my room when three other arrivals earlier that
day looked in. They were Andrews, slightly older than me, having secured his
commission through the Militia, but junior to me in the service, and with him
were Ashby and Fox, both from the R.M.C. but who had not been in my
Company there and consequently were unknown to me. These two had been
posted to the 2nd Battalion, but Andrews like me was for the 1st Battalion and
we would be going out to India together.
Shortly afterwards the senior subaltern turned up and gave us an
outline of what would be expected of us. What it all amounted to was that we
would meet the Colonel in his office next morning, that all officers above the
rank of subaltern must be saluted when first met every morning and addressed
with the suffix of "Sir", and that upon our first appearance that night in mess
we would be regarded as regimental guests. We found later this meant that
but for a stiff "Good evening” in response to ours and a look that seemed to
suggest doubt as to whether we were not something that the cat had brought
in, we would be completely ignored by all. That was the old-fashioned way
of putting the young fresh arrival in his place for a start.
Next morning, however, the outlook brightened considerably. The
Colonel was a stern but kindly gentleman of the old school, while my
Company Officer was friendly and helpful. I soon found that provided one
observed the very strict etiquette of the service in those days, I was being
admitted to a community of close friendship that bound us all together as
firmly as in any family. Some things I had to learn undoubtedly were trying.
For instance, although we were probably more up-to-date in drill of Guards
standard than any of them and could have put the battalion through its paces, I
and my newly-joined fellow subalterns from the R.M.C. had to start at the
beginning with the recruits on the barrack square, doing right, left and about
turn by numbers! That did seem such a futile waste of time and a quite
superfluous irritant.
In the course of my first week I had been initiated into the
fundamentals of a young officer's life in barracks. Quite the most hectic of all
tasks that fall to a subaltern's lot is that of Orderly Officer. On the first
occasion I accompanied one of the old hands at the job. Starting first thing in
the morning, we had to inspect the fresh meat, vegetables and bread delivered
by the contractor, after which every barrackroom in eight companies had to be
visited during the men’s' breakfasts, with the standard question to be put in
each, “Any complaints?", in response to which we devoutedly hoped there
would be an unanimous chorus of "None, Sir!” As I was to learn later, when I
was doing Orderly Officer on my own for the first time, it appeared to be a
time-honoured custom upon such an occasion for one of the older men to
stand up smartly to attention with his plate in his hand and say in an aggrieved
voice "Yes, Sir! This 'ere bacon ain't fit to eat, it ain't , Sir!”
 After a hurried breakfast the changing of the guard had to be
supervised, and then go round all the cookhouses, wash-houses and latrines,
and inspect the prisoners - usually drunks - and their escorts before they
appeared before the Colonel. All barrackrooms had to be visited again at the
dinner hour. The guard had to be turned out at unexpected times, once by day
and again during the night. Prisoners, if any, in the cells to be visited and
asked if they had any complaints, which was not infrequent. The sounding of
Retreat at sundown was quite a ceremony. The drums and fifes and
quarterguard had to be inspected, and then the band marched up and down the
barrack square playing a lively march while the Orderly Officer looked on,
until Retreat was sounded by the massed buglers. Then came mess, wearing
blue serge and a sash instead of mess kit, with one’s sword handy outside in
case one had to turn out for a fire or other unexpected incident. Then there
was the parade of the buglers to sound the Last Post, and finally, Lights Out
and a round of the barracks to see that it had been observed. This round of
duty lasted until the following morning. To leave barracks was forbidden, and
one had to be prepared to turn out at a moments notice if required.
Nevertheless on the whole life was very pleasant. The regiment
maintained a sailing yacht at Queenstown, there were cricket matches, and
tennis parties given by the local residents, many of whom owned large
properties round about, and we had a box at the Opera House. Here it was an
understood thing that officers in uniform were admitted to the Bar behind the
scenes and were thus able to make the acquaintance of members of visiting
companies. Even here there were customs to be observed. For instance, if
you noticed a senior officer standing a drink to the leading lady, you must
keep at the far end of the Bar and pretend you had not seen him.
Shortly after I joined we learnt that the regiment was to go to
Kilworth near Fermoy for its annual field training. There was a standing
camp at Kilworth, a centre for the field training or all infantry units in the
area, consequently the regiment was not required to provide its own tentage.
Our quartermaster went ahead with an advance party of company cooks,
regimental police and a fatigue party to take over the accommodation allotted
to the regiment and prepare the way for our arrival. We covered over twenty
miles on the first day, with a halt on the road for the midday meal which we
carried in our haversacks. It was a broiling hot summer day, the road surface
was rough and very dusty, and the small caps and high, stiff collars of our
serge jacket were not suited to such conditions, while the men, loaded with
their packs and rifles, suffered considerably. But those few who fell out,
mostly the young, recently-enlisted recruits, and had to be given rest in the
ambulances that followed, were remarkably few in the circumstances.
Practically every man in the ranks was a Hampshire yokel, and they are a
tough lot.
The regiment stationed at Fermoy had offered to give us all a shake-
down for the night and this had been gratefully accepted. It was a bit of a
crush, but tired though we all were, the hospitality shown by our hosts to all
ranks made our short stay a very pleasant one. We were on the road again
early next morning, and since Kilworth Camp was only about seven miles
from Fermoy, we soon reached our destination and were allotted to our
respective tents. Officers and other ranks were all accommodated in bell
tents. Every officer had a tent to himself, while each of those allotted to other
ranks had to receive eight N.C.Os. and privates, who slept at night upon
palliasses filled with straw spread like the spokes of a wheel upon the floor-
boards with which every tent was furnished, with their feet towards the centre
pole. The officers’ and sergeant’ messes were accommodated in large
marquees.
Our batmen had gone ahead with the advance party, and after we had
seen the men distributed to their tents and were able to fall out, I found that
Want had got my camp furniture all fixed up and my tent looking quite cosy.
Having gone round our Company lines to see that the men had got their
dinners which were served in camp kettles to every tent, we found a good
lunch ready for us in the officers’ mess marquee. We then learnt that there
would be no parades until next day, and it seemed that we would be able to
settle down in our new surroundings and have a well-earned rest.
But it was not to be. Since our arrival in the morning, clouds had
begun to gather and it became evident that the fine weather was breaking up.
Then it began to rain and a damp, penetrating mist descended on the camp.
The well-worn turf with its numerous bare and dusty patches became a
quagmire. A single-fly tent, if in sound condition, throws off the water that
quickly soaks the canvas, but if worn thin or patched the rain comes through,
which it does in any case if anything inside happens to be touching the
canvas. My batman had made the most of the limited space by pushing the
camp furniture up against it and water was trickling down the back of my
chair and a table leg, while the corner of the pillow on my bed was soaked.
As the rain continued and matters grew worse, we found that the
trenches round all the tents in the camp needed clearing out, and where the
ground was flat, sumps had to be dug into which the water could drain off.
While our batmen did what they could to remedy matters in our tents, all the
officers were out in mackintoshes, superintending this work throughout the
lines. Meanwhile, of course, anyone who entered a tent took with him all the
mud on his boots! Scrapers improvised from hoop iron and tent pegs were
introduced, and anyone quick enough to secure an empty sack put it down as a
doormat.
These conditions continued for three days and nights without a break.
Everything in the camp that was not stowed away in a box - clothing, bedding,
boots - was damp if not sodden. Any sort of training was quite out of the
question. The advisability of returning to our barracks in Cork rather than risk
a serious outbreak of sickness among the men was under consideration, when
the rain stopped, the clouds rolled away, and from that day without a break for
the entire six weeks of our stay in Kilworth Camp the weather remained
perfect. We were allowed a whole day to clear up the mess and get everything
dried before settling down to the training programme.
 The training consisted of tactical exercises, siting and digging
trenches, map reading, field sketching and night marching by compass
bearing, and firing the annual musketry course on the local ranges. Since all
but the older men had received only the sketchiest of elementary education
and would for some time to come be attending the army school, both the
theoretical and the practical work had to be of the simplest kind.
Consequently those of us who only recently had left the R.M.C. with its
decidedly advanced curriculum, found the course boring in the extreme and
took advantage of every possible opportunity to get away from the Camp.
Fly fishing in the River Blackwater that runs through Fermoy was
always pleasant, and Andrews and I often drove into Fermoy on an outside car
with that object in view, and tea to follow at the Imperial Hotel which stands
close to the bridge over the river in the centre of the small town. Then there
were numerous occasions when most of the junior subalterns would be invited
to tea and tennis at one or other of the fine old properties round about, by their
hospitable owners. And there were boats on the river if one felt that way, and
punts.
Including three who had joined some months before Andrews, Ashby,
Fox and myself, we junior subalterns in the regiment were seven, and as the
time drew near for our return to Cork we decided that it was upto us to do
something in return for all the hospitality we had enjoyed. So, having
conferred together and decided upon a plan of action, we made all
arrangements and sent out a number of invitations to a party on the river on
the evening we would be due to pass the night again in Fermoy en route for
Cork.
The party assembled at the Imperial Hotel, where cocktails for all
were served upon arrival and our guests were allotted to their boats. How this
was to be done had all been planned out beforehand. There were some who
wanted to go off alone with some particular young woman, and those more
likely to enjoy themselves with others in a larger boat of punt. The job of
allotting the boats was left to me, and it worked out very well, a fact in no
small degree to my suggestion that a suitable number of bottles of champagne
should be suspended on strings over the side of each craft and cooled thus,
with glasses conveniently stowed.
It was a lovely moonlight night and all went without a hitch. Most of
the boatloads had broken into song before we landed and proceeded to the
Hotel, where it had been arranged that their small orchestra would be in
attendance and the ballroom cleared for dancing. We did not break up until
the early hours and our guests were enthusiastic in their expressions of
appreciation for such an enjoyable evening, which it certainly was.
It fell to my lot to command the rear guard on our return march to
Cork. I must admit that I was feeling a bit jaded when we fell in at 6.30 a.m.
that morning, but we got away in good order and marched smartly down the
hill from the barracks. We were approaching the bridge over the river close to
the Imperial Hotel, when I heard a very penetrating voice call out from the
footpath "Surr, you haven't paid for the boats!" It was too true, I hadn't. I
heard an unmistakeable snigger from my rear guard which I thought it politic
to ignore in the circumstances, while in a few hasty words I gave my name
and address in Cork and promised to send a cheque. It was fortunate that this
assurance was accepted, and no less fortunate that what had happened had
escaped the notice of my seniors!
Only about three weeks remained before Andrews and I were due to
leave for India and these weeks passed quickly in the usual round of duty and
pleasure, and the preparations that had to be made for the voyage. When the
day of our departure came round, we marched with our draft of about forty
young recruits to the railway station behind the regimental band and entrained
for Kingstown, where we boarded the troopship that had come from England
to collect us and several other drafts from Ireland for units abroad. I cannot
be sure after this lapse of time as to the name of the vessel, but think it was
the "Himalaya". Already on board were the 3rd King's Own Hussars from
England, and several drafts. Having supervised the embarkation of our own
men and their accommodation, and of the baggage, Andrews and I were
pleased to find that we had been allotted a double-berth cabin together for the
voyage, destined to last nearly a month The saloon was furnished with a
number of small tables, each seating four or six passengers, whereas the older
ship’s saloon had long tables. The cabin accommodation also was much
better, being more roomy and with electric light.
 XXII
There were quite a lot of young subalterns going abroad for the first
time, and I was fortunate in having to do duty as Military Officer of the Watch
once only on the voyage. It was a task very similar to that of Orderly Officer
ashore, but for the cramped space and the heat below-decks. The many idle
hours were passed in the usual manner with cricket and other deck games,
concerts, a boxing competition and so on, or just reading and sleeping in deck
chairs. We had no rough weather and the passage through the Red Sea was no
hotter than usual, but disembarkation at Bombay followed by a march to the
Rest Camp at Colaba in the atmosphere of a Turkish bath that prevailed in
Bombay for some time after the cessation of the monsoon, is something not
easily forgotten.
We fully expected to have to remain at Colaba for a few days until we
could be embarked upon a Royal Indian Marine ship bound for Karachi and
landed there to proceed by rail to Multan in the Punjab which was our
destination. But to our greet surprise and relief we learnt that accommodation
for our draft and ourselves was being provided in the mail train leaving that
night for Lahore, where we would have to change trains for Multan. Our
march in the cool of the evening to the Victoria Terminus of the Great Indian
Peninsula Railway, entrainment and subsequent departure, were without
incident, and since I found that everything seemed unchanged since I was a
boy and I have previously described what were the conditions on the Indian
railways then, there is no need for me to repeat it here.
It was a hot and lengthy journey to Lahore, but we all were able to
have a good wash and brush-up in the Rest Rooms there before leaving that
evening for Multan, where we arrived early next morning. The Adjutant of
the 1st Battalion and the regimental band were there at the station to meet us.
The march to the British Infantry lines was a short one, and upon arrival we
found everything prepared for the reception or the draft, so Andrews and I
were able to go straight to the two different bungalows in which we had been
allotted accommodation. Each or these was already occupied by two or three
subalterns, but in each there were still a couple or rooms and a bathroom
vacant.
The Adjutant was another fiery-looking officer with a long moustache
like his opposite number in the 2nd Battalion, but in this case the moustache
stuck out aggressively at right angles and was waxed and tightly curled. He
explained the reason for the unusual expedition with which we had been
despatched from Bombay. The regiment was under orders to proceed at short
notice to Landi Kotal in the Khyber Pass on the North-West Frontier. Since
this meant field service, all ranks were busily engaged with the essential
preparations. Operations against the warlike Afridi tribes or the frontier, who
had risen and attacked our outposts in 1897, little more than a year before the
time of which I am writing, and whose suppression had developed into a
major operation by several Indian Divisions, had come to an end, but the
frontier was still seething with unrest and our field forces were only then
about to be gradually withdrawn. Our battalion was one of those being sent to
the front to relieve others that had been through the campaign, and take part in
the garrisoning of the territory until normal conditions prevailed.
One of the first things Andrews and I had to do upon reaching Multan
was to have khaki uniform made up by the regimental durzis (tailors). Since
the khaki drill woven in England was heavier in texture and not quite the
shade approved in India and moreover as these washable suits, of which two
or three would be needed, cost far less to have made in India, we had been
advised not to have this done at home. We both had worn serge throughout
the voyage and the rail journey that followed, and it had been a very
uncomfortable experience Within a couple of days of our arrival in Multan we
were wearing locally-made khaki uniform.
Within a week of our arrival, the regiment was on its way by troop
train to Peshawar (pronounced Pe-shawar - not Pesh-awar, as so many do),
moving on field service scale with the concession in the peculiar
circumstances of blue serge uniform in addition to khaki, since we would have
to winter in the Khyber, where the cold at night is intense. Officers were each
limited to a bedding roll, or Wolseley valise as it was termed, and one small
trunk or box. We were armed with sword, revolver and ammunition pouch
carried on a Sam Browne belt having two shoulder straps, and in addition
there was a case containing binoculars, a haversack well filled with a day's
rations and a filled waterbottle slung across our shoulders.

Ali Masjid Camp in the Khyber Pass, 1898.

We stayed a night in a Rest Camp at Peshawar and left next morning
on a twelve-mile march to Jamrud, where there was another standing camp
situated close under the walls of the Fort, garrisoned by a battalion of the
Khyber Rifles.
Organised in several battalions, the Khyber Rifles is somewhat of an
enigma. What would appear to be an entirely inadequate number of British
officers lead a rank and file composed almost without exception of members
of the Afridi tribes, whose principal duty it was to watch over and control
their own close relatives! The absolute reliability and loyalty towards their
officers of the members of this famous Corps have never been in doubt.
We left again soon after daybreak on the following day upon the long
march of nearly twenty-seven miles to Landi Kotal. Jamrud Fort, built high
above the plain with sun-dried clay, stands within a mile of the entrance to the
famous Khyber Pass. What a stupendous upheaval of the earth's crust there
must have been hereabouts in ages past to cause this rift that extends from the
plains of India to those of Afghanistan, in the vast masses of distorted rock
that lie between! The "Gateway of India" is indeed a fitting name for it, the
only point of relatively easy entry in the entire chain of otherwise virtually
impenetrable mountains that encircle India in the North-West and North. All
the great invasions of India by the hordes from Central Asia in ages past have
entered through this Pass.
The road wound in between the foothills of the narrow gorge. Less
than a mile had been covered when the hills had become mountains towering
precipitously above the road that had been cut out of the steep slope on one
side of and a little above the lowest level of the Pass. By the time we had
reached Ali Musjid, where it widened out for a short distance, the surrounding
mountains rose several thousand feet above us, great masses of twisted rock
almost destitute of any form of vegetation. Near the centre of this wider part,
which extended for half a mile or so, rose a massive rocky pile some hundreds
of feet high, and upon its summit stood the Fort of Ali Musjid with its steel-
shuttered loopholes and door high up in the surrounding wall which could be
entered only when the small garrison, manned by the Khyber Rifles, lowered
a steel ladder from within. There was a camping ground at the foot of this
eminence hardly large enough to accommodate an infantry battalion, then
occupied by a Mule Train halting for the night in its passage from the front to
Peshawar. We had a long halt here without leaving the road, and ate the
dinners we carried in our haversacks.
 The General’s Camp, Landi Kotal, Khyber Pass, 1898.
Mountains of Afghanistan in the background.
The Indian Manual of Mountain Warfare lays down as an axiom that
no movement through a defile of any sort in country that is not friendly must
be attempted until all likelihood of attack, or even of sporadic sniping from
the flanking heights, has been reduced to minimum by the prior picketting of
these heights at sufficiently frequent intervals to attain this object. Our march
had been greatly expedited by the fact that this duty had been undertaken by
the Khyber Rifles and at some points by Khassadars, a sort of local Militia
composed of members of the tribes, recruited and paid by the Political
Department. Had we been obliged to carry out our own security
arrangements, we would have had to make frequent lengthy halts while
pickets were sent out on both flanks ahead, and withdrawn later when the tail
of the column had passed. It would have taken the regiment a full day to
reach Ali Musjid.
The sun was high in the heavens when we set out again. The rocks on
both sides of the Pass were hot, and we were as though in the bowl of a
reflector. The road surface was rough and dusty, and there were numerous
patches or loose stone or gravel. By the time that we had passed the twentieth
milestone the men began to show signs of exhaustion. The last two miles of
the twentyseven were level, across the wide stretch of open ground upon
,which stood the Fort, and beyond it, the General's Camp which was our
destination and destined to become our home for the next six months. I think
we all had had as much as we could stand by the time we reached it, and
thankful we were to find that our advance party had everything prepared.
That march was a remarkable achievement. The battalion had been
stationed for the preceding three years at Multan, where the hot seasons are
long and very severe. It was over-strength, the rank and file exceeding eight
hundred in numbers and a relatively large proportion of the men were
youngsters. The road surface was bad and much of the way was uphill, while
we were enveloped in clouds of dust practically throughout the march.
Nevertheless the two ambulances that followed were not overcrowded when
we reached our destination. We were excused all but essential camp routine
next day, but there were some unfortunates for whom it was far from restful.
Pickets upon the adjoining heights, furnished until that morning by the British
infantry regiment we were relieving and which would be leaving for Peshawar
that day, had to be manned. That meant an arduous climb, followed by a day
in the broiling sun and a night in bitter cold upon the mountain top. Each
such post consisted of a small enclosure surrounded by a low wall built of
loose stone and termed a aangar. Several such pickets had to be maintained,
each of a few rank and file only but an officer’s command, and the small
garrison had to be constantly on the alert against a sudden attack.
The General's Camp had been established some months before our
arrival to occupy it, and provided accommodation for a British Infantry
Battalion with its mule transport, supply and conservancy establishments. It
was located at the western extremity or the flat area encircled by mountains
that marks the highest point in the Pass, and upon the brink or a steep descent
into the plains or Afghanistan, the frontier of which was crossed by this road
to Cabul less than a mile beyond. The camp consisted of some sixty large,
double-fly E. P. (European Privates) tents, each accommodating sixteen rank
and file or two senior officers, with a few small 80 lb. field service tents of
company officers. I was in one or these. The entire camp was surrounded by
a low perimeter wall or loose stone, guarded at frequent intervals by sentries,
doubled at night, furnished by pickets stationed close behind in small tents,
ready to turn out fully equipped at any moment of the day or night during
their twenty-four hour tour of duty, should occasion demand.
The routine of camp life was very similar to what it had been during
the period I spent at Kilworth, and the duties or Orderly Officer no less
exacting, with the notable difference that going round the lines during the day
in a blazing hot sun, and in the darkness at night when it was not permissible
to carry a lantern and no easy matter to avoid tripping over the innumerable
guy ropes, rendered it far more arduous. Throughout our stay at Lundi Kotal
the showing of a light outside a tent at night was a crime, since there were
snipers on the hills around and it always drew their fire. There were few
nights during which one or two shots were not dropped into the camp even if
no lights were shown, just to harass us, but we soon became accustomed to
this and ceased to pay any attention to it. Moreover such chance shots do very
little harm. During the whole six months there were only a couple or
casualties, the only fatal one being a transport mule.
But the regiment we relieved had not been so fortunate. Sniping at
night had been heavy and tents occupied by officers had been identified and
fire concentrated upon them. In my own and the tents of some other officers,
there was a slit trench in the centre with a roughly-made wooden cover over
which a mat was spread, into which one could retire if conditions became too
hot. There were occasions during our stay in Landi Kotal when I lay cosily
tucked into my warm bed, listening for more than the first shot or two from
the neighbouring heights and wondering if I ought to take cover. But the very
idea of leaving a warm bed for a cold trench was too distasteful to
contemplate. My invariable decision was to turn over and go to sleep.
 While my regiment was the only armed unit in the General's Camp,
that situated under the walls of the Fort, half a mile to the east, was occupied
by the Royal Scots Fusiliers, two Indian infantry battalions, a company of
Sappers and Miners, and a battery of Mountain Artillery. It happened that St.
Andrew's Day came round shortly after our arrival, and as many of us as
could be allowed out of camp dined that night with the R.S.F. As was to be
expected, it was a very festive occasion, culminating in an obstacle race over
a row of E.P. tents - up one side, over the ridge pole and slide down the other.
In the course of that hectic evening, we rashly accepted the R.S.F. challenge to
play them at rugger on the polo ground.
At that time, when ponies suitable for training were comparatively
cheap and the cost of their maintenance was low, almost every British officer,
whether in a cavalry or an infantry regiment, played polo. Regiments had
Polo Funds to which a small monthly subscription was paid, entitling
members to supplement their own stables with the loan of additional mounts
from the pool of ponies thus created. During the few months of relative calm
that had prevailed before our arrival, our predecessors had made up a playable
ground near the Fort by spreading a layer of litter from the mule lines upon
the hard ground. Thi3slitter consisted of soiled straw mixed ,with an
appreciable quantity of dung. Had we known this when it was suggested that
we should play rugger upon such a field, maybe we would have thought twice
before accepting the challenge, but we did not. So in due course the great
event took place, to the delight of the troops assembled upon the side-lines,
but very definitely not of the players. Not only was it a highly odoriferous
affair, but to make matters worse, a dusting of gravel over the litter to prevent
it from being blow away by the strong winds that so frequently blow through
the Pass, rendered falls particularly unpleasant. I do not recollect which side
won. What I do remember is that both baths and strong drinks were in great
demand afterwards.
Andrews and I thought ,we had done pretty well when, in reply to an
enquiry by our Adjutant whether we had completed our recruits drill before
leaving Ireland, we assured him that we had, whereas in fact we had not got
beyond the standard of forming fours by numbers on the barrack square. I
think he must have known this, since next morning we were rudely shaken by
being summoned to the front of the battalion which was strung out in line on
the parade ground, and each of us in turn was ordered to put the battalion
through the manual and bayonet exercises, then to form quarter column,
wheel the battalion and reform line facing a change of front. There were fully
700 men in the ranks on parade, which meant that the line was about 250
yards long, and a stiff breeze was blowing across the ground!
Until that moment, a company frontage of perhaps 40 yards was the
most I had drilled at the R.M.C. When I had duly acknowledged the order by
saluting with my drawn sword, it was in a state of near panic and all of a
tremble that I had to march alone, with my sword held at the “carry”, the
entire length of the line and to a point at some distance from it in order to get
the wind behind me and so have some hope of my words of command being
heard by as much of the line as possible. It is on occasions such as these that
the men seem to sympathise with one's obvious difficulties and play up so
well, and both Andrews and I survived the ordeal, for that it certainly was, at
any rate for me.
In addition to Andrews and myself there were three or four young
subalterns who had joined the battalion from the regimental depot at
Winchester shortly before us, who had not yet fired the annual musketry
course, and it was decided that we should do so on a range in a neighbouring
nullah that had been improvised by the outgoing unit, extra pickets being
posted on the heights above during our shoots. The Second-in-Command
very sportingly promised a prize to the officer with the best aggregate for the
course. I was fortunate in winning this, a fine cigar case of real crocodile
leather with a monogram in silver upon it which I have since passed on to my
youngest son. I have long given up cigars or even Indian cheroots. They are
far too expensive a luxury nowadays for officers retired on pension!
Having completed the musketry, the next task to keep us busy was a
signalling course with the flag, heliograph and lamp. I found this somewhat
tedious during the first few weeks, but later it became very interesting, and
my name and those of two of our N.C.Os. were sent in for the next course at
the School of Army Signalling at Kasauli, due to commence in the early
spring of the following year.
The officers at Landi Kotal mess consisted of three E.P. tents pitched
in a row and close together, forming one long room, the first two with long
table down the centre and folding chairs. The third tent, screened off from the
other two, was arranged comfortably as an anteroom and had a wall of sun-
dried clay at the end in place of the canvas kanaut (tent wall) and in its centre
there was a large fireplace in which logs were burned. Many cheery evenings
were passed here when the seniors had retired to their tents after their rubbers
of whist - bridge was unknown in those days - and we were able to settle
down to poker or a sing-song, interspersed with a goodly number of rounds
of drinks.
Meanwhile the units in the Fort Camp were being gradually
withdrawn, striking camp and taking with them their tents and other
equipment, and a day came when the Fort stood there alone in the plain,
garrisoned only by a battalion of the Khyber Rifles. Last of all, we received
orders to withdraw to Peshawar, covering the despatch of the divisional
reserve ammunition and our own tentage. Transportation of the ammunition
alone involved the muster of a large number of camels and an entire Mule
Corps of several hundred mules. Andrews and I were given the very tricky
job of riding with the column and its escort and shepherding them along the
road. On that occasion the heights were more strongly picketted than usual in
anticipation of attempts to capture boxes of small arm ammunition, every
round of which at that time had an exchange value among the Afridis of one
rupee.
 It was imperative that we should complete the twenty seven miles to
Jamrud before dark. The loading of that ammunition upon camels that made
unearthly noises and mules that kicked and tried to throw their loads, by
blaspheming fatigue parties in the darkness that precedes the dawn, was a
nightmare. We eventually got away with a string of animals that must have
covered the best part or two miles of road. We had to ride up and down that
convoy time after time and from then until the late afternoon, with a short halt
at Ali Musjid, and curse ourselves hoarse endeavouring to prevent the column
from growing longer and longer by straggling until it got out of control.

The Kissar Khana Bazaar, Peshawar City.

It was a great relief when we reached Jamrud without serious mishap
or any losses. I was almost too tired to dismount, but revived somewhat when
the Canteen Corporal, who had gone ahead with the advance party since the
regiment was following close behind us, marched up to me, halted, saluted
smartly and without a word, handed me a pint bowl full of dark brown Murree
beer. Had I then known what strong drink can do for a tired man who had
eaten little more than a boiled egg at 3 a.m. and in the fourteen hours that
followed, nothing but a couple of sandwiches with a swig of water, I would
not have emptied that bowl down my throat as I unhesitatingly did. Result - it
went straight to my head, and it was fortunate that my small tent was up and I
was able to make a bee-line to it and go straight to sleep. It is on such
occasions that one realises the true value of a good Indian servant who had
accompanied the advance party.
The regiment marched in shortly after us and having passed a night in the
standing camp, since our presence with the ammunition convoy was no longer
considered necessary, Andrews and I rejoined our respective companies for
the march from Jamrud to Peshawar. On this march we had the unique
distinction of being led by the Pipe Band of the Khyber Rifles. These pipes
were of Pathan and not Scotch type, a very reedy instrument somewhat
similar to a clarionet in tone, the wailing notes of which playing the Zakhmi
Dil (wounded heart) had a strangely eerie effect. The British Infantry
regiment we were about to relieve turned out to greet us and we had quite a
triumphal entry into the Perimeter Barracks, a line of large, double-storied
barracks built on a curve with their backs, loopholed for defence, facing the
open plain beyond. Having seen the rank and file into their new quarters, we
were able to fall out and find our way to the bungalows in which we had been
allotted accommodation, I with two other subalterns to one not far from the
mess.
 XXIII
Peshawar cantonment was a large station even in those days, but the
garrison now is considerably greater than it was then and its limits have
grown almost beyond recognition. But it is as beautiful as ever during the
cold weather, with its rose hedges flanking the roads, lovely gardens, and the
famous old Peshawar Club still flourishes. The round of work and pleasure in
an Indian cantonment is so well known to so many nowadays, I will not
attempt to describe it here but only say that we worked as hard as we played,
and life on the whole was very enjoyable. There was excellent snipe shooting
in the jheels (marshes) within a couple or miles of our quarters, good hunting
with the Peshawar Vale Hounds, and the golf links were as good as many in
England, being laid out on the springy turf that fringed the Cabul River which
flowed past Peshawar.
An outstanding annual event was the District Assault-at-Arms to
which came from stations far and, wide, individuals and teams representative
of every branch or the armed services to compete in the many contests that
continued for several days. There was individual and team jumping and tent-
pegging by the cavalry, drill and gymnastic competitions, sword and bayonet
fighting, war-quoit throwing by the Sikhs, competitions between field and
mountain artillery gun teams, and several events for officers alone. My
regiment was “At Home” to all officers and their wives, while during this
festive season there was much entertaining by regiments and individuals -
mess and private dinners, a Garden Party at Government House, and so on.
On this occasion, however, fate decreed that a terrible tragedy was destined to
put a sudden end to all these festivities. It was in the late afternoon of the last
day of the Assault-at-Arms that Lieutenant-Colonel Le Marchant, a most
popular officer with all ranks of my regiment which he commanded, was
standing near one of the shamianas in which our guests were having tea. He
was speaking to one of our subalterns who was mounted and about to take
part in a jumping competition, when there was a loud report. The colonel
staggered, cried out “I'm shot!” and fell to the ground. It all happened so
suddenly and unexpectedly, for an instant we who were standing round quite
close were dazed, but in a flash it became apparent what had happened.
The refreshment tents had been erected upon the margin of the large
open space upon which the Assault-at-Arms was held. Behind the tents and
not fifty yards from them was a road leading from the town, and along this a
crowd of Pathans had collected. Two or these spectators, both trans-border
Afridis as was evident from their dress, had moved out of the line and taken
up a position where they were only a few yards from where the Colonel was
standing. Partly screened by one of these Ghazis, the other had fired a heavy
muzzle- loading pistol through the blue-chequered cotton shawl he wore
swathed round him, as was the custom among these tribesmen. A miss at that
short range was virtually impossible, and it was ascertained subsequently that
the large round leaden bullet had entered the Colonel's back, passed through
his body, and was found under the skin of his chest.
 The assassin flung down his pistol and also the shawl which was
smouldering where the shot had passed through it, and both he and his
accomplice fled in an endeavour to merge again with the crowd at the back.
But some or our men who were armed as they had been taking part in a drill
competition, were standing nearby and acted too quickly for the fugitives.
They were caught and, I learnt later, the infuriated men got in with their
sidearms before the police took charge. In those parts and days, justice was
summary and speedy. Both men were hanged the following evening, at the
hour when their victim was being buried.
Our regimental doctor, who was having tea at the time, ran from the
tent and knelt by the body. After a very brief examination, he rose to his feet
and solemnly removed his hat. My recollection of this sad occurrence is that
what happened next was quite remarkable. Without anyone giving any orders,
a white tablecloth was stripped from a buffet in the tea tent with which to
cover the body while awaiting its removal. Teams were quietly formed up
and marched away. Parties broke up in silence and followed. In an amazingly
short time the ground was completely silent and deserted.
That was the end or all festivities in Peshawar for some weeks to
follow. Dinner that night in mess was eaten in complete silence. The funeral
took place the following afternoon. Anyone who has seen the funeral of a
senior officer knows what an impressive ceremony it is. All were in full dress
with black armbands, the officers in their scarlet gold-laced tunics, the rank
and file in red home service dress and with arms reversed. The coffin was
borne upon a gun-carriage and covered with the Union Jack upon which lay
the Colonel's sword and helmet, and four officers of rank corresponding to
that of the deceased, from other units in the garrison, acted as pall bearers.
Close behind the coffin his charger followed, led by a Non-Commissioned
Officer of the regiment, and in the stirrup irons that hung from an empty
saddle were the Colonel's spurred top boots, facing backwards. Behind the
charger, officers of the regiment followed in order of juniority , two and two.
Since Andrews and I were the last joined, we led the procession, which
included officers from all units in Peshawar, the General following with his
staff. Preceding the cortège was our band, with muffled drums and
instruments draped in black, playing the Dead March in Saul.
It was some distance from the hospital mortuary to the cemetery and
we had to “Slow March” all the way. After the coffin had been lowered into
the grave and earth cast upon it by the clergyman who took the service, three
volleys were fired by the battalion drawn up in the road outside, and then the
brigadee buglers sounded the “Last Post”. It seemed strange to fall in again
with one’s company and march back to barracks with our band playing a
lively air, but upon reflection I realised it was a good custom. The
psychological effect of such a spectacle is most depressing, more particularly
for sensitive natures among all ranks, and it is very desirable to relieve the
tension thus. I was glad that I would be leaving a few days later for the
School of Army Signalling at Kasauli.
 XXIV
Kasauli is a small hill station situated upon a spur of the foothills or
the Himalayas, facing Simla and the military cantonments of Chutogh,
Dagshai and Subathu spread out along another at a greater altitude on the far
side of a valley some thirty or forty miles wide. The principal buildings at
Simla could be seen in the clear mountain air, from a point not far from the
school. I reached Norton's Hotel by mail train from Peshawar to Umballa and
thence upon a pony up the hill, my kit following by coolie. Several officers
from British and Indian units stationed in various parts of the Punjab
converged upon this hotel and another not far from it, to attend this course of
several weeks duration. N.C.Os. attending the course were attached for
quarters and rations to the small Hill Depot, a row or bungalows facing a
parade ground a little lower down the hill, housing also parties of
convalescents from British units in the plains, and leave parties.
To qualify for a certificate of proficiency it was necessary to acquire a
fair speed at sending and receiving messages under various conditions by flag,
semaphore, heliograph, lamp and telegraph sounder. On the theoretical side a
satisfactory knowledge of the methods of establishing and maintaining
communication between units and larger formations engaged in operations,
had to be attained The course was arduous and the working hours long.
Suffice to say here that I succeeded in attaining an aggregate in all subjects in
excess of 80% and so earned a "Special" certificate qualifying me to hold the
appointment of Brigade Signalling Officer or Divisional Instructor of
Signalling, whereas the “Ordinary” certificate was as a Regimental Instructor
only.
There were a few junior captains up for the course, mostly from
Indian Army units, the rest being British and Indian service subalterns and
other ranks from British units only. Of the officers, there were three whom I
got to know very well, and we shared a table for meals at the hotel. One of
these was Gem of the Royal Sussex Regiment. He had a room next to mine in
the hotel annexe and we became great friends and, I must here admit, were
largely responsible for the efforts of the class to wake up what we found was a
very sleepy little hill station. Gem also did well at the course and when some
years later a Corps of Signals was formed in the British service, he was one or
the first to transfer to that Corps of which eventually he became the
Commandant.
Until the formation of the Royal Corps of Signals there was no
organised signals service in the army other than that in the Royal Engineers
,which handled the military field telegraphs. Every unit had its regimental
signallers under a qualified officer, and for training exercises above
regimental level, or upon mobilisation, in India special signal sections were
formed for lines of communication duty from offers and other ranks
transferred from units, these sections being issued with sets of equipment held
ready for issue from Ordnance and other Depots.
 We established the practice, kept up throughout our stay, by the four
of us who shared a table, of each in turn standing a bottle of port after dinner
each night. This may sound very extravagant nowadays, but quite good port
at that time cost only four rupees, the equivalent of five shillings and
fourpence a bottle. Most nights after dinner we were out at practice with the
Begbie lamps, including the Type CC with which communication with
Chutogh neal Simla could be maintained unless atmospheric conditions were
abnormal. But now and then we got an evening off, and we seldom missed
these opportunities for doing something out or the ordinary.
One example should suffice to indicate how undoubtedly we
succeeded in waking up the residents of Kasauli. One of-duty night after
dinner we decided to look up other members of the class who were staying at
another hotel farther up the hill. On our way one of our party stopped and
pointed up at a large enamelled iron sign, nailed to a fir tree some ten or
twelve feet above a path that led to a bungalow. This displayed in blue
letters upon a white ground the words “MRS. HOBSON, DRESSMAKER"
and must have been quite six feet long. After a brief conference, we decided
unanimously that it would show to better advantage on the Depot Parade
Ground. So we collected the fellows from the other hotel and I shinned up the
tree and swung the sign until it came down. It took four of us to carry it.
Having reached the selected destination - the first small bungalow in the row
that stood along two sides of the parade ground - we removed the two small,
neat black boards that hung above adjoining doors that faced the front, and
substituted for them Mrs. Hobson's mammoth sign.
The enormity or our action will be appreciated when I mention that
upon one of the small black boards we had removed, in neat white lettering,
were the words "DEPOT OOMMANDENT", and upon the other, "STATION
STAFF OFFICER". When our Chief Instructor expressed his strong
disapproval next day, it transpired that why the Depot Commandant had been
so very cross about it was because the substitution was not discovered in time
to permit of it being remedied before morning parade, and the general hilarity
that resulted was not conducive to good order and military discipline.
On our way back to the hotel that night to have some light
refreshment after our exertions, to my dismay I discovered that one of the
regimental buttons on my serge jacket was missing and must have got torn off
when I went up that tree. This meant that it was probably then lying on the
path beneath and its discovery would fix responsibility for the escapade upon
me alone! We all proceeded forthwith to look for that incriminating button
which, greatly to my relief, was found on the path as I had anticipated.
Presumably with the object of frustrating any further demonstration of
high spirits, we were kept busy until late on the day preceding the break-up of
the class. This did not prevent a party at our hotel which continued until the
early hours and was rounded off by the serving of Prairie Oysters and Red
Toast. For the benefit of those to whom these exotic pick-me-ups are
unfamiliar, I should explain that a Prairie Oyster consists of a little Worcester
Sauce in a wineglass into which a raw egg is broken, being careful to keep the
yolk intact, pepper and salt being added to taste. It must be swallowed in one
gulp. Red Toast is scrambled egg - known to Indian servants as “rumble-
tumble" - cooked with cayenne pepper in the proportion or a mustardspoonful
per egg, on buttered toast.
Although by then dawn was not far off, we were by now feeling so
invigorated, the suggestion by one of us that something really must be done
on this our last night was carried unanimously, so we split up into several
small parties and scoured Kasauli for as many of the small boards that usually
hung on nails in fir trees where paths branched off the main road to the
various bungalows. These displayed the rank, name, and official standing of
the occupant. Having collected these, and we secured a goodly number, some
or us climbed onto the sloping roof of the hotel and laid them out there in
rows. Since the hotel stood upon the edge of a precipice, this undertaking was
not without its risks, but nobody was hurt and the display as seen from the
road above was quite imposing.
 XXV
My regiment had left Peshawar while I had been in Kasauli, and
moved to Cherat for the hot weather. Cherat was a small station in the hills on
the South of the Peshawar Valley and some forty miles from Peshawar. I
returned as I had come, but got off the train at Pubbi, sixteen miles short of
Peshawar, and drove from there by tonga up the hill. Barrack accommodation
in Cherat was limited and I found that an E.P. tent had been allotted to me
near the mess. This tent had been standing for some time, the guy ropes were
too slack and the side walls leaned crazily. Untidiness has always annoyed
me, so while my bearer set about tightening the ropes, I went round inside
straightening up the canvas kanauts which are eyletted along the top and laced
to the roof canvas, the lacing being screened by a fringe of canvas a few
inches deep. Somewhat incautiously - it is a mistake to take anything for
granted in India - I put my hand under this fringe without lifting it, and
immediately felt what seemed as though a red-hot needle had been thrust into
the end of a finger. It was indescribably painful, and raising the fringe, there
sat a large scorpion with its tail at the end of which was the sting, arched over
its back ready to strike again!
My finger throbbed with pain such as might be expected had I pressed
it repeatedly against a red-hot iron. It was already quite black as far as the
first joint, beyond which this discoloration spread rapidly to the palm of the
hand and some distance up the other fingers and thumb, reaching nearly to the
wrist and fading to blue at the extreme points reached. My bearer brought
strong drinks from the mess as fast as I consumed them. The doctor came,
lanced the puncture and rubbed in permanganate of potassium. I walked up
and down cursing for several hours. Finally, completely exhausted, I dropped
on my bed and went to sleep - and woke next morning feeling none the worse!
A scorpion sting is desperately painful and can be dangerous if the sufferer is
in bad health, or a young child, but not otherwise.
I had not been back long when the result of the final examination at
the Signal School reached the regiment, and I was forthwith appointed
Regimental Instructor of Signalling. A leading topic of conversation just then
was the South African War, which was not going well for us, and there were
rumours that some British troops were likely to be sent from India as
reinforcements. Since the procedure for the handling of signal traffic in India,
which in those days was based upon telegraph traffic and differed in many
important respects from that laid down in our British Manual of Army
Signalling, I at once started training our own signallers in the procedure they
would have to adopt should they be called upon to work with other troops in
South Africa.
Regimental routine and tennis on a couple or hard courts on the
margin of the small parade ground a couple of hundred feet below our lines
was all we had to occupy us during our off-duty hours. The only sights of
interest about Cherat were the regimental crests cut out in the rocks
overhanging the cart road, and then there was our Sergeants' Ball on Minden
Night. For years past every British regiment that had spent a hot weather at
Cherat had left behind it, carved upon the rocks, a large facsimile of its
regimental crest. Our Pioneer Sergeant was soon at work with his men,
adding ours in a prominent position.
Every British regiment that took part in the famous fight among the
rose gardens of Minden and whose regimental badge since then has displayed
the Minden Rose, celebrates the anniversary of that historic event. It was on
August 1, 1759, that a British and Hanoverian army defeated the French near
Minden. The battle is memorable for the advance under fire of six British
regiments since known as the Minden regiments. The Hampshire Regiment
was one or these.
The Sergeants’ Ball was our celebration of the anniversary of that memorable
event. A dance floor was laid on the end of the parade ground and a row or
open-fronted E.P. tents were erected and furnished as Bars, for other
refreshments, and for sitting out. Everyone in the garrison was invited, and it
was a most enjoyable entertainment that did not come to a conclusion until the
early hours of next morning. It was well known to us all in the regiment that
our sergeant hosts always did their utmost to inveigle us into drinking more
than was good for us. But not all our guests from other units were aware of
what they were in for, and it therefore did not surprise me when, on my way
back up the hill, I saw an officer of one of those regiments going up ahead of
me on his hands and knees. But I was tickled to death by the sight of his own
Colour Sergeant following close behind him in the same posture, presumably
resolved to see his officer safely home!
 XXVI
Coming as it did very shortly after this enjoyable time, it was an
unpleasant shock to be gravely informed at Orderly Room one morning that
there had been several cases of cholera among the camp followers during the
night, and we must be prepared to leave the station at short notice if
subsequent developments demanded such a move. What with isolation,
disinfection, inoculation and so on, cholera is not the terrible scourge it used
to be. My father's battery stationed in Gwalior Fort about 1860 lost half its
complement from cholera within twenty-four hours of the outbreak. There
were no fresh cases in Cherat during the succeeding few days, but meanwhile
I and a subaltern of the Dorset Regiment were ordered to leave with a small
Indian cavalry escort drawn from Nowshera, and find a suitable site for a
camp in the valley on the far side or the range of hills on which Cherat was
situated. The escort was desirable since this valley was in Afridi territory.
We both were mounted and one mule carried our two Wolseley valises
in which in addition to our bedding, were our other personal essentials. Since
the other subaltern was my senior in rank, he took charge of the little column,
while I was given the job of surveying the site selected and the road that led to
it. It was a good fifteen-mile ride down a pathway that was little more than a
ledge cut out of the hillside to the plain below, and then a couple of miles
across open country to a low spur which, after a long scrutiny with our field-
glasses from a point on our way down, appeared to be the most promising
spot for a camp in the neighbourhood.
By the time we reached the bottom of the hill, the heat had become
intense. It was painful to grasp anything made of metal that had been exposed
to the sun. In addition to our arms and equipment on field service scale, I
carried a cavalry sketching case which I used to eye-sketch the route
followed, a prismatic compass with which to take bearings on distant objects
and so resect my position from time to time, a service clinometer to enable me
to insert the contours of the ground, and my case of drawing accessories. A
plane table for use when mapping the selected site and a cavalry type three-
inch heliograph with which to maintain communication ,with Cherat, were
carried on the baggage mule.
We left Cherat soon after dawn and it was nearly midday when we
reached our chosen site. Our intention was to complete the job as quickly as
practicable and then move on the Khairabad for the night. Khairabad is a
station on the main railway line to Peshawar with a refreshment room, and we
planned to occupy the waiting room, where I would be able to clean up my
sketches. Moreover we would be able to return thence by rail to Pubbi, and
on to Cherat by mail tonga, sending our escort, with the two ponies and our
baggage mule, back by road.
It worked out admirably, but not entirely without incident. We had
reached our destination and were setting up the plane table, when we saw a
small group of Afridis approaching us from a little hamlet some distance
away. As it drew near, we saw that it was led by an old man with a long white
beard. Behind him came two men carrying a charpoy, followed by a small
party of these villagers. We concluded that it must be a funeral until it
became evident that the procession was heading straight for us. Suspecting a
trick, at which Afridis are adepts, the men of our escort who meanwhile had
dismounted and hobbled their horses, moved unobtrusively forward on our
flanks.
We waited, wondering what would happen next. The procession
came close and the charpoy was placed on the ground. Then the old man
advanced, saluted with great dignity, and motioned for us to be seated. My
fellow-subaltern hesitated. In a flash I remembered that he was fresh from
England and probably had never been in India before. The experience of my
boyhood served me well. I returned the salute, winked encouragingly at my
opposite number, and we both sat down on the charpoy. Then one of the
followers came forward with a small, dirty brown earthern pot and handed it
to the old man, who took it and having first dipped what looked like a none-
too-clean finger into the milk it contained to demonstrate that it had been
warmed, gravely handed the pot to me.
My fellow-subaltern, who knew little or nothing of eastern customs
and susceptibilities but was fully alive to the danger of drinking the milk,
since our information was that the cholera had spread throughout the area,
looked horrified when I took the pot. He was about to interfere when I
quickly thanked the old man in Urdu and then explained to my opposite
number in as few words as possible why it was essential that I should drink
some of the milk, which I proceeded to do. It certainly was a most unpleasant
moment, but I knew the danger of declining this gesture of friendly hospitality
to uninvited visitors to his land, which would have been taken as an insult by
this proud old man. It was fortunate that he understood Urdu since my
knowledge of his native tongue of Pushtu was extremely sketchy. I explained
to him what we were doing and he was quite satisfied, doubtless with visions
of sellings some chickens and eggs should the camp materialise. Since the
epidemic subsided almost as quickly as it had started, this did not happen.
Having secured all the data we needed, a move was made early in the
afternoon to the north-east with the object of striking the road lading to Attock
and Khairabad beyond. The heat was very trying, and when we reached the
road upon both sides of which the hills closed in as we approached the Attock
Gorge it became almost unbearable. These hills are of distorted rock and
almost completely devoid of vegetation. Basking in the heat upon the rocks
close to the roadway were what I then thought to be enormous lizards, some
as much as five feet long. I realised subsequently that they must have been
young mugger (the Indian crocodile). Their uniformly brown colour and
distinctive skin markings were unmistakeable. Mugger frequently travel far
across land from one expanse of water to another, and by then we had reached
a point not far distant from the Cabul River.
About a mile beyond this point we passed within the outer ring of the
defences of Attock. Loopholed walls extended across the lower ground and
stretched without a break up and down the hills on both sides of the road.
Upon the heights above were concealed emplacements for heavy artillery,
approached by roadways up which the guns could be hauled. The guns for
these defences, created when the danger of invasion by Russia was considered
to threaten India, were at that time stored in Attock Fort which dominates the
rocky gorge through which pour the waters of the Indus and Cabul Rivers that
unite but a short distance away.
Close to the Fort, the gorge is spanned by a mighty suspension bridge
carrying the broad-gauge railway line and above it, a roadway. At both ends
or this bridge and on each side of the line stand masonry towers with steel-
shuttered loopholes. Indian troops garrison these strongpoints at all times,
and every train or road vehicle that makes the crossing does so at walking
pace and after close inspection, under escort. In fact this bridge, the only one
that spans this great river barrier between the North-West Frontier and the
plains or the Punjab is a defile no less vital to India's defence than the Khyber
Pass.
Khairabad stands upon the north side or the gorge and faces the Fort on the
opposite slope. Having arrived at the railway station and had most refreshing
baths with dinner to follow, we settled down in the waiting room to complete
our sketches and written report before turning in for the night. Our return to
Cherat next morning by rail and tonga was uneventful, and we were back in
our respective quarters in time for lunch.
 XXVII
It was not long after my return to Cherat that my appointment as
Brigade Signalling Officer of the Khyber Moveable Column and Divisional
Instructor of Signalling at Peshawar appeared in Divisional Brigade and
Regimental Orders - a nerve-racking experience for a subaltern with less than
eighteen months of army service! We were shortly to return to Peshawar and
there was little that I could do meanwhile, but I spent some late nights
planning for the future, and a combined exercise in the adjoining hills gave
me an opportunity to tryout my scheme for the maintenance of
communication between units that such an operation demanded.
Over-anxious to see to everything personally instead of delegating
authority as I should have done, I climbed hills and rushed around until I was
thoroughly overtired. As a result I made a false step on a precipitous slope,
managed to save myself from a fall that might have proved fatal but in so
doing I split the muscles that lie beneath the skin in the groin and serve to
retain that part of one's interior economy in place. Acute pain and a swelling
told me that something had gone seriously wrong, but I was able to carry on
and keep the mishap to myself until we returned to our lines and I could get
hold of the doctor.
It was unfortunate that instead of putting me on the sick list, he
yielded to my entreaties not to do so and fixed me up so that I was able to
march back to Peshawar with the regiment. That did not improve matters, and
I think it was one or the most depressing moments or my life when I learnt
that meanwhile I had been selected to go to South Africa with the only Indian
Brigade being sent there, as its Brigade Signalling Officer, instead of taken
over the two local appointments previously mentioned, since I realised that I
could not hope to pass the medical examination that would have to be
undergone by all ranks before setting out. There was no other course open to
than to state the facts regarding my accident and explain that I had hoped to
be able to carry on as usual in spite of it, but I realised that I would not be able
to fill a mounted appointment.
Everyone was very nice and sympathetic. I was placed on the sick list
and in due course appeared before a Medical Board which recommended that
I be granted leave to proceed to England for the purpose of undergoing an
operation. Passage by mail steamer was authorised, and within a month our
return to Peshawar from Cherat I was on my way to Bombay.
 XXVIII
When in January 1900 I sailed home in the P.& O.S.S. “Arabia”, only
fifteen months had passed since my arrival in India. Looking back upon those
few months I find it difficult to realise that so much could have happened
within so comparatively short a time. My total army service to date was only
a year and eight months, yet in that period I had served in Cork, Multan in the
Punjab, Landi Kotal in the Khyber Pass, Peshawar and Cherat in the North-
West Frontier Province, and in Kasauli for my army signalling course.
Moreover, but for my most unfortunate accident I would by then have been
with the Indian Brigade, besieged in Ladysmith by the Boers. What an
opportunity that would have been for me, to show perhaps what I might have
been able to do in order to establish and maintain communication with the
relieving force! But fate had decreed otherwise.
It was the slack homeward season. There were very few passengers
on board and the first part or the voyage as far as Suez was uneventful. It was
not until we reached that port that we learnt of the serious reverses our troops
had suffered in South Africa at Colenso, Ladysmith and Spion Kop, including
the loss or ten guns and very heavy casualties. Only a few hours before
reaching Port Said and when it was our turn to tie up in the Canal to allow a
Russian warship to pass, outward bound for Port Arthur, it became very
noticeable how our prestige had already suffered in the minds of other
nationals. While the usual formal courtesies of the exchange of salutes and
the turning out on deck of the crew of the Russian man-of-war were observed,
all was done without any show of cordiality on their part and the rows of red-
bearded Russian sailors stood silent and expressionless while our crew gave
them cheer.
Shortly after leaving Port Said we ran into very heavy weather that
lasted all the way to Marseilles. The Gulf of Lyons is a notoriously bad spot
in this respect. Terrific gales spring up in that area in an incredibly short time,
and it was during the night preceding our arrival at Marseilles that a huge
wave struck the ship, smashing seven ports in and flooding the first-class
saloon, carrying away a dozen yards of the taffrail at the forward end of the
poop deck, and sweeping two of the lifeboats overboard. Meanwhile there
was much breaking of crockery in the pantry, trunks shot from side to side in
the cabins, and several passengers were flung out of their berths.
We were glad to reach Marseilles and disembark. The bad weather
had delayed the ship and we arrived too late to go on to Paris that day. I had
made friends with a young captain in a Punjab regiment during the voyage
and we decided to go to a hotel for the night. From the moment of our arrival
it became obvious that the French regarded us with disfavour. The Fashoda
incident was little more than a year past and it seemed they were gloating over
our misfortunes in South Africa. Their attitude varied between chilly civility
and open hostility. After dinner at the hotel we went for a stroll along the
Cannebiere and were followed by a crowd of youths who kept up a perpetual
chant of "Voila les Anglais qui son battus par les petits Boches!” When we
entered a cafe and sat down at a small table, the attitude of the waiter who
took our order for some beer and of the other customers seated nearby was
markedly unfriendly.
The climax was reached when I tendered a five-franc piece in
payment. The waiter drew it across the marble-topped table, pointed to the
slight grey streak it made thereon, and in a loud voice for all to hear, called
out that “Ces Anglais” were passing bad money” We expressed astonishment,
my friend quickly produced a golden sovereign, and fortunately the situation
did not develop into what might well have been exceedingly unpleasant for us
both. It did not occur to either or us until later that even perfectly good silver
will leave a mark upon the roughened surface of marble if one presses hard
enough!
Not having had a good nights rest since we left Port Said, the
comfortable hotel beds were much appreciated, and after petit dejeuner we
sallied forth to see the sights of Marseilles. The whole of Europe was
experiencing a very severe cold spell at that time, neither or us had brought
ashore any suitably warm clothing, and consequently we were not sorry when
the hour for dejeuner approached and we found a small but evidently well-
patronised cafe. It was quite a small place in the dock area, but nothing could
have excelled the bouillabaise with which we were served, a most delectable
dish composed of red mullet, lobster and numerous other ingredients,
perfectly flavoured and cooked. The meal, including a flask or chianti and
crisp rolls with butter, cost us less than three francs each! The exchange value
or the franc in those days was about tenpence. Seated at other small tables
was a cross- section of Marseilles society, including several men of the French
Colonial Corps and the Foreign Legion, presumably on leave from Algiers or
French Morocco and obviously enjoying their pot-au-feu and a hunk of bread,
with a small bottle of vin ordinaire costing only a few centimes to wash it
down.
 The author with his fiancée, January 1900.
We left for Paris that evening from the Gare du Nord. It was bitterly
cold and there was a thick layer or ice on the windows of the Old-fashioned
carriage when we reached Paris. We both had light overcoats only, and no
rugs. Sleep had been almost impossible and it was a great relief when we
were able to leave our carriage at a wayside station in the early morning and
board the restaurant car. Here it was warm and comfortable, and I doubt if I
ever enjoyed a breakfast more than that with which we were served, which
included an excellent omelette. Paris was crossed in a cab and the remainder
of our journey to Calais was uneventful.
The crossing to Dover was very cold and rough. It was a relief to
leave there for London and we visualised our arrival in time for dinner, but in
that we were disappointed. The train was not due to stop at Ash but it did so,
and we then learnt that the engine had sprung a leak in a boiler tube and we
would have to wait for another engine before the journey could be resumed.
It was nearly midnight when we reached Victoria and we had to book rooms
for the night in the station hotel and go out to get something to eat. At that
late hour a night club was the only hope, but when we found a grilled steak
with mushrooms obtainable it all seemed to have been worthwhile!
Having reported my arrival in England at the India Office, I left next
day for Weston-super-Mare where my father was living at that time. He had
married again during my absence in India, and I had brought home a belated
wedding present. It was a fine piece of Bokhara embroidery that I had bought
from a camel caravan passing through the Khyber Pass when I was at Landi
Kotal. But this was packed in my kit, the greater part of which I had left on
board to go round to London by sea and did not reach me until about ten days
later. When it did arrive, however, my step-mother was delighted with my
present.
Meanwhile the Standing Medical Board at the India Office before
which I had to appear, decided that I should have a few weeks in England to
recuperate before proceeding to Netley Military Hospital for my operation
Of course what I wanted most of all was to see Babs again. At that
time she was staying with a married brother at Stockbridge in Hampshire, not
far from Southampton. Netley is close to the latter place, and I decided to go
to Stockbridge and stay there until the time came for me to enter the hospital.
Meanwhile, however, a pressing invitation came from my uncle Erly to go to
Bradford-on-Avon and join a family party there. I could hardly decline and
the few days I spent there were very enjoyable, but most enjoyable of all was
the moment when I found myself in the train again and on my way to
Stockbridge.
I will leave to my reader's imagination a picture of that reunion after
so many months of enforced separation, of two young people deeply in love
with one another. Stockbridge was only a small village, but Babs had
managed to find lodgings for me as I had asked her to do if possible. There
was a good hotel in the village - the Grosvenor - but a lengthy stay there
would have been more than I could have afforded. It was surprising that there
should have been a first-class hotel in this small village. The explanation was
that the house had been built to accommodate the trainers and jockeys of the
Cannon training establishment that stood upon the downs above. Tom and
Mornington Cannon were famous in their day in racing circles. Subsequently
the premises had been turned into a hotel and its continuation as such
depended largely upon the fact that it became the headquarters of an
extremely exclusive fishing club. There is good salmon fishing in the river
Itchen that flows through Stockbridge, and a long stretch of the river is
preserved at the expense of this club.
It was very cold, but hardly a day passed when the sun did not shine
and Babs and I passed many happy hours exploring the country, visiting the
training stables on the downs, going into Andover to look round and have tea
at the Star & Garter Hotel, or to Southampton. The days passed all too
quickly and in due course an official letter came instructing me to report at the
Royal Military Hospital, Netley. Meanwhile, however, uncle Erly had written
to inform me of a windfall that was wholly unexpected and which made it
possible for us to decide upon marrying much sooner than I, an impecunious
subaltern, could otherwise have seriously contemplated.
Earlier in this story of my life I mentioned that my parents and I, then
a small boy, had stayed for a few days with Mr. and Mrs. Price at Bridgwater.
Mrs. Price was my mother's aunt Hannah, and it seems that I must have made
a good impression. The letter from uncle Erly was to inform me that she had
died and in her Will had left me a legacy of several hundred pounds. This
information he was passing on to me in his capacity as a trustee. My delight
at the news can be imagined, but my spirits sank when I read on and learnt
that it would be some time before the legal formalities could be completed
and the money become available. They bounded up again when he concluded
with the remark that he felt sure I would like to have something to go on with
while I was at home on leave, and he would send me a cheque ”on account”
within the week.
 XXIX
I left for Netley in high spirits, feeling that our future was assured. A
long spell of leave would follow my operation, and with what at that time
appeared to be inexhaustible funds coming to me, everything seemed easy.
Having reached the hospital and seen my kit placed by an orderly in the
private ward allotted to me, I was informed that Miss Norman would be
pleased to see me. This lady, a much respected and very popular senior
member or what subsequently came to be known as Queen Alexandra's
Military Nursing Service, was the Hospital Matron, and she gave me an
excellent afternoon tea in her charming sitting room before a large log fire. I
was not the only guest. A young Royal Naval lieutenant, a nephew or Miss
Norman's, and his sister, completed the party. This pleasant and unassuming
young officer was destined in later years to become a peer of naval fame. His
sister was living with Miss Norman at that time, and he had come over from
Portsmouth on a visit.
I was allowed the following day in which to settle down in my
temporary quarters. After the unpleasant preparations that night and the
following Morning that inevitably precede all surgical operations, and feeling
decidedly depressed, I sat in a dressing gown in front of my fire counting the
minutes that remained before I was to be collected and led to the slaughter.
On time a sister and the ward orderly appeared and I was allowed to walk to
the operating theatre where the implication of the preparations for my
reception were too alarmingly obvious, but in a few moments I was on the
operating table, the anaesthetist got busy, and I remembered no more.
When I came round after the operation I was back in bed in my room,
lying on my back. My first horrified impression was that the big hump in the
bedclothes must mean that something had gone wrong and my tummy had
swollen enormously and must be on the point of bursting. But I quickly
discovered that it was only a cradle under the bedclothes to prevent them from
pressing upon the dressings covering the wound. The next thing I knew was
that the sister, who had been sitting by the fire waiting for me to come round,
was bending over and telling me that I had slept for several hours and must
not try to move.
Several weary days followed before I was able to sit up in bed. As
often as not it was the Matron’s niece and not the sister who arrived
periodically with the feeding cup that contained the only form of nourishment
I was then allowed, and as a rule she stayed for a brief chat. Of course Miss
Norman looked in now and then, and it was not long before I was able to read
books and follow the war news in the papers. Having cut out a large map of
the theatre of operations in South Africa and made some small paper flags
stuck on pins, I was able to record on my map, pinned on the wall alongside
my bed, the progress of operations as reported in the daily press. The surgeon
and medical staff in general came to regard my map as the most up-to-date
record of how the war was progressing, and it was not long before they
became as interested in learning my news upon the probable effect of the
latest developments as they were in my own progress.
When I had got over those trying few days when my legs seemed
incapable of supporting me over the distance between my bed and an
armchair, I became able to totter forth into the grounds. It was about this time
that the hospital had the honour or being visited by Their Royal Highnesses
the Prince and Princess or Wales. I well remember standing near the lift on
the ground floor and seeing them descend from their carriage and, with Miss
Norman in attendance, enter the lift. I had not previously realised how short
in stature they both were. Prince Edward was in the full dress of an Admiral
of the Fleet. The royal couple had driven over from Portsmouth.
While everyone had been so kind and done so much to make my stay
in hospital as comfortable as possible, naturally I was counting the days and
looking forward to my return to Stockbridge and Babs. It was very pleasant
to be back in my old lodgings and though it was some time before I was able
to move about as of yore, Babs and I were soon revisiting some of our more
easily accessible haunts.
 XXX
We decided that we would be married by Special Licence, an
expensive course, but by so doing we avoided having to wait for more than
three weeks while Banns were being announced. It was early April when I
went up to London to obtain the licence, returning to stay at the Star & Garter
Hotel in Andover until the day of the wedding. Then I had to see the Rector
of Stockbridge and arrange for the ceremony. I remember my surprise when I
woke up that morning and, looking out of my window, saw flags flying on all
sides. At that moment a chambermaid arrived with my morning cup of tea,
and I learnt from her the reason. It was St. George's Day, the 23rd or
April,1900.
The wedding went off without a hitch and in due course we left for
Southampton en route for Guernsey, where we had decided to spend our
honeymoon. For long after it amused us greatly to recall how I had failed to
make any arrangements for the future. Had I not been so young and
thoughtless I would have booked a cabin on the steamer and accomodation at
a hotel or otherwise in Guernsey, but I had done none of these things. The
only relatives present at the wedding were Babs' brother and sister-in-law and
her sister Olva, and it had been arranged that the latter would travel with us,
going on to Jersey whereas we would be disembarking at Guernsey. That
night Babs and Olly slept in the saloon reserved for ladies, and I in that for
men. An unusual course for a young married couple on their first night!
We arrived at St. Peter Port in Guernsey early next morning, and
began our married life wandering about the town looking for what we
considered suitable lodgings. It was not until we were beginning to feel
desperate and had climbed many steps leading to the upper part of the town
that we came to what looked like a nice place. The front door was opened by
a middle-aged woman with a kind face, and we were shown just what we
wanted. We learnt some time later that Miss Frecker, the landlady, was so
sorry when she saw poor Babs' tired face, she forthwith decided to give up
her own private sitting room so as to be able to meet our wishes in full. The
house was known as Hauteville and in every way turned out to be just what
we had hoped for.
Leaving Babs in the care of Miss Frecker, I returned to the pier to
collect our luggage. We had breakfasted at a cafe in the town before
commencing our search for lodgings, and we lunched out also and spent a
happy afternoon pottering about the quaint, old-time town with its cobbled
streets. When we returned to Hauteville it was to find that Miss Frecker had
an excellent dinner for us, and from that time and throughout the period of our
stay we were made very comfortable. The weather during the spring and
summer of 1900 ,vas marvellous. Days of sunshine followed one another
almost without a break and we enjoyed every moment.
Meanwhile I had written to my father informing him of what we had
done. Of course he had to express dismay at my youthful impetuosity, but he
wished us both happiness and he and my step-mother sent us a wedding
present. A few weeks later aunt Loo wrote saying she would like to come
over to Guernsey for a few days. We warmly welcomed this suggestion.
Aunt Loo had always been my favourite aunt and she had met Babs in Jersey
shortly before we became engaged. We much enjoyed the week she spent
with us.
After a few very happy weeks in Guernsey we crossed to
Southampton and went to a small farm in Hampshire not far from that town.
It was called Hope Farm and the homely couple who owned it did us
well. There were cows, fresh milk, cream and butter from the dairy,
strawberries that could be had for the picking, and an orchard filled with apple
and cherry trees. There was also a pony and a small trap in which we were
able to drive ourselves about the country, while from a nearby railway station
in Bitterne village we could go into Southampton and do some shopping. A
few other visitors besides ourselves made short stays from time to time. One
or these was a young man who had been in the Western States or America, and
later on his younger brother came down on vacation from Sandhurst. We did
not then know it, but about a year later we were destined to meet their parents
and two sisters at Poona in India.
An amusing incident occurred while we were at Hope Farm which
shows how deep-seated can be the memory of an exciting moment in one's
past life. My youthful wife was fond or sweets and had tucked a small bag of
them under her pillow before she went to sleep. In the middle of the night the
paper bag broke open and some of the sweets fell pitter-patter upon the bare
boards of the farmhouse bedroom floor. To Babs' amazement, I woke with a
start and leapt out or bed shouting “I'm coming!” Then I realised that I was
not back in my tent in Landi Kotal and close to a picket just within the
perimeter wall, and that it was not the picket opening fire upon tribesmen
presumably trying to creep in to steal rifles! But that had been my immediate
reaction, in spite of the fact that I had not given such matters a thought for
many months. The episode was a standing joke for long after.
During our stay at Hope Farm we received an invitation to visit my
father and step-mother at Weston-super-mare. So at last the time came round
for us to pack up and leave behind us the memory of as happy and enjoyable a
honeymoon as anyone could wish for. Our visit to my father's home was very
pleasant, and it was during our stay that Babs was able to wear her new riding
habit. The woods lay just above the house and it was a pleasant place for a
ride. Babs had been brought up with horses during her childhood and sat her
saddle well.
From Weston we decided to go once more to Guernsey and of course
to Hauteville. Here it was that Babs had some dresses made for India, and it
was about this time that I very rashly offered to relieve my father of the
regimental tailor’s bill for my outfit on joining the army, a very substantial
amount, and also of the contribution he had made hitherto to supplement my
pay. I suppose it is unreasonable to expect to find old heads upon young
shoulders. Shortly afterwards I learnt from the Bank that my legacy was
running out. In fact, the position had to be faced that it would not be possible
for Babs to accompany me back to India. I would have to go out without her
and she to follow when our finances were in better shape. What a blow for us
that was can be imagined! Of course it was easy to think we need not have
done this or that. After much discussion our decided conclusion was that we
had enjoyed every moment and regretted nothing.
We spent our last few days together in aunt Venetia’s London house.
They passed all too quickly and our spirits were at their lowest ebb when the
day came round for my departure and I was seen off at Tilbury by Babs,
accompanied by aunt Venetia and other relatives, on board the P.& 0. mail
steamer for Bombay. A few days later Babs crossed to Jersey upon a visit to
her parents, and from there she went to Hauteville in Guernsey, where she
stayed for some months. A full year passed before she was able to join me in
India. So long a separation would have seemed quite intolerable had we
known this, which fortunately we did not. Babs spent the greater part of this
period in England with aunt Loo, for whose affection and help we have much
to be grateful.
 XXXI
It was the height of the outward-bound season, the ship was over-
crowded, and I was glad to reach Bombay and proceed to rejoin my regiment
at Peshawar. The senior major in the regiment, who was Second-in-Command
of the 2nd Battalion when I was with them in Cork, had received promotion
and been transferred to the command of the 1st Battalion to replace our
Colonel who had been assassinated, otherwise everything was much as usual.
I was the butt of a good deal of friendly chaff regarding my marriage while
still a subaltern, but I much appreciated the spirit that prompted the offer,
communicated by the Mess President, that it had been resolved that if I
continued with the regiment I would not be required to pay the fine of £100
which it was customary to call upon a subaltern in the regiment to pay should
he marry while still in that rank.
The practice of requiring officers of a British regiment who marry to
make a substantial donation to their regimental mess fund was common
practice in those days, and not without reason. The rate charged to unmarried
officers who lived in mess depended upon the number of regular dining
members. When an officer married and ceased taking his meals in mess, the
rate of messing for all tended to rise, and the amount of the marriage fine
varied in inverse proportion to rank and service at the time of marriage. A
junior subaltern paid the maximum fine, and the amount became less for each
additional year until a point was reached when a senior officer paid no fine at
all.
I felt that I could not possibly accept that kind offer, which in any
case would be no solution as regards the future. What I needed was a
substantially higher rate of pay than one could hope to receive in a British unit
in those days, until well on in years of service. It was quite obvious that I
could not do better than apply for transfer to the Indian Army. Everyone was
very helpful and my application went through without any avoidable delay.
Meanwhile there was nothing I could do but carry on at regimental duty.
Shortly after my return to Peshawar the regiment received orders for
transfer to Nowshera. This station is only thirtytwo miles by road from
Peshawar, on the bank of the Cabul River. The garrison included two Indian
battalions, an Indian cavalry regiment and departmental units. We covered the
distance in two very dusty marches, halting for a night at Pubbi half way
between the two cantonments and the point at which the road took off to
Cherat. Nowshera was an uninteresting station. By then the approaching hot
weather, was beginning to make itself felt, and one of my memories of the
place is of a soccer match between our officers and those of the combined
Indian units in the station. We played only ten minutes each way, and even
that seemed far too long!
One of the responsibilities of the British infantry unit stationed at
Nowshera was to furnish a detachment of company strength for Attock Fort,
and my company happened to be the one detailed for this duty. The garrison
of this Fort, which dates from the days of the Mogul emperors, consisted of a
company of British and one of Indian infantry, both furnished from Nowshera,
and a battery of Garrison Artillery. The Indian company furnished the guards
for the Attock Bridge, the gunners maintained in readiness for all emergencies
the impressive assortment of armament for the Attock Defences stored in the
great gunshed, and the British company furnished the guards for the Fort and
served as a support for the Indian company in case of need. The grand trunk
road between Nowshera and a point near Khairabad stretched for nearly
twenty miles dead straight across the open plain, before entering the foothills
through which it wound to the Fort and bridgehead. Although we had started
at daybreak, the sun was unpleasantly high in the heavens and the heat
extreme by the time we reached our destination. The barracks for our
company were situated just inside the Main Gate that topped the slope upon
which the Fort was built, and facing the great gunshed. We took over the duty
of furnishing the quarterguard on the Main Gate, and on the Water Gate at the
Fort's lowest point close to the river's bank, from the outgoing British unit.
The Indian company was quartered in the lower part of the Fort, and
between them and our barracks were those of the gunners, close to the
gunshed, the removal of the contents of which to their allotted positions in the
emplacements that stood ready for their reception in the neighbouring hills
would have been their task. The officers' quarters and a small mess were
accommodated in two small bungalows which stood upon a spur outside the
Main Gate and not a hundred yards from it. Besides my company commander
and myself, there were the gunner captain and his subaltern, an officer of the
Royal Engineers who was the Garrison Engineer, and a young doctor of the
Indian Medical Service. The Indian unit was commanded by a senior Subedar
who lived with his family in the Fort.
By then the hot weather was upon us in full force. The amphitheatre
of rocky hills which surrounded us on all sides absorbed the heat from the sun
throughout the day until the rocks became too hot to be touched with the bare
hand, and they had not fully cooled when the sun rose again the following
morning. I remained at Attack throughout the ensuing hot weather. There
was a thermometer in our mess that registered maximum and minimum
temperatures, and it was never less than 118°F. round about midday in the
mess for weeks on end in spite of darkened rooms and punkahs. There was a
period when for six weeks without a break the minimum temperature at night
never fell below 100°F.
Those unfortunates, and there were many, who were obliged to
remain in the plains of India during a hot weather almost invariably slept out
in the open, and in some of the hottest spots there was a framework over their
beds from which a punkah was suspended. But relief could not be obtained
that way at Attock. The heat that continued to be radiated throughout the
night from the rocky hills around rendered such a course no solution
whatever. We had to remain in our rooms with all doors and windows closed
and screened on the outside with thick purdahs (curtains) composed of two
layers of cotton cloth between which a layer of raw cotton was quilted, and lie
unclothed under a punkah upon a strip of China matting in place of a mattress.
 The men’s barracks inside the Fort were preferable in this respect to
our quarters, since they were protected by the high and massive ramparts,
while during most nights somewhat cooler air tended to circulate from the
river below. With the object of keeping the men as fit as possible we used to
take those off duty for a short route march soon after dawn, in shirtsleeves and
without arms or equipment. They certainly were a tough lot, and it always
amazed me how they could go to the Canteen for a quart of strong beer at
noon, and half an hour later sit down in their barrack rooms to a substantial
dinner, all in a temperature seldom much below 120°F.
Fortunately for me and for my gunner opposite number, our
respective captains very sportingly undertook to share with us the duties of
Orderly officer, consequently it was only every fourth night that, having
completed all the other multifarious duties of “the Orderly Dog”, I had to turn
out the quarterguard on the Water Gate after Last Post at night, and then climb
back up the hill to my bed. But it had to be in full mess dress and with sword!
In one respect, however, Attock suited me very well. I had to qualify
in Urdu by the Lower Standard before I could be appointed to an Indian
regiment, and there was plenty or spare time for study. There was a small
hospital within the Fort, high up on the ramparts, in which there was an Indian
Registrar, or Hospital Writer as he was termed. He was an educated man who
in his earlier years had been a munshi, or teacher. As soon as I had got settled
down to the routine of garrison duties, I arranged with this man to come to my
quarters daily and teach me the language.
Urdu, often quite wrongly spoken of as Hindustani, is virtually the
lingua franca of India, in which eventually I would have to qualify also by the
Higher Standard besides acquiring a working knowledge of the possibly
entirely dissimilar language of the Indian unit to which I happened to be
posted. My knowledge or colloquial Urdu was already fairly good. I had not
forgotten what I had picked up during my youth, but to be able to read and
write it adequately and decipher indifferently hand-written letters. and
petitions quite another matter. There are 136 characters in the Urdu alphabet.
Not only are the letters quite differently formed according to whether their
position in a word is initial, medial or final, but the language contains many
words of Hindi, Sanskrit and Arabic origin, and such words are spelled with
letters of their respective languages!
It was a long and wearisome labour. For weeks on end I passed two
or three hours daily, learning to read with reasonable fluency the Waquiat-I-
Hind or History of India, and very interesting it eventually became. Then
there were the petitions to study, and short translations to be made into the
language. I found the munshi most helpful, and as the time approached for
me to leave for Peshawar where the examination was to be held, he was very
sanguine of my success.
 XXXII
During the last few days of the hot weather, clouds began to gather
and the heat became almost intolerably oppressive. I had to tie a handkerchief
round my forehead to prevent the perspiration from dripping onto my book.
The day before I was due to take the train for Peshawar, the monsoon broke
and the rain poured down without a break throughout the day and the
following night. When I boarded the mail train at Attock station, it was
already behind its scheduled time and we then learnt of trouble ahead. The
Cabul River had overflowed its banks above Nowshera and flooded the low-
lying plain on both banks. These floods were being augmented by
innumerable torrents from the hills that encircle the Vale of Peshawar. The
bridge of boats at Nowshera had been swept away.
The outlook was indeed ominous, since practically throughout the
country from a mile or so beyond Khairabad to within a few miles of
Peshawar the railway line ran upon a low embankment pierced by many
culverts or small bridges designed to provide for the passage of the flood
waters from the mountain streams, but quite inadequate to serve this purpose
in abnormal conditions such as these.
The train proceeded slowly on its way but came to a stop two or three
miles short of Nowshera. Here a culvert had been washed away and with it a
short section of the embankment, but the rails were intact, looped slightly
across the gap. A gangers' trolley had come out from Nowshera but there was
nothing useful they could do until the flood subsided somewhat, so I prevailed
upon the gang to run me and my bearer with our bedding valises into
Nowshera, which we reached before dark.
Here I learnt that the line ahead to Peshawar was reported to be
impassable. Several culverts had been washed out, at least at one point the
line was under water, and telegraphic communication had been interrupted. If
I could not reach Peshawar by 9 a.m. next morning when I was due to report
for the examination, since this particular exam was held only twice a year I
would have to wait six months for the next and still longer before I would be
able to enter the Indian Army. I resolved forthwith to have dinner in mess and
then get through to Peshawar somehow or other during the night. Everyone
did their best to make me change my mind, but without success.
I left with my bearer in a one-horse tonga. My plan was to go as far
as possible along the road and when it became impracticable to drive any
farther, to leave the road and take to the railway line in the hope that the low
embankment upon which it was laid would remain above flood level and that
we would be able to negotiate such breaks as we met on the way. It was a
hazardous plan, but I was quite determined to get through if it could possibly
be done.
We managed to cover about four miles in the tonga, dropping off
every now and then to man the wheels through bad spots. Then the
tongawallah refused to go any farther, so I paid him off and we made for the
railway line, the bearer carrying our two bundles on his head. Fortunately the
rain stopped and a watery moon appeared. We had to wade nearly upto our
waists to reach the line, which was only a foot or two above the level of the
water that spread in a great sea on all sides. Stepping from sleeper to sleeper,
we plodded along hour after hour. When we started walking along the line,
Peshawar was about twenty-eight miles away!
We reached Pubbi soon after midnight. It stood upon somewhat
higher ground and the Rest House was above water. We both managed to get
something to eat and drink and had an hours sleep. We had done about twelve
miles and at Taru, about nine miles farther on, I reckoned upon being able to
hire a tonga in which we could drive the last seven miles into Peshawar, since
beyond Taru the plain had a slight upward slope towards the foothills beyond
Peshawar. Meanwhile, however, there still remained another nine miles or
trudging along the line and the information I gathered at Pubbi was far from
reassuring. The higher ground around Pubbi was crowded with villagers from
the surrounding district whose huts had been inundated and in some cases
washed away. With them were such personal belongings as they had been
able to save, and some cattle, sheep and goats. But I was told that many
people and hundreds or animals had been drowned, including several
government camels. I was warned that the line ahead was in even worse
shape than what lay behind us and urged not to attempt to get through, but
having got that far I decided to go on.
So we started off again and a few hours later the day dawned. What
we then saw was quite terrifying. Angry-looking, muddy water on all sides as
far as the eye could see. Here and there dead bodies floated, and not all were
those of animals. Repeatedly we passed small groups or villagers huddled
together on the line with the few things and the cattle they had saved. But
most unpleasant of all these gruesome sights were some scorpions and other
nasty reptiles, including a few snakes, which also had taken refuge on the
embankment. We had grown quite accustomed to crossing gaps in the
embankment by stepping from sleeper to sleeper of the line that festooned
across them and had reached a point only a few miles from Taru, when for a
moment I felt that all our efforts were doomed to prove unavailing. Just ahead
a small bridge about twenty yards long had spanned what normally was a dry
watercourse. This was now filled to the level or the floodwaters on the south
of the embankment and carried a swiftly-flowing torrent of water through the
gap towards the Cabul River which was less than a mile to the north. This
bridge had been supported at its centre upon two large tubular steel columns,
and these had been swept away by the force of the current. The single railway
line with its sleepers intact hung in a long festoon, several yards of the central
portion now below the surface of the water sweeping over it.
It was an exasperating situation. Ahead lay Taru, now less than three
miles away, with the prospect of completing our journey to Peshawar in a
tonga. Behind lay all those miles back to Pubbi, and defeat. Moreover, might
not the way back have become by now as apparently impassable as what lay
before us? So I decided that we must risk a crossing.
 The sleepers were slippery with mud and those that were submerged
could not be seen in the muddy water. The force of the current pouring
through the gap had tilted the festooned line so that these sleepers sloped
sideways, while the downward dip on one side of the gap and upward on the
other, rendered the crossing even more precarious. The torrent was nearly
waist-high at the centre and we had to lean up against the current. I have
never experienced so nerve-racking a few moments. Nothing could have
saved us had we missed our footing and been swept away, down to the river.
We both had to sit down for a while before we could go on again.
We reached Taru shortly after, found the owner of a tonga, and
prevailed upon him to drive us into Peshawar at the utmost speed he could get
out of his old horse. We reached our destination, the Alexandra Hotel, a few
minutes before 9 a.m. when I was due to report for the examination. Without
getting out of the tonga, I asked the bewildered manageress to bring me
anything she could quickly produce, which proved to be a tumbleful of milk.
Having drunk this I was driven to District Headquarters where the
examination was to be held, and reported to the Board of Examiners.
I was wet through and plastered with mud, and not in uniform as I
should have been. I explained the reason, apologized for being improperly
dressed, and asked permission to be allowed to sit for the examination as I
was. This was granted and the exam proceeded, four hours of it. The black-
bearded Subedar of an Indian regiment with whom I had to converse in the
colloquial part of the exam obviously did his best to make things as easy as
possible by asking me some childishly simple questions. I went through it all
in a dazed state, my eyelids drooping with fatigue in the written exam. When
it was all over I returned to the hotel, had a hot bath and a meal, and went to
bed.
When I woke up to find my bearer peering anxiously at me, it was
early morning of the following day. The sun was shining, the temperature had
dropped many degrees, the air was delightfully fresh, and I felt none the
worse for what I had been through. But I could not recollect a thing about the
examination! I realised that I must have failed. It was a depressing thought,
but evidently no use worrying. I passed a pleasant day in Peshawar meeting
some old friends and being lionised. How I and my bearer alone had got
through the floods seemed to be the principal topic of conversation at the
Club. The floods subsiding rapidly, but I was unable to return to Attock until
the following day.
Admittedly it had been an outstanding achievement, rendered possible
because both I and my bearer were young and in excellent condition. But I
had an incentive sufficiently powerful to outweigh any misgivings that I may
have felt regarding the serious risks that were obvious. My bearer Amir Khan
had no such inducement. When I told him what I had decided to do, he just
wagged his head as was his customary way of acknowledging an order and set
about collecting our things.
 Amir Khan had been my bearer from the first day of my arrival at
Multan from Ireland to join my British regiment and had been with me ever
since. A Punjabi Mahomedan in his middle thirties, stockily built and very
strong, he came of a proud caste, born fighters almost to a man, and with a
high standard of loyalty. His outlook would be that I was his master and it
was his duty to serve me. They are a brave lot, and our difficulties on the way
did not seem to trouble him in the least. To carry our two bedding valises a
distance of over twenty miles, in the conditions I have described, was indeed a
feat that proved what a fine specimen of humanity he was.
While I was away undergoing my Urdu examination he had been able
to have a meal and some rest, and when I returned to the hotel I found
everything ready for me in my room, and he had seen to it that there would be
hot water prepared for a bath. Amir Khan certainly was an outstandingly fine
example of an Indian servant in those former days, so often rigorous, but all
Indian servants in varying degree were like that. Where the Sahib went, they
followed unquestioningly. They were usually at their best in emergencies.
Their Sahib and Memsahib were indeed, as so many of them would have
expressed it, their mahbap - their mother-and-father.
We left for Attock the following afternoon by mail train, which ran
slowly through to a point just short of the broken-down bridge that had so
nearly defeated us. Here we had to leave the train, cross the gap by means of
a temporary footbridge that had been thrown across it and board another train
waiting :for us on the far side. The rest of our journey to Attock was
uneventful, excepting that before we reached our destination I began to feel
strangely unwell, and I was glad to reach my quarters and go to bed.
 XXXIII
When I opened my eyes again, I have a dim recollection of feeling
terribly ill and seeing a couple of men of my company in their shirtsleeves,
moving noiselessly about the room in their gym shoes. I was too ill at the
time to realise it, but they had just been wrapping me in ice-cold, wet sheets
with the object of reducing my temperature. Our doctor was also in the room.
I must have dropped off to sleep again, for I remember no more. Days passed
before I was fit to be moved to an armchair, and some time longer before I
was able to move about, feeling utterly listless and not caring what happened
to me. I learnt subsequently that I was fortunate in having survived an
exceedingly severe attack of a peculiarly malignant type of malarial fever.
It was not difficult to account for this. Utterly exhausted, I had
remained in my wet clothes throughout the examination at Peshawar, and that
fact alone could have been sufficient reason for a breakdown. But
undoubtedly it was that hour of rest at Pubbi that was responsible. I had just
lain back in a long chair and slept, defying the mosquitoes, swarms of which
had been brought out by the rains, and I was severely stung by them as I slept.
That surely had been the cause of the malaria.
As soon as I was fit to travel, I was sent away on ten days leave to the
hills. The journey was by rail to Rawal Pindi, thence to Murree by the mail
tonga, and from there a pleasant ride on a hired pony brought me to Khaira
Gali in the Murree Hills and several miles from that place. A lovely spot,
quite a little Switzerland, where the cool, bracing air and the comfort of a nice
hotel soon worked wonders. There were several officers staying in the hotel
with their wives, and I thoroughly enjoyed my all-too-short stay. When the
time came for my return to Attock I was feeling fairly fit again.
I had not been back long, when a telegram arrived from District
Headquarters at Peshawar to inform me that I had passed my examination. It
was an unusual and a very thoughtful act on the part of the staff and evidence
of the widespread interest that my walk to Peshawar had aroused. It was
marvellous news for me and did me a world of good, but I could not help
suspecting that the Board must have exercised considerable latitude in the
marking of my papers!
Two or three weeks later another telegram arrived instructing me to
proceed to Peshawar to take up the appointment of Instructor to a class of
instruction in Army Signalling for Non-Commissioned Officers of Indian
regiments that was about to assemble there. These orders had been passed on
to me from my regiment at Nowshera. It was very pleasant to sit comfortably
in the train and pass over once again the route we had followed not many
weeks previously under such very different conditions. It was surprising to
observe the crops coming through the thin deposit of mud left behind by the
floods. It seemed that they had been beneficial - but at what a cost!
It was nice to settle into a comfortable room in the Alexandra Hotel
and have tea in a big armchair in front of a log fire. The monsoon, which does
not last long in Northern India, was over and the cold weather had set in.
Peshawar can be very cold, especially at night. The hotel lounge was not
particularly comfortable and very draughty, consequently it was quite the
custom for residents, mostly officers on special duty, some with their wives
and families, to spend the evenings and at times to foregather in their own
rooms.
I had received particulars of the men due to attend the course.
Hitherto Indian “other ranks” had received no advanced training in army
signalling such as their British officers, and officers and N.C.Os of British
units received at Kasauli in Northern India and Poona in the South. They
were a mixed lot, drawn from cavalry, infantry and mountain artillery units
stationed throughout the Peshawar District. There were Punjabis, Jhats,
Dogras, Pathans and Deccani Mahomedans. None, I later discovered, knew
any English, but all understood and spoke Urdu. All were fully qualified
regimental signallers, selected for their intelligence and reliability. My task
would be to improve their operating standard, and more particularly to ground
them in the first principles of establishing and maintaining communication
between tactical units in the field. The course was experimental, the first of
its kind.
Two sergeants of British Infantry units had been appointed as
Assistant Instructors, one from my own regiment and the other from the Royal
Scots Fusiliers. Accommodation for the men, and for a lecture hall, was being
provided in the Attached Section of an Indian Infantry unit whose barracks
were situated on the outskirts of Peshawar, close to where the road leading to
Jamrud Fort left the cantonment limits.
It was somewhat of an ordeal for me to have to lecture in Urdu and I
had to learn the equivalents for a lot of technical terms in that language, but
long before the course came to an end I was thoroughly enjoying my job. The
men were keen and competed enthusiastically in the weekly tests I gave them,
and in the final tests upon the conclusion of the course. It lasted for eight
weeks and there were few who did not attain a remarkably high standard.
None failed to pass out.
I should explain how an Indian who does not know any English can
be taught to transmit and receive signals in that language without first learning
it. The explanation is quite simple. He learns the names of the letters of the
English alphabet, and their forms when written in block capitals, also the
numerals and certain abbreviations in constant use such as “GO”, “Stop",
“Repeat all after. ...”, “End of message” and so on, also punctuation and other
marks. Every message has to be written in block capitals and is treated as
though in cipher, consequently it was quite unnecessary for the meaning to be
understood. But extreme accuracy was essential.
The Director of Army Signalling, Northern Command, came to
Peshawar at the end of the course and expressed satisfaction at the results
achieved. Some time later I received a letter addressed by him to the General
Officer Commanding the Peshawar District and passed on to me by the
regiment. In this letter the Director made some very flattering remarks
regarding my conduct of the course, and the General had added an
appreciative endorsement. Thus encouraged, I decided to send the Director a
synopsis of such portions of the Manual of Army Signalling and of its Indian
counterpart as I had extracted, condensed and translated into Urdu in the
course of my lectures, with the suggestion that it should be very helpful for all
concerned if something upon these lines could be published in the principal
vernaculars for distribution to Indian units. My suggestion was approved and
the small vernacular manual subsequently published officially for all India in
several different languages, reproduced my draft with only slight amendment.
 XXXIV
I returned to Attock upon the conclusion of the signalling class, but
shortly afterwards my company was relieved by another and we marched back
to Nowshera, to learn upon arrival that orders had been received for me to
proceed to Ellichpur in Berar, Central Provinces, and there join the 4th
Infantry, Hyderabad Contingent, since renamed the 97th Daccan Infantry. So
at last the time had come for me to pack up and leave The Hampshire
Regiment with which I had served happily since my first commission in the
army.
The journey from Nowshera to Ellichpur was long and tedious. Two
days and nights in the train as far as Amraoti, and thence to Ellichpur by mail
tonga, a distance or thirty-two miles by road. It was very noticeable how the
appearance of the countryside changed as we came south. The forbidding-
looking rocky mountains of the frontier and the plains of the Punjab, so much
of them arid and barren, were left behind and we passed through forests and
great areas of country where on all sides was evidence of intensive
cultivation. That cotton was a principal crop in the Central Provinces soon
became evident. The soil in these parts is very dark and is known as cotton
soil. Here and there ginning mills stood in which the raw cotton from the
fields was teazed and baled, ready for despatch to the great spinning mills in
Bombay and its environs.
It was late afternoon when I left the train at Amraoti and started on the
drive to Elichpur. The road passed through open country and a notable sight
on the way was a herd of does led by a fine blackbuck, with spiral horns that
appeared to be as long as his height. The herd was grazing within three
hundred yards of the road and took no notice of the tonga, but as I was to
learn later, had we stopped the herd would have been off in a flash at full
gallop. It was dark before we reached Ellichpur and drove up to the mess.
The officers were at dinner, but the Second-in-Command came out to
welcome me and said that dinner for me was being sent over to the bungalow
in which I had been allotted quarters. I was driven to one not far distant,
where I found everything very comfortable and a mess waiter ready to serve
the meal. I was only too glad to turn in for the night shortly afterwards.
Early next morning when I was having my chota hazri, the occupant
of the other half of the bungalow walked in and introduced himself. His name
was Alec Barr and he was the son of Sir Davis Barr, Resident of Hyderabad,
and staying temporarily in Ellichpur while reading for the Bar with a local
Indian lawyer. I learnt from him that breakfast in the mess was not until 11
a.m. This came as somewhat of a shock for me, since British units in India
invariably adhered to the British mode of life and I had been accustomed to
breakfasting round about 8 a.m. daily. It was then not yet 7 a.m. and I was
wondering what I ought to do next, when an Indian orderly arrived and
handed me a slip from the Adjutant explaining that this man had been
appointed as my personal orderly, and if I came to the lines at 8 a. m. I would
be able to meet the other officers and learn something of the routine.
 When I had bathed, got into uniform and buckled on my sword, the
orderly led the way and I found it was only a short walk to the regimental
offices and orderly room, situated at the end of a parade ground and with the
regimental lines in rear. The regiment was still on parade, but about to fall
out. I stood and watched this movement, and was very interested to see each
of the four double-companies, led by an Indian officer, file past one of four
small turret-like masonry structures. Each N.C.0. and sepoy filed in wearing
his sidearm and carrying his rifle and emerged without them. Meanwhile a
British officer stood watching the proceedings and when the last man had
dispossessed himself thus of his arms, the Indian officer locked the door and
took the key to the quarterguard in front of the row of turrets, where it with
the other three keys was locked up in a small box, the key of which was
handed to the Adjutant.
It was explained to me subsequently that these structures were known
as "Bells-of-Arms" and that the practice of disarming the rank and file when
off duty had been observed in all Indian units ever since the Indian Mutiny of
1857. Most days, and always if the air was damp, after a route march or
practice on the range, the double- company was halted close to its Bell-of-
Arms and the arms and sidearms were cleaned by the men under the eye of a
British officer before being deposited in the Bell.
The Colonel was not on parade, but I was introduced to the other
British officers and informed by the Adjutant that it was customary for an
officer on first appointment to the regiment to pay a formal call upon the
commanding officer at his bungalow, in white uniform and wearing a sword.
This I was advised to do before breakfast. Meanwhile eight Subedars and
sixteen Jemadars had been fallen in by the Subedar Major, and the Adjutant
said that he would now introduce these Indian officers to me and each in turn
would advance the hilt of his sword for me to touch. This I should do with
my right hand, while thanking each in turn. I got through this ceremony with
the feeling that I would never be able to memorise all their names, but found
this was only one or a number or things I still had to learn.
We then made a move to the Orderly Room, or Durbar as it was
called. In the absence or the Colonel the Second-in-Command seated himself
at a table at the end or the room, the Adjutant was at another nearby, and there
were chairs for the other British officers grouped on the other side of the
Commandant’s table. The Indian officers then filed in and sat on benches
running down the sides of the room. The Adjutant then called out in Urdu
“Bring in the prisoners”, and two young recruits were marched in under
escort, charged by a Subedar with a comparatively trifling offence, that of
brawling in the lines. After some pungent words or advice from the Second-
in-Command they were discharged with a caution. A conference followed,
during which all sorts of matters affecting the day-to-day life of the regiment
were discussed, mostly in Urdu since none of the Indian officers knew any
English. This lasted perhaps half an hour. Finally the Second-in-Command
signified that the Durbar was concluded by rising, whereupon all did likewise,
the Indian officers saluted and filed out, and usually all but the Adjutant and
Quartermaster were then free to return to the mess for breakfast.
The Adjutant then took me round the lines. These consisted of eight
long rows or barracks for the rank and file, low hutments built of plastered
clay and roofed with straw. At the far end of each stood separate huts for
Jemadars and Subedars. Latrines were at some distance on the flanks. Since
all but the young recruits were married men, each it seemed with at least one
wife as their religion demanded, and many appeared to have relations living
with them as well as numerous children, it can be imagined how crowded
were the small compartments, each for one family, into which these barracks
were subdivided. But as the result of strict discipline and excellent
conservancy arrangements, everything was outwardly clean and orderly while
the interiors of the individual huts visited were spotlessly clean.
When I got back to the bungalow with the object of changing into
white uniform for my formal call upon the Colonel, to my surprise I found it
laid out ready for me. The steel scabbard of my sword with its brown leather
slings attached to the belt or webbing, to be worn under the close-fitting white
drill jacket with its brightly-polished badges and regimental buttons, were laid
out on my bed. The white overalls neatly arranged over the Wellington boots,
strapped all ready for me to draw on with the help or boothooks, stood by my
chair. On the table nearby reposed my white helmet, its regimental badge and
heavy curb-chain chinstrap all shining brilliantly. I should explain here that I
had travelled down from Nowshera without a bearer. The staunch Punjabi
Mahomedan who had served me so faithfully was not willing to come south -
they rarely are. I had found a Madrassi “Boy” waiting when I first reached
the bungalow, and he certainly knew his job!
The Colonel's bungalow was at the far end of a straight road on either
side or which were the officer’s bungalows and the mess. It was a strange
experience for me, striding along behind my orderly who led the way, all
dressed up like this and carrying my sword so that it should not clank along
the road. I had to step warily lest my feet should become entangled with the
glittering box spurs that for the first time protruded from the heels of my
Wellington boots, jangling melodiously surely, I thought as I walked along, I
ought to have acquired my charger and regimental saddlery beforehand and so
have been able to make this call in proper style? But the Colonel turned out to
be very pleasant and friendly, and in no time I was seated at my ease with a
glass of sherry before me and receiving much helpful information and advice.
It did seem somewhat strange to me to be drinking sherry before breakfast,
but as I said before, I still had much to learn.
When I left the Colonel's bungalow it was too late to be able to return
to mine and change before breakfast, so I went straight to the mess and having
left my sword in the verandah, it being a long- established custom that to enter
a mess anteroom with a sword on involved drinks all round, I was able to get
to know some or my brother-officers better before we went in to breakfast.
The Quartermaster, a senior subaltern, had arrived from the lines just before
me, others were reading the morning papers. It was when we went in to
breakfast that I realised for the first time how very different it all was to a
British Regiment. When I had been with the 1st Hants as it was popularly
called, we sat down nearly thirty strong round the mess table. Even when
fully mobilised an Indian infantry regiment rarely mustered ten British
officers. The wives of both the Colonel and the Second-in-Command were in
England but due to come out for the ensuing cold weather. Neither the
Colonel, who preferred to eat as well as sleep in his own bungalow, nor the
Adjutant, a senior captain, whose wife was in Ellichpur, were dining members
of the mess. In addition to the Second-in-Command, we sat down a party or
seven which included a captain of the gunners who commanded a battery of
the Hyderabad Contingent Field Artillery and his subaltern, and our
regimental doctor, a captain of the Indian Medical Service. Only two officers
of the regiment were absent, on furlough in England.
It did not take me long to realize that during the hot and rainy seasons there
was very little for any of us to do, with the exception of the Adjutant and
Quartermaster, the more onerous duties of which appointments were
performed by British captains or senior subalterns, each taking his turn for a
lengthy period but in strict rotation. I had not been long with the regiment
when I took over the appointment of Quartermaster. This somewhat
troublesome job involved responsibility for the maintenance in good condition
of, and accounting for, all regimental buildings, clothing, arms and equipment,
with the assistance of a Q.M. Havildar( sergeant) as Storekeeper, and a Naik
( corporal) as Clerk. The Quartermaster was excused morning parades, so in
spite of much correspondence, often about comparatively trivial matters, with
the Ordnance Department, the Clothing Department, the Supply & Transport
Corps, the Civil Authorities, and so on, it was usually possible to reach the
mess in time for breakfast. Meanwhile all normal routine affecting the rank
and file in barracks was the responsibility of the Subedars and Jemadars, the
British officers carrying out periodic inspections and dealing with such
matters as were put up to them by the Indian officers. The Adjutant had an
under-study, a selected Jemadar, and an Office Clerk who was a regimental
Naik.
 XXXV
To return to the subject of breakfast. Three hours late according to
what I had grown accustomed, I was feeling decidedly peckish, but the Menu
I found confronting me at table quickly reassured me. Here is an average
specimen of such a meal in an Indian regimental mess at that time: Breakfast.
Iced Mangoes. Porridge. Grilled fish, tartare sauce. Steak and onions.
Mutton chops. Chip potatoes. Grilled kidneys and bacon. Jam and
Marmalade. Tea and Coffee. Racks of crisp toast and butter dishes were
before each place at table. There was a portly and dignified Abdar (butler)
and several waiters, some of them Mahomedan Khitmatgars, but mostly
Madrassi Boys. With the exception of a couple of mess waiters these were
officers' personal servants who would stand behind their masters' chairs and
attend to their every want. All had to wear white cotton gloves when serving
at table.
Needless to say it was not customary to tackle more than two or three
of the items on the Menu, but on this occasion I did full justice to the fare
provided. It took me some time to become reconciled to the fact that the next
square meal would not be until we sat down to dinner at 9 p.m., fully ten
hours later. But one's personal servant collected from the mess, tea, a boiled
egg, buttered toast, jam and cake, all neatly arranged on a tray and covered
with a table napkin, and brought this to the bungalow at about 4 p.m. We then
got into flannels and sallied forth to the Kampani Bagicha.
There were two well-laid hard tennis courts in the Kampani Bagicha
the name given to the local public gardens by the Indian population. Bagicha
is Urdu for a garden, and Kampani their pronunciation of the word Company.
These gardens with their beds filled with rose bushes and other flowers and
some fine trees, originated in the days of the East India Company. To one side
of the tennis courts and upon a finely-gravelled clearing stood some
comfortable basket chairs, and in the background a table covered with a white
cloth upon which there was an attractive-looking row of bottles, tumblers and
wine glasses. The mess Khitmatgar who stood behind it, displayed the
regimental badge upon a broad ribbon of its colours which crossed his white
pagri diagonally. Suspended from the branch of a nearby tree, a large basket
filled with wet straw swung gently to and fro, cooling thus the bottles of soda
water and other minerals concealed therein.
During the course of the couple of hours passed pleasantly with
tennis, talk and refreshments, I completed my acquaintance with the few
remaining British inhabitants of this small old-world cantonment. I met the
Deputy Commissioner of the District, a member of the Indian Civil Service,
and his wife, and our Adjutant's wife, the latter accompanied by their small
son Donald. The District Superintendent of Police was also there. As
darkness began to fall, we all made a move for the Station Library, a
comfortably-furnished room lined with bookshelves that lay just behind our
mess and was approached through a separate entrance. Here the time was
passed with gossip until everyone had to go home and dress for dinner. Some
of the men had gone earlier to the mess for whist or billiards. The mess
dinner was on much the same lines as in a British regiment, with a fine show
of plate down the centre shining brilliantly upon the polished oak table with
its long strips of white damask upon which the table appointments were set
down each side. These slips were whisked off from the end before the dessert
plates with finger bowls thereon and wineglasses were set upon the bright
surface of the old wood. Cigars and cigarettes were then passed round, and
the port, sherry and madeira decanters were set before the senior officer
presiding at the head of the table. Having helped himself, the President
started the circulation or the decanters round the table, clockwise. After
dinner there were papers to be read, or cards, or perhaps a game of billiards or
snooker.
So passed my first day with an Indian regiment in an old-time station
that had been its cradle and its home since its birth in the year 1790, when it
had been embodied as an irregular corps by Monsieur Raymonde, a French
gentleman-of-fortune. From those early days and right upto the time of which
I am writing, now over fifty years ago, Indian units, cavalry, infantry and
artillery, were largely formed thus by individuals who in many cases were no
more than gentlemen adventurers, and unless moved elsewhere in times or
stress or turmoil, remained for all time in the cantonments which they
themselves had built.
In the absence of the network of railways that had not yet begun to
spread throughout that vast sub-continent and permit of the armed forces
being concentrated in a comparatively few large stations whence they could
quickly reach outlying districts, a great number of small and isolated
cantonments such as Ellichpur were dotted all over India. It is because this
chapter in the history of our rule in that great country has long since closed,
that I have endeavoured to give a true and fairly full picture of what was a
most romantic period. It was back in the early days of the East India
Company that the Hyderabad Contingent came into being. In those days and
throughout the long period of British rule in India that followed, the Nizam of
Hyderabad maintained in that Independent State a large and efficient force of
all arms, and it was to serve as a foil to this force that the Contingent was
formed. It consisted of four regiments of cavalry, four batteries of field
artillery, and six regiments of infantry, all stationed permanently at points
strategically placed. The standard of discipline and efficiency was good and a
satisfactory ésprit de corps prevailed. In addition to the regimental bands of
the cavalry and infantry units, the Contingent maintained at Bolarum, its
headquarters station near Hyderabad City, a string band that was considered to
be the next best in India to that of the Viceroy, while the dance floor in the
ballroom at the Contingent Headquarters Mess was second-to-none in India.
It is an interesting fact that the field artillery batteries of the
Hyderabad Contingent were almost unique in India. Before the Mutiny of
1857 there had been many Indian artillery formations and almost without
exception they turned traitor and went over to the mutineers. The H.C.
batteries, however, remained loyal, and in recognition of the fact were not
disbanded and were permitted to retain their guns, which at that time were
muzzle-loading smoothbores. But it had become a sore point with them when
I served with the Contingent nearly fifty years later and British artillery
batteries had rifled breechloaders, that the Contingent batteries still had their
old smoothbores which served only for the firing of blank cartridges for
saluting purposes, but which in an emergency could have been served with
case or grape shot.

The author’s wife, April 1901.

From about the end of March when the hot weather set in, until
sometime in September at the close of the monsoon, the life of comparative
ease I have described continued without a break. Our regimental duties for
the day almost invariably ended before the 11 a.m. breakfast, and much of the
remaining daylight hours were given over to sport. The whole district teemed
with game of all sorts, small and big. There were sand-grouse, partridge,
quail, and some snipe, teal and duck. Of four-footed animals, great herds of
buck and chinkhara (a small antelope) roamed the nearby plains, there were
wild pig to ride down and spear, hares, and in the foothills of the Satpura
Mountains some ten to fifteen miles distant, panthers and tigers in plenty, also
deeper into the mountains, black bear. In the foothills, peafowl and
junglefowl abounded, the latter almost indistinguishable from the
domesticated chicken and even tastier to eat. It was indeed a sportsman’s El
Dorado!
There were, of course, some disadvantages in all this. For instance, it
was not safe to leave a dog outside the bungalow at night, even in the middle
of the cantonment. As likely as not if one did so, a panther would carry it off.
Panthers are very partial to dogs. Then there were such things as man-eating
tigers that killed workers in the fields even during the daytime, or dragged
women and children out of villages at night. The tracking down and killing of
such pests was not the sort of job to entrust to a beginner!
The only really disagreeable thing about Ellichpur and its environs in
my estimation was that the entire area abounded with snakes, and these were
of the deadly kind, including the hooded cobra and the karait. A bite from the
latter not infrequently resulted in death within half-an-hour if not immediately
treated, and the treatment was drastic and exceedingly unpleasant. The old
bungalow dating back to Company days in which I was living, was infested
with karaits and black scorpions. Karaits are horrible reptiles. They are small
and curl themselves up in the most unexpected places, such as in a slipper or
shoe in one's dressing room, behind books in a bookcase, and so on. It was
never safe to move in the dark, or to put one's hand behind or under anything
without first making sure it did not conceal one of these small snakes, and
they strike like lightning! Walking over to mess in the evening and coming
home again later, the orderly went ahead carrying a hurricane lantern and a
lathi (bamboo stave) and you carried a cane and kept your eyes on the ground
lest a snake happened to cross the path between you and the orderly only two
or three yards ahead. I have always loathed snakes and this aspect of
Ellichpur gave me the creeps at night.
When I joined the regiment the monsoon had spent its force but there
still remained several weeks before continuously fine, fresh weather could be
expected and with it the commencement of the drill season. From October to
March, routine was much the same as in a British regiment, with musketry,
field firing and tactical exercises, followed by brigade, and in some years, by
divisional manoeuvres. We had hardly settled down to this increased activity
when the news was received of the death of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. All
the armed forces throughout India were paraded simultaneously and stood to
attention while artillery fired one hundred minute guns. This was the first
ceremonial parade that had taken place since my joining and on such
occasions all British officers of the Indian Army were required to turn out
mounted. I had my military saddlery but had not yet purchased a charger, so I
was lent a horse for the occasion by one of the other officers.
It was an impressive ceremony. We were drawn up on the parade
ground with the field battery on our right, the guns cleared for action. British
officers were ordered by the Colonel to take post in line, in front of the
regiment. Then as the appointed hour struck, he gave the order to “Present
Arms", we came to the “Carry", with our swords, the first round from the
battery boomed out, and our band commenced playing the Dead March in
Saul. The interval of one minute between each round seemed unbelievably
long and the guns continued firing thus for an hour and forty minutes. Several
men in the ranks fainted and fell, and, were allowed to lie thus. My sword
hand became cramped and stiff, and our mounts restless. It undoubtedly was
a very severe ordeal and we were mightily relieved when it was all over.
 That memorable ceremony made a lasting impression upon me. It
was obvious that all our Indian officers, rank and file underwent this
extremely drastic experience so very willingly. It became quite evident that
they were as sincere in this expression of their deep regret for the passing of
“The Great White Queen" as if it had been that of a greatly beloved and
respected member of their own kith and kin. Moreover, that impression
gained strength from every Indian, high or low, I subsequently met. It was
food for thought.
Meanwhile my principal object in life now was to get on with all
necessary arrangements that had to be made before my wife would be able to
come out and join me again. It had been decided that I was to retain the
bungalow I had been sharing with Alec Barr, who was then on his way to
England to get married. It was a large bungalow with an extensive garden
containing numerous mango, orange, lime, pomegranate and custard apple
trees, and flowering rose bushes. There was much to be done. Furniture had
to be obtained and all the many things needed to be assembled and installed so
that all would be ready by the time that Babs would be due to reach Bombay.
A considerable capital outlay was inevitable upon this first occasion of setting
up house in India, but the local Shroff (Indian banker and moneylender) was
only too willing to advance the needful, at a price!
In due course all was ready, a staff of servants had been engaged, the
storeroom stocked with tins and bottles of this and that, and I left for Bombay
to meet the incoming mail steamer. It was the Adjutant's Clerk, a master of
Indian Army Regulations, who suggested that if I were to take ten days “Study
Leave” with a view to putting in a few days of intensive study with a
celebrated Bombay Munshi who I specialised in preparing officers for the
Higher Standard Urdu examination, I would be allowed a “Form E" entitling
me to pay only half-fare for my journey to Bombay, and another covering
similarly the return journey. A useful man, that Clerk!
 XXXVI
It was early morning of the day following my departure from
Ellichpur when I reached Bombay, and a one-horse Victoria took me to the
Great Western Hotel. In those days this hotel was well-run and comfortable
and much patronised by British residents in India, but it has long since been
defunct as such. It raced the big gates of the Royal Indian Marine Dockyard
and being centrally situated, was very popular.
Having taken the very necessary precaution of booking the extra
accommodation that would be needed when Babs arrived, since the hotel was
always crowded at the time of the arrival and departure of the mail steamers
during the cold weather, I summoned the Munshi and arranged with him for
daily lessons. A handsome, elderly man with a grey beard and wearing a pagri
richly embroidered in gold thread. He was a Mahomedan, spoke fluent
English, and proved to be an excellent teacher. I had to put in several hours a
day to satisfy him, wrestling with such tasks as the translation into Urdu, in
the native character, or selected passages from an English publication of the
“Arabian Nights Entertainments".
The morning at last came round when I was awakened early by a
Goanese hotel servant who brought me my chota hazri and informed me that
the mail steamer had been signalled, which meant that she would probably be
entering the harbour and dropping anchor within an hour. In those days there
was no landing stage capable or accommodating any but quite small vessels.
Steamers anchored at some distance from the shore, cargo was landed in
lighters towed by tugs, and steam tenders at the Apollo Bunder, a small pier
with slipways close to the Bombay Yacht Club. More than a year had passed
since last I had seen Babs, and it seemed an interminable time before I saw the
mail steamer come round Colaba Point, move slowly to her allotted berth and
drop anchor. It was the best part of an hour later before the first passenger
tender left the ship's side.
It was not until the tender had nearly reached the landing stage that I
saw Babs among the crowd on board, waving to me. I was much too excited
when we met to do the correct thing and thank the lady who had acted as her
chaperone on the voyage. Aunt Loo had seen to it that she should have one in
accordance with the custom of those days. Nor could I wait to meet the
friends she had made during the voyage. She found herself whisked off in a
Victoria with her hand luggage to the hotel. It was a wonderfully happy
moment for us both.
It was amusing to observe Babs' reactions upon reaching India.
Everything to which I had been so long accustomed seemed to her so strange.
It took some time for her to take for granted all the weirdly dressed, or
partially dressed, dark-skinned people, the bullock carts and many other
sights. When we reached the hotel the reason for the mosquito nets over the
beds had to be explained, also that the little lizards on the walls were not only
harmless, but useful since they caught and swallowed many mosquitoes and
flies!
 That afternoon we went for a drive around the town and along the
front to Malabar Hill with all its interesting sights, and I remember how
horrified she was when I told her how the Parsis place their dead on top of the
Tower of Silence to be disposed of by the vultures. Which reminds me that
long ago I remarked to a well-educated Parsi friend how offensive to us this
custom seemed, to which he replied by asking me if I considered it any worse
that a dead body should be consumed by vultures than by worms! Quite a
good argument, I thought. We subsequently visited the Craword Market with
its stalls of all sorts, and also some streets of small shops nearby in which
many things could be bought, usually at some what lower prices than in the
more pretentious establishments in the Hornby Road.
We stayed in Bombay until the following evening, and then left by the
mail train for Amraoti, and thence by tonga to Ellichpur. On the way a fine
herd of buck crossed the road ahead of us and galloped away, moving as they
do by great bounds, always, a beautiful sight and one that gave Babs a great
thrill. She was very tired when we reached out bungalow. Darkness was
falling, the large and lofty rooms that seemed so gloomy in the half-light of
the oil lamps, and the several servants who came forward to salaam to their
new memsahib, coming after so many fresh experiences quite dazed her. As
she admitted, afterwards, it was a relief to find dinner about to be served, to be
followed by an early bed.
We were enjoying the chota hazri that had been brought in by the
ayah early next morning, when we were startled by a loud bang quite close to
the bungalow. Our bedroom was on an upper floor. This room, with an
adjoining bathroom and a large open terrace beyond, occupied the whole of
this floor, and during the hot weather nights the beds were placed outside,
under the open sky. A second bang followed, and we hurried out onto the
terrace and saw the field battery in action upon the open ground just beyond
our front hedge! We could hear the words of command and see the firing of
some more rounds, after which the guns were smartly limbered up and the
battery trotted off. It transpired later that my wire had been given the honour
of a salute by the battery, under the command of the British captain and his
subaltern!
It was a custom long since discontinued, that a married woman was
regarded as a bride for a year after her marriage, and during that period was
given precedence over all other married women without regard to their
husbands status. It was a custom obviously calculated to arouse much jealousy
in the breasts of many wives and so prove to be anything but an undiluted
blessing for the bride! Since when Babs reached Ellichpur we had already
been married for nearly eighteen months, she should have escaped this
somewhat questionable compliment, but in my absence the other officers had
decided that she was to be regarded as a bride and I had no say in the matter.
The fact that Babs was very young and unsophisticated, and very pretty and
vivacious, and moreover had brought out with her some very becoming
dresses, all added up to make things all the worse for her with the other not-
so-young womenfolk!
 It was no mean ordeal for a young girl to come from a quiet life with
a spinster aunt in England, and find herself the principal guest at a regimental
dinner given in her honour at the officer’s mess, to which all in the
neighbourhood had been invited. In those days even private dinners were
formal affairs. That at which we were treated as regimental guests was very
formal indeed. We started well by arriving on the stroke or the hour, as the
massed buglers were sounding the Officer’s Mess Call, and shook hands with
the Colonel and other officers who were waiting to receive us and their other
guests at the entrance. Babs looked lovely in a pale blue Liberty satin evening
gown, completely eclipsing the toilettes of the other ladies present. Short
drinks were handed round as we stood about in the anteroom while awaiting
the arrival of other guests.
When all were present, the Colonel came forward and offered my
wife his arm to lead her into the dining room. As they stepped off together the
regimental band on the lawn outside struck up “The Roast Beef of Old
England", other officers, military and civil , following in strict order of
seniority, each with a lady on his arm, each lady in her turn taking precedence
according to her husband's rank. Meanwhile the hostess stood with her hand
upon the arm of the Deputy Commissioner of the District, the most senior
official present among the guests, waiting to follow the last couple into the
dining room. On this occasion, since the Colonel’s wife was away in England,
her place as hostess was taken by the Adjutant’s wife, and as there were not
enough ladies to go round, the tail of the procession consisted of junior
officers.
As was the very pleasant custom in those days, the dinner was of
several courses and upon a lavish scale, leading off with Punch à la Romaine,
a most delectable and insidious mixture of ice cream, champagne and
liqueurs, while the band outside played a selection of popular airs and
champagne and wines circulated freely. It was not long before Babs and the
officers at the head of the table were quite obviously enjoying themselves,
while it was equally obvious that some black looks were developing at the
other end:
It was the responsibility of the lady occupying the senior position at
table - on this occasion, my wife - to give the signal for all the other ladies
present to rise from their seats, the men of course following suit, and lead the
way for them to follow her to the anteroom, leaving the men to resume their
seats for another round of the wines. Babs should have done this soon after
the port, sherry and madeira had been round for the first time but most
unfortunately I had forgotten to explain this formality to her. So we all sat on
until the Adjutant's, wife, realising that something had to be done, remarked
tartly and in a penetrating voice that as Mrs. Hardinge presumably had
forgotten to do so, she must make the move, which she thereupon proceeded
to do. Of course everyone else did their best to cover up this contretemps, but
poor Babs felt like bursting into tears, though none would have guessed it
from her dignified departure from the table with an apology for her oversight.
It as quite obvious that she had the sympathy of all the men present, which did
not improve the female atmosphere!
Next morning was a busy one for us, since we knew that in duty
bound everyone in the station would be coming to pay the customary first call
upon the bride. Indian servants love anything of that sort and all entered into it
with zest. The visitors began to arrive shortly after noon. There were short
drinks and smokes, and Babs showed herself to be quite at home as a hostess.
I wondered how this could be until it occurred to me that she had spent most
of the past year with aunt Loo, a very sociable person with many friends,
consequently social gatherings such as we had that day had no terrors for her.
These celebrations over, we settled down to the humdrum life in a
small Indian cantonment a description of which I have already given, varied
only by the return calls we had to make upon those houses where wives were
in residence, namely, of the Deputy Commissioner and our Adjutant. Small
dinner parties followed, the only way married couples can return the
compliment of a call upon them by bachelors or grass widowers. The term
"grass widower" denotes a married man whose wife was back in England. A
"grass widow" was a married woman who went to the hills for the hot weather
while her husband stayed on the plains, or who had remained in India during
the absence on field service or otherwise of her husband. Rudyard Kipling is
responsible for some breezy accounts of the doings of these two types in his
"Plain Tales of the Hills". There were few social scandals in India in which
they did not play part!
I was young and very inexperienced in some of the vagaries of human
nature in those days. It is amusing now to look back and realise how well
Babs handled some of our men friends! She had been brought up with our
brothers and was a regular tomboy, delighting in the society of nine men, but
she was no flirt and it did not take long for all to realise it, not excepting some
wives who, not unnaturally, were at first suspicious of their husbands' obvious
admiration and liking. But it took time and there were periods of stress and
strain, as may well be imagined. However, all's well that ends well, and I will
pass on to pleasanter topics.
It seemed that we had not been long together again when Christmas
came round with its usual festivities, and a visit by the Resident of
Hyderabad, Sir David Barr. During his stay a dinner in his honour was given
in the mess, followed by a fireworks display at which the Adjutant's small son
Donald was allowed to be present. We were all out on the verandah watching
the fireworks, when I happened to look round and see Sir David watching my
wife, who had Donald alongside of her, with a kindly smile on his face, and at
that moment he said "There are two people here who are thoroughly enjoying
the fireworks - Mrs. Hardinge and Donald!"
Towards the close of the drill season, the G.O.C. arrived on a tour of
inspection, accompanied by his D.A.A.G. They put up at the Circuit House, a
bungalow furnished somewhat upon hotel lines and intended for members of
the I.C.S. and other important personages visiting the station. It so happened
that this particular General, who was a divorcé, was a notorious lady-killer,
and when he came to call upon my wife accompanied by his staff officer and
we were all sitting round with drinks and smokes, it was highly amusing to
observe him screwing his eyeglass into his roving eye and gazing with open
admiration at Babs!
But we did not realise what was to follow. That night we all dined at
the mess, at a dinner given in his honour. It was a very cheery meal. The
General was full of bonhomie which gathered force as the champagne
circulated, but I fancy that everyone else present must have held his or her
breath when the General called out to Babs across the table "You must come
and dine with me at the Circuit House, Mrs. Hardinge!” and then, obviously
as an afterthought, added "And bring Mrs. G..... with you!" Mrs. G.... was the
Adjutant's, wife and, since the Colonel's wife had not yet arrived from
England, also the General's hostess! Ye Gods! What a situation for us all!
Obviously some way out would have to be found, but it was as well that none
seemed desirous of discussing the matter that night.
I never heard what actually transpired next morning, but think it
probable that the Adjutant and the General's D.A.A.G. conferred together and
decided upon a way out. So it came about that later on Babs received a note
from the Adjutant's wife to the effect that they would pick us up on their way
to the Circuit House that evening, and would we be ready by such-and-such a
time? It was a very pleasant little dinner and we all parted good friends.
 XXXVII
Shortly after this event the hot weather set in, and after a brief period
of punkahs during the day and sleeping out on the terrace under the stars, the
regiment marched from its lines to the foothills of the Satpuras where camp
was pitched for the night. The journey thence to the little hill station of
Chikalda was completed the following day. Here a camp was established upon
a level space reserved for the purpose. The British officers' tents and those for
the mess were pitched in a grove of mango trees higher up and near to the few
bungalows of which Chikalda consisted. There was a small hotel and a Circuit
House for civil service officials, while since Chikalda was the Headquarters of
an extensive Forest Division, the Conservator of Forests lived here with his
wife in a fine large bungalow. His stables housed not only his horses, but also
the elephant that his appointment authorised him to maintain at government
expense.
Babs and I drove the thirty miles in a tonga behind a pair of bullocks.
Progress by this mode of transport is necessarily slow and we had to break our
journey at a Rest House half way, but we reached the hotel at Chikalda in time
for the late breakfast next day. Since I, being the most junior, had been given
the job of taking charge of the Depot of the regiment, garrisoned by a half-
company which as left behind for this purpose and where all the women and
children of the Indian rank and file remained, I was able to stay in Chikalda
for the weekend only. When the time came for me to return to Ellichpur and
our bungalow there, I did so by riding down the hill and across the plain
beyond upon relays of ponies that had been sent out from our lines in
Ellichpur and posted along the road at intervals of seven or eight miles. All
Indian regiments stationed permanently at places some considerable distance
from the nearest railway, and there were many such in those days, maintained
at government expense a Transport Section of ponies, or mules, and army
carts. In our case it happened to be ponies and very useful they were. Not only
did they maintain a regular service for supplies from Amraoti, but with the
Colonel's permission could on occasion be made use of by officers.
A couple of miles down the cart road from Chikalda a steep path led
off the road and shortened the distance to Ellichpur by several miles. It was
considered to be a dangerous ride, but after the sort of country to which I had
become accustomed when I was in the Khyber Pass and at Cherat, it did not
strike me as anything out of the ordinary. However, I had not reckoned upon
meeting, at the far end of a narrow watercourse down which my mount was
sliding rather than stepping and in which it should have been exceedingly
difficult to turn round, two large cobras, erect and with their hoods expanded,
most alarmingly close to the path just before the point at which it widened
out! There seemed no alternative but to go on and hope that neither of these
poisonous reptiles would strike at the pony's legs, or that it would become
panic-stricken and perhaps throw me off to become an easy prey! The pony
was shivering with fright, but I managed to coax it past the danger. The cobras
remained erect and motionless and we shot past and down the hill at
breakneck speed for some distance before I could pull up my mount, which
was as frightened as I had been!
With a fresh pony from the foot of the hill and another half way home
I made good time, cantering all the way across open country and arriving at
our bungalow to find a hot bath and a meal ready for me. The only members
of the domestic staff absent were my wife's and our khitmatgar, both of whom
were with her in Chikalda. Communication between the regiment and its
Depot was maintained by our regimental signallers, and the message
informing our servants of my return had reached them in good time.
What a different place Ellichpur cantonment was then, compared to
what it had been throughout the cold weather! The gunner subaltern and I
were the only British residents. Everyone else was either in Chikalda or had
gone home on leave. Even our I.M.S. doctor was absent and in case of
accident or illness there was none other closer at hand than Amraoti, a
member of the Indian Subordinate Medical Department, an Indian Assistant
Surgeon who was not a fully qualified medical practitioner.
My daily work at the Regimental Depot was easily completed before
breakfast in the bungalow. This would have been exceedingly boresome had I
not been anxious to settle down to some steady work for the Higher Standard
Urdu examination in which I was required to qualify within twelve months of
appointment to an Indian unit. This solitude consequently suited me
admirably and I was soon at work with the local munshi. Some of my spare
time had also to be devoted to preparation for my examination for retention in
the Indian Army in addition to that in the language. In one respect I was
fortunate. Mine was an Urdu-speaking regiment, so I would not have to
undertake a second Indian language.
The examination for retention was no light matter. In addition to the
organisation and interior economy of every type of Indian unit, I had to
acquire a working knowledge of several bulky volumes of Indian Army
Regulations, of the Manual of Indian Military Law, the Indian Civil Service
Regulations, and sundry other subjects. It meant a lot of study, much of it
exceedingly dull. Suffice to say here that I qualified eventually in both of
these examinations, in Urdu at Bombay and for retention at Ellichpur in the
Station Staff Office under the eye of the Colonel, the examination papers
having been sent to him from Army Headquarters.
At that time the Army in India was organised in four entirely distinct
Presidency Armies, those of the Punjab, Bombay, Bengal and Madras. Each
had its own set of Indian Army Regulations, each differing in an infinitely
large number of, small details from all the other three. It was only in most
exceptional circumstances that a unit served beyond the limits of its own
Presidency, and indeed rarely away from its permanent station where each
unit had built its own lines, in many cases its bungalows, and in some even a
church. Customs vary greatly between the many castes from which units were
manned and its Indian officers were recruited, rates of pay varied, the scales
and composition of regimental conservancy and other followers were entirely
different. In fact, the four Presidency Armies were utterly unlike one another
in almost every respect with the one exception, that all were commanded by
British officers of what at that time was termed the Indian Staff Corps. It was
not until about 1906 that these distinctions were swept away by Lord
Kitchener, at that time Commander-in-Chief in India, and the term Indian
Army came into being.
It was in the early afternoon of one of those days when I was seated
reading at my writing table at the back of which a window opened out onto
the verandah which was almost level with the ground, when a very strange
thing happened. I heard a rustling sound coming from just outside the window
and looking up from my book, to my amazement there was a fair-sized
mugger ( Indian crocodile) waddling along the verandah just below the
window! I jumped for a rifle, but was not quick enough. By the time I got
outside, there was nothing to be seen. I came to the conclusion that this
dangerous reptile had been taking a short cut across the open from one water-
channel to another. It was well known that they often do so in desolate parts,
and I suppose the fact that the cantonment was so relatively deserted and quiet
had encouraged the creature to make this rather daring crossing.
Several uneventful weeks passed thus, with an enjoyable break at the
weekends, when the battery mounted me with their horses. They were
Australian walers, 16-hands and over, and two changes were sent out for me,
one halfway to the foothills, and another to carry me up the hill by the short
cut. Meanwhile we had secured a small furnished bungalow in Chikalda, the
Forest Officer to whom it belonged being then on leave, and Babs was
comfortably installed in it with a daughter of the Anglo-Indian Assistant
Surgeon of our regiment to keep her company. But there were disadvantages.
It was an old bungalow with a thatched roof, from which black scorpions
dropped out now and then, and at night all doors and windows had to be kept
closed, the desirability of which became evident when foot marks were found
on a windowsill. The only doubt about them was whether they were those of a
panther, or a young tiger.
Chikalda had its Kampani Bagicha, and the tennis courts here as
elsewhere in every such small station throughout India were the rendezvous
each afternoon for all the British residents. In that and most other respects the
routine of our daily lives in this tiny hill station continued upon much the
same lines as in the plains, with the notable difference that sport was a much
more serious affair, the quarry being panther, tiger and bear.
Our Adjutant had a nasty experience with a bear. He was walking
along the side of a ravine some miles away in the hills and passed the entrance
to a cave. A large animal rushed out at him. He just managed to turn the rifle
in his hand and press the trigger, but the bullet missed the bear for that was
what it turned out to be and hit the cub that was clinging to its mother's back.
The now enraged bear seized the Adjutant by the leg and together they rolled
down and went over the edge of a cliffside. He snatched at a tree trunk and
managed to hold on while the bear broke away and was killed by the fall. Very
fortunately the Adjutant was wearing breeches and leather leggings,
nevertheless the calf of his leg was badly torn. He was a long way from
Chikalda and his only companion was his Indian orderly. Blood poisoning is
the great danger on such occasions, and all experienced sportsmen carried
with them the essentials for first aid. While the orderly hurried back to get
help, the victim opened up his wounds with a sharp knife and poured strong
carbolic acid into the incisions. The pain must have been excruciating, but
when eventually he was brought in to the hospital, the consensus of medical
opinion was that but for this truly Spartan action, the leg almost certainly
would have had to be amputated.
I took over the Adjutancy, which or course meant that I would now
have to stay in Chikalda, while a recently-joined subaltern took over
Ellichpur. This arrangement pleased me immensely and I pictured myself
having a comparatively easy time of it. Later on, however, I learnt that not
only did the Second-in-Command contemplate some intensive training in hill
warfare for the regiment, but I was dismayed to learn besides that it was about
to be re-equipped with rifles and sidearms of the latest pattern in place of the
old Martini-Henry rifles and bayonets we then had. Since it was known that I
could not pretend ignorance of either mountain warfare or the Lee-Metford
rifle, it became quite obvious that I had not been appointed Adjutant as a
kindly act to enable me to stay in the more salubrious climate of Chikalda
with my wife, and just loaf around with a gun.
It was not long before a formidable train of bullock carts reached the
camp under escort and unloaded a large number of arm chests, each
containing several rifles and a like number of sword-bayonets, all thickly
smeared with mineral jelly (crude vaseline). Row upon row of waterproof
sheets - every member of the rank and file had one of these as a part of his
equipment - were laid out on the parade ground. Each company in turn sent up
its rank and file in parties corresponding with the number of arms in a chest,
each man received a rifle and sidearm in exchange for the old pattern arms
handed in, had the number stamped on the new arms recorded against his
name in a Company Roll by its clerk under the eyes of an Indian officer and
my overall supervision, and returned to his groundsheet where he got busy
cleaning off the mineral jelly with the help of a liberal supply of cotton waste
provided for the purpose. Meanwhile the old arms were being checked,
examined, greased and packed into the empty arm chests by our Armourer
Havildar's Department for return to the Arsenal. It was a full day’s work to
deal thus with over six hundred sets of arms.
The hill warfare was quite good fun and the men seemed to
thoroughly enjoy it. Officers made a point of having a gun and rifle handy, it
being understood that we could shoot at game only after it had passed us, that
is to say, in a direction in which there would be none of our men. It is on such
occasions that the value of a personal orderly becomes especially apparent, in
this case to carry the arms. The movement up and down the ravines of men in
expended order and considerable numbers not infrequently produced just as
good results as one could have expected from a line of beaters. In fact there
were some unkind people who accused us of making use of the regiment in
that capacity for the sole object of shikar!
A couple of months passed thus very pleasantly and I am sure that all
were sorry when the clouds began to collect, presaging the approach of the
monsoon. To have the regiment caught in torrents of rain while still in tents in
the hills was something none could contemplate with equanimity, so we struck
camp and left for Ellichpur. My wife was in poor health at the time and I was
allowed to remain with her in order to pack up, hand over the bungalow, and
return by easy stages in a bullock tonga. Everything went according to plan
and we reached our home at Ellichpur to find everything ready for our
reception, The bungalow meanwhile had acquired the somewhat sinister name
of Snakey Mansion. It was very hot and steamy, and to our dismay next
morning, we found that the clouds had rolled away and it was as hot as ever.
Did it mean that the monsoon would fail? This happens sometimes in India.
Then the discomfort that follows becomes relatively unimportant. What then
mattered was that it would mean starvation, pestilence and death for millions
in that great country, not yet sufficiently covered by the network of railways
now in existence, which enables supplies and populations to be moved in
order to materially alleviate the effects of such a calamity. The rains did
eventually come, but it was a bad year, an unfortunate fact since a great
Coronation Darbar was to be held later at Delhi.
 XXXVIII
The Coronation Durbar of 1902 at Delhi was a vast gathering or
Indian Princes, distinguished visitors from other countries, high officials, and
a massing of troops for the ceremony with grand manoeuvres to follow. Our
regiment was one or the units of the Hyderabad Contingent selected to attend
and all ranks had a busy time doing everything possible to ensure that the
regiment made a good showing. It was a great disappointment for us both that
my wife was not in a fit state of health at that time to be able to attend the
Durbar. It was decided that I should remain at Ellichpur in charge of the
Regimental Depot, which I learnt to my consternation later would include the
duties of Officer Commanding the Station with which would merge those of
Station Staff Officer and of Cantonment Magistrate and Registrar of Births,
Marriages and Deaths. In fact, it appeared that anything that happened for
miles around would be my concern! However, I was being left a double-
company with three Indian officers and an Indian Assistant Surgeon, so did
not feel that I was being completely deserted.
The regiment, less one double-company, eventually marched off,
bound for Delhi some seven hundred miles distant by road. By easy marches
with periodical rest stops it was estimated this would take eight weeks to
complete. We had to work out the itinerary day by day and arrange with the
civil authorities concerned of the various Districts through which the road lay,
for provision of the food and fuel needed at each day's bivouac point on a
certain day throughout the route. I was still Quartermaster; so most of the
work involved in making all these arrangements devolved upon me.
Consequently I was considerably relieved when I saw the regiment march
away.
I lost no time in getting matters affecting the Depot and cantonments
as shipshape as possible, for I knew that a busy time was coming, though still
blissfully ignorant as to how busy it was destined to be. For some time past
my wife also had been busy, making a complete wardrobe of pretty little
garments. Blue was Babs’ favourite colour, so the embroidery and bows of
ribbon had to be blue. Numerous articles such as a cradle and its
appurtenances had to be ordered from Bombay. All these preparations were
now complete, and in due course a nurse arrived from St. George’s Hospital in
that city. Days of suspense passed. Then, when least expected, everything
seemed to happen at once.
Our first-born arrived on the 27th or November, 1902 - a son.
Throughout the East, the birth of a son is regarded as a blessing, and that or a
daughter little short of a calamity. The reason is not far to seek. A son will
work for and eventually support his aged parents, whereas a daughter at most
will be no more than a household drudge until she reaches marriageable age,
when her unfortunate parents will be obliged to provide a dowry, in the
absence of which she will remain indefinitely on their hands. The happy event
was hardly over when quite a crowd assembled in front of the bungalow. This
included the Indian officers who had remained behind, with a delegation from
the rank and file, the mess staff, our landlord, some of the shopkeepers in the
bazaar with whom we dealt, and of course our own servants. When I
appeared, it was to receive a chorus of congratulations and good wishes, to
which I had to make a fitting response.
Nothing out or the ordinary transpired that day, but next morning my
wife was running a temperature and nurse was worried. It was not twenty-four
hours later when the Assistant Surgeon, the only doctor available, diagnosed
measles! It was decided to take the baby away to a room downstairs and
secure a native wet nurse for him, leaving to me the responsibility for his care
in other respects, since my wife's would be needed in the sick room.
Obviously I knew nothing about babies. Nurse did what she could by calling
out instructions from the top of the stairs, and the situation would have been
amusing had it not been so serious. During the twenty-four hours or so that
intervened before the wet nurse arrived, faulty bottle-feeding and other
mistakes by me upset baby's delicate digestive powers.
The Indian produced by the Assistant Surgeon was a coolie woman
with a small baby, and I soon realised she hated having to feed our child, thus
depriving her own. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse when Fate
stepped in. Baby was looking very flushed when the A.S. saw him next
morning and decided that he also had measles! So all that had been done to
save him from infection had served no good purpose. Just the opposite in fact,
since the result had been to give him a bad start in life. At later date when
wiser counsels became available, it was pointed out that my wife must have
contracted the disease some days before baby was born, and he could not have
escaped the consequences.
So mother and child were reunited in the upstair room, where the
nurse could reach them by way of the outside steps that led to the roof terrace
and thence to the bedroom, and I was relieved of that worry. But there was
plenty more to follow! Two or three days later the A.S., who was watching
baby being fed, noticed the woman putting a finger in his mouth. He caught
hold of her hand and examined her fingernail. Under it was a tiny pellet of
opium, the cause of the habit baby has acquired falling asleep before he had
been able to finish feeding. It was a diabolical trick, designed to save her milk
for her own child. Had it not been discovered in good time, ultimately it must
have had a fatal result.
Shortly after this my wife's condition suddenly took a turn for the
worse and it was found that on top of the measles, she had contracted
pneumonia! The cause was obvious. Our upstairs bedroom had windows on
all four sides and nurse, in her zeal for giving the patient plenty of fresh air,
had allowed the room to become very draughty during the critical time.
Several terribly anxious days followed, but nurse never spared herself and, the
day came when we were able to move them all to accommodation downstairs
where there was less risk from draughts and everything became easier.
This tale of woe was surely trouble enough without any other
preoccupations, but that was far from being the case. In the midst of all this
worry the Station Staff Office Clerk came round to remind me that a quarterly
payment to all army pensioners in the District would fall due within the next
few days. Then the Subedar commanding the double-company in the lines had
had serious trouble with one of his men and had put him in the cells, so I
would have to deal with him. The Cantonment Market Inspector appeared
with a complaint about conservancy. But most disturbing of all, some cases of
bubonic plague were reported in Ellichpur City of over 80,000 inhabitants. It
was less than four miles distant from the cantonment area, and immediate
measures would have to be taken to protect all those who dwelt in
cantonments from this dread disease.
The field battery left for Delhi at the same time as our regiment,
leaving behind only a small Depot under an Indian officer. Consequently I
was the only British officer of the Indian armed services in the District, and as
such was vested with powers necessary in such responsible circumstances. It
may sound silly when I state that I had to move from office to office,
addressing official memoranda and letters from myself as Regimental
Quartermaster or Adjutant to myself and Officer Commanding, from myself
as O.C. to myself as Station Staff officer, from myself as S.S.O. to myself as
O.C. Station, and the whole process in reverse in an extreme case. Then or
course there was the correspondence between myself in one or other of these
capacities and the appropriate Civil Authorities. But it had to be in order that
the records of the various offices should be complete for future reference.
It is at times such as these that the true value of good Indian assistants
became apparent. The combined public and private loads of worry would have
been well nigh insupportable but for their help. The trouble in the lines was
really serious and involved a Summary Court Martial and the imposition by
me of a sentence of sixty days solitary confinement, being my maximum
powers in the circumstances. Problems concerning conservancy, law and
order and what not, were of daily occurrence. By far the worst of my
experiences was when plague took a firm hold in the city and carts were out
collecting the corpses of many who fell by the roadside to die there.
In addition to the double-company that had stayed behind when the
regiment left for Delhi, in the lines were the families, including seemingly
innumerable children, of the rank and file of the entire regiment. I decided
upon absolute segregation from all outside contacts and took all practicable
measures in co-operation with the police and other civil authorities concerned
to enforce it, feeling however that success was highly problematical. It
redounds to the credit of all concerned that the steps taken proved entirely
successful. We did not have a single case of plague in the lines.
 The author, aged 24 years.
It was about this time that I was called upon to do something, the
recollection of which will always haunt me. The Assistant Surgeon was not a
fully qualified practitioner and there came a time when my wife's condition
worried him, and he took it upon himself to communicate with the Civil
Surgeon at Amraoti with the object of securing his advice concerning a matter
that appeared to need a surgical treatment. The Civil Surgeon came to
Ellichpur and decided that a minor operation was necessary. As he would need
the assistance of the A.S. and nurse was fully occupied with the baby, it fell to
my lot to administer the anaesthetic - to my own wife!
I was provided with a large stoppered bottle, a measure glass, and
some cotton wool. The bottle, known as a Winchester quart, had been brought
from the Dispensary and it was half full of the deadly stuff. Fortunately it did
not occur to me until afterwards what a risk that involved. What if I had
knocked it over? I was told to make a pad of cotton wool, pour upon it at
carefully-timed intervals an equally-carefully measured portion of the fluid,
hold this to my wife's mouth and nose, and to examine her eye every now and
then. If I noticed a certain change in the appearance of the eye, I must
immediately inform the Surgeon. The entire affair occupied only a few
minutes, but I think they were the longest I ever experienced. Undoubtedly in
those days in India, we had much to test our nerves!
It was some weeks later and Babs was definitely on the mend though
still desperately weak, when the G.O.C. turned up unexpectedly with his staff
officer and had a look round. By then things had more or less settled down
and he seemed satisfied with what he saw. In fact his visit proved to be a
blessing in disguise for us. When he heard what we had been through, upon
his orders the D.A.A.G. wired instructions to Bolarum to transfer a British
officer of the Indian Medical Service to Ellichpur forthwith, and another
telegram to the G.O.C. Bombay requested that we be allotted passages in a
troopship while I was told that if I put in an application for furlough, it would
be granted.
Some hectic days followed during which in addition to carrying on
my official duties, I had to pack up our household effects ready to be sent to
the Quartermasters Stores, and sort out and pack the things that had to
accompany us. Meanwhile the doctor arrived from Bolarum and I received an
intimation from the regiment that an officer was returning to take over from
me. The General had not overlooked that need. The doctor decided that
neither my wife nor the baby was fit to travel by tonga, so they were carried
the thirty-two miles to Amraoti in a dhoolie. A narrow charpoy (string
bedstead) slung from a long bamboo pole and protected by waterproof
curtains that can be drawn aside, the dhoolie is carried by our bearers, two in
front and two behind, with four more following so that the carriers can be
relieved from time to time. A bullock cart followed containing our luggage,
and seated upon it were my wife's ayah and my bearer.
It was a slow and tedious journey. The doctor and I rode ponies from
the Transport Lines, and the cortège halted for the night at a Rest House about
midway on the road. We arrived without mishap at the residence of the Civil
Surgeon, Amraoti, our transport was discharged, and a comfortable night
followed. Accommodation having previously been reserved in the mail train,
we were about to board it when a messenger arrived with a telegram that had
been redirected to me from Ellichpur. It was from the office of the
Embarkation Commandant, Bombay, and contained but three words, and they
were "Passages indefinitely postponed". It was too late to make any change in
our plans, so we boarded the train and left for Bombay.
I was still considering what was best to be done and feeling very
depressed when the train stopped that evening for dinner at a wayside station
where there was a refreshment room. I got out with the intention of having
something to eat sent out to the carriage for my wife, and entered the room
and there, just about to seat themselves at a table, were the General and his D.
A. A. G. I went over to them and explained what had happened. The General
was furious and a telegram was despatched to Bombay, while they told me to
go ahead as if nothing had happened and he hoped I would find everything all
right for us.
We reached Bombay next morning, and having seen my wife and
baby into a room at the hotel, I went round to the Embarkation Staff Office
and reported our arrival. A staff officer showed me the cabin plan of the ship,
pointed out a nice cabin, said that was the accommodation allotted to us and
handed me the passage order and a supply of luggage labels. No mention was
made regarding the telegram I had received cancelling the reservation and it
was not until two years later that I learnt what had happened. A senior officer
of the Embarkation Staff had struck out our names on the plan and substituted
those of his wife and her personal maid, going home for pleasure. The
General's telegram resulted in the officer losing his appointment and being
returned to regimental duty. It must not be thought that sort of thing was
common in those days. The case was unique, and the gravity of the misdeed
becomes apparent when it is realised that my wife and child were being sent
home upon grounds of serious ill health, possibly to save their lives.
We went aboard next morning, my wife being carried up the gangway
in an invalid chair. I followed, in uniform as in duty bound since we were
boarding a troopship, and I was carrying baby attired in the long clothes then
in vogue for infants. I was keenly conscious of some subdued hilarity from the
British rank and file lining the ship's side at the sight of an officer in such a
predicament, but no other course was possible since we had to part with ayah
on the landing stage. She wept bitterly at the departure of my wife and her
small charge. Indian servants become very devoted to their masters and
mistresses if they have been kindly treated.
It seemed reasonable to assume that the worst of our troubles were
now over and we could settle down to an enjoyable voyage home, but it was
not to be. A few days after we had sailed, having had breakfast and a breather
on deck, I went down to the cabin to see if my wife needed anything and to
attend to the baby whose folding cot stood in a corner, and found the cabin
steward lying on the floor alongside my wife's berth. He had a very flushed
face and evidently was very ill. My wife said he had come in and collapsed. It
transpired later that he was one of several cases of smallpox! Everyone on
board was inoculated except my wife and baby. It was considered that neither
of them was in a fit state of health to stand it and the risk had to be taken of
their contracting the disease. We were not segregated, but it was unpleasant to
realise that everyone obviously was intent upon keeping as far away from us
as possible!
Mercifully nothing happened. There were a few more cases on the
ship but none after the first few days at sea, and those we had were landed at
Suez and taken to an Isolation Hospital there. The vessel was declared free
from quarantine before we reached Southampton, where we were met by a
childrens nurse engaged for us by aunt Loo. Shortly afterwards we were on
our way to Guernsey and the care of good Miss Frecker at Hauteville, with the
doctor who had attended my wife on a previous occasion taking in hand her
case and that of our baby son.
I have recorded this difficult period at considerable length since it
demonstrates how arduous life in India in those days could be. I will bring it
to a close with a few facts concerning its financial aspect. There were no
family or other allowances of any sort. Free passage within Indian limits for
wife's and families was admissible when their husbands were transferred from
one place to another on permanent duty, but in no circumstances were officers
of the Indian Army or their wives or children entitled to free passages between
India and England or vice versa. Even if a Medical Board found that an officer
had suffered injury or contracted illness in the course of the execution of his
duty, he had to meet the cost of passages both homewards and outwards, and
while out of India he would receive furlough rate of pay only. This depended
upon length of service. In my case it would be £20 monthly.
 XXXIX
We were fortunate in having been granted Indulgence Passages,
which meant that we would have to pay only for the messing charges during
the voyage, but the troopship was slow and the voyage long, so the cost to us
was considerable. However, since my furlough commenced with the sixty
days of privilege leave due to me on full Indian rates of pay, the financial
outlook was not too bad. Both my wife and baby quickly gathered strength in
Guernsey, but Babs had to be careful, since it had been found that one of her
lungs was not expanding as it should. This eventually cleared up. Baby was
christened John Herivel Cusack. It is no easy matter to satisfy the godfathers,
godmother and relations on such an occasion. But we did our best, and almost
from the day of his christening he has been known as Jack after my uncle
Jack, at that time a Captain in the Royal Navy. His other godfather was my
cousin Sir Stanley von Donop who was a gunner and destined to become
Master-General of the Ordnance and Fourth Military Member of the Army
Council.
We spent some happy days in Guernsey before joining up with aunt
Loo in London and accompanying her to Curgurrell, a small village in
Cornwall on the shores of St. Austell Bay and some miles from Grampound
Road, where we left the railway and completed the journey by road. It was the
early spring, the weather was perfect, and I think that the sea bathing we had
there went a long way towards completing Babs’ return to good health. I can
recall only one unpleasant incident during that period. Babs’ wedding ring
slipped off her finger when we were bathing in deep water off the rocks, and
of course the heavy gold sank in the shifting sand, consequently our searches
were foredoomed to failure and eventually we had to make a day trip to
Falmouth and there buy another ring.
From Curgurrell we moved with aunt Loo to Mary Tavy north of
Tavistock in Devon. I took out a Moor Card and spent many enjoyable hours
fly-fishing for trout in the upper reaches of the Tavy. Babs used to drive me
out in a small governess cart behind a sturdy pony, and fetch me home again
in the evening. It was exceedingly pleasant to think then of those fearful days
at Ellichpur not so long before. They seemed like a bad dream. From Mary
Tavy we went to Plymouth, where uncle Jack was then living. He was a
member, of the Royal Western Yacht Club and later we were his guests at the
Club for the annual Regatta, which was quite a brilliant affair. We also went to
a Garden Party at Mount Edgecombe.
By then our days in England were dwindling to a close. We returned
to London, did a little shopping, and I was fortunate in again securing
Indulgence Passages to Bombay in an outward-bound troopship sailing from
Southampton. Nurse accompanied us there, we stayed a night at the South
Western Hotel, and next day, having settled up with her, we embarked and a
few hours later, sailed for India.
The custom in those days when travelling on a troopship with a baby
was to secure the services of a soldier’s wife in return for her wages as a
temporary nurse. This we had no difficulty in arranging and so were able to
derive full benefit from a pleasant voyage. We stayed for a few days at the
recently-opened Taj Mahal Hotel in Bombay, and while there I purchased a
young unbroken Gulf Arab horse from the Arab stables, engaged a syce
(groom) and arranged for the animal to be railed to Amraoti. We also engaged
an ayah for my wife and the baby and a bearer for me. We then left for
Ellichpur.
When we reached our destination, it was to find that every bungalow
was occupied and a large tent had been pitched for us upon the open space
close to our old bungalow, now occupied by Alec Barr and his young wife.
The wives of both the Colonel and the Second-in- Command were in the
station, they having arrived from England in time to join their husbands in
Delhi for the Coronation Durbar. The weather was very pleasant and we
settled down quite comfortably in camp. It was interesting to note how the
association of the regiment with many other units at Delhi seemed to have put
new life into it. There was none or the somewhat lethargic lack of spirit on
parade that I had found so noticeable as compared with the lst Hants. Long
spells of duty in a small out-of-the-way station, with no other similar unit with
which to compete, is not good for any regiment. Hockey had been taken up
with great zest, all the younger British officers playing with the men. I
enjoyed many games with them.
Meanwhile, however, I had to take stock of our financial position.
When I borrowed money for the purpose of making a home at Ellichpur to
which my wife could come, it did not occur to me that we might have to leave
it after little more than twelve months and at short notice, and incur all that
heavy expense of going to England. Consequently I was faced with a
considerable debt still due to the regimental shroff, a heavy overdraft at the
bank, and an unpleasantly large sheaf of unpaid bills, while I was still only a
subaltern. I saw no prospect or any appreciable increase in my pay for maybe
some years, and it was barely sufficient for day-to-day expenses without any
margin for the outstandings.
Thoughts such as these were at the back of my mind when one day I
was reading the latest issue of Indian Army Circulars and came across an item
to the effect that the Military Accounts Branch of the Indian Finance
Department was being recognised and that applications were invited from
British officers of Indian regiments to fill some half-dozen newly-created
vacancies. The scales of pay were most attractive. I was within the prescribed
age limit and otherwise eligible, but the entrance examination and that at the
end of a year's probation were formidable and nomination by His Excellency
the Viceroy was essential. With the Colonel's kindly help my application went
through, a packet of examination papers was received by him, and I sat for the
examination under his supervision in the Station Staff Office. Mathematics,
book-keeping, general military knowledge questions and the like. All this took
time and it must have been quite three months since I read the announcement
in an Indian Army Circular when orders were received for me to report for
duty to the Controller of military Accounts, Western Circle, Poona.
 Doubtless we would have had quite a send-off by the regiment but for
an exceedingly sad occurrence on the very eve of our departure. The Colonel's
wife had returned from England with a small son, not much older than our
baby Jack. The two ayahs with their respective charges were in the habit of
meeting daily in the Kampani Bagicha. The Colonel and his wife were
devoted to the baby, their only child. Presumably the ayah must have taken
him out too early, before the sun had sunk sufficiently low in the sky.
Sunstroke followed, and this fine, healthy boy within two days was dead! Our
last act at Ellichpur within a couple of hours of having to leave by tonga to
catch the mail train at Amraoti, was to attend the funeral. It had been a terrible
shock for everyone, and our departure could hardly have been gloomier.
 XL
Poona was a large cantonment even in those days, headquarters of the
Southern Army, the 6th Poona Division, and the Poona Brigade, and
garrisoned by an Indian cavalry regiment, two British and several Indian
battalions, a Mule Corps and strong contingents of other branches of the
Supply & Transport Corps, while there were numerous supply depots and
other essential services. British and Indian hospitals and so on. Many
bungalows housed the British staff and regimental officers with their wives
and families, and those of the various departmental services. Since it was also
the headquarters of a Civil District, there were a considerable number of
officers of the Indian Civil Service, and a Judge of the Poona High Court. The
bazaar was quite a little town, and close by stood a large Indian city.
Another cantonment, that of Kirkee only three or four miles from
Poona accommodated two more Indian infantry battalions, several, batteries
and ammunition columns of Royal Field Artillery, and the Bombay Sappers &
Miners, together with a large Arsenal and a Small- Arms-Ammunition
Factory, the latter employing several thousand Indian workpeople. Here also
there were many bungalows occupied by British staff, regimental and
departmental officers with their wives and families.
We put up at the Poona Hotel. Just across the road was the Poona
Gymkhana with its cricket ground, tennis courts and badminton sheds, and in
the main building, a fine concert and dance hall and, of course a large Bar.
The upper floor housed the very fine library of the United Services Institute.
The Club of Western India, one of the most exclusive men's clubs in the
country, with its residential quarters and tennis courts in extensive grounds
was less than a quarter of a mile away, and about a half-mile farther to the east
were the great enclosures and stands of the Royal Western Turf Club beyond
which stretched one of the finest racecourses in the country, whose annual
Race meeting continued without a break for several weeks.
A description of this famous military station would be incomplete
without mention of the Royal Connaught Boat Club, which came into being
when His Royal Highness the Duke of Connaught commanded the Bombay
Army some thirty years earlier. This club, with its spacious lawns and
boathouses, was situated in Kirkee upon the bank of the Mullah-Mutah River
that flowed through the cantonment and skirted Poona. It’s boathouses
contained every type of river craft, from eights down to skiffs and whiffs, all
built in England, up-to-date with sliding seats. There were also, of course, the
punts that could they but have spoken, might have told many a flirtatious
story! There was also a landing stage and boathouse a mile or so downstream
and opposite Poona. It was quite the thing on a Sunday afternoon, or upon the
weekly occasion when a band played at the Boat Club, to take out a boat at
the Poona end and row up to the Kirkee landing stage, more often than not
with a lady coxswain.
Upon the outskirts of Kirkee stood Ganeshkhind, a fine mansion in
beautiful grounds, the summer headquarters of the Governor of Bombay, with
his Bodyguard and staff accommodated nearby. The climate is genial during
the greater part of the year, the hot weather not being excessively unpleasant,
but the period during which the monsoon lasted was notoriously unhealthy.
Enteric, dysentery and other intestinal diseases took a terribly heavy toll of the
British population of Poona and Kirkee every year. But the climate of
Bombay during both the hot and rainy seasons was so exhausting, the
Governor with his stiff, and the civil officials of the Government of Bombay,
came up to Poona at the end of the cold weather and remained there until the
end of the rains. This period during which the Governor was in residence and
Poona became the seat of the Government of the Province was known as the
Poona Season. All available accommodation was then filled to overflowing.
Poona then became a centre of social festivity of every sort. Senior and
distinguished members of the services, both civil and military, were to be seen
everywhere. The ladies vied with one another in appearing in the latest
fashions, and the men perforce had to follow suit. Everything was very formal
and Victorian - calls and their return, lunches, dinner parties, dances, balls,
polo and other tournaments and the races. It was just one thing after another.
"Poonah" as our detractors to this day refer sneeringly to it, must
surely have been the birthplace of "Colonel Blimp" and, similar travesties.
While I must admit that during my earlier years of service in India I came
across a few pompous individuals who by a considerable stretch of the
imagination might conceivably have been exaggerated into something
resembling the "Blimp" caricature, and they were by no means confined to
military circles, life in India in those days was in the main far too tough and
hazardous for there to have been many such. That life in Poona, and elsewhere
in India, was in some respects frivolous and inane goes without saying, but on
the other hand there was much that was, pleasant and beneficial. It must not
be forgotten that I am writing of life fifty years ago, when conditions were
very different to what they now are. Sanitation was primitive, scientific
preventive measures were in their infancy, and with the exception of
vaccination against smallpox which was a disease virtually endemic in most
parts of India, protection against other malignant diseases by means of
inoculation was as yet a science undiscovered or at most in course of
development. Hardly a year passed without an alarming run of deaths among
the British population, civil and military. Poona was notoriously bad in this
respect and there were times especially during the monsoon which always has
been an unhealthy period, when it was depressing in the extreme to learn that
someone well known among us who appeared to be in the best of health only
a few hours earlier, was dead. Cholera that most dread of all Eastern diseases,
was never far away!
There is nothing so convincing as personal experience. In the course
of my long service in India I had several such experiences that convinced me
what a dangerous thing fear of disease can be. One example will suffice. My
wife was in England at the time and I dined at a small table in the Poona Hotel
one evening with a young officer staying in the hotel who appeared to be in
excellent health. He came over to my room after dinner for a chat and we had
a couple or small whiskies and sodas together before parting for the night. It
was not until next I learnt he had been removed to hospital in the early hours,
had since died, and would be buried next morning.
I well remember the cold wave of fright that for a moment seized hold
of me. Fortunately I am not highly strung, but I can appreciate how over-
sensitive natures can allow such feelings to gain the upper hand, and how they
may weaken normal resistance to disease. It was a good thing there was so
much gaiety about at such times to help to dispel gloomy thoughts. In fact I
discovered much of it was deliberately designed to serve that very purpose.
Conditions had been even worse in earlier times as the following extracts
from old records clearly demonstrate:
Forbes went out to India at the age of 16. In 1784 at the age of 35
only, he wrote as follows: "Of the 19 youths with whom I thus commenced
my juvenile career, 17 died in India many years before my departure; one only
besides myself then survived. He also has since fallen a sacrifice to the
climate, and I have been for I nearly 10 years the only survivor." 12th
November, 1679. "Mr. Richard Edwards dyed suddenly the 6th in the morning,
the Captains all supping with him the 5th at night." In a letter dated July 30th,
1823, Lady West wrote: "I know not when I have been so shocked as I was
last evening to have Mrs. Newnham's death announced to me. She took Tiffin
here last Thursday, had an attack of fever that night and expired... Here
people die one day and are buried the next. Their furniture sold the third, and
they are forgotten the fourth ..... O Lord, preserve my husband and me...." In a
subsequent letter, she wrote: “We have just heard the melancholy news of the
death of a poor young man here.... he was to have dined with us and the bell
tolling was the only way we heard of it." Sir Edward West died on the 17th
March, 1828, and Lady West early in September of that same year.
There were of course some notable exceptions. Here for instance is
one, from the announcement of deaths in the Calcutta Gazette of June, 1806:
"At Samulcottah on the 29th ultimo, Mrs. Christina Berg, aged 101 years, 5
months and 16 days." To anyone conversant with Indian customs, it is
amazing that hygiene has made such great advances in more recent years. For
instance any attempt by the medical authorities to prevent the breeding of
mosquito larvae in pools of uncovered cisterns by means of a thin layer of oil
on the surface of the water or otherwise interfering in any way with water
supply, was held by the Hindus to be highly objectionable upon religious
grounds. The purdah system for Mahomedan women forbade entry into their
houses for treatment or disinfection, and the practice of concealing infectious
cases was all too common.
Superstition was a terrible handicap. In a notable instance that I came
across, a member of a coolie class family had died of smallpox. Some scab
from the corpse had been placed in a small earthen pot, which was taken to
the nearest crossroads. Here it placed where it must get knocked over and the
scab scattered, in the firm belief that if by this means the disease could be
conveyed to someone else, the family would have no further trouble. Being
obliged to live year after year amidst such conditions, was it not indeed
desirable that everything possible should be done to divert people's minds into
more pleasant channels?
Enough of these morbid reflections. Some reminiscences regarding
those whom we got to know will be amusing. On days when there was no
other social activity, it was the custom for Club members to congregate of an
afternoon on what was known as "The Beach" at the Gymkhana Club. This
was a large gravelled space upon which small tables and basket chairs were
set, near the tennis courts, and as dusk gathered many would congregate here.
A regiment band, frequently played nearby, "chits" (small order slips) signed
by members, produced tea or more potent drinks, served by Club servants
from a Bar table, and for the lack of anything else to discuss, much gossip and
scandal was exchanged on such occasions. That some grounds for this existed
in so large a station cannot be denied, but the stories then circulated certainly
lost nothing in the telling!
At one time, nicknames became popular. Here are a few that I can
recall. Two sisters of uncertain age, both wives of fairly senior officers and
both notorious for their, waspish criticisms of others, were known as "Peach
and Angostura Bitters". Yet another even more senior who was very free with
her make-up, was dubbed "Morning Glory". A stout lady who felt the heat and
applied rather copious quantities of face powder as an antidote, was very aptly
termed "Turkish Delight". A rather unkind one was the title of "Hairy Mary"
given to a nice girl who was a thorough sportswoman and seldom appeared
during daytime out of riding kit, but being a brunette, showed signs of a faint
growth upon her upper lip that she did not bother to eradicate.
Perhaps the wittiest of all such nicknames was that of an officer very
slight in build and short in stature, who was the constant attendant upon the
wife of a General officer and was known as "Mrs. X's Little Affair". A story
that went round about this time was of a senior and distinguished Member of
the Government of Bombay. He was well known for his advanced ideas and
often got into trouble with his colleagues on that account, but quite a sensation
was caused when it became known that when he signed his Handing-over
Certificate upon the termination of his appointment, he did so under the words
"I have the honour to be, Sir, no longer your obedient servant”.
I have endeavoured to paint a fairly detailed picture of Poona and
Kirkee and its British inhabitants in those far of days, since they have long
since passed away and been succeeded by others that became a mere shadow
of what they had been. The ways of life must change with the passing of time,
nevertheless our Indian friends carry on many of the old traditions. For
instance, it is notable that whereas during and after the great world wars the
custom of appearing on all social occasions of an evening in white ties and
waistcoats and tail coats gave way more often than not to black ties and dinner
jackets, our Indian successors are most meticulous in wearing full dress on
such occasions, even to the extent of reintroducing the habit of wearing white
kid gloves at dances. We had long discontinued the latter practice upon
grounds of economy, much to the annoyance of the ladies, the backs of whose
nice evening dresses tended as a result to suffer from clammy hands!
 To return to ourselves. Babs in those days was well equipped with
pretty dresses, entered with zest into all the festivities, and gained many
admirers among the men and in consequence, critics among the other ladies.
We had big surprise upon our first visit to the Gymkhana. Who should we
meet but Harold, the young man whom we had got to know so well at Hope
Farm in Hampshire during our honeymoon! His father, a member of the
Indian Medical Service, was the Civil Surgeon of Poona. Harold had come out
to India upon a visit to his parents who lived with their two unmarried
daughters in a large bungalow not far from the Gymkhana.
Meanwhile I had settled down at work in the Controller's office
nearby. It was a large building accommodating several hundred Indian clerks,
supervisors, superintendents, and officers in charge of departments. During
the nine months that I would have to remain in Poona and the three months
that would follow in Calcutta. I was expected to acquire a working knowledge
of the Military and Civil Account Codes and Regulations governing all
matters relating to pay, allowances, clothing, equipment, arms, supplies,
ordnance, medical and veterinary services in the Bombay, Madras, Bengal and
Punjab Armies. Then there were the Regulations regarding movements by
road, rail and sea, and concerning bakeries, butcheries, dairy farms, grass
farms, sanatoria, not to mention ordnance, gun-carriage, shell, cordite, small-
arms-ammunition, harness and saddlery, clothing, boot and sundry other
establishments. Moreover, since a large proportion of the staffs of these
numerous organisations was civilian, the Civil Service Regulations had to be
included. It was indeed a staggering prospect!

Our domestic staff, Poona, 1908.

Since I was obliged to pass long days seated in an office chair,
studying alone or with the assistance of an experienced member of the
Controller's staff, I was glad to be able to get out every morning before an
early breakfast and ride the horse I had bought in Bombay. It had
accompanied us from Ellichpur and was installed in the hotel stables. I no
longer needed a charger but had hopes of being able to break it in as a trapper.
The horse was young, had never had a bit in its mouth or a saddle on its back
when it left the Bombay stables, being then just an unbroken young Arab
imported from the Gulf. Arabs are usually free from vice and very tractable,
but all my efforts to accustom this one to behave between the shafts proved
fruitless. At the sight of a leaf moving on the road my Arab would be in the
air, all four feet of the ground! By a lucky chance it was just about that time
that a lady friend of ours, a member of Queen Alexandra's Military Nursing
Service in India, asked us to take over her buggy and horse while she was
away in England on long leave. It was just the sort of conveyance we needed
so I lost no time in selling the Arab.
Everything seemed to be shaping well when one evening at the
Gymkhana and in the middle of a game of badminton, Babs began to feel
extremely unwell and was obliged to return to our rooms in the hotel. Neither
of us thought it was more than a passing indisposition and I went out for an
early game of golf next morning, but when I returned it was to find that she
had tried to get up and dress but felt so ill that she went back to bed. I found
that she had fever and sent for the doctor. It so happened that my wife had
passed him in the entrance to the Gymkhana when she was leaving there the
previous evening, and his first words were to the effect that he was not
surprised at being summoned, since he had noticed how unwell she was
looking as she left.
Leaving her in bed with the ayah to attend to her wants, I left for the
office and did not return until lunchtime, to learn that Harold's mother had
called, sympathised with Babs for getting ill in the hotel, and insisted that we
all should go and stay with them. We accepted this kind invitation and lost no
time in making the move. It was quite an undertaking since by the time we
were ready to do so, Babs had a high temperature and had to be carried.
I have little doubt that move saved her lire. Harold's father was the
Civil Surgeon of Poona and our doctor was the Staff Surgeon. They were two
senior and very able men who from the outset collaborated in the struggle to
save my wife's life that followed, it having been quickly discovered that she
had enteric. Since this dread disease is highly infectious, it might well have
been that we should be compelled to transfer the patient to hospital and so
relieve that household of an exceedingly unpleasant situation. But, we were
pressed to stay. A room that could be shut off from the main building was
given up to my wife and a nurse brought from the hospital, I was given a
room elsewhere in the bungalow, and our baby Jack was taken into the room
of the younger of the two daughters.
Many days of dreadful anxiety passed before Babs was out of danger.
I was allowed to bring my books and papers from the office and work in a
verandah near to the sickroom, but needless to say serious work was
impossible for me. Weeks passed before she was sufficiently recovered to be
able to leave Poona for a small hotel at Khandalla on the brink of the ghats
(precipitous valleys) where hot air from the plains below was cooled as it rose
and flowed, cool and invigorating, through the hotel premises.
A few weeks at Khandalla did much to restore my wife's health.
Having seen her comfortably installed there I had to return to Poona and my
studies, but each weekend I spent at Khandalla and very pleasant days they
were. Looking back I realise how much better it would have been for her, and
indeed for us all, had we done as usual in such cases and gone home.
Khandalla did not possess the climate essential for complete recovery from so
serious and exhausting a disease as enteric fever, a act that was brought home
to us in no uncertain manner not long afterwards.
Not many weeks of my time in Poona remained when my wife and
baby Jack were able to return to the Poona Hotel and these passed
uneventfully. The cold weather was approaching and the remainder of our stay
in Poona was very pleasant. In order to break an otherwise tiring journey to
Calcutta, where the last three months of my course of twelve months study
would be completed, when the time came for us to move we broke our
journey for a few days at the Taj Mahal Hotel in Bombay and were thus able
to board the Calcutta Mail at Victoria Terminus in the knowledge that the
thirty-six hour journey would not involve any changes on the way.
 XLI
Accommodation in Calcutta during the cold weather always has been
a difficulty. In those days and at that time of the year it was the headquarters
not only of the Governor of Bengal, but also of the Government of India and
the Commander-in-Chief, and shortage of accommodation was extreme and
rents inordinately high. Hotels at thirty or forty rupees a day for a married
couple were quite beyond us. The alternative was one of the many boarding
houses with their cramped space and inferior catering. We landed up at one of
several in Middleton Row, off Chowringhee.
Only when officers were posted on duty in Presidency towns did they
become entitled to draw an extra allowance towards the enhanced cost or
living. In my case, this was the munificent sum of fifty rupees a month which,
upon a conservative reckoning, was about a fifth part of what would have
been a reasonable sum! Moreover, I was still in receipt of regimental rate of
pay only. Not until I passed the final examination qualifying for retention in
the Military Finance Department at the end of the twelve months study period
would I become entitled to the higher rates.
The very first night of our arrival at the boarding house, my wife
caught a chill during dinner, the result of sitting in a draught from an upper
window in the dining room. She was very tired after our journey and still in
far from robust health after her serious illness at Poona. Next morning, she
had some fever. I was anxious not to make a bad start by absenting myself
from office the day after having reported for duty, consequently I suggested to
my wife that she should dress and send for a conveyance in which to drive
round to see the doctor, a senior officer of the I.M.S. who held the
appointment of Presidency Surgeon.
I was deeply shocked when I returned at lunch time to find my wife in
bed with a hospital nurse in attendance. Jack and the ayah had been moved
elsewhere a nice young couple in an adjoining apartment had very kindly
taken them in. I learnt that as soon as the doctor saw my wife, he told her to
go back at once and go to bed, and that he would be coming round to see her.
This he had done, accompanied by the nurse. Babs had developed pleurisy
and was very ill. I was told that I must find a room elsewhere, and as the
boarding house was full, I had to move to one some distance away. Our total
expenses during the weeks that followed amounted to about four times my
pay for that period!
The pleurisy developed into double pneumonia and many anxious
days followed. Meanwhile I worked hard realising how vitally important it
had become that I should qualify in the final exam. Babs made a slow
recovery and in due course was able to go out in the afternoons in a hired
carriage when I returned from office. Then the time came for me to undergo
the examination, which lasted for ten days. There were two three-hour papers
daily for a week, followed by audit of various types of account, regimental,
departmental, supply, factory, and so on. How I managed to scrape through
has always puzzled me, but what mattered was that I did.
 My first posting was to Poona and it was without regrets that we left
Calcutta, but not, this time to make the journey across India without a break.
We stopped for a night at Jackson's Hotel in Jubbulpore and the following day
proceeded to Bombay where another night was passed at the Taj Mahal Hotel.
We reached Poona on the 9th of January, 1905, and by that evening were back
in the Poona Hotel.
It was during breakfast in our rooms next morning that things began
to happen that we believed would not be due until two months later. A frantic
message to the nearby Sassoon Hospital brought a European nurse within a
few minutes. Another went to the Staff Surgeon. Meanwhile I rushed over to
the dining room and secured a doctor of the I.M.S. who was living in the hotel
with his wife. The Staff Surgeon arrived later and took over the case.
Our second son was born on the l0th of January, 1905. A few weeks
later he was christened Charles Reginald Quintin. Reginald was chosen for
everyday use but was contracted to Rex to avoid confusion with mine. While I
was never able conscientiously to enthuse about newly-born babies in general,
I must admit that Rex was a lovely baby, tiny but perfect, which reminds me
of the story about the small boy who saw his newly- arrived little sister for the
first time, and after an awkward pause, said "Mummy, can't we send it back?".
I had no such feelings about Rex.
We stayed on at the Poona Hotel and settled down to the normal
round of life at Poona. Ayah took our two small sons each afternoon to the
childrens enclosure at the Gymkhana, there to hobnob with other ayahs while
little Jack played with other children of his own age. Later on as the hot
weather approached we all went to Khandalla where I left my wife and the
two children, returning there each weekend as I had done on a previous
occasion. At the end of the hot weather we all returned to the Poona Hotel, but
we went first to Bombay for a few days and it was during our stay there at the
Taj Mahal Hotel that baby Rex became very ill. The cause was traced to
carelessness about feeding on the part of the ayah and we had a very anxious
time with him when we got back to Poona. Eventually at the doctor's
suggestion it was decided that my wife and the two children should go home
and that the ayah should accompany them.
 XLII
It did not take us long to get all their kit packed up and passages
booked in a homeward-bound P.& 0. mail steamer. We left for Bombay the
day before the ship sailed so as to have a nights rest at the Taj before
embarkation. I was able to go on board with them next morning and see them
settled into a comfortable cabin, but it was a depressing moment when the
ship's bell rang as a warning that the gangways would shortly be cleared away
and the last farewells had to be said. I remained on the landing stage until I
could no longer see Babs waving to me from the upper deck, and soon
afterwards the ship passed out or sight round Colaba Point.
It seemed strange to be alone again after so many months of family
life. Looking back, it occurs to me that there would have been some excuse
had I felt that a load of responsibility and more than a fair share of anxiety had
been lifted from my shoulders, and I would now be free to enjoy myself. No
doubt it is fortunate that happily-married couples do not feel like that. If they
cannot take the rough with the smooth, then they are not really happily
married, as undoubtedly Babs and I were.
Although I was not the sort who like passing much of my time in an
office chair and my work in those earlier years was humdrum and frequently
boresome, I realised it would not always be so and settled down to my job.
Since office hours did not begin until 10 a.m. and ended at 4.30 p.m. I usually
managed to go for a ride or drive up to the golf links for a short round before
breakfast, and in the afternoons there was tennis or a row on the river. Only
those whose names were on the "Light Boat List" were entitled to take out a
skiff or a whirr, and it did not take me long to attain that standard.
Of course I received letters from my wife, posted at the ports of call
on the homeward voyage - Aden, Port Said, and Marseilles - and I wrote to
her by each week's mail. Nothing of importance occurred during their passage
home and in due course they reached, Tilbury and after a brief stay with aunt
Venetia in London, crossed to Jersey upon a visit to my wife's parents. A
lengthy stay in Guernsey followed, by which time all were greatly benefited
in health.
Meanwhile I found that my office work was becoming quite
interesting. One of our tasks was settlement of the accounts of one of the
campaigns in which the army in India was so often engaged. This time it was
in Mesopotamia. Some time previously there had been a serious fire in the
Base Depot of the force at Basra, and shortly afterwards it became very
noticeable what a large proportion of losses small and large, which in due
course came to our notice in the form of Loss Statements, were attributed to
that fire! This of course implies that they were written off as irrecoverable and
with none to blame, by the appropriate "Superior Authority". It was quite
intriguing and I concentrated upon the problem. It soon became quite evident
that some at least of these losses had happened many miles away, an enquiry
followed, and certain subordinates of a supply department were found out and
got their deserts.
 That case started me off as a keen investigator of irregularities for
which I gained quite a reputation and in consequence was given many of the
difficult cases to investigate. Another interesting one connected with the same
campaign was when we learnt that some of the bridles and other items of
harness made up to a special pattern for transport units and large quantities of
which were alleged to have been destroyed in the fire at Basra, were being
sold in the Bombay bazaar to tongawallahs! I must add that as a result of these
disclosures, steps were taken to prevent such leakages in the future.
Since my appointment in Poona would in the ordinary course be
likely to last for at least another couple of years, the desirability of securing a
bungalow to which my wife and family could return from England became
obvious. I soon found what appeared to be just what would suit us in Victoria
Road, Ghorpuri, on the far side of the racecourse, with open country
stretching away at the back. It had been built for a race-horse trainer and had
far more stabling than we would need, but that was no disadvantage. Spare
stabling that could be sublet profitably during the racing season was an asset
that appealed to me, in view of the deplorable state or our finances!
Securing the bungalow, hiring the essential furniture, having our
boxes of household effects sent to Poona from the regimental store at
Ellichpur, unpacking them and getting everything about the place ready,
occupied very pleasantly much of my spare time. When the place had became
habitable, I engaged the minimum of essential domestic servants and moved
in from the hotel. I soon discovered that in the open country behind the
bungalow and within easy walking distance, I could go out in the early
morning with a gun and return to breakfast seldom empty-handed. An
occasional snipe from the jheels bordering the lower reaches of the river,
perhaps a hare and/or a partridge or some quail - that was just the sort of quiet
potter round by myself that I enjoyed.
Meanwhile Babs and the children had enjoyed their trip home, but for
a brief period shortly after their reaching colder climes, when Jack had some
severe attacks of fever and ague. These are not in themselves serious but are
alarming for people who have never been out East. After a pleasant time in
Guernsey they received an invitation to spend Christmas with my father and
step-mother at Brynfield on top of the hill above Clevedon in Somerset. The
domestic staff consisted of an elderly cook and a house-parlourmaid who
made much of the ayah and the latter entered with enthusiasm into the
customary exchange of Christmas presents. It was with somewhat mixed-
feelings that my wife learnt that she had given my step-mother the length of
silver-embroidered cloth she had received from my wife on the understanding
that it was to be made up into one of the little brassieres that Indian women
wear beneath their saris. Considerable mirth was caused in the kitchen when
ayah presented cook with a mug purchased by her locally, upon which
appeared in gilt letters. A present from Clevedon for a Good Boy".
But it was no laughing matter for when later on she appeared from
below stairs with flashing eyes and brandishing a small object she held in her
hand. The offending article was a threepenny bit upon which had bitten when
eating her helping of plum pudding, and she thought that cook had tried to
poison her! Babs told me afterwards that she only partially convinced that
there had been similar finds in the pudding served in the dining room and that
those who found something were the lucky ones. Ayah ever after regarded
cook with suspicion.
It was about this time that I had a somewhat gruesome experience
during one of my morning rambles with a gun. Except during the monsoon,
the Mullah-Mutah River would have been little more than a shallow stream
but for the large bund (dam} that had been built across its bed at a point
marking the eastern boundary of Poona cantonment. This held back the water
and created thus the broad stretch of river upon the banks of which the Boat
Club had been established. A fine bridge crossed just below the bund and on
the Poona bank were the Bund Gardens, where a band played of an evening
and here was the rendezvous of a large Anglo-Indian population.
I had seen a brace of snipe rise some way upstream, circle and settle
just below the bund. So I wended my way in that direction and eventually had
the satisfaction of bagging both birds. Having done so, I noticed for the first
time at several points around where little patches of dry ground rose above the
surrounding marsh, small fires were burning. Going up to one or these I saw
to my horror sprawled across the dying embers the half-roasted, half-
incinerated remains of a nude human body! Then I realised that unwittingly I
had penetrated a burning ghat. Hindus do not bury their dead. They cremate
them, and this was a place set aside for this purpose. Unfortunately firewood
in Poona was rather expensive and the quantity needed for a funeral pyre was
apt to be stinted, hence the sights I had seen, and incidentally smelt! Needless
to say I beat a nasty retreat.
I have said that the bungalow I had rented was very liberally equipped
with stabling. A long building on one side of the compound was divided into a
number of stalls on the side facing the bungalow, and at the back were
quarters for syces and their wives and families. The bungalow stood in the
middle of a large compound, with two entrance gates and a carriage drive up
to the front porch. Between these two road ways was a large cleared space
adorned with groups of large pots containing rose trees and other flowers. The
remainder of the compound at the back of the bungalow was covered by a fine
crop of grass and, although I did not know it at that time, this grass was
destined to give me quite a lot or trouble.
My wife, accompanied by the two children and ayah arrived back in
Bombay towards the end of January, 1906. I went down to Bombay to meet
them, we came up to Poona the same day, and they were settled into the
bungalow by the evening. Next day Babs took over the housekeeping, much
to my relief, and I was about to leave for office after breakfast, when I noticed
some unusual activity in the direction of the servant's quarters, a long building
in line with the stables. Upon enquiry I learnt that ayah, who had acquired
some inflated ideas as the result of her travels abroad, had sent for our Indian
landlord and was instructing him to have a bathroom added to her quarter.
 It was not long after this that I noticed the mali driving some
buffaloes out of the front gate and then proceeding to clear up the mess of a
couple of broken flower pots. It was not the first time I had seen something of
the sort and I wondered why he had not complained to me regarding the too-
frequent straying into the compound of these buffaloes. Since the front gates
were closed at night, how was it that in the early mornings several of these
animals were so often to be seen grazing upon our grass? I should mention
here that only buffalo milk was at that time procurable in Poona, except by
special arrangement.
It was quite by accident that I discovered the reason for the trouble.
Since we had one syce only, when I happened to notice several Indian women
and children furtively entering the compound through a gap in the fence near
the stables, I realised that I had better have a look round. It was to find that all
the quarters at the back of the stables were occupied by a number of women
and a whole bevy of children. All of them scuttled into their respective
quarters when they saw me, like a lot of rabbits! No explanation was
forthcoming from the mali, so I went back to the bungalow, collected all the
padlocks I could find, and locked as many of the trespassers as I could into
their respective hideouts. I then went off to office.
When I returned home in the afternoon I found a deputation of
ghaiwallahs (herdsmen) waiting to see me and petition for the release of their
wives and families! It then transpired that they had rented the quarters from
the mali and moreover were paying him a supplement to cover grazing rights
in the compound! I released the detenus upon the men’s undertaking never
again to allow a buffalo into the compound, and fined the mali.
Some weeks later we had fresh trouble with animals straying in, but
this time it was mules and not buffaloes. Quite obviously they were machine-
gun mules belonging to the British infantry battalion quartered nearby. They
must have felt that I would suspect him of complicity in this case also, since
he was loud in his condemnation of the mule drivers, who he said were in the
habit of opening our gates soon after dawn and driving in the mules to graze
upon our grass. I suggested that with the help of the syce and anyone else he
could rope in, the mules should be caught and shut into the empty stalls
farthest from the road, from which they would not be seen. He was delighted
with the plan which went off not without some exciting moments. Anyone
who has handled mules will know what troublesome creatures they are. We
had nothing to do then but await results.
Since the Indian drivers in charge or the mules thought they must
have left the compound and strayed elsewhere, they and men from the
regiment were out searching everywhere for their mules until I felt that the
joke had gone far enough. I then sent a polite note to the Adjutant informing
him that some or his regimental mules had strayed into our compound and I
had thought it best to have them put in some of my spare stalls lest they
should wander into the open country and possibly be stolen. I fancy he must
have seen through this, since I did not receive a reply. But we had no more
mules trespassing!
 By then the commencement of another Poona season was drawing
near and it occurred to us that we had sufficient accommodation in the
bungalow to take in a couple of paying guests. It could be done without any
additional staff and would materially assist in easing an embarrassingly
difficult financial situation. So in due course we were joined by the sister of a
young I.C.S. officer, and another girl who was a member of a well-known
English family. All went well for several weeks that followed and we enjoyed
the usual round or festivities. But these had hardly started when my office,
and probably every other military administrative department in India, were
required to deal with a lot of extra work and worry which made it necessary
for us to work overtime. There were few weekdays upon which I was able to
get away from office before 6 p.m. instead of the normal closing hour of 4.30
p.m.
At that time Lord Kitchener was Commander-in-Chief in India, and
he had decided that the time had come when the Indian Army must be
reorganised. One might have supposed that so vast an organisation might well
have been dealt with by easy stages, but that was not His Excellency's way of
doing things. One Army Order wiped out the four Presidency Armies,
abolished all territorial associations of units of every branch of the Indian
services and gave them new titles. All units became liable for service
anywhere. A regiment that, for instance, hitherto had never served outside the
Madras Presidency might find itself transferred to an outpost on the North-
west Frontier, while a Punjab regiment that for generations past had been a
member of the famous Punjab Frontier Force - popularly known as "Piffers" -
as likely as not went to a station in South India where conditions were entirely
different and certainly not to their liking.
But although this raised innumerable problems regarding such matters
as clothing and equipment, that was not our main difficulty. What for a
considerable time was a positive nightmare was that the same Order swept
away all the old Army Regulations of which there were four dissimilar sets for
the four Provinces, and introduced, in twelve neat volumes, a rehash of all,
breaking down all differences so far as was practicable, and dealing with the
innumerable unalterable differences due to caste, local custom and what not,
in a multitude of exceptions and appendices.
The compilation of this new set of regulations had been the work over
some months of a large special staff at Army Headquarters and it is only fair
to say that it was a masterly production. But we had hardly started to work
with these new regulations when the need for a great number of amendments
became apparent, and it was not long before the printed correction slips that
resulted after much correspondence substantially increased the thickness of
the new volumes, and the difficulty of arriving at a correct interpretation of
any particular regulation as the result of a series of such corrections in some
cases, led to many misinterpretations and mistakes.
Some years later there was yet another renaming of Indian units. As
an example, my regiment, originally the 4th Infantry, Hyderabad Contingent,
became in 1906 the 97th Deccan Infantry which title it retained for a number
of years. Nowadays it is known as the XIX Hyderabad Regiment. The titles of
other units were similarly transformed out of all recognition for those of us
who served in the long ago.
Meanwhile the Poona season had hardly got into its stride when one
after another of our household went down with dysentery, fortunately of only
a mild type. My wife nursed us all through the attack, but in the end she also
contracted it and had not entirely recovered from its exhausting after effects
when I received orders to proceed on transfer to Rawal Pindi in the Punjab. It
was an unexpected move. I had hoped to remain in Poona for at least another
year, and it meant breaking up the home we had created and having to make a
fresh start elsewhere. So there followed the inevitable packing up, paying off
of the staff, and the long rail journey which the move involved. Most
unfortunately I was far from well when the time came for us to leave, and by
the time we reached our destination the dysentery had returned in full force.
 XLIII
Upon arrival at Rawal Pindi we went to Flashman's Hotel. I was far
from well, but it was not until I had taken over my new appointment and we
had secured a bungalow and settled into it that I was obliged to give in and be
placed on the sick list. The doctor recommended that we should go up to
Murree and passed my case on to the Staff Surgeon there. I have only a very
dim recollection of our journey by road in a tonga, our bearer following in
another with the two children. When we reached the Hotel I was light-headed
with fever and had to go straight to bed. A note to the doctor brought him
round at once, and he very gravely confirmed our fear that I was desperately
ill. He also remarked that the hospital was full to overflowing, the services of
a nurse were unobtainable, and that my wife would have to look after me.
Several weeks followed during which I needed constant attention
throughout the twenty-four hours. The doctor was warm in his praise of the
devotion and skill with which Babs nursed me, never faltering. How she kept
going with only snatches of sleep now and then is a mystery, and little wonder
that several weeks later when I had been able to leave my bed for a few days
and sit up in a chair, she collapsed and the doctor came to find me hobbling
about the room doing what I could for her. Fortunately we both were still
young, so it was not long afterwards that I was able to go out in a dandy
carried by four men, with my wife walking alongside.
During this very trying experience the care of Jack and Rex had
devolved almost entirely upon the elderly bearer we had engaged upon our
arrival in Rawal Pindi. When we left our bungalow there I was too unwell and
we both were too worried to be able to do more than collect and pack the
essentials for our move to Murree and leave everything in the bungalow in
charge of the cook and sweeper, with the mali to keep the garden in order.
Consequently the rent of the bungalow, the hire of the furniture, and the
wages or the three servants, had to be met throughout the period of our
absence in Murree, in the hope that these recently-engaged servants would not
pilfer any of our possessions!
Not having taken any privilege leave during the preceding three years,
I had ninety days to my credit, and as I managed to return to duty at Rawal
Pindi just within that period, I was able to count my absence as privilege leave
and so continue to draw full pay throughout the period. When we returned to
the bungalow, it was an agreeable surprise for us to find that everything had
been well looked after. As I have remarked upon a previous occasion, it is at
times of trouble that Indian servants were at their best.
The hot weather had two or three months to go when we returned to
our bungalow, and Rawal Pindi is no health resort at that time of the year. My
office was quite close, but I avoided going out in the excessive heat at midday
by having my lunch sent over from the bungalow. Nevertheless the long hours
of office work in a darkened room under a punkah, in spite of which the
temperature rarely fell below 110°F., proved eventually to be more than I
could stand. It was a full-time job and I had never an idle moment, except for
a few minutes for lunch. But I managed to stick it out until we were well into
the cold weather and hoped that with the passing of the great heat I would be
able to avoid being placed on the sick list again.
One morning a dead rat was found in the bungalow. Fortunately it
was in a verandah and not inside, nevertheless it was by no means certain that
we would not have to vacate the building, if the Public Health Department so
decided. During the period of which I am writing, plague had appeared at
many places in India. Since its first appearance in Bombay a few years
previously, the fact had been established that it was carried by the rat flea,
which left the rat when its host died of the disease and transferred its deadly
attacks to another living creature nearby, and woe betide the human being
who happened to be within reach!
When plague first made its appearance in India, a number of British
officers of the Indian Army volunteered for Plague Duty, for which some extra
duty pay was sanctioned. Among other unpleasant tasks they had to stand
about in the native quarters and see the roofs removed from dwellings in
which cases had occurred, to admit the sunlight and air. Before the
advisability of wearing boots on such occasions came to be realised, several
of these gallant officers contracted the disease and died. Rat fleas had got
them.
I had learnt something about plague when we were in Ellichpur, I
immediately had kerosine oil poured in a large circle round the dead rat and
set on fire and then some of the oil thrown over the rat and fired. Fortunately
for us the action taken thus was configured to have been sufficiently prompt
and thorough to absolve us from having to evacuate the bungalow. Needless
to say, however, there followed a period or anxiety for us both, but this was
particularly trying for my wife. I had to be away at work for most of the day
with plenty of other matters to occupy my thoughts, whereas she remained
alone in the bungalow, unable to go out or to move about much on account of
the excessive heat during the greater part of the day.
The climax came when an attack of fever and a return of the
dysentery compelled me to give in and take the furlough that was due to me.
An officer of my department was transferred from another station to relieve
me, and upon arrival with his wife they took over our bungalow and furniture,
which eased matters in that respect. We were fortunate in being granted
Indulgence Passages in a transport due to sail from Karachi, and it was not
long before we were in the train and on our way to Lahore. Since we were due
to reach the place in the early morning and the Karachi mail did not leave
until the evening, we would have had to spend all those hours in the Railway
Rest Rooms had not friends my wife had made during our stay at the hotel in
Murree during my illness come to the station to meet us and insist upon our
going to their bungalow for the day. They saw us off by the mail that evening.
The journey by rail from Lahore to Karachi takes over thirty-six hours
and passes through the Sind Desert, where even during the earlier part of the
cold weather the heat except at nights is intense, and the dust almost
incredible. We had decided to travel without any servants in order to reduce
expenses as far as possible, so we had none to help us with the two children
who felt the heat severely and in consequence were very fretty. When we
awoke early next morning, what with the heat and the dust, we all looked as
though we had not washed for days, while everything in the compartment was
thickly covered with fine sand!
The hotel to which we went at Karachi quickly produced baths for all
and we enjoyed a good breakfast, our first restful meal since leaving Rawal
Pindi. Having got into uniform I visited the office of the Embarkation
Commandant and learnt our berth allocations. We had been given a nice three-
berth cabin which proved later to be very comfortable. Embarkation followed,
we secured the services of a soldier’s wife to look after the children for most
of each day, and soon settled down to the routine of life on board ship which
by that time we had got to know so well too well for the good of our pockets!
The voyage home was pleasingly uneventful until we had passed Port
Said, but from then until we reached Southampton more than a day behind
time, the weather was appalling. Our ship, light in ballast and consequently
riding high in the water, behaved like a frisky young lamb. Men, women and
children, cabin trunks and other luggage, shot from one side of the cabins to
the other, table appointments in the saloon that we were not holding firmly
crashed from side to side of the "fiddles" on the tables, and sleep was
precarious. There were numerous cases of people being flung out of their
berths. Below decks the rank and file suffered badly and there were several
cases of broken bones.
We were glad to reach Southampton and disembark. It had been
arranged that we would go on from there to Jersey to stay with my wife's
parents, so that night we crossed by the mail steamer and arrived next
morning at St. Helier, where we were greeted on the pier by my wife's sister
Olly and driven to her home. It was a great boon for us, and particularly for
Babs, to be relieved for a while of the continuous care of the children, and
delightful to sleep that night in comfortable beds, but it took time for us to get
accustomed to firm ground under our feet!
 XLIV
We had reached England in damp, gloomy and very cold weather. The
sea passage from India obviously had been far from restful and I was still a
long way from being really fit, consequently it is not surprising that I had a
return of the fever shortly after we reached home and seemed unable to shake
it off. Each succeeding day found me growing weaker and more depressed. I
remember that at last I felt that I did not really care whether I recovered or
not. It was when I reached that stage that the doctor who was attending me
urged that I should leave the town where my wife's parents had their home
and move to a place near the sea. Reluctant as we naturally were to do this,
suitable apartments were found at Havre des Pas on the sea front to which we
moved, and the result was remarkable. From that day I gained strength
rapidly, and within the month felt as well as ever.
Our next step was to secure a nurse for the children, and when that
had been done, all of us began to derive full benefit from the change, our
comfortable accommodation, and the good food. Several very pleasant weeks
followed and spring had set in when we left Jersey for London, where I had
resolved to consult a specialist in tropical diseases and do everything
practicable to get permanently cured of the dysentery that had caused so much
trouble and expense. It was then that I learnt for the first time of Emmetine, a
newly- discovered specific. A course of this followed, with the result that I
became henceforth free from that most distressing complaint.
Jack in those days was a veritable imp of mischief. There were times
when the ingenuity of same of his misdeeds amazed us. A notable instance
was when he operated the whistle at the below-stairs end of the old-fashioned
speaking tube installed at the lodgings to which we went from Jersey, by
blowing down the tube. Then, having heard the chambermaid's
acknowledgement and knowing that she would have her ear to the
mouthpiece, he emptied a jug of water down the tube. The result can be
imagined!
Our next move was to take a small furnished house advertised to let at
Shaldon, facing Teignmouth in South Devon, and we engaged a cook and a
house-parlourmaid. Both were leaving the people for whom they had been
working, on a certain date, and we arranged our move to Shaldon so that they
would be able to come straight on to us. However, when we reached the house
there which we had rented, it was to find a letter informing us that, as their
employers had postponed their departure for a fortnight, we would be without
any domestic help for that period! My wife had never done any cooking, I
knew nothing about domestic matters, and we had Jack and Rex with us and
not even a nurse to help with them.
Babs has always shown a wonderful capacity for rising to the
occasion at times of stress. At her suggestion I went off to buy a cookery book
it had to be Mrs. Beeton's, that being the one her mother had and some of the
obviously necessary viands. In a remarkably short time we all were sitting
down to an excellent grilled steak and fried potatoes, and before the fortnight
was out she had shown what a first-class cook she could be. Meanwhile I
filled the post of house-parlourmaid. This was no light task. For instance,
since there was no tap water available anywhere except in the scullery and no
bathroom, I had to carry all the water for baths upstairs and later empty the tin
baths we all had to make do with.
An amusing incident was when Lady X came to call on us. I was
tidying up the drawing room with a dustpan and brush at the time. My wife
opened the door to her, explained our position, and brought the visitor up to
the drawing room. Hearing their voices, I just had time to push the dustpan
and brush under the sofa and - I hoped - give the impression that I was just
lounging about when they entered. It was all rather fun for the first few days,
but by the time the two domestics arrived we realised to the full their true
worth!
The sands reached to within a few yards of our front door and it was
an ideal situation for the children. Jack was then 4½ years old, very much
alive and always getting into trouble of some sort. Rex was a dreamy little
chap. The contrast between these two brothers was remarkable. Rex, who had
been a seven-months baby, was rather delicate in those days, and on one
occasion while we were at Shaldon he got sunstroke and for a few days, it was
doubtful if he would survive. Happily the attack passed off without leaving
any serious after-effects and by the time we left Shaldon he had benefited
greatly in health and strength.
The fishermen used at times to stretch their nets and lines out on the
beach to dry, and it was not long before Jack became entangled with one of
these lines and got a hook well embedded in the flesh at the back of his knee.
The doctor extracted it by stripping off the line and then forcing the point
through the flesh and out at another place, since it would have been
impracticable to draw it back against the barb. This was done without an
anaesthetic and without any fuss on Jack's part. On another occasion we found
our bottle of whisky out on the sands. It transpired that Jack had made friends
with some of the fisherfolks' children and felt it would be doing the correct
thing to offer them drinks. Fortunately he had failed to draw the cork!
Later on in the summer, aunt Venetia came with her daughter and a
girlfriend to stay at Shaldon, and one day it was decided that we would take
our lunch with us and row round the point and into a small bay where we
could bathe and picnic. I rowed the party round and all went well until the
afternoon, when as so often happens in those parts, there was a sudden change
in the weather. I quickly realised that I must get the boat refloated and row it
back before the storm that threatened became any worse, otherwise it would
have been smashed on the rocks. This I did, but it was touch and go whether I
would succeed in rounding the point, and the boat was half full of water by
the time that I ran it ashore opposite our house. I then had to collect the
essentials for afternoon tea, stow them in a haversack and a basket, and
clamber round the cliffs to the bay. We had quite good fun over the tea and the
return over the rocks.
 A few weeks later aunt Loo came on a visit, and on the morning after
her arrival her bedroom door was opened by Jack, who had forgotten that the
room was now occupied. Aunt Loo was then well advanced in years and
suffered much from rheumatism, so she used to wrap a big shawl about her
head and shoulders when she sat up in bed to drink her morning cup of tea.
Thoroughly frightened, Jack turned tail and fled, calling out "Mummy, daddy,
there's a bogie in the bed - a bogie in the bed!" Aunt Loo was extremely
indignant, as may well be imagined.
We had visits by my father and step-mother, and also uncle Jack,
while we were at Shaldon. It was a wonderful summer, sunny and warm for
weeks on end. When we got tired of our immediate surroundings, or wanted to
do some shopping, there was the ferry that plied to and fro between Shaldon
and Teignmouth, and we often crossed to the latter town with its shops and
tearooms. Autumn was approaching and with it the day when we would have
to leave again for India, when we left Shaldon and moved to Bath.
We went to Bath because a cousin of mine had recommended a small
boarding school which it was thought would be suitable for Jack, who we had
decided had better not return with us to India. The interviews that followed
proved satisfactory and it did not take us long to see him installed at the
school with his belongings before leaving for London, taking Rex with us, and
a few days later we embarked at Tilbury in the outward-bound P.& 0. mail
steamer for Bombay.
The delivery of letters on board which had come out to the ship on the
pilot boat brought me an official letter posting me back to Poona, and that
night we were back again in the Poona Hotel and the life there we had got to
know so well. There was the usual round of social festivities throughout the
ensuing cold weather, Rex spent his afternoons playing with other small
children at the Gymkhana, or came with us on the river and to the Boat Club,
and of course went to several childrens' parties. Meanwhile I had a rather
humdrum post at the Finance Office. In fact I cannot recall anything or
particular interest during the several months that followed. It was not until
towards the end of the monsoon that things began to go wrong. Both my wife
and I escaped any serious illness, but Rex started getting attacks of fever and
could not throw them off Consequently, as had happened to us so often before
that, we were advised to take Rex home. My wife had had a worrying time,
nursing Rex, and was in no condition to face alone the care of him on the
homeward voyage, so I took privilege leave and we all left again by P. & 0.
mail steamer. Nothing noteworthy occurred on the voyage, and when we
reached London we engaged a nurse for Rex who had been for a number or
years with aunt Loo.
From London we went down to Cliftonville and a little later on were
joined there by Jack from Bath. The crisp, bracing air at Cliftonville did us all
a lot or good, and we all were pretty fit by the time we left that place for
Bognor, where it had been decided that my wife would remain with the
children when I left again for India. My time was drawing to a close and we
were fortunate in finding within a few days, a nice little furnished house, and I
had the satisfaction of seeing my wife, with the two children and their nurse,
comfortably installed and with a general servant who could cook to serve
them.
In order to gain the extra week at home, I went overland via the
Dover - Calais crossing and thence across France to Marseilles, where I
boarded the outward-bound mail steamer. It was now the month of December,
1908, and the ship in which I was travelling was one of the first to go through
the Straits of Messina after the great earthquake that virtually destroyed that
city. We proceeded slowly through the straits, taking soundings at frequent
intervals, since it was not yet known to what the extent, if any, the channel
had altered.
We passed quite close to Messina, and the sight was awe-inspiring.
There were great gaps in the jetties and the whole place seemed just a heap of
ruined buildings. Many thousands had perished in the disaster, but from what
I saw it seemed a miracle that any had I survived. When I eventually reached
Poona again, it was to find that I had been appointed Inspecting Officer and an
extended tour had been drawn up for me. Here is the document with which I
was confronted:
KAMPTEE 1st Bn. Manchester Regiment.
117th Mahrattas.
PACHMARHI Sanatorium
JUBBULPORE 2nd Bn. Kings Royal Rifle Corps.
1st Brahmins.
33rd Punjabis.
27th Light Cavalry.
SAUGOR 24th Punjabis. 2nd Lancers.
GOONA 39th Central India Horse.
JHANSI 30th Lancers.
Brigade Staff, R.F.A.
7th Battery R.F.A.
14th Battery R.F.A.
No.12 Ammunition Column.
1st Bn. Wiltshire Regiment.
6th Jat Light Infantry.
12th Pioneers.
87th Punjabis.
NOWGONG Brigade Staff, R.G.A.
86th (Heavy) Battery R.G.A.
90th (Heavy) Battery R.G.A.
37th Dogras.
SEHORE 56th Rifles.
AGAR 38th Central India Horse.
 MHOW Brigade Staff, R.H.A.
"D" Battery R.H.A.
"E" Battery R.H.A.
"E" Ammunition Column.
6th Inniskillen Dragoons.
Divisional Accounts Office,
Supply & Transport Corps.
NEEMUCH Brigade Staff, R.F.A.
25th Battery R.F.A.
58th Battery R.F.A.
3rd Skinners Horse.
NASIRABAD 12th Battery R.F.A.
1st Bn. Durham Light Infantry.
45th Sikhs.
DEOLI 42nd Deoli Regiment.
AJMERE 44th Merwara Infantry.
ERINPURA 43rd Erinpura Regiment.
MOUNT ABU Sanatorium.
DEESA 108th Infantry.
AHMEDABAD 122nd Rajputana Infantry.
SANTA CRUZ 109th Infantry.
BOMBAY No.2 Company
Indian Submarine Mining Corps.
Total mileage by rail 3,245
Total mileage by road 362
Distance by road from nearest railway station to
Pachmarhi 32 miles
Now gong 17 miles
Agar 41 miles
Deoli 55 miles Total mileage for double journeys
Erinpura 7 miles by road - 362
Mount Abu 17 miles
Santa Cruz 12 miles
Assuming, as usually was the case, that any irregularities discovered
were only of a technical or trifling nature, the time taken varied between a
couple of days for a small unit to the best part or a week for a regiment, while
a departmental office or a sanatorium might extend to two or three weeks.
Anyhow, it was no light assignment!
Even if I had no really troublesome cases, I reckoned that it was going
to be a four or five months job. My staff would consist of a senior clerk and
one of the uniformed office chuprassies (messengers) with a boxful of
regulations, stationery etc. I was furnished with a sheaf of warrants covering
all our rail and road journeys, and we were all allowed advances of pay and
later would be able to recover for messing charges when on the move.
In principle the methods adopted were simple. In the first place, our
movements were unannounced. We arrived at a place without warning, went
straight to the unit's quarterguard where its Treasure Chest was kept, and
waited there until the unit accounts officer came along with the keys. We then
saw the contents counted over and examined any documents placed there for
safe custody. Having thus clamped down upon the assets, we proceeded with a
leisurely audit of the books. It was for the most part a monotonous and
wearisome task. It was quite a relief very occasionally to discover something
really serious! But as I have remarked upon a previous occasion, the standard
of probity throughout the Army in India was high and defalcation were
correspondingly fare. My tour proved to be an extremely interesting
experience, to give a full account of which would of itself fill a book. All that
I can do here is to mention a few facts of interest.
The Central India Horse, consisting of two crack Indian cavalry
regiments that periodically exchanged their two permanent stations of Agar
and Goona, were typical examples of silledar cavalry units, in which recruits
brought with them on enlistment their own horses. These were taken on the
strength of the regiment if found to be up to the required standard. The lines,
bungalows, mess, club and church in these two cantonments were built by
these regiments. In fact the entire landed property was theirs. But it was not an
unique case. There were many such cantonments in India at that time still in
occupation of the regiments which had created them.
Typical examples of so-called "Irregular" regiments were the Erinpura
and Deoli Infantry. An interesting relic at Deoli was what looked like a
tombstone in the top of which two semi-circular hollows had been cut out.
This stood in the mess compound, and had been placed there back in the
Company days at the instigation of the Indian officers of the regiment, so that
their British Commandant could sit back in an armchair at his ease, with his
feet supported by the stone, while the business of morning Durbar was
transacted before him.
From a scrutiny of the list of units I had to visit, it will be appreciated
that the titles of these Indian units were those bestowed upon them under Lord
Kitchener's reorganisation of 1906, and since then these titles have again been
changed. At the time of which I am writing, regulations governing such
matters as clothing and equipment were also undergoing a transitional stage.
The original system of the East India Company was to make a "Capitation
Grant" to an officer who undertook to raise, train and equip a cavalry, artillery
or infantry unit, or so much per man enlisted, housed, clothed and trained
under regimental arrangements, whereas for long past this is done by the
Government of India. Arms and ammunition have always come from
government factories and/or arsenals. During the transitional stage, in addition
to the Capitation Grant, there was the "Half-Mounting!". This was a
contribution, at so much per head, by the government towards the cost of such
articles as clothing, bedding and equipment not procurable from government
supply sources and provided under regimental arrangements. The number of
Regimental Funds of Indian units in those days were numerous and usually
represented very considerable assets. These as a rule were banked by units and
the interest that accrued upon such deposits was not inconsiderable. In fact an
Indian unit in those days was run upon business lines, and its discipline and
efficiency depended very largely indeed upon the character of its
Commandant and his British officers. Had they not been what they were, the
Indian Army could never have become the splendid force it was.
I had to make quite a long stay in Jhansi, since there were so many
units there for us to visit, and my clerk and I managed to squeeze in a visit to
Gwalior while we were so near. I was anxious to see something of its great
fortress, since my father had been stationed in it nearly a hundred years
earlier, with his battery of garrison artillery, and my uncle Edward, then a
young officer in the Royal Engineers, died and was buried there. In those days
it was ruled by the Government of India, and it was not until many years later
that the fortress was handed back to the Gwalior State.
The rank and file of my father's battery were then quartered in the
fort, and I was much interested to see their old barracks, now occupied by the
wives and families of sepoys of the Gwalior State Army, and the old fives
courts in which his men used to play. In the small graveyard immediately
outside the ramparts I found my uncle's tombstone marking his grave. The
cemetery was being kept clean and tidy. There were also many graves of the
rank and file. It was here that my father’s battery lost nearly half its numbers
within twenty-four hours, from cholera. Life in those days in India was indeed
precarious!
The fortress deserves more than passing notice. A great, flat- topped
mass of rock, nearly half a mile in length and with almost perpendicular sides,
rises majestically some two hundred feet above the surrounding plain, which
for many miles on all sides was otherwise absolutely flat. It seemed that it
must have been pushed up by some tremendous subterranean force. The
fortress stood upon this rock, its stone ramparts built upon the brink of the
cliffs. From one point only could the fortress be entered, through massive
gates at the top of flight after flight of steps cut out of the rock. There were
several ancient monuments, richly carved in stone, within the walls. We
stayed that night in the railway station Waiting Rooms and returned to Jhansi
the following day. It had been a very pleasant little trip.
 The author, aged 30 years, with his staff, on a tour of inspection.
A difficulty that I frequently had to contend with during my tour of
inspection was that few realised that British officers of the Military Branch of
the Indian Finance Department, which is a civil department of the
Government of India, are seconded from the Indian Army while so employed.
Consequently they are then under the orders of the Finance Member of that
Government, and not the Commander-in- Chief. Commanding officers were
apt at times to be somewhat piqued when I, a relatively junior commissioned
officer, was obliged to criticise, no matter how tactfully, in my reports, their
own or their officers handling of financial matters. However, when I
explained the situation and how embarrassing it could be for me, I must say
that almost invariably I had no further trouble.
Having left Poona towards the end of December 1908 upon this long
tour of inspection, I was fortunate to be able to return to Poona by the end of
April 1909, and as soon as I had cleared up all matters outstanding as regards
my reports, I applied for and was granted privilege leave. But was not relieved
of my duties as Inspecting Officer, which meant that I could expect to receive
orders to carry out another tour upon my return - and since that would be in
July when the hot weather was at its height, it was not an inspiring prospect! It
was early May before I could get away and as I had only sixty days leave due
to me, I left the mail steamer at Marseilles and went overland to London via
Calais and Dover, and from London straight on to Bognor.
I found my wife very fit, the two boys were attending a school in
Bognor, and a few very pleasant days followed. We decided to leave the boys
as boarders at their school and return to India together. Having got them
settled in with their belongings, we were at breakfast next morning when Jack
walked in and said be had come home as he did not like the school. He had
not been back long when the principal arrived, and it transpired that Jack had
made a somewhat unpropitious start by emptying the tooth-powder tins of all
the other boys in his dormitory into their respective water jugs. Doubtless
upon second thoughts he had decided that having done so, he had better leave
while the going was still good! After partaking of a good breakfast with us, he
was marched off back to school by the Principal and settled down quite
happily.
My short leave meant that I had about four weeks only in England,
nevertheless we got everything fixed up and managed to pay a visit of several
days to aunt Loo at Shanklin in the Isle of Wight before leaving for London,
there to join the Continental Express for Marseilles in time to board the
outgoing P.& 0. mail steamer at that port. A very pleasant voyage in glorious
summer weather followed and by due date we reached Bombay where, as I
quite expected might be the case, I received a letter instructing me to proceed
forthwith upon another tour of inspection destined to carry me through
Baluchistan to the border of Afghanistan.
 XLV
After a brief visit to Poona to collect my kit and take over my staff
and equipment, we left for Baroda, the first station on my tour programme. I
cannot trace my copy of this, so am unable to give the titles of the units and
departmental establishments visited, but in almost every case but that of
Quetta, where there was a large garrison and some important supply and other
large organisations, only one Indian regiment was stationed at each place.
Baroda is the capital of an Indian State, but since the Indian
Government made a contribution towards the maintenance of a regiment of
infantry in the State, we were entitled to inspect it. The only feature of
outstanding interest that I can recall is the famous golden guns. These are 7-
pounders, a whole battery of them, and all were of solid gold. Looking at their
glittering brilliance, it was difficult to appreciate that it could really be so.
Needless to say that they were very strongly guarded.
Meanwhile we had learnt that cholera was raging in the district, a
disturbing thought. Having to travel in those days in India through such an
area was not a pleasant prospect. As I have remarked previously, mail trains
had no refreshment cars. Periodical stops were made at one of the larger
stations where there happened to be a refreshment room. We had to leave the
train and partake of our meal in accommodation that was not always even
outwardly clean, while the state of the kitchen might well be far from
hygienic. Old timers knew what to do on such occasions. You poured out half
a wineglass full of vinegar from the cruet and swallowed this before touching
any food. Acetic acid is a powerful prophylactic against cholera.
Here I might mention yet another tip, useful even nowadays. Often
when travelling, long hours had to be passed in waiting rooms or rest houses
en route which not infrequently had been closed for some time previously, and
in such case it was by no means unusual to encounter in them swarms of
mosquitoes, their combined buzzing creating quite a din. Provided that one's
mosquito curtains were readily available and could be quickly hitched up so
that one could sit or lie under them, all might be well. Otherwise those who
knew what to do would extract a spoonful of kerosin oil from the lamp, pour it
into a saucer or the lid of one's soap box, stir the oil with the soap until an
emulsion resulted, and rub the product over all exposed parts - face, neck,
hands and forearms. No mosquito would then come near you. The smell was
or course thoroughly nasty, but it was easy to wash off when the danger had
passed.
Another very unpleasant feature of this part of our tour was that when
we were in Baroda cantonment, the regiment there had been having a lot of
trouble as the result of what was a veritable plague of poisonous snakes! The
place abounded with them, and there had been several fatal casualties. What
with this and the cholera, and since our next move would involve a long and
very tiring journey across Baluchistan, I decided to break our journey at Abu
and go to Mount Abu, a pleasant little hill station, for a few days en route.
This we did and I am sure it was a good move. We just lazed about there and
had a rest.
Our next move was to Hyderabad Sind, a long and unpleasant hot
journey through the Desert to the eastern bank of the River Indus, The
remarkable thing about this city, which stood, within a mile of the
cantonment, is that its stone houses are all surmounted by what look like tall
stone chimneys but which in reality are designed to catch the slight breeze
that usually springs up of an evening, invariably from the same quarter, and
distribute this relatively cooler air in the rooms below. Each of these
structures has a large, spreading top, somewhat similar to that of a ventilator
on a ship, and the appearance of the city from a distance is quite remarkable
on this account, while the eerie effect is added to by the fact that the city, and
the neighbouring cantonment, are surrounded on all sides by the sands of the
desert.
Since bedding straw was unprocurable locally and expensive to bring
from afar, it had become customary to bed the horses of the field artillery
batteries stationed here, with sand instead of straw. Provided that the
veterinary authorities had approved such a course, there would have been no
objection had it not also become customary to recover the alleged cost of
bedding straw upon fictitious bills supported by forged contractors' receipts,
and credit the proceeds to battery funds. It was a bad case and the outcome
was a Court Martial.
The next station to be visited was Jacobabad, where an Indian cavalry
regiment was stationed at a small oasis in the Desert to the west of the River
Indus. This river was crossed by a great bridge at a point between the railway
junctions of Rohri and Ruk, about two hundred miles to the north of
Hyderabad. By then the hot weather was at its height and the temperature was
terrific, being 120° above in the shade during the daytime and seldom below
105° at night, while the air was so dry, one's skin felt as though it would
crack. Here again I came across the custom in these arid parts to bed down
horses on sand in place of the straw that was unprocurable locally and would
have been very costly to import.
We were much relieved to leave the Desert upon the long rail journey,
two nights in the train, to Harnai in Baluchistan, where we would have to
leave the train and proceed thence by tonga. After leaving India and entering
Baluchistan it was very noticeable that each succeeding small railway station
was built to serve if need be as a fort, with loopholed walls and steel-shuttered
doors and windows, but it did seem somewhat incongruous to see a railway
porter carrying luggage on his head, while from a belt round his waist hung a
large tulwar (sword). All the station staff were armed, the stationmaster with a
revolver strapped to his waist.
The last few miles of the line before reaching Harnai is an amazing
example of engineering skill. Rising steeply, this single line is laid in a cleft
cut out of the side of an almost sheer cliff, and passes through numerous
tunnels, in the course of its passage through the Bolan Pass. In accordance
with arrangements previously made, we were met at Harnai by a tonga in
which we were driven, with changes of ponies every few miles, the fifty-mile
journey by road to Loralai. This as an old-world cantonment in which our
forefathers had built themselves comfortable bungalows and planted groves of
peach and nectarine trees the stock of which had come from England. These
trees flourished exceedingly in Loralai's genial climate - it stood at a high
altitude - and anything more delicious than that fruit it would have been hard
to find anywhere. The officers of the Indian infantry regiment stationed here
were exceptionably hospitable and we passed a very pleasant few days before
leaving for Fort Sandeman.
A visit to Fort Sandeman was no light matter. One or the most
westerly of India's frontier outposts, it stood sentinel in what otherwise would
have been a gap between this part of the frontier and that to the North-West.
The only road to it was from Loralai, and the distance by this road from
Loralai to Fort Sandeman exceeded two hundred miles. At every forty miles
or so along this road stood a Fort, garrisoned by Indian infantry and a
detachment of cavalry. Movement along it was permitted only to those in
possession of special authority, and no British officer was allowed to move
unarmed outside cantonment limits of Loralai or Fort Sandeman, or to do so
without an armed escort.
These orders placed me in a difficult predicament. My orders forbade
my giving any warning in advance of my intended visit to the unit I was about
to inspect. I was intended to arrive unannounced and supervise the counting of
the cash in the Treasure Chest and otherwise clamp down upon the cash and
bank balances before any examination of the accounts leading up to these
balances. In the present case, however, it seemed that I would be unable to
proceed without departing from my orders. I got over the difficulty in this
instance by having a confidential talk with the Commandant at Loralai, so in
due course I was provided with a cavalry escort and authority to enter the
Forts en route where we would have to halt each night, but there was to be no
advice sent to Fort Sandeman regarding my approaching visit.
It may be thought that it was a somewhat perilous trip for my wife to
make, but that was not so. The frontier tribes are extraordinarily chivalrous
where women are concerned, and the fact that my wife would be
accompanying me reduced rather than increased any risk there might have
been for me. So we left Loralai in a tonga, preceeded and followed by
mounted cavalry sowars (troopers) and drove mile after mile on poor roads
through desolate country, arriving each evening before sundown at a small
Fort where my authority gained me admission and we were able to pass the
night in a small Rest House built within. The country became more
mountainous as we proceeded. At one point we drove into a cleft little more
than fifty feet wide between the perpendicular cliffs that rose to over a
hundred feet on either side and continued thus for more than a mile.
We reached the outposts of Fort Sandeman in the late afternoon of the
fifth day and were halted there until our arrival, apparently without authority,
had been reported to the Commandant. Since we had an escort it was evident
that our visit must have been authorised, and we were permitted to proceed to
the local Rest House. By this time it had grown dark, and it was amusing to
realise from the sound of the clank of arms that a guard had been set upon us.
My difficulties on such occasions were always aggravated by the fact that my
personal assistant was a Poona Brahmin In this solidly Muslim territory, all
Hindus were heartily disliked and suspected of being mischief-makers. In fact,
Hindus went at all times in fear of their lives.
When I returned to the Rest House next morning after having reported
to the Commandant in uniform, the lapels of my jacket adorned with the red
tabs indicating that I was a member of the Headquarters Staff, no difficulties
having been placed in my way of carrying out my examination of the contents
of the Treasure Chest, I found that the guard upon us had been discreetly
withdrawn, and my wife had received a basket of lovely peaches from the
regimental mess! Having subsequently found the finances in apple-pie order, I
became free to accept hospitality from the regiment and they gave us a very
enjoyable few days, while I got in a couple of games of hockey with them on
their regimental parade ground. The local inhabitants are very striking in
appearance. Baluchis are a wild- looking lot of fine men, all with long curly
hair showing below their pagris, worn over gold-embroidered, pointed kullahs
(skull-caps).
From Fort Sandeman we returned to Harnai by the way we had come,
the journey by road lasting for six days. At Harnai we entrained for Quetta
and passed through extremely wild mountainous country. The distance was
only about a hundred and fifty miles but the speed was low on account or the
difficult terrain through which this single line passed. There were numerous
tunnels during the passage of which we were nearly suffocated by the
volumes of sulphurous smoke from the poor quality coal burnt in the engines
furnace. Consequently it was a long and trying journey and we were heartily
glad to reach our destination.
Quetta is a large military station occupied by a strong force of all
arms. I estimated that my work there would last at least three months. There
was no hotel and we could not live at the Circuit House for so long, so I took
a small bungalow that was being vacated by an officer going on leave. It was
furnished with all the essentials and we took over the servants also and were
able to settle down for a bit.
The place reminded us in some ways of Poona, without all the
formalities that would have been out of place in a frontier station but it was
very sociable. It was at the Quetta Club that people congregated of an
afternoon. My work disclosed nothing at all sensational and I can recall
nothing of special interest regarding our stay other than a visit to Chaman,
beyond Quetta and on the border of Afghanistan. The journey took us to the
terminus of the railway, and the line passed through country very similar to
that we had encountered in the Bolan Pass and beyond. At Chaman, all the
railway materiel that would be required for the speedy extension of the line to
Kandahar, was stored. Everything was ready for a rapid mobilisation should
the necessity arise. There were a number of prepared railway sidings and
camping grounds for troops had been laid out, complete with piped water
supply.
The garrison of Chaman consisted of a single Indian infantry
regiment, and a detachment of Indian cavalry from Quetta. It was a strange
place. A couple or days later I was playing golf in a foursome with the
Colonel and two other officers of the regiment upon links in open country just
outside cantonment limits, and noticed mounted sowars away to a flank. I was
informed that this cavalry screen always went out before a round started, since
one of the officers had had a narrow escape when he was putting on a "brown"
and a tribesman over the border had taken a pot-shot at him! Later on, when I
dined in mess with the regiment, I found it was customary for each officer to
place the loaded revolver which, in accordance with orders, he always carried,
on the floor alongside his chair at the dinner table.
We had not been long back in Quetta after our visit to Chaman, when
I had a severe attack of fever and symptoms of dysentery. Doubtless all the
trials we had undergone during the preceeding weeks, including many scratch
meals taken where and when opportunity offered, had found out my weak
spots. It was indeed remarkable that my wife had survived this trying period
without any apparent effects. The Staff Surgeon's drastic treatment having
proved unavailing, I was compelled to go into the military hospital, and
eventually it was decided that I must go home.
Since we had with us only our travelling kit, as soon as I was
sufficiently recovered to return to the bungalow, it was a simple matter for us
to get packed up and we were ready to leave for Karachi the following day.
But that night Quetta was struck by one of those earthquakes from which the
station seems to suffer periodically. In the early hours of the morning we were
awakened by the sensation of being rocked from side to side in our beds and
to hear a strange booming sound, and above it the noise of things crashing to
the ground. There was an oil lamp on the wall, turned down low, and by its
light we saw clothing and other articles that hung on nails or hooks, swinging
like pendulums from side to side, and the jug in the washbasin was rolling
round and round. The shock did not last long. By the time we were out of our
beds and had rushed outside, it was all over. We learnt later that other parts of
Quetta had suffered more severely, the staff College in particular being
materially damaged.
But what concerned us was the news that all telegraphic
communication with India had been interrupted, no train had as yet come
through, while the transport in which we were to leave Karachi for England
was due to sail within only a few days. After a day and night in suspense we
learnt that a mail train for Karachi would be leaving that afternoon and
arranged to travel by it. The first few hours or the journey passed without
incident other than the fact that the damage to stations en route became
noticeably more severe as we covered mile after mile at low speed, since it
was not known to what extent the track had suffered. Darkness fell and we
proceeded at an even slower pace, a powerful searchlight on the front of the
engine lighting up the track for a considerable distance ahead. As we
approached the railway station of Belpat, gangs were working on the line,
there were frequent stops, but eventually the train crawled into the station.
Belpat must have been very near the origin of the earthquake that had
shaken Quetta. The station building, strongly built of stone, was just a heap of
rubble and gangs of men were digging by the light of flares and hurricane
lanterns to uncover the bodies of the stationmaster and other members of the
station staff, all of whom, together with their wives and families in nearby
quarters, had been overwhelmed and killed.
We reached Karachi next day and went to a hotel, to which it had
been arranged that our personal kit, left in Poona, should sent to await our
arrival. We still had a couple of days in hand before embarking that passed
without incident, and the embarkation and passage home was uneventful and
pleasant. From Southampton we proceeded to Bognor where we were met by
Jack and Rex, very excited and pleased to see us again. After a brief stay we
left for London, taking the two boys with us.
During the passage home, I had been considering the possibility of
finding some way to supplement my inadequate furlough pay, and it occurred
to me that if I learnt shorthand I might be able to secure a post as private
secretary that would not only benefit us pecuniarily, but might also result in
all of us having a much more enjoyable time than otherwise would be
possible. So I joined the classes at a commercial training college. It was an
interesting experience, and some weeks later the Principal informed me that
he had received an enquiry for a secretary from a titled lady, and would I care
to go and see her?
The lady in question proved to be good-looking, middle-aged
Irishwoman who had been left a widow by the death of her husband who, I
was informed, had been an Italian Duke. The Duchess was a very charming
and vivacious lady who lived in an expensive, well-appointed and staffed flat,
had an exquisite taste in food and drink, and greatly enjoyed entertaining. It
was not until after I had accepted the appointment that I found she did all
these things upon a limited income without any regard to the cost! We had a
lovely time. My wife helped with the entertaining, and we were included in
the parties made up for Henley Regatta, the opera, sundry recherché dinners at
famous restaurants and so on. Soon after I had taken over this post, we moved
from London to a pleasantly-situated hotel at Surbiton from which I could go
up to London each weekday after an early breakfast. Meanwhile Jack had
returned to school and we had engaged a nurse for Rex, so my wife became
free to follow me to London by a later train, which she did frequently.
I did what I could to balance Her Grace's budget and urge some
economies, but to no purpose. After same months of what was for us a most
enjoyable period, I undertook to go over to Brussels and there supervise a
commercial venture in which the Duchess had interested herself. It was a
perfectly genuine business but gave no promise of developing successfully, so
in the end I recommended that it be wound up while such a course was still
practicable without serious loss, and this was done.
 We passed a very pleasant six months in Brussels, where we rented a
furnished house with a garden in the Avenue Bel Air, and engaged a Belgian
maid-servant who was also a good cook. Jack and Rex had accompanied us,
and we arranged for them to attend the local Convent daily for lessons. This
they did until one day when they were brought back by a couple of the nuns.
It transpired that Jack had locked some of them into a room and then tolled
the Convent bell! It was an ultimatum. They had come to the conclusion that
English boys were too high-spirited for them!
It was not long after that when Jack and Rex were missed. They were
nowhere to be found in the house or garden, but our maid Delphine had seen
them only a short while previously. So we hurried out in search and found
them looking into the window of a Patisserie in the main road into which the
Avenue led. This was opposite the point at which trams stopped to pick up
passengers for, among other places, the village of Waterloo. The explanation
was that my wife used to read to the boys of an evening before they went to
bed, and they had been very interested in an account of the Battle of Waterloo.
She explained that the battlefield was not far off and told them that one day
we would take them there by tram to see it. Jack had decided that he and Rex
would spend their pocket money that way and not wait for us to take them.
When we returned from Brussels to England, we went to live at a
pleasant country house not far from Chingford in Essex, to which the Duchess
had moved when the London season came to an end. Jack returned to school,
we engaged a nurse for Rex, and all went well for a time. But it was not long
before I came to the conclusion that the state of indebtedness of the Duchess
was such that I could not continue as her secretary and I resigned my post. It
was fortunate for us that I did so, since some time later we learnt that she had
got into very serious financial trouble. It was quite a scandal and we were well
out of it.
The author, aged 32 years.
 XLVI
At last the time came when I had to return to India, and we decided
that I should go out alone. The voyage to Bombay by a P.& 0. mail steamer
was uneventful, and upon landing at Bombay and reporting my arrival, I
received orders to proceed to Calcutta. Along with this official communication
there was a "demi-official" letter from headquarters explaining that I would be
relieving an officer there who would then be able to go on leave, and that he
had been finding difficulty of late in coping with the work. In other words, I
would be finding some heavy arrears which I would be expected to clear up.
But the outlook became brighter when the D.O. concluded with the welcome
news that my ultimate destination would be Maymyo in Upper Burma.
Being entitled to travel on permanent duty scale, I was able to have
the heavy baggage which we had left in Poona when we went home, included
in my journey warrant and stowed in the office when I reached Calcutta,
where I secured accommodation in a boarding house. Meanwhile I had called
upon the Controller who I was about to relieve and arrange to do so next day.
He had carried on through the hot weather and was a sick man. It was our
largest office in India, in addition to the ordinary routine of a District
Controllership, with all matters relating to the financial aspect of military
manufacturing and supply establishments, also all movements by sea, rail and
road, throughout India and Burma. The staff consisted of a couple of dozen
British and Indian officers and some eight hundred clerks, and the Controller's
duties were correspondingly arduous. I was horrified at the sight of the
accumulation of his arrears. His table was piled with papers awaiting disposal,
and there were rows of trays full of letters and files all along one wall and
stacked upon side-tables. He informed me that it was too much for one officer
to do and had asked for an assistant, but his request had been turned down.
He left on sixty days privilege leave, and it took me nearly the whole
of the two months, starting early each morning and working long after normal
office closing hours, to clear up the accumulation. Meanwhile the daily work
had to be dealt with and every item demanded full attention. There is no room
in such a position for anyone who signs anything unchecked! Nevertheless,
when the officer returned from his leave and found me sitting at his office
table with nothing but current work before me and the room cleared of
everything his comment was not to thank me for what I had done, but to
remark that the result would be that it would be thought that he had been
slacking!
I was now free to pack up and move to Maymyo, and a few days later
I left Calcutta in a small steamer of the British India Steam Navigation
Company bound for Rangoon. It seemed strange to be steaming up the river
again after all the years that had passed since I was a small boy, and see the
Shwe Dagon Pagoda shining in the sunlight. The port seemed much the same.
Driving through the town I found it difficult to recognize much of what I saw,
the place having grown considerably in extent since last I was there. Since
there were some hours to spare before my train was due to leave that evening,
I drove out to see the home in which I had lived with my parents twenty-years
previously. To my amazement I found no trace of the house. What had been
the compound was now filled with the buildings of the British Military
Hospital.
The journey by rail to Maymyo takes twenty-four hours, passing
through Mandalay en route. It was noticeable that porters at stations we
passed through were Indians and not Burmese men, also that whereas upon
the platform of a railway station in India it would have been the vendors of
sweetmeats who were most active, here the interest of the Burmese third-class
passengers seemed to be concerned with more substantial eats, such as curried
duck and cakes. Everywhere as of yore the women were to be seen puffing
away at their large green cigars, obviously in the ascendancy.
Shortly after leaving Mandalay that evening the train began to climb
into the mountains, and I awoke next morning to enjoy the fresh, cool air, so
different to that of Rangoon with its humid, enervating climate. Maymyo is
situated upon a plateau at a height of about 5,000 feet above sea level and
possesses a delightful climate with a bracing cold season. Sub-tropical trees
and vegetation flourish and its flower gardens remind one of England. It was
the summer headquarters of the Governor of Burma with his staff, and of the
Mandalay Brigade. The garrison consisted of a British infantry regiment, a
battalion or Gurkhas, and a battery of mountain artillery. There was a Club
with residential quarters for men only, but the main building of which was in
effect a Gymkhana Club since the polo ground, golf links and tennis courts
were all within its precincts.
My new Chief at Maymyo met the train and drove me in his car to the
Club, where a quarter had been reserved, he having taken all steps necessary
to have me elected as a member. These quarters consisted of several small
bungalows built of teak, standing in the Club grounds and separate from the
main building. There were two sets of quarters in each bungalow, each
comprising a couple of rooms and a bathroom, comfortably furnished. A good
Bearer had also been engaged for me. There were several residents, mostly
military. The occupant of the adjoining quarter in my bungalow was a young
civilian, a member of the Controller's staff, and we soon became great friends.
Having had breakfast and settled in, I went to the office in which
henceforth I would be working. It seemed very small after that in Calcutta,
nevertheless it dealt with financial matters affecting a quite large garrison of
Burma. With the exception of the Rangoon and Mandaly Brigades the armed
forces were for the most part scattered about in detachments varying in
strength and located in cantonments throughout Upper and Lower Burma, and
the Andaman Islands.
Had anyone told me then that I was destined to serve in Maymyo for
nearly four years, seldom having remained in one place for much more than a
twelve months since I joined the army, I would have regarded the remark as a
joke. But that is what happened, and looking back, I realise how fortunate I
was in being able to remain for so long in so pleasant a station. Maymyo was
in every way a delightful place. In addition to a good climate, there was
friendly social life notably free from the formalities of stations such as Poona
or Rawal Pindi, which were far too large for everyone to know everyone else
intimately as was the case at Maymyo. One of its great advantages compared
with any Indian station I had visited, was that in Maymyo we were a
community apart from India and largely self-dependent, while from an official
point of view we were far less subject to Headquarters control!
Within a couple of weeks I had settled down to my office job,
completed my round of calls and had entered upon that of the dinners to
which I was invited as a result. I got in a nine-hole round of golf before
breakfast and tennis most days after tea. These diversion followed by cheery
evenings in the Club, passed the time very pleasantly. One of the great
attractions of Maymyo was that the main building of the Club, with its public
rooms and bar, ladies' lounge and ballroom, lending library and store from
which tinned provisions, wines and spirits could be purchased by members,
stood immediately facing the polo ground. In the grounds were the tennis
courts, and the first tee of the golf links was not a hundred yards from the
Club front steps. It was all so very convenient.
The months slipped by. Meanwhile my wife had recovered her health
and was enjoying her stay at Brighton. I took over the honorary secretary ship
of the golf links, and every morning by 7 a.m. at latest was out and combining
a leisurely round with the congenial task of seeing that everything practicable
was done towards improving the course, which passed through lovely scenery.
There was good turf throughout and the greens were well kept, but I soon
came to the conclusion that several more holes could be added at
comparatively small cost. This was very desirable with so many players
during the season, when considerable congestion resulted. The Governor
happened to be a keen golfer, and it was thanks to His Excellency's support
that I succeeded in getting the Forestry Department to fell a number of trees
and thus create the clearings through which, after much hard work, five new
holes were added, bringing the total round to fourteen.
Maymyo, in common with every garrison station of any size out east,
had its "Week" which was held towards the end of the cold weather and also
in common with such events elsewhere, lasted for ten days or more. Polo, golf
and tennis tournaments, dinners and dances, followed one another and all
available accommodation was filled to over-flowing by the in-flux of visitors
from Rangoon, Mandalay and most of the smaller stations. There were also
members of the Bombay-Burma Trading Corporation and Steele Brothers,
young 'varsity men and a very cheery lot they were. Then there were the
young women who had come out on visits to their parents or relations,
doubtless in the hope of finding husbands but mostly not averse to filling in
spare time with an occasional flirtation!
Meanwhile it had been decided that my wife would come out early in
the following cold weather and bring the two boys with her. So I looked round
for a suitable bungalow and found one on a hillside overlooking the golf links,
next to the General's and within a quarter of a mile of the Club. It stood in a
nice garden and was known as Glenside. By then I had become quite an old
hand at getting bungalows fixed up with furniture and other essentials, and
our boxes had been unpacked and their contents arranged by the time I had to
go down to Rangoon on short leave to meet the ship in which my wife and
family were passengers. This was the S.S. "Martaban" of the Patrick
Henderson Line, whose vessels carried cargo and a limited number of
passengers. These vessels were not built for speed and took about five weeks
on the voyage between Liverpool and Rangoon.
 XLVII
The "Martaban” berthed on time and I was delighted to see my wife
and the boys looking so well. They had had an excellent voyage and were all
the better for it. There were only a dozen or so passengers, several of them
being officers of one or other of the regiments at Maymyo. We went to the
Esplanade Hotel in Rangoon for the night and my wife told me what a
pleasant voyage it had been and how some of the young officers had helped
her with the boys. Jack as usual had needed a lot of supervision! On one
occasion, having tired of going round ringing bells in the cabins to summon
the stewards, and then dashing though the saloon where lunch was being laid,
snatching rolls off the tables and hurling them at the waiters, he took refuge
on top of one of the deck awnings where he was in imminent peril of slipping
off into the sea until captured. On that occasion one of the subalterns
suggested to my wife that he be permitted to administer corporal punishment,
but this she would not allow.
Having taken them round to see the Shwe Dagon Pagoda and the
elephants at work in the timber yards at Monkey Point, we boarded the mail
train for Maymyo and reached our bungalow in time for breakfast next day.
An ayah had previously been engaged for my wife and it was not long before
she and the boys had settled down in their new home. The usual round of
callers and calls to be returned followed, and in the afternoons we walked
over to the Club and my wife met the various friends I had made or whom she
had got to know on the passage out. Meanwhile Jack and Rex were making
the acquaintance of other children, of whom there were several in the station.
There followed during several succeeding weeks, the enjoyable small
dinner parties to which we were invited, and some given by ourselves.
Distances between one bungalow and another in Maymyo in many cases were
quite short and people as often as not walked to and fro preceeded by a
servant carrying a lantern, or carrying it themselves. Which reminds me of the
story of a note addressed by Mrs. X to a young officer who had been dining
the previous night. It ran as follows; "Dear Mr. A - Will you please return the
parrot in cage which you took last night in mistake for your hurricane lantern,
which I am returning herewith!"
We bought a small pony for Jack and engaged a chokra (lad) to look
after it and be Jack's attendant and dressing boy. He soon became quite a good
rider and very independent, riding about the station and visiting his own circle
of young friends. Later on when the Paper Chases started, Jack was always
somewhere in the field. Meanwhile Rex had a pedal motor car in which he
used to get about, under the eye of the ayah. I built them a tree house in a tree
near the bungalow and furnished it with a small table and stools which I had
made up, while my wife provided the window curtains. Access to the little
house was by way of a rope ladder. The two boys spent many happy hours
there, but Jack was not entirely satisfied until I had linked the tree house to the
bungalow by telephone, so that he would be able to communicate his
numerous requirements to the servants.
 Since there was no school in the neighbourhood, I devised a series of
lessons in fundamental subjects and set daily tasks which they had to
complete each morning after I had left for office. Later on, when my wife
found it difficult to supervise the work, they came to office with me and did
their work at a table in my back verandah, where I could look in now and then
and see that they were not slacking. It had always seemed to me that in some
subjects, such for instance as geography and history, the custom of starting
with a mass of detail such as the names of towns, rivers and so on, and many
dates, is a great mistake, so in geography I started them with blank maps in
which only the boundaries of states, or in the case of the British Isles,
counties, were shown, and they had to fill in each day some half-dozen of the
names of the states of counties. Later, the detail followed in like manner.
History was best learnt, I thought, by my wife reading to them each
evening before they went to bed, historical stories written specially for
children, for instance, "Little Arthur's History of England!" I dealt with
fundamental facts in physical science by devising simple apparatus
demonstrating these facts. For instance, how the application of heat to a metal
rod causes it to lengthen and push a pointer round a scale, simple chemical
experiments, clouds and rain produced by evaporating water, and numerous
other convincing demonstrations. Then I made up cones, pyramids, cylinders
and cubes of cardboard covered with white paper, and various groupings of
these where used for drawing lessons. Jack showed marked ability at drawing.
Elementary mechanics were also dealt with, and algebra was soon following
arithmetic. I recalled my own reactions as a small boy and endeavoured to
remedy them.
One afternoon my wife and I had been watching a polo match and
were about to leave the ground with others and enter the Club, when we saw
the chokra crossing the ground from the direction of the bungalow, leading
Rex by one hand and the pony with the other. We turned and waited for them,
and as they approached we realised Rex was crying and hurried to meet him.
He was in great pain, having fallen off the pony, and it was evident that his
arm was broken. The Staff Surgeon, who had been standing nearby, came over
and asked us to bring him straight to the hospital. He went ahead to make
preparations and we followed in my Chief's car. Within a few minutes the arm
had been X-rayed, showing a fracture of both bones of the forearm above the
wrist. Splints and bandages having been applied, we took Rex home. He was
still badly shaken by the fall. He had been riding the pony for some days, but
always on a lead, and it was because he had insisted upon riding unled like
Jack that the accident had happened.
When the Staff Surgeon saw him again next morning, it was found
that the splints had moved and the fracture parted. So it was reset, this time
under an anaesthetic and with another surgeon assisting, and the entire
forearm was encased in plaster. When this was removed some weeks later an
X-raw examination showed that the bones had knit together very nicely, and it
was not long before Rex had regained full use of the arm, but it was an
anxious time for us both, since there was much stiffness and for several weeks
thereafter we I could not be sure that the accident would not leave some
permanent disability. It was a very great relief when he was using his arm and
hand again as freely as before the accident happened.
The months passed very pleasantly until the rains came, and then my
wife's health, hitherto so good, deteriorated. She began to get attacks of low
fever that indicated something was wrong, but was getting over this with the
doctor's help and dieting, when Maymyo suffered one of the earthquakes that
occurred every now and then in Upper Burma. For that reason all bungalows
are built on what is known as the "brick noggin" principle. The walls are a
framework of teakwood beams, the spaces between them measuring not more
than four or five feet either way filled in with brickwork, and the roofs are
invariably composed of teakwood shingles in place of tiles. Buildings
constructed thus will stand a quite considerable tremor before serious damage
results.
I was returning to breakfast one morning after my usual visit to the
links and had reached a point within fifty yards of our front gate on the
opposite side of the road. I had only just stepped off one of the greens, when I
heard a strange noise, apparently coming from below, and a moment later the
ground seemed to be jerked under my feet. The trees bent over as though
struck by a tornado, and the next thing I knew was that the ground everywhere
in sight was rising and falling in great waves just like the sea after a storm.
Meanwhile I heard the noise of the crashing down in all directions of what
later proved to be chimneys, and in some cases portions of bungalow walls.
I found it difficult to keep my feet, but managed to run towards
Glenside. A few yards only brought it in sight. At once I saw that chimneys
were down and clouds of dust were rising. But I was greatly relieved to see
my wife and both boys, with some of the servants, outside the bungalow.
Providentially my wife had just finished dressing and had been able to rush
from the bedroom across the drawing room and find that the chokra had
already got outside the boys' room with Rex. Jack was already out, driving
round the bungalow in Rex's pedal motor car, and he was full of his
experiences when the first shock came.
Further shocks, but much less violent, followed the first at frequent
intervals for several hours. As I was about to investigate the damage, my
Chief turned up on his bicycle to find out if we were all right. He said that the
damage was widespread, but so far he had not heard of any serious casualties.
Looking in through the dining room window we saw the teapot and our
porridge on the table, steaming, but this was coming through all the rubble
and dust that lay in heaps over everything! As I was looking in, our cat
jumped onto the windowsill. She had had a litter of kittens only a few days
previously and was carrying one of them in her mouth. Having taken it over to
the stables, she returned for another, and was not content until they were all
out.
I quickly realised how fortunate it was that my wife and the boys had
not been in their beds when the first shock came. In both bedrooms some of
the panels of brickwork in the walls had crashed down upon the beds below.
Each panel must have weighed about half a ton. Considerable havoc resulted
in the drawing room. Oil lamps and numerous china and other ornaments
were smashed and fallen plaster covered everything. But, as was realised
subsequently by all throughout the station, had the shock lasted for a few
moments longer the damage would have been far greater and there might well
have been severe casualties.
While our servants recovered a carpet, a table and chairs and other
necessities from the bungalow, set them out in an empty stall next to the
pony's, and improvised a breakfast, I sent off an urgent appeal to the local
Ordnance Depot for the loan of tents. These arrived later on that day and were
erected on our front lawn. We had breakfast and much amusement was caused
by the sight of the cook, with a frying pan in his hand, appearing in the small
kitchen window every time there was another shock, where he remained
squatting upon his hunkers until the tremor ceased. No wonder cook was
jumpy. The walls of the kitchen, standing slightly apart from the main
building, were built throughout of brick, and they were cracked in all
directions and shaky! Meanwhile the pony had his head round the corner of
his stall, doubtless wondering why we had come to share the stables with him!
The Ordnance Depot sent us a large E.P. tent and a small one for the
servants. Having had these pitched and the E.P. furnished with a carpet and
other essentials retrieved from the bungalow, we moved in. Then it started to
rain, and to our consternation we found that our tent had several canvas
patches on the outer fly and as everyone knows who has lived in tents,
wherever there is a patch, the rain comes through! Basins, buckets, bath tubs,
anything that held water, were spread around to catch the descending trickles.
It was no passing shower. The downpour continued for hours on end and the
old tent kept on starting leaks at fresh places. That night we slept with
waterproofs on our beds and next morning my wife an I sat up for our
morning cups of tea under umbrellas!
Fortunately for us, and for many others similarly situated in Maymyo,
when the downpour ceased, the monsoon settled down to a series of showers
interspersed by sunny intervals, nevertheless it was a very unpleasant
experience. We had to live for about six weeks under canvas before the
necessary repairs to the bungalow were completed and we were able to return
to it. Doubtless it was on account of that prolonged spell of living in damp
surroundings that neither my wife nor Rex seemed able to throw off the poor
state of health in which they had been before the earthquake, my wife as the
result of her attacks of fever, and Rex after his accident. The Staff Surgeon
recommended that they should go home. We tried to carry on and avoid this,
but eventually decided that it had to be.
Owing to the relative inaccessibility of military stations in Burma as
compared with those in India, officers serving in Burma were entitled to
ninety instead of only sixty days of privilege leave annually, if and when they
could be spared. I applied for and was granted this leave. It so happened that I
was able to dispose of our lease of the bungalow with the furniture in it, nor
was there any difficulty in storing our heavy baggage in my office.
We travelled home in the S.S. "Ava" of the Patrick Henderson Line. It
was a pleasant voyage until we entered the Bay of Biscay, where we
encountered some very rough weather, but nothing worthy of mention
happened until we reached the English Channel and a dense fog descended
upon us. We crawled along through this hour after hour with the fog horn
going at frequent intervals, when suddenly we heard excited shouts from the
bridge, the engine room telegraph rang, and we went hard astern. But only just
in time. Through the fog and not fifty yards from us, appeared the bows of a
heavily-laden cargo steamer whose engines also were then going astern, but
she was still slowly bearing down upon our quarter! For a few moments a
collision appeared inevitable, and when this tramp steamer's engines
succeeded in checking her great momentum, due to the heavy cargo she was
carrying, her bows were within a few feet of our port side. It was a very near
thing.
The ship on which we were travelling was due to berth at Tilbury on
this voyage, and not at Liverpool as was her usual destination. It was late
afternoon when we docked and we did not land until the following morning.
By then it was mid-February and bitterly cold. The cold in that ship, lying
alongside the wharf in London Docks, stands out in my memory. It was quite
the coldest night I can recall at any time. It did not take us long to reach
Bognor, and within a week of our arrival there we had found a small furnished
house and settled into it.
Our third son Lionel Brien Haughton was born on March the 7th,
1913.
 XLVIII
Only a few days later I had to embark upon my return passage to
Burma and it so happened that I sailed again in the S. S. "Ava", the same Ship
as that in which we had come home. It was not a pleasant voyage. The only
other passengers were several miners on their way out to the oil wells, and an
Armenian family booked as far as Port Said. It would have been difficult to
find a rougher lot anywhere other than the miners, and the Armenians spoke
no language known to me.
There was nothing to do but read, eat, sleep and endure the heat
during the last three weeks or so of the voyage, through the Red Sea and
Indian Ocean to Colombo and thence to Rangoon, since the hot weather was
by then gaining strength. It was quite the most boring voyage I have ever
experienced.
Back again in Maymyo, I returned to a quarter in the Club, but later
the Civil Surgeon and his wife invited me to go and live with them, which I
did. During the following hot weather I passed much of my spare time on the
golf links, and what with this, running the Ladies' Rifle-Shooting Club, and
assisting the Secretary of the Maymyo Club, having been roped in as a
member of its Committee, the time passed quickly. I had a particularly busy
time as the date fixed for the start of the Maymyo week drew near and a Golf
Tournament had to be planned.
During the "Week", I had the satisfaction of winning the Member’s
Cup, defeating the Commissioner of Rangoon, a member of the Indian Civil
Service, in the final match. I also won the Corby-Wilson Challenge Cup. The
latter was a tough proposition, involving the playing off of thirty-six holes on
one and the same day.
There were a considerable number of entries, and this meant several
matches in a knock-out tournament. I won all my matches up to the final, and
in that my opponent and I were all square at the thirty-fifth hole. We halved
the last hole in four, but I claimed a win upon a technical point. I was strictly
within my rights, but it was a thoroughly unsportsmanlike act on my part, as I
realised afterwards. It gave me no pleasure whatever to hold the very fine cup
for a year, and to this day I cannot think why I acted as I did.
An innovation I introduced that became very popular was the erection
of a small shelter close to the farthest-off hole on the course, where a Club
waiter served cocktails during the "Week" from 7 a.m. The favourite was the
"Morning Cocktail" It consisting of a small tumbler of milk to which is added
a small gin and a liqueur glass of peach brandy. Later on, when the cold
weather set in, more potent revivers became popular. For instance, the
"Whisky Macdonald" composed of equal parts of whisky and ginger wine in a
sherry glass.
My Chief and his wife went home on ninety days leave towards the
end of the year and I took over his duties. This was my first experience of the
responsibilities of a Controllership. There was a big banquet at Government
House on Christmas Eve, and the Club ran a dinner and Fancy Dress Ball on
New Years Eve. When my Chief returned upon the expiry of his leave, he
complimented me upon what had been done during his absence and readily
agreed to my taking leave home later on. I was naturally anxious to see my
wife and our baby son again, having left so soon after his birth. I left Maymyo
towards the end of May, 1914. I had booked my passage by Bibby Line in the
S. S. "Leicestershire". Every berth was fully booked and it proved to be a
most enjoyable voyage. My lady partner and I carried off five of the seven
prizes at the Sports Meeting, which I think must be about a record. We had
fine weather throughout the voyage.
When I reached home it was to find my wife looking very fit and
Brien doing very well indeed. I had only about four weeks in England, and
towards the end of that period the threat of war grew rapidly worse. One day
towards the end of July I was having an early morning bathe from a bathing
box on Bognor beach, a very tame affair compared with the dive into deep
water to which I had become accustomed in my younger days, when a number
of our planes following closely behind one another and skirting the shore,
passed overhead. They were flying very low, since a slight mist had not yet
been dispersed by the rising sun. They were heading eastwards. Mobilisation
had begun.
 XLIX
I left a couple of days later for London to join the Continental
Express. By boarding the outward-bound Bibby Line steamer at Marseilles
instead of going round by sea in her, I had been able to stay in England for a
week longer that otherwise would have been possible. When we reached
Dover Pier to embark upon the cross channel steamer, it was obvious that all
the defences were fully manned. The rail journey from Calais to Marseilles
was an unforgettable experience. Mobilisation in France was in full swing,
and sidings were full of trains crammed with troops and guns, horses and
military equipment. When I reached Marseilles, I found that I would be
travelling on the same ship as that in which I had come home. But how
different that voyage was destined to be, with less than a dozen passengers
and the threat of war imminent!
We entered the Straits of Messina on the morning of the 3rd of
August, and shortly after breakfast were overtaken while still in the Straits by
a warship steaming at top speed. It was the German battleship "Goeben" and
flames were pouring from her funnels. We did not then know that she was on
her way to the Dardanelles. War was declared within the following twenty-
four hours. I often wonder if she would have troubled to sink us had she
passed that much later! Surely her task, of ensuring the allegiance of Turkey
was far too vital to divert her commander's attention to a mere passenger ship!
We were less than a quarter of a mile apart, and it was a thrilling sight.
When we reached Port Said, the most noticeable sight was of ships of
the Royal Navy in port, and parties of ratings from these vessels busily
engaged in taking down the wireless aerials of ships in the harbour. Our
passage through the Canal was uneventful. The Navy was patrolling it, and in
the Indian Ocean also their ships were about. All our boats were swung out
and extra provisions and water stowed in them as soon as we were clear of the
Canal, and at boat drill in addition to the usual instruction in the wearing of
lifebelts we were told to carry them with us at all times when away from our
cabins, where they must be kept close at hand. We ran without lights at night
and the "dead-ends" over the portholes were closed with the same object.
It was not until we had reached Colombo that we learnt that our Ship
had changed course during one night when a wireless message was picked up
to the effect that the "City of Winchester" had been sunk, presumably by a
German raider, not far from our position at the time. There was a row of cargo
steamers at anchor side by side in Colombo Harbour, and at the masthead of
each flew a small Union Jack above a German flag of similar size, indicating
that these vessels were prizes of war. There was considerable activity on our
own ship, which was boarded by port officials and police, but whether anyone
was wanted or not I do not know. An official letter marked "Urgent" was
delivered to me on board. It contained orders for me to disembark and proceed
without delay to Secunderabad in Hyderabad State. There was a large garrison
at Secunderabad and its environs, and one of our offices was at Bolarum
nearby.
 It did not take me long to pack up my few belongings, leave the ship
and report to the Embarkation Office, where instructions had been received to
issue me with the necessary rail warrant for my journey and the authorised
advance for expenses en route. I left Colombo by the night mail, crossed the
Gulf of Manaar in the ferry steamer next morning, and then spent two days
and nights travelling at slow speed in trains of the narrow-gauge Madras
Railways via Trichinopoly, Arkonam, Bellary and Wadi, with a couple of
changes on the way and a lengthy wait at each. It was an exceeding hot,
steamy journey. I had telegraphed the Controller at Bolarum my due time of
arrival. He met me and drove me to his bungalow, where I stayed with him for
several weeks. There was plenty of work waiting for me. Indian Expeditionary
Force "F" had left for France in the first convoy of ships from India, including
many units from that District, and much clearing up of pay, supply and
transportation matters was not yet completed.

A good day’s sport (a blackbuck, some quail, and a hare) near Dhond in the
Poona District.
At that time, the general impression everywhere was that the war
would be over in a few weeks. My posting was of a permanent and not only a
temporary nature, so I was soon looking out for a bungalow to which my wife
could come out. Meanwhile my reputation as an organizer of games and
pastimes had reached these parts, and I was prevailed upon to take over the
honorary secretaryship of the Bolarum Golf Club from an officer whose
British unit was about to leave for France. So once again each early morning
saw me up at the Club house and out on the links, while having meanwhile
found a suitable bungalow, my evenings were fully occupied. I had our boxes
sent over from Maymyo, and within a few weeks everything was ready.
 Then the unexpected happened. Orders came for me to proceed to
Egypt with Indian Expeditionary Force "E"! Fortunately for me, a young
officer in the Indian Farms Department was looking for a house as he was
about to get married, and he took over the bungalow and furniture, all ready as
the result of my labours for immediate occupation. It was also very fortunate
that my wife had not sailed from England and I was able to cable her in time
to permit of the cancellation of her passage out.
I had a busy time collecting my field kit, and after a tiresome journey
to Karachi, I boarded a transport along with other members of the staff of two
Divisions and an Army Corps. Our convoy consisted of nearly fifty ships
carrying twenty-two Indian infantry battalions and a few cavalry regiments,
with ancillary units and departments. It was an imposing sight at sea, steaming
in three columns widely spaced. Our rate of progress was necessarily slow,
since many of the vessels were cargo ships converted for trooping and the
speed was that of the slowest. We were shepherded to Suez by ships of the
Royal Navy and the Royal Indian Marine, without incident. Boat drills,
lectures, inoculations, and preparations for landing, kept us busy during most
of the voyage. My second inoculation for enteric did not take place until the
day before landing and it must have been a particularly potent dose. The duty
of standing about on the quayside for most of the day seeing our office
equipment and personal baggage landed was particularly trying, since by them
I was running quite a high temperature.
Our orders were to camp in a grove of trees just outside Suez, and it
was a novel experience for our mostly Indian staff to have to pitch their own
tents! However, they were very willing and soon got settled in. I had a small
40-pounder as part of my kit and found it very convenient. Meanwhile our
Chief, the Field Controller, had got busy and two of three days later we learnt
that we were to move to Ismailia. He had secured a building there for our
office, and a house for ourselves in the residential quarter the owners of which
were in France. It was very comfortably furnished with all essentials and we
engaged an elderly Greek woman as a cook and general servant. Billets for
our clerical staff were arranged in the quarter of Ismailia town occupied for
the most part by Canal Company employees, French, Greek and some
Egyptians. We were then able to strike our camp and move by train to
pleasanter quarters.
We had a hectic time during the first few weeks, organising our office
to handle the financial affairs of two divisions and a Headquarters Staff. One
of the items I saw unloaded from our ship was a number of small steel-banded
and sealed boxes containing £20,000 in golden sovereigns. These were
deposited in the vaults of the Anglo-Egyptian Bank in Cairo as a backing for
the Treasure Chests we had to establish at various points and upon which the
military forces could draw for their cash requirements in local currency, and
as an emergency reserve. Since our situation upon the Suez Canal
unavoidably involved dealings with Egyptian, French British and Dominion
naval and military forces as well as our Indian Army, reconciliation of
different currencies in the face of fluctuating rates of exchange was a
nightmare until high-level conferences resulted in the adoption of a flat rate of
exchange for all service transactions, in the Canal Zone.
Another officer of our Department who had gone ahead with I.E.F.
"F" and initiated some of these arrangements, took over matters relating to
pay and allowances, and transport, and I those concerning supply. Ration
articles, fodder and bedding for horses, the dieting of hospitals, and other day-
to-day requirements for a force of some 20,000 troops, British and Indian,
were provided partly from government stocks, but much also under contract
from local sources. I quickly realised that Greek and Armenian contractors in
Egypt were, to put it politely, a remarkably astute community. We had also to
contend with what is termed "scrounging" in the service.
Whenever anything is allegedly lost, destroyed or found deficient, it is
described on a "Loss Statement" , and there follow on this form the comments
of each higher authority through whom it passes until it reaches whoever,
according to circumstances, has the power to decide the action to be taken,
and it soon became apparent that "Write off" was becoming altogether too lax.
So I had all Loss Clothing, Statements classified according to their nature -
Rations, Clothing, Medical, Ordnance and so on - on broadsheets, each
Statement occupying one line only. It was then a comparatively easy matter to
pass over items that appeared normal and concentrate upon those that were
questionable, sometimes because the same type of loss was appearing with
unreasonable frequency.
It may be thought that these details concerning office procedure are
not of sufficient interest to merit their mention here, but my innovation was
soon producing interesting results. "Medical Comforts - Brandy" was one that
took me some time to uncover. I noticed that there were frequent instances of
a case containing twelve bottles reaching a hospital with one bottle broken.
Each morning, I scrutinised my broadsheets, and in that headed “Medical”
that single bottle of brandy stuck out! Investigation showed that the cases,
wired and sealed, showed no signs of having been tampered with. But when a
case in which a bottle had broken, was opened, a nail was noticed protruding
through the side, and the mystery was solved. The case had been stood over a
bucket and a nail driven through the side where it would strike a bottle, which
consequently broke and most of the brandy ran into the bucket. A trap was set
and the culprit discovered.
Losses of warm clothing issued to Indian followers, individually of
trifling value, grew alarmingly in numbers, and the almost invariable
endorsement of the sanctioning authority, "To be written off - free
replacement sanctioned", was questioned. It transpired that the pair of woollen
socks, cardigans or what not, had been sold to Egyptian labourers and others.
The winter nights in Egypt are very cold, while warm clothing was expensive
and in great demand. Tighter control in units was the answer to that sort of
loss.
Sometimes losses that had been recommended for write-off appeared
to be fantastic. For instance, a field artillery battery claimed to have lost all
the heel-pegs of its tethered horses in a sandstorm. Replacement would cost
government over £20. Was such a claim reasonable? From time to time
questions of like nature arose, and I used to go over to Canal Defence
Headquarters with a note of several such items and discuss matters with the
appropriate authority. In this instance, a sudden squall of wind had blown a
thick layer of sand over the horse lines in the absence of the battery. Anyone
with practical experience of a sandstorm in the desert would be satisfied that
in such conditions the recovery of even a worthwhile proportion of several
hundred heel-pegs with a reasonable amount of labour, was not practicable.
Packing materials normally are not accounted for. At that time, sacks
were in great demand in Egypt, and were fetching five piastres (about a
shilling) each. They were arriving in thousands from India and elsewhere,
filled with grain or flour. Store depot subordinates not unnaturally were
tempted to sell the sacks for cash, thus in effect selling government property
for their own benefit, and the practice became widespread. Not only was it
highly objectionable, but what was much more serious was it suggested to the
less scrupulous the possibility of extending the practice in far more
questionable directions. At my suggestion, these sacks were henceforth
brought to account, and government reaped the profit from their legitimate
disposal.
In peace time we had authority to waive objections up to one rupee
each in value in order to save work all round. Under an Indian Army
Regulation applicable only to field service conditions, our powers in this
respect were then without monetary limit. I always took full advantage of this
regulation. If I was entirely satisfied that a loss had been inevitable and none
to blame, the objection correctly put up in my office strictly in accordance
with the letter of the regulations was waived by me - sometimes of very large
sums, maybe well into four figures. This saved all concerned much futile
correspondence and worry. But since none outside our office knew that such
things were done, the Finance Department never got credit for having any
such human instincts!
 L
Until the arrival of the convoys that brought some 25,000 troops from
Australia and New Zealand, life in the Canal Zone and elsewhere in Egypt
was very pleasant. The large force of British and Indian units of the regular
army settled down in their allotted stations, dug themselves in, and in so far as
local conditions permitted, carried on with their normal routine just as though
they were back in their Indian stations. Meanwhile the colony of Suez Canal
Company officials, almost entirely French, with their wives and families, who
lived at Ismailia in elegant comfort, welcomed us most cordially to their
homes and social amenities. We members of the Headquarters Staff were
made honorary members of their social Club, the Circle Internationale, and
their Tennis, golf, Boating and Bathing Clubs.
The desirability soon became apparent of doing something to alleviate
the monotony of life in camp on the sand of the many units spread out along
the Canal between Port Said and Suez, and I was appointed Sports officer
with the spare-time job of maintaining friendly relations with the various
Canal Company's sports organisations, with a view to securing an allocation
of the use of football grounds and other Barnes facilities for our troops, and
arranging competitions. It then fell to me to allot these facilities as fairly as
possible among the various units. It was a very interesting and pleasant task,
but by no means a light one. Soccer was of course the principal game, and it
was not long before a tournament between many of the Indian units on the
Canal was in full swing.
One of the Canal Company's officials had played rugger for France.
He and his wife were a charming young couple, and became great friends. It
did not take me long to organise a rugger tournament between British units,
the teams composed mostly of officers. One of these games was with a team
from the Honourable Artillery Company, which had a Brigade on the Canal
under the command of Lord Denbigh. The game in question was between the
Indian Army and the H.A.C. and I took part, playing wing threequarter. We
won, the score being 8 - 3, and it was one of the proudest moments of my life
when I scored 5 of the winning points, taking the ball from beyond the half-
way line to touch it down, and subsequently kicking the goal. We had a most
enthusiastic crowd of onlookers and the event was a great success. Some of
the Indian rank and file on the touchline had never seen a game of rugger until
that day, and they yelled delightedly when they saw their officers throwing
one another about! A firm surface of sand is not altogether pleasant to fall on,
and we were fortunate in having only one serious accident a broken collar
bone - during the whole course of the tournament.
With the approval of the General Officer Commanding, Canal
Defences, and Inter-regimental Association Football Tournament for Indian
units of the Canal Defence Forces took place during the month of May, 1915.
Units in large camps situated at El Kantara, Serapeum, Toussoum etc. played
off among themselves, the survivor of the local tournament coming to Ismailia
for subsequent rounds. The following details of this tournament, taken from
the original notice posted on the Notice Board at the Circle Internationale in
Ismailia, and dated the 24th May, 1915, may be considered of sufficient
interest to reproduce here!
The results of the Tournament up to date are as follows:-
1st round.
92nd Punjabis beat 3rd Brahmins by 8 goals to 2 at Ismailia.
128th Pioneers beat 27th Punjabis by 3 goals to 2 at Kantara.
2/10th Gurkhas beat 62nd Punjabis by 4 goals to 0 at Serapeum.
51st Sikhs F.F beat 56th Rifles F.F.by 2 goals to1 at Suez.
The 93rd Burma Infantry and the 1/5th Gurkha Rifles drew byes in the first
round.
2nd Round.
93rd Burma Infantry beat 92nd Punjabis by 2 goals to 1.
As the 1/5th Gurkha Rifles were obliged to scratch in the second round,
being on outpost duty, the 128th Pioneers had a walk-over in this round.
Semi-Finals. Winners
93rd Burma Infantry v 128th Pioneers 93rd Burma Infantry 5 - 0
2/10th Gurkha Rifles v 51st Sikhs 51st Sikhs 3 - 0
Finals
93rd Burma Infantry v 51st Sikhs 93rd Burma Infantry 3 -2

The following extracts from records of those days indicate how

diverse were the forces engaged in the defence of the Canal:
Association Football.
French Warship "Requin" vs. 92nd Punjabis.
British Officers, Warrant and N.C.Os., I.E.F. "E"
vs.
Naval Seamen, Hopper and Motor Boats.
British Officers, Warrant and N.C.Os., I.E.F. "E"
vs.
Warrant and N.C.Os. , Lowland Division, Territorial Force.
Royal Flying Corps vs. Timsah Club.
Timsah Club vs. Notts Battery, Royal Horse Artillery.
92nd Punjabis vs. Naval Depot.
92nd Punjabis vs. "B" Battery, Hon'ble Artillery Company.
Hockey.
British Officers, I.E. Force "E"
vs.
Eastern Telegraph Company.
Timsah Club vs. 92nd Punjabis.
British Officers, Canal Defence Force
 vs.
Gezireh Sporting Club (at Cairo).
Lists of officers who desired to play in these games include those
from every branch of the services, and also of those serving with Indian
Imperial Service units from Indian States, such as the Hyderabad Cavalry,
Patiala Lancers and Infantry, and the Alwar Infantry.
The foregoing reminiscences suggest that active service on the Canal
was decidedly unwarlike, but it was not like that all the time. However, these
games did much to relieve what otherwise would have been several months of
waiting for something to happen. The following is the Official Narrative up to
noon on the 4th of February, 1915, of an attack by the Turks on the Canal
Defences:
"During yesterday morning, determined attempts were made to
cross the Canal near TUSSUM which resulted in severe fighting. A few
of the enemy managed to cross, but nearly all were accounted for
yesterday, and the remainder were rounded up today. At daylight the
enemy were found close to the post, and their guns opened on both
TUSSUM and SERAPEUM. Our ships' guns and artillery engaged the
enemy, who, after a certain amount of fighting, including an advance
from SERAPEUM, retired N.E. about 3.30 P.M., leaving many dead,
and nearly 300 prisoners. At ISMALIA FERRY the enemy were found
entrenching about half a mile East from the post at daylight, and two
battalions opened fire soon after, but no regular attack was made.
Intermittent shelling continued during the day, large numbers being
fired, many of which exploded in our camp. The shipping detained on
LAKE TIMSAH was under fire, and suffered slight damage, but no loss
of life. Shell fire also took place at EL FERDAN, where some damage
was done, but no casualties occurred. At KANTARA the outposts were
attacked at 5 A.M., but the enemy were driven off with loss and later in
the day a partial attack was made from the S.E., but the enemy were
stopped 1200 yards from the position. During the day H.M.S.
"SWIFTSURE", "CLIO" and "HARDINGE", the French ships
"REQUIN" and "D'ENTRECASTEAUX", as well as torpedo boats and
launches, engaged the enemy, and rendered valuable services. The
"HARDINGE" was struck by two 6" shells, and had 10 men wounded.
The "SWIFTURE" had one man killed. Military casualties during the
day were British Officers, killed 1, wounded 4. British, Indian and
Egyptian Rank and File, killed 17, wounded 79. The enemy along the
Canal at all points attacked, appeared to number in all some 12,000
men, and at least 6 Batteries. One 6" gun was also located which is
thought to have been silenced by the "REQUIN". It appears that
DUEMAL PASHA, the C-in-C, is in command, and that a namesake of
his is also here, commanding the IVth Army Corps. Yesterday evening,
some 1,000 of the enemy were seen near EL KAP. During the night, a
half-hearted attack on the FERRY POST occurred. The enemy appear
to have withdrawn the bulk of their forces to about KATAIB EL
 KHEIL, though some 150 were still entrenched on the Canal bank 1½
miles South of TUSSUM this morning. These were rounded up this
morning by troops from SERAPEUM, after having treacherously fired
on our men, though they had raised the white flag, and made signs of
surrender."
I well remember that day in Ismailia. Nobody seemed to take it at all
seriously. My Chief and my opposite number went off to the Canal to see
what they could of the action, leaving me to carry on the office and do what I
could to maintain the morale of our clerical staff some of them became
decidedly jittery when a six-inch shell burst unpleasantly close! Meanwhile
some of the wives and daughters of the Canal Company's senior officials had
dressed themselves up as if for a race meeting, and gone out to the French
Hospital which stands high upon the bank of the Canal, and crowded onto the
front verandah whence a good view was to be had of the open desert to the
East, by then bristling with the Turkish attackers. Here they remained until
shrapnel began bursting above and behind them, inflicting some casualties in
our mule lines. It was not until then that they left precipitously and streamed
back to Ismailia, mercifully without anyone being hit.
The Australian and New Zealand Forces had begun to arrive in Egypt
round about Christmas 1914, but as they were railed straight through to Cairo
and beyond from Suez where they disembarked, their arrival did not affect us
on the Canal until the autumn of 1915 when some of their units were brought
down to the Canal Zone. My opposite number and I went up to Cairo on short
Christmas leave and stayed over New Year's Day, 1915, at the Continental
Hotel, then still a comparatively peaceful spot. On Christmas Day we lunched
at Shepherd's Hotel. General Birdwood and his Australian and New Zealand
Army Corps Staff had recently arrived from India and established themselves
at that hotel, and a considerable force of Anzacs had already arrived and were
encamped in the vicinity of Cairo.
My opposite number in his earlier days had served in the Indian
regiment of which General Birdwood was at that time the Colonel, so we met
him and some of his staff officers whom we happened to know, before
withdrawing to a small table at one side of the great dining room, capable of
seating quite three hundred people. General Birdwood and his staff of some
fifty officers occupied a long table in the middle of the room, and all round it
were many small tables at which were seated a number of British and foreign
tourists who had not yet left Egypt, local civilians with their wives, and quite
two hundred officers and other ranks of the Australian and New Zealand
forces, mostly the former.
It was indeed an unforgettable sight. There was Birdy - as he came to
be known throughout his command - with his large staff, solemnly eating their
lunch in the middle of the room, and round them an assembly of troopers of
crack Australian cavalry units - and on practically every table were magnums
of champagne! Needless to say, long before the meal was over many had
drunk far more than was good for them and the gathering became exceedingly
boisterous and noisy. The General sat through his meal without appearing to
notice anything out of the ordinary, and followed by his staff officers,
withdrew before the climax was reached, when several of the men were on the
floor and had to be carried out by those of their fellows who had survived.
The behaviour of a party of six at a table close to ours was typical of
what was happening on all sides. This party consisted of two Australian
cavalry troopers, both six-footers and in their prime, a Major of their own unit
of markedly inferior physique but who obviously was not as drunk as the
others and was calling out "Hold up, Charlie!" to one of them, and three
giggling females, without doubt members of the oldest profession on earth.
They were all young, good-looking, and faultlessly turned out, but the sad fact
remained. Cairo produced all sorts, and these were some of the élite!
Meanwhile others had virtually taken possession of the city and were
painting it red - and Cairo always has been the kind of place in which that sort
of thing is only too easy for those so inclined! I doubt it would have been
possible to bring these fine specimens of robust and virile young manhood,
few of them under six feet tall and of splendid physique, to a more
undesirable spot. I learnt subsequently that most of these young men who
were among the first to reach Egypt in the ranks of units such, for instance, as
the Australian Light Horse, had come straight from great farms far from the
towns. They were the owners of these farms and wealthy men - the five
shillings a day each received as a trooper was indeed "chicken- feed" to them.
Was it surprising that these men, accustomed to live lonely and
arduous lives far from centres of civilisation, essentially independent self-
reliant and accustomed to shoulder great responsibilities, should resent the
restrictions of military discipline and throw themselves heart and soul into all
the sinister frivolities of life in Cairo, with all the enthusiasm - and ignorance
- of Schoolboys? The Agent (General Manager) of the Anglo-Egyptian Bank
told us that some of them had opened current accounts with the Bank for
several hundred pounds - and one of these had since phoned to ask him to
inform the Manager of Shepherd's Hotel that he was good for £100 a night at
the Bar, as he could not be bothered to pay cash! Some engaged rooms or
even suites of apartments at the Continental and Shepherd's in which they
stayed when not in camp which, it seemed, was frequently the case.
It was not until some time later that I was told by one who was in a
position to know, that probably the principal reason for what appeared to be a
complete lack of disciplinary control during the hectic weeks that followed,
was the fact that the first to volunteer for service had come from the young
landed proprietors who could ill spare the time to undergo the minimum of
thirty days training to qualify for a temporary commission and who,
incidentally, were disposed to regard officers as quite unnecessary in any
case! Meanwhile townsmen could do so, and from my own observation I can
testify to the fact that, in the main, the officers were of inferior physique and
general bearing to the rank and file, who treated them with scarcely veiled
contempt. But these officers were not lacking in courage, and probably the
majority of them were killed during the Gallipoli landings. Promotions were
then made from the rank and file, thus going far to remedy what had been an
impossible state of affairs.
I an not going to record here any of the things that happened during
that period, some amusing but others terrible and resulting in loss of life. Old
hands like myself who were there will remember some of the more unsavoury
episodes only too well, and those who are ignorant of them had best remain
so. All I propose to do is recount a little experience of my own that suggests
what a difference it would have made had these fine men commenced their
military service under officers whom they respected and trusted.
I had been up in Cairo from Ismailia on a job of work that had taken
me all day, and I was returning to the Canal by the night train, thoroughly
tired out. I found the train packed from end to end with I Anzac troops
returning to their camp at Tel-el-Kebir. Putting my head through the window
of a lst Class compartment in which every seat was occupied by Australian
rank and file, I said "Any of you boys find room for one inside?". The
immediate response was a chorus of "Come along in, Sir, we'll find room for
you all right!" One of them got up and gave me his seat. I then said "Look,
I've been at it all day and want some dinner. Keep an eye on my bag while I
go along to the refreshment car, will you?" To this they readily agreed - by the
way, the Anzacs in those bad days had a shocking reputation for what we will
term "scrounging" for the sake of politeness - and I left the carriage and
wended my way along the corridor. Believe it of not, it is no exaggeration to
say that their own officers, no matter what their rank, were standing in the
corridor, being kept out of seats by their own men! To revert to football. The
finals of the Canal Defence Force Inter-regimental Association Football
Tournament had to be played off somewhat earlier than originally planned,
since a considerable proportion of the very large force concentrated in Egypt
was under orders to take part in the attack upon Gallipoli. In fact some of our
Indian Army units that played in the semi-finals and finale left on the day
following the finals, and it is painful to recall that many of the British officers
who played in those games, lost their lives on the beaches within a few days
of that event. That our losses in killed and wounded on that occasion were
terrible, is well known. The 1st Battalion of the Hampshire Regiment, with
which I had served so happily during my early years in India, and which must
have come to Gallipoli from another area since they had not been serving in
Egypt to the best of my knowledge, lost most of its officers in an attempt to
come to the rescue of an Anzac force which, entirely dauntless, refused to
admit itself beaten and retire when ordered to do so. On that occasion
practically all the close friends I had made among them during our days
together at Multan, in the Khyber, at Peshawar, Cherat and Nowshera, were
killed.
But some of the gruesome incidents associated with that tragedy are
not so widely known. For instance, few can have been aware that one of the
tasks of my office was to contract with the Canal Company for the hire of a
number of their dredging barges - hoppers I think they were termed - the
bottoms of which can be opened in order to discharge in deep water out at sea,
the sand blown into the Canal by the winds from the desert which necessitates
constant dredging to prevent it from silting up. These hired hoppers were
towed to the Gallipoli beaches, there loaded with the thousands of corpses that
littered the ground, rendering the narrow strips to which the surviving troops
held on precariously, almost untenable on account of the stench of their
rotting, and taken out to sea, where they were consigned to the deep en masse.
My job, pertaining as it did to matters of supply, gave me an insight
into some interesting facts that otherwise might have gone unnoticed. One
such concerned the important subject of small-arm ammunition. Since our
forces, whether they came from the United Kingdom, India, Australia, New
Zealand, or a colony, and our Royal Naval personnel, were all armed with
.303 weapons, no attempt was made to keep the various sources of supply
separate in our Ordnance Depots at Zagazig and elsewhere, where all
ammunition brought to Egypt from whatever source was dumped. It was not
until this ammunition came to be distributed during and after the landings in
Gallipoli that it was found that the cartridge cases manufactured in different
countries were not all of identical guage. Those from certain sources of supply
too often exceeded the limits of tolerance permissible, admittedly by a very
small amount, but it was sufficient to cause either a burst case and a "blow-
back" if the case was too loose in the chamber, which frequently jammed the
breech of the weapon, or it could not be pressed home if slightly too large,
also leading usually to a jammed breech. What this meant in the firing line can
well be imagined. Behind the front line, it long continued to be a headache of
many.
A notable example of how the best-laid plans can go wrong when
their execution devolves upon troops not fully trained and well disciplined
was that of one of our territorial divisions detailed to undertake the landing on
a beach where there was understood to be no available source of fresh water.
So an ingenious plan was devised whereby small vessels of shallow draught
fitted with fresh-water tanks and carrying small portable tanks, wooden
trestles, planks, and large quantities of canvas hosepipe, accompanied the fleet
of light- draught vessels conveying the troops. They reached the beach just
before dawn and while the troops were getting ashore, the tank ships having
been grounded, the trestles were got out and placed in a row between each
ship and dry land, the planks were laid across them, hose was run along the
planks, the portable steel tanks were placed in position ashore, and water from
the tank ships was then pumped into them through the hoses.
Meanwhile the sun had risen, it became very hot, and the raw troops
had already emptied their water bottles and were exceedingly thirsty. Had they
been well-trained regulars, they would have learnt to conserve the water in
their bottles, whereas they had quite unnecessarily emptied them. Orders were
given for the rank and file to file past the small tanks and there refill their
water bottles. But some impatient, rebellious nitwit conceived the bright idea
of sticking his bayonet into the hosepipe and filling his bottle from the water
that spurted from the gash. Immediately others followed suit, with the result
that the water no longer reached the tanks and much of it ran to waste.
Moreover while all this was going on, valuable time was lost, the Turks
recovered from their surprise and opened up with a devastating fire.
Withdrawal was impossible and most of this force was wiped out.
It was in the late summer of 1915 that Lord Kitchener with members
of his staff visited the Canal and expressed the opinion that the Canal was
defending the forces and not vice versa. As the result of this dictun, Divisions
of the New Army that had taken the place of the Indian Army now in Gallipoli
and elsewhere, pushed the front line some fifteen to twenty miles into the
desert East of the Canal, Anzacs made their first appearance in the Canal
Zone, a floating railway bridge was constructed and thrown across the Canal
at El Kantara and the extension of the Egyptian railway system across the
Sinaii Peninsula towards Palestine was proceeded with. Our Indian Military
Finance establishment was moved to Suez, and having installed our office and
found billets for our clerical establishment in the town and established
ourselves in the local hotel, the work of clearing up the financial affairs of the
now defunct Indian Expeditionary Force "E" commenced.
Suez was not a pleasant place to stay in for any length of time. There
was little to do after office hours but play tennis on the hotel courts, and spend
invariably hilarious nights in the mess of the Eastern Telegraph Company. In
those days there was no automatic repeater equipment needing only a small
maintenance staff. A considerable number of skilled British telegraphists,
working in shifts throughout the twenty-four hours, received and retransmitted
messages between East and West in a great hall filled with tables carrying row
upon row of instruments, the simultaneous clicking of which would have
drowned speech had it been permissible. The E.T.C. mess was large and
extremely comfortable, and when off duty their members were the most
hospitable crowd I had ever come across. I dined with them on New Year's
Eve. Quite a banquet it was, with speeches to follow, and there was a sing-
song in the course of which some special punch was distributed in small
tumblers. It was exceptionably good, and gave the impression that it was not
unusually potent. One of our hosts went round with a large jug, refilling
tumblers. My training in India in the earlier days served me in good stead on
that occasion and in due course I was able to withdraw and retire in good
order, after the Captain of the Cable Ship in port from the Red Sea and
beyond, who was a pretty tough customer, had been removed and put to bed!
 LI
My opposite number and I left Suez for Bombay with our clerical
staff and records in the spring of 1916, on board a small vessel of the British
India Steam Navigation Company. At my suggestion we secured the use of the
2nd Class Saloon as an office for our staff during the hours when it was not
required for meals, and by working practically throughout the voyage we
managed to reach India with outstandings that were detailed upon one sheet of
foolscap paper, much to the surprise of the head of the Military Finance Office
at Poona, to whom we had orders to report. This office had been established
with the object of taking over from time to time, more and more of the final
accounts of all personnel and stores as they returned to India from abroad, and
by the end of the war it grew to be a very large organisation, housed in several
separate buildings.
Our Egyptian area outstandings were taken over and their settlement
undertaken by the then-existing Poona establishment, and my opposite
number and I were thus freed to take up fresh assignments. In my case, this
was the financial affairs of the British 13th Division in Mesopotamia. When
my new Chief gave me this task, he remarked that owing to shortage of staff it
had been impracticable to do more than provide for necessary cash
requirements by the establishment of Field Treasure Chests. Nothing had been
done in the way of opening accounts of officers, rank and file, since the
arrival of the Division in Mesopotamia twelve months earlier, and that with
sundry services which as a matter of convenience had since been attached to
it, the force then totalled over 100 officers and 25,000 rank and file. He could
spare me only half a dozen experienced accountants, there was an empty
mansion nearby which I could have as an office, I would have to hire tables
and chairs wherever I could get them, and that some hundred and fifty British
rank and file from territorial units then garrisoning India would shortly be
arriving at Poona and would be my clerical establishment, but I would have to
train them in their new duties.
I am recording these facts here since it is an example of the extent of
the demands made upon individual officers of the regular services during the
First World War. I set to at once. Accompanied by my small band of old
hands, we looked over the allotted building, which rejoiced in the name of
Jeejeebhoy Castle and was the summer residence of Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy,
a wealthy Bombay Parsi. A couple of my men then went off to the town to
chase around for some furniture , while the rest of us returned to head office
and, having found a quiet corner, discussed the problem of producing results
with a large number of men, for the most part with experience of clerical work
but none whatever of the sort of work they would have to do. It was obvious
that initial training must be reduced to the barest minimum.
I conceived the idea of taking a set of all the forms in which the
compilations would have to be made, noting in each column thereof the
briefest possible instructions as to what should be entered therein and having a
sufficient number of these printed so that a set of the sort each man would
have allowed to him as his particular job could be given to him, when he
arrived. No volumes of Regulations were issued - they were retained by the
experienced accountants and myself, and all doubtful points were referred to
us for settlement. The plan worked well. Within a week, the men had begun to
arrive, furniture had been installed, the men allotted their tasks, and work
began. Needless to say it was not all plain sailing from the start, but the men
soon tumbled to the idea and made rapid progress. They were a very fine lot
from the British Territorial Army. We had all sorts - bank managers, editors of
London newspapers, stockbrokers, and of course many of lesser degree.
Within a few weeks the organisation, settled down to steady work. Month by
month, more and more units were added to our task. By June 1917, twelve
months later, we were handling the accounts of 1,400 officers and 61,400 rank
and file. My organisation had become the dump of all miscellaneous units that
other branches of the great finance office at Poona were able to find some
excuse or other of not accepting!
Eighteen months after opening up, we had all accounts virtually
current. Our outstandings then were shown upon a half sheet of paper.
Meanwhile we had established our own Coffee Shop where a contractor
provided a midday meal and tea or minerals at other times. We had a good
soccer team, and I captained the hockey team and played in it - we reached the
semi-finals in one of the leading tournaments in the Bombay Presidency. The
New Year's Eve Ball, organised by the men and to which everyone from the
General down was invited, was brilliantly successful.
One very unpleasant episode during the hot weather of 1917 is worth
recording, since it shows what a high standard of ésprit de corps pervaded
staff, which by that time had grown to a total of some 400 by the intake from
time to time of more than 200 temporary Indian clerks. Cholera broke out in
Poona City, and there were several cases among the British and Indian units in
the garrison. It was then that we established our well-supervised Coffee Shop
and took every possible precaution. But one day, one of our British clerks
developed symptoms while at work. There was talk at headquarters of
dispersing the entire establishment. The great majority of my staff volunteered
to remain at work even when it meant their having to stay on the premises
throughout the twenty-four hours, and I was able to convey this undertaking
to the higher authorities. We were allowed to continue our work, and very
fortunately there were no fresh cases, but it certainly, was a nerve-racking
time for us all.
I have before me a "Confidential List of Units in the payment of the
F.D.O. XIII Division, Mesopotamia Expeditionary Force, Poona, on the 1st
June 1918, and their respective Depots in India". This list, seeing out in full
detail the titles of every unit, covers four closely-printed pages. It was
compiled in my office and since it demonstrates the extent of our
responsibilities, I have summarised the list, as follows:
13 Battalions of British Infantry, and 4 Reserve Battalions in India.
3 Brigades of Small Arms Ammunition Sections.
28 Field and 2 Howitzer Artillery Batteries.
 6 Brigade Artillery Ammunition Columns.
6. Brigade Artillery Headquarter Staffs.
2 Heavy Batteries.
9 Siege Batteries
3 Heavy Artillery Headquarter Staffs.
23 Companies and 3 Squadrons of the Machine Gun Corps.
13 Light Armoured Motor Batteries.
1 Railway Armoured Battery.
5 Anti-Aircraft Gun Sections.
1 Light Trench Mortar Brigade.
3 Trench Mortar Batteries.
7 Sections of Mechanical Transport Workshops.
2 Ordnance Mobile Light Travelling Workshops.
Locker-Lampson's Armoured Car Unit.
"D" Squadron, Herts Yeomanry.
30 Mechanical Transport Companies of the Army Service Corps.
4 Mechanical Transport Columns of the Army Service Corps
1 Divisional Cyclist Company.
Horse Transport Details.
Army Ordnance Corps )
Army Veterinary Corps ) - All those serving in Mesopotamia.
Military Mounted Police )
Anglo-Indian Interpreters )
Details attached to Dunsterville Column.
Details attached to Civil Administration.
Cavalry and Infantry Unposted Details not on the Indian establishment.
Unposted Details direct from home, (a) in the field, and
(b) in India.
Is it any wonder that it took us nearly two years to complete the
clearing up of that lot? It was not until the second year that I was given,
somewhat begrudgingly, two young British Infantry officers to assist me.
They had no previous experience of such work but were very willing, and
soon became very helpful. But after the first few months we had settled down
to the job, and life in Poona was not then too bad. The members of my staff
who had been associated with the Press in England before they joined the
army, produced between them a periodical of our own which was called
"Khaki Opinion", and it fell to my lot on more than one occasion to mollify
ruffled Officers commanding Attached Sections and others in authority, who
not infrequently were the too obvious butts of the shafts of wit aimed at them
by our editorial staff, for instance, criticising the quality of the rations! When I
left, I was presented with a bound and autographed set of the production, in
which one of the men who was an artist of no mean merit had added a sketch
depicting two members of my staff in an episode of our office routine, which I
greatly prize.
In the course of all those months I frequently used to leave my
quarters in the early hours of Sunday mornings, at least an hour before dawn,
and drive out into the country, sometimes to the lakes at Karakwasla to shoot
duck or teal, or to shelter near a solitary pool in open country to which, as the
sun rose, came flocks of sand-grouse to drink. Or it might be to shoot snipe in
one of the jheels (marshes) bordering the river. Then there were two or three
occasions on which I took the train to Dhond and drove thence in a bullock
cart across the open plain in the hope of sighting one of the great herds of
blackbuck, or the smaller ones of chinkhara - a small horned deer - and I
secured same fine heads that way. If I secured a sufficiently good bag on these
occasions, it was very pleasant to be able to distribute some of it among
friends, to whom the game or venison would be very welcome.
Shortly after my return to Poona from Egypt I was asked to take over
the honorary secretaryships for football and hockey by the Committee of the
Poona Gymkhana Club, and at a later date I became a member of that
Committee and was appointed Dance Secretary. These were pleasant tasks,
but Poona and Kirkee at that time were full of troops and details and it was
seldom that I could call my time my own. There were waiting lists for the
allotment of grounds, tournaments had to be organised, visiting teams looked
after, and so on. It was all very interesting. Among the large number of
officers in the station were 'Varsity Blues, Internationals, rugger players who
had been Harlequins, and others of like status. Teddy Morgan, a Welsh rugger
international in those days, was serving with the Reserve Battalion at Kirkee,
which included details from several, Welsh regiments. Six teams entered for
the Rugger Tournament we organised, and the Club put up a five-hundred
rupee challenge cup for it, which cup I understand is still being played for
every year
It was not unusual at that time for over two hundred people to sit
down to dinner at the Gymkhana on Saturday nights before the weekly
dances, and my duties as dance secretary gave me an insight into the strange
ways of a few of the officers who had joined up for the period of the war and,
not infrequently, of their wives. One typical case I remember was a young
couple. He was a shining light in the Bar, where he stood drinks lavishly, but
in this case it was the wife who acquired quite a reputation for introducing a
new drink composed of whisky and crème de menthe in equal parts, of which
she would consume several sherry glasses full before getting on to champagne
at dinner and other refreshments to follow - and all this without turning a hair,
incredible though it may seem. But they left one day without paying their
Club bill, which was substantial, and we failed to recover the debt. It was after
that notable case that the Committee decided there were to be no more chits
accepted for drinks until further notice. They had to be paid for with tickets,
books of which could be purchased in the Club office.
It was towards the end of 1918 that the Staff Surgeon advised me to
put in for leave home. Since I returned to India in the autumn of 1914, the
only leave I had taken were a few spells of a few days at a time, and I realised
that I was feeling the strain as never before. Demoralisation had started, and I
had no difficulty in securing a passage in a transport. When I boarded the
vessel at Bombay I quickly realised why there had been so little competition
for that particular trip. She was one of the vessels that had been used mainly
for the transportation of mules during the war, a fact that was only too evident
to anyone possessing a sense of smell! Her maximum speed was about twelve
knots, and the voyage to Suez was as monotonous as it was malodorous.
Upon reaching Suez we learnt that we would have to disembark and
proceed to Port Said by train. Probably It was because much of the rolling
stock of the Egyptian Railways had gone to Palestine that the large party of
officers, of which I was one, were railed from Suez to Port Said in open
trucks! It was early morning and extremely cold, which would have been
keenly felt but for a brilliant sun. Arriving at Port Said, we were marched to a
tented rest camp on the open, sandy plain, where we were detained for several
days. The meals in the mess were atrocious, and too often sandy as well, so
many of us took to having at least one meal a day at one of the hotels in the
town.
At last the day came when we proceeded at very short notice to
embark upon the "Canberra", an Australian coasting vessel that was then
serving as a ferry steamer for homegoing details between Port Said and
Taranto in Italy. The vessel was badly over-crowded, the number of berths
being sufficient only to accommodate officers of field rank and above.
Anyone below the rank of Major had to sleep on a seat in the saloon, the
smoking room or the lounge - some were obliged to doss down in the
passages! For the rank and file, the conditions were even worse.
Four days and nights like that, on a circuitous course to avoid
minefields and under orders never to take off one's firebelt even at night
would have been bad enough without any additional rigours, but we soon
learnt there were plenty. Less than half the officers could be seated in the
saloon at any one time, so we queued for all meals, often for as long as an
hour, and were rushed through the meal when we did get in. Moreover, so
short a time was being allowed for the ship to turn round in at her terminal
ports, and upon this particular occasion there hawing been some delay in
reprovisioning, stocks of tinned milk, butter and sugar gave out by the second
day and the only liquor procurable was Italian Vermouth!
The approach from the sea to the port of Taranto is quite unique.
Having taken a pilot aboard and passed through a minefield and a gap in a
boom at the head of the Bay, the channel narrowed until we were warped
through an opening in to the inner lagoon that seemed little larger than and
very similar to a Thames Lock, on both sides of which clustered the houses
and shops of the town. The large lagoon contains the docks, also a seaplane
base, and tied up alongside jetties were a number of Italian destroyers and
other small warships, all riddled with shell holes, and anchored in deeper
water, larger vessels that had suffered similarly. It was a depressing sight.
It was now early February and bitterly cold, snow covering the hills
on all sides. We were landed shortly after our ship had dropped anchor, and
marched through the town and up a hill to a Transit Camp composed of many
Nissen huts, all established amid olive groves upon a surface of bluish-grey
clay. The passage of many feet through this camp had churned the snow and
clay to a sticky mud into which at places we sank ankle-deep. There were
stoves in the huts, but a lack of fuel and we had to scrounge around the stores
for empty ration boxes to break up for warmth
We were about ten days in that camp. The only way to get a wash was
to strip to the waist, take a towel and soap, and go to the nearest standpipe out
in the snow. The messing was fairly good and there was quite a cosy lounge in
a large hut, where we spent much of our time. At last our turn came to entrain
and begin a long journey through Italy, Switzerland and France to Cherbourg,
in one of the six troop trains that left Taranto every twenty-four hours, filled
with details returning to England from the Near and Far East.
That rail journey was a positive nightmare. About fifty officers and a
couple of hundred rank and file boarded the train in which I travelled. The
rolling stock was old. Four officers were allowed to each small, old-fashioned
compartment, in which little of the cushions remained intact. There was no
lighting, and many of the widows panes were broken. We had to block up the
broken windows with strips of wood from boxes that had contained tins of
bully beef. There was no water, so the condition of the lavatories can be
imagined.
We passed eight days and nights in that train. The rank and file were
in covered goods wagons, in which they could at least keep warm. One such
wagon was a ration store, another a kitchen in which were large cauldrons
with charcoal braziers below. Into these for the midday meal were poured the
contents of many tins of bully or pork, vegetables and what not, and at a
convenient stopping place one of us had to go along with a bucket and fetch
the portion for our compartment. The same cauldrons, after a very perfunctory
clean out, served for making tea in the mornings and cocoa at night. The tea,
or cocoa, along with the contents of a number of tins of condensed milk, and
sugar, were all boiled up together and we had to collect our share of this brew
in whatever receptacles we could produce.
We often spent hours on end in sidings to allow other traffic to pass.
By the time we reached the entrance to the tunnel under the St. Gothard the
cold was so intense, our medical officer ordered the issue of extra blankets to
all from the store wagon, and this was followed by an issue of rum. Only,
once during the entire journey were we able to leave the train for a few hours
at a Transit Camp, have a shower bath and a good meal, and stretch our legs a
bit.
When we did eventually reach Cherbourg and embark on the
"Tantallon Castle", it was to find the over-crowding and lack of sleeping
accommodation, and the queuing for meals, was even worse than it had been
between Port Said and Taranto in the "Canberra". Since minefields had not yet
been swept, we had to wear lifebelts throughout the voyage and our ship stood
well out to sea and took thirty-six hours to reach Southampton, but with the
end of our trials in sight we were only too willing to put up with any further
discomfort.
 Never before or since has the sight of The Needles, the Isle of Wight,
and Southampton water, been so welcome. When we did eventually berth
alongside the jetty close to Southampton Dock Station, there on the jetty stood
a magnificent hospital train all complete with doctors and nurses. Practically
all the officers were going home on medical certificate. Goodness knows how
some of them had survived that journey and no doubt there were many who
were only too pleased to join that train. But I knew that if I went to a military
hospital, it might be weeks before I could get away from it, and I wanted
above all else to go home.
So I picked up my two handbags - all the kit with which I was
travelling - walked down the gangway without a word to anyone and
unnoticed in the midst of all the bustle, and went round to the Dock Station.
From there I sent a telegram to my wife announcing my arrival and time due
at Bognor which concluded with the words "Bath badly needed". On the
following day I reported my arrival by letter to the India Office, and the
irregularity of my action at Southampton was never commented upon. Some
six months later, when appearing before a Medical Board at the India Office
prior to returning to duty in India, I met some of the officers who had been my
companions on that journey and had taken advantage of the nice hospital
train. It had taken them several weeks to get out of that hospital and they
wished that they had followed my example. But had they done so, we all
would surely have been "on the mat"!

The author’s wife and family at Bognor, Sussex, 1916.

 LII
Babs met me at Bognor railway station. It was nearly five years since
I had last seen her, and I thought she was looking very well. During those long
years of separation, as each came of appropriate age, their mother had taken
all necessary steps to get each of our two elder sons, Jack and Rex, into
Wellington College. Rex was still there, and Jack was at an Army Crammer in
Exeter. Brien, who had been only a few weeks old when last I saw him, was
now nearly six years old and a picture of bonny health as he lay asleep in his
bed.
The house had been renamed Hauteville after that in which we had
spent our honeymoon. It had been their home for nearly four years, and during
that time my wife had collected some very nice antique and other furniture. It
was a dwelling of which anyone could be proud. Apart from the joy of being
home again, all this comfort after the hardships of my homecoming was
exceedingly pleasant. But we were soon busy with plans for the future and it
was decided that our first move would be to visit Wellington and see Rex, and
from there go on to Exeter where Jack was preparing for the Army Entrance
examination, leaving Brien at home in the care of a lady friend who had come
to live at Hauteville since her mother's death some time previously and was
my wife's devoted companion. Brien's erstwhile nurse was then their cook and
housekeeper.
Rex had the same cubicle in the Hardinge Dormitory at Wellington
that previously had been occupied by Jack. Both left their mark in the College
Museum, Jack with a clever model of an aeroplane, Rex with a poem. Jack
had been in his House cricket eleven and Rex was a rugger player. Rex and
his cousin Ulric Blake came out to tea with us at the Wellington Hotel, where
we stayed during our visit. They brought with them two other boy friends, and
when it became evident that what seemed to us to be a substantial meal of
bread and butter, jam, cake, and large helpings of strawberries and cream
showed signs of still leaving aching voids in their young stomachs, Sir
Thomas, Ulric's father, and I went off to the village and purchased tins of
sardines and doughnuts to fill the gaps.
At Exeter the Head received us in his study, and it transpired that he
was convalescing after a severe attack of a particularly malignant type of
influenza that was then running its course throughout the country. Jack came
out to tea with us in the town before we moved on to Clifton, where we were
due to pay a brief visit to uncle Willie Laxton and aunt Margery on our way to
stay at my father's house in Clevedon. My wife began to feel seriously unwell
during the first night of our stay at uncle Willie's. By the morning she was
running quite a high temperature and we realised that she had the influenza!
Distressing though it was to have to cut short our intended round of visits,
obviously there was nothing for it but an immediate return to Bognor and our
own home. We left shortly after breakfast, by which time my wife was quite
light-headed, and the considerable journey that followed seemed to her to
have been like a bad dream
 Her very severe illness ran its course, and she was still not fit to leave
her bed when without any warning I went down with a severe attack, and she
got up to nurse me. It was an exceedingly trying time for us both, and a relief
when we were able to get about again and prepare for our next move, which
was to the farm at East Challacombe near Combe Martin in Devonshire. My
wife had rented this farm a couple of years earlier and she moved to it in the
summer, meanwhile letting Hautewlle to visitors to Bognor. East Challacombe
was up on the moors and with a bay quite close that had a nice sandy beach
and was virtually inaccessible to anyone else.
A pleasanter spot for the boys' summer holidays would have been
hard to find, and we frequently took lunch and our bathing kit down to the bay
and spent the day there. At other times we used to go into Ilfracombe, a seven-
mile walk. Jack, who was very sturdy, carried little Brien pick-a-back much of
the way, and we walked home again in the evening. At that time there was no
main road up to the farm. We had to climb up a cart track to reach it, nearly
half a mile off the main road and quite three hundred feet above it.
The time passed all too quickly and as the summer days began to
draw in, preparations had to be made for our return to Bognor. One very
pleasant recollection I have of those days is of our early. morning visits to the
surrounding meadows to collect the mushrooms that had begun to sprout in
profusion. They were excellent, and one could have nice large helpings when
they reached the table! Jack and Rex had to return to their studies before we
were due to leave, and our own departure from the farm was final, since it had
been decided that my wife would return with me to India, and that Brien
would accompany us.
When we got back to Bognor, my wife was very distressed at the idea
of all the nice things she had taken so much time and trouble to collect, being
sent to the saleroom. Often since then we have felt that it would indeed have
been far wiser, quite apart from purely sentimental reasons, to have let the
house furnished and so retained it for a later occasion, but at that time I
thought it best to leave nothing behind us. How easy it is be wise after the
event! So our last few days were spent at the Norfolk Hotel, and in due course
we left for Southampton to embark upon the transport in which I had been
fortunate in securing indulgence passages.
The outward voyage was pleasantly uneventful. The weather was
good throughout the voyage and we spent many restful hours in deck chairs.
Meanwhile Brien pottered round the Ship and made friends in all departments,
much as I used to do when I was about his age some thirty-five years earlier.
But in one respect at least he went one better than I had done by getting
himself adopted by the British regiment on board. They provided him with a
set of their regimental buttons and badges for a little khaki jacket he had, part
of a fancy dress he had recently worn at a party in Bognor, and he solemnly
followed the Officer Commanding the troops and his officers when they went
round the Ship each morning.
 When we reached Bombay, I received orders posting me to Poona as
Controller of Military Accounts, 6th Poona Division. This was very pleasing,
since Poona was always regarded as one of our best Controllerships. It carried
a substantial charge allowance, and a large establishment framed the annual
army budget for the entire Bombay Presidency, including Aden, bringing to
account and controlling all military expenditure of whatever nature within this
area, while the Controller was ex efficio Financial Adviser to the General
Officer Commanding the Division.
Upon our arrival in Poona we went to the Poona Hotel for a few
weeks while I took over my new duties and we were looking round for a
suitable residence. This we found in Staunton Road, facing the polo ground,
and a busy time followed getting it furnished, unpacking and settling down.
Meanwhile there were of course the usual rounds of calls to be made, a car
was bought, also a pony for Brien, and we engaged a chokra - a lad in his
teens -who not only acted as his Bearer but also accompanied him when he
rode off to the Gymkhana Club in the afternoons, there to meet and play with
others of about his own age.
Social life in Poona was still much the same as it had been in earlier
days, and we were soon in the thick of its activities. Meanwhile I found much
to do in my office. During and since the war, the port of Bombay had been a
most important centre of great military activity. Many thousands of troops and
vast quantities of equipment and stores had passed through it. The Transit
Camp at Colaba, and the much larger one at Deolali some hours distant by rail
from Bombay, had sheltered great numbers in the course of their going and
coming, and there were innumerable matters affecting rations, supplies and
services waiting to be cleared up. War time conditions had inevitably given
rise to irregularities. Peacetime establishments had been expanded by the
intake of officers and subordinates who would be returning to civil life at the
end of the war, and while most of the shortcomings that subsequently came to
light undoubtedly were due to inexperience, it stands to reason that there were
some notable defalcations. Their discovery led to Courts of Enquiry and, on
more than one occasion, to Courts Martial, in the course of the months that
followed.
An interesting case on the supply side is perhaps worth recording
here, showing as it does how tortuous and far-reaching the facts can be in such
cases. It came to our notice that a large Supply Depot was periodically putting
in Loss Statements for hundreds of tins of condensed milk found unfit for
human consumption, which were being taken out to sea and dumped. The full
story of this tinned milk took time to unravel, but it transpired that it was part
of a very large purchase made during the earlier part of the war, that the tins in
question had lain in stores in England for several years before being sold by a
contractor to the Indian authorities, and that no less than two shiploads of
these tins were involved - but that three more shiploads were due for delivery
upon the same purchase. Very fortunately we were able to take action within
the "Terms of Warranty" and so save Government a very substantial sum, for
which we received the thanks of the Quartermaster General's Department.
 An intriguing case was that regarding a large consignment of harness,
bridles and other gear for mules, supposed to have been supplied under
contract and despatched to the Persian Gulf for the Army in Mesopotamia.
This had been in the earlier years, and it was not until we were investigating a
loss of a different sort that we learnt that certain items of that particular
consignment were being offered for sale in considerately quantities in the
Bombay Bazaar. Further enquiries disclosed the fact that the cargo vessel
upon which this equipment was understood to have been shipped and which
had as its principal cargo much heavier goods that also were supposed to have
been lost, would not have been able to cross the Bar to enter the port of Basra
so heavily laden. In fact it appeared that none of these stores had been
shipped, and that turned out to have been the case, fortunately one of a quite
exceptional nature.
Quite the most serious case of deliberate fraud that came to my notice
at that time was at Colaba Transit Camp. One of the responsibilities of the
Commandant of the Camp was the issue of small advances of pay to members
of all ranks passing through it prior to embarkation for demobilisation in
England. Each individual who received such a payment, signed an
Acquittance Roll. This document, countersigned by the Commandant,
supported the disbursement account rendered by him to my office. The
number of such payments were very large, consequently the amount of money
involved was substantial. There was something about the appearance of those
thick bundles of Acquittance Rolls that made me suspicious, so accompanied
by a senior member of my staff I went down to Bombay and carried out a
personal investigation.
A large proportion of the Rolls proved to be deliberate forgeries. The
signatures upon the Rolls were not those of the individuals concerned. It was
an impudent fraud, based apparently upon an idea that the accounts office
would be so overwhelmed with the volume of the work to be dealt with, that it
would not come to light for some considerable time - and I soon discovered
that the application of the Commandant for demobilisation and the payment to
him of his war bonus had already been submitted! I endeavoured to avoid
giving him the impression that I had discovered the fraud, but he must have
suspected it. I had hardly returned to Poona when he came up from Bombay
and took all possible steps to secure his release and embarkation orders - and,
of course, the payment of his bonus! Needless to say he did not get it.
In the course of the following year the Military Deputy Auditor-
General, Southern Army, went home on furlough, and I was appointed by the
Government of India to take over his duties in addition to my own. I thus
became Financial Adviser to the General Officer Commanding, Southern
Army in India, and the higher "authority" for all other District Controllers of
Military Accounts in Western and South India. During the months that
followed I accepted an invitation to become President of the Royal Connaught
Boat Club, and the General, who was a Steward of the Western India Turf
Club, roped me in upon a committee to consider alterations to the racecourse
at Kirkee.
 We passed many pleasant evenings on the river, sometimes taking
Brien out with us in a boat or a punt, at others I used to row in the eight and
my wife coxed us. On these latter occasions it was the practice for all of us to
congregate on the lawn afterwards and partake of "Black Velvet" - stout and
tonic water, a most comforting drink after a hard row. The annual Regatta was
a busy time for us both. The Presidents dinner was quite an affair on that
occasion, when among a large party of other guests my wife and I had the
honour of entertaining no less than five senior general officers and their
wives.
It was in the spring of this year that the Prince of Wales visited India.
From Bombay he came to Poona, where he was given a great reception. A
mounted bodyguard had been recruited young taluqdars (landed proprietors)
dressed as in the days of the Peishwas in chain mail, upon horses saddled and
bridled in similar fashion. Escorted thus and with detachments of Indian
cavalry leading and bringing up the rear of the cortege, His Royal Highness
was accompanied by Lord Lloyd, Governor of Bombay, and Lady Lloyd, in
an open carriage surrounded by the mounted sowars of the Governor's
Bodyguard, tall bearded Sikhs in their magnificent scarlet full dress uniforms
and with the pennons of their lances flying in the breeze. En route for
Government House where he stayed during his visit, the Prince received an
Address of welcome upon the lawns of the Poona High Court. Since my
appointment carried with it the privileges of Private Entree at Government
House and the advantages that went with that honour, we saw much of the
Prince during his visit. His Royal Highness was an intensely active young
man, and one felt that his entourage must often have been hard pressed to
keep up with him, while those responsible for his protection had a very
anxious time. He delighted in throwing himself into every form of activity
with boyish enthusiasm.
One incident will suffice to demonstrate this. It was at the races and
my wife and I were seated in the members' stand and not a dozen chairs away
from the Prince, who was talking to a senior officer in the gunners. The stand
was almost empty at the time, nearly everyone having gone down to the
paddock or to the totalizator. Suddenly and without any warning, H.R.H. rose,
went quickly down to the front of the stand, crossed the enclosure and the
course, going under the rails on both sides, and entered the open ground on
the opposite side of the course, crowded with the riff-raff of Poona City and
Bazaar.
The Chief of Police, whose heavy responsibility it was to keep close
to the Prince at all times and who was in uniform, was seated with us enjoying
a cigarette during this moment of relaxation, but with his eye ever upon
H.R.H. With an exclamation he flung away his cigarette and dashed after the
Prince. But H.R.H. had secured a good start, as obviously had been his
intention, and by then was in the thick of the crowd, walking quickly and
making his way along parallel to the course. He had got well ahead and was
quite alone in the crowd before the Police Chief, followed by members of his
force who sprang- forward from all sides, could reach him. Having recrossed
the course, he entered the saddling enclosure, spoke to some of the jockeys
and passed thence to the paddock, where he stopped and had a few words with
the bandmaster.
It was very noticeable that wherever he went among the crowd, a
passage had been made for the Prince, and many of the natives bowed low
and some even went so far as to prostrate themselves as he passed. As to
whether it was a brave act in face of considerable known risk, which
undoubtedly had an excellent effect among the Indian masses, of merely the
result of a sudden foolhardy impulse as was the opinion subsequently
expressed by many, it is not for me to judge. There had been serious rioting
among the malcontents of Bombay when the Prince landed there, with some
loss of life, and H. R. H. could hardly have been unaware of the risk he was
running, and the responsibility he was incurring upon those who would have
been blamed should such an incident have proved disastrous.
Brien accompanied us on all the festive occasions that was
permissible for him to do so, and when he had to be left to his own devices he
was not at a loss to enjoy himself. He liked to ride about on his pony and had
numerous young friends who frequently came to tea or at times to spend the
day with us, or he went to their homes. Like all small boys, he professed
contempt for the opposite sex, nevertheless there were times when we had our
doubts about this. On one occasion, when he was dressing to go off to the
Gymkhana in the afternoon, we overheard him say to his chokra "Babu, when
I wear a red tie, I wear my red topped socks, and when I wear a blue tie, it
must be my blue- topped socks!" When the young male pays such attention to
matters of personal adornment, some influence by the opposite sex is
indicated! One nice little girl was very attached to him and he liked her, but
when she came to spend the day with us it was amusing to see how
embarrassed he was when she insisted upon their playing at being husband
wife!
He had his friends among the grownups also, among whom he was
known as Bubbles by reason of his striking likeness to the picture of that
name by Sir John Millais. There was one senior lady who was very fond of
him but insisted upon calling him "Boobles", with the result that he hated
meeting her. However, the time passed happily enough for him until the rains
came and, like so many others in Poona at that season, he went down with
fever which persisted in spite of all that could be done, and a change to
Khandalla not having brought about any improvement, it became evident that
he would have to go home.
So once again came the dreary round of packing up and seeing my
wife and Brien off by the mail steamer from Bombay, and for me to return to
Poona and set about stripping the house and leaving it for rooms in the Poona
Hotel. In due course the Military Deputy Auditor- General returned and
resumed his appointment, and shortly afterwards Poona had the honour of a
visit from the Duke of Connaught. Many years previously the Duke had held
the appointment of General Officer Commanding in Poona. His official
residence of those days was now the Connaught Hotel, and it was the Duke
who in the course of his command had seen the establishment of the Boat
Club, which consequently had been named the Royal Connaught Boat Club.
He renewed the troops of the Poona and Kirkee garrisons at a ceremonial
parade and march past on the racecourse, and held a Reception at the Boat
Club. Here he recognized and spoke to the old head mali (gardener) who had
been one of his gardeners at Connaught House during his Generalship.
During the ensuing cold weather much of my spare time was
occupied with my duties as honorary secretary for hockey and football. There
were tournaments for the troops in Poona and Kirkee, and games between the
Poona and Bombay Gymkhanas. My office had quite a good hockey team and
I played regularly with them. Then there was a golf match between Poona and
Bombay in which I took part, and I rowed in the Poona "eight". Occasionally I
took out a whiff and had a quiet scull on my own. Now and then I got in a
morning shoot, and the months passed thus very pleasantly. Meanwhile my
wife and I wrote one another by every mail. Brien made a quick recovery
from his serious illness. The sea voyage home was what he needed, and by the
time the voyage ended he was quite himself again.

The author, aged 42 years.

 LIII
My wife returned from England in the following spring, having left
Brien at a small school in Bognor, and we were still staying at the Poona
Hotel when I received unexpected orders to hand over my charge to an officer
who would be arriving shortly to take my place, and proceed forthwith to
Calcutta and take over the appointment of Controller of Military Supply
Accounts, with which was merged that of Controller of Military Accounts,
Presidency & Assam District.
Since transfers of such a nature at short notice were most unusual, it
was evident that there must be some pressing reason for such a move. So we
lost no time in packing up and joined the Calcutta Mail at Kalyan. When we
reached Calcutta, we took over quarters that had been reserved for us in Fort
William, and engaged the minimum number of servants needed to enable us to
start housekeeping again. Furniture had to be hired, and our heavy baggage
not yet having arrived, since it had been forwarded by goods train, we were
obliged to stay for a few days at a hotel before moving into our new home.
Our car arrived with the baggage.
Meanwhile I had round an official letter waiting me upon arrival in
Calcutta, enclosing a copy of a letter received at Army Headquarters from the
General Officer Commanding, Presidency & Assam District, and expressing
the pious hope that I would do all possible to remedy the state of affairs as set
out in the Generals letter. The contents of that letter was as follows, and it left
no doubt in my mind as to the reasons for my hasty transfer from Poona!
"No.39/15/A.1. dated the 10th November 1921 I regret having again to
bring to your notice the disgraceful state of affairs which exists in the office of
my C.M.A. 2. The attached letters from Officers commanding 2nd Bn.
Northumberland Fusiliers and 2nd Bn. Royal Scots Fusiliers speak for
themselves. My considered opinion is that Mr... is not only utterly
incompetent, but that he neither knows nor cares what goes on in his office. 3.
I may be wrong but I cannot help thinking that the Non-Cooperation
Movement may have something to do with the obstruction with which
everything which goes to C.M.A's office is met. 4. The delays and evasions,
and in many cases untruths, which emanate from that office have already done
incalculable harm to the Auxiliary Force. 5. I do not believe that the mere
replacing of Mr.... by Major Hardinge will effect any material improvement.
6. I suggest for your consideration that the M.A.G. be approached to send
down, without previous warning, a party of competent and trustworthy
accountants under an experienced officer to investigate the conditions
prevailing in the various sections of C.M.A's office, which deal with my
District."
"Copy to - The Military Accountant General, Army Headquarters,
Simla".
I lost no time in calling upon the General. I had previously learnt that
he had the reputation of being the hardest-swearing officer in the British
Army, and this my first meeting with him convinced me he must at least have
been second-to-none in that respect. He was a thoroughly angry man and I had
an unpleasant half-hour listening to his exceedingly pungent criticism of my
office which was very picturesquely expressed. When I was able to withdraw
it was quite evident that he did not attach the least importance to my assurance
that everything possible would be done to set matters right as speedily as
practicable. I then proceeded to the office and found there a state of affairs for
which not even the General's caustic remarks had prepared me.
The Military Finance Office at Calcutta, situated in Esplanade East,
was a very fine, large building that in past years had been Army Headquarters
in India. The combined staffs of the Supply and the Presidency & Assam
District offices comprised over twenty-five officers and eight hundred
superintendents, supervisors and clerks, of whom all except a few Eurasians
and two or three Europeans, were Indians, almost without exception Bengalis.
The Controller who I was about to relieve was an elderly retired officer of the
Civil Accounts Department who had been re-employed for the period of the
war and was still carrying on, not having yet been relieved.
From the moment I entered the front door of that office, I was aghast
at what I saw. The walls of the corridors were whitewashed, and upto a height
of three of four feet from the floor practically throughout the building, they
were stained red by innumerable expectorations of pan. Pan consists of
betelnut and a little lime, wrapped in a leaf and skewered with a clove, which
is placed in the mouth by Bengalis and chewed, but not swallowed. In the
native parts of the city the expectorations of pan were everywhere in
evidence, but the habit was strictly forbidden in the European quarters.
Then I saw with amazement and disgust that many volumes of bound
documents that should have been the Record Rooms, lay here and there along
the corridors, against the walls, and many of them had not escaped from the
mess. I then noticed that there were a couple of Indian police constables in the
corridor. While I was taking in these sights, a dirty, disreputably-attired Indian
slouched up to me and without saluting or showing any signs of civility,
demanded my business. Doubtless he thought I was one of the many
disgruntled officers who had been coming daily to the office to lodge
complaints. I requested to be taken to the Controller, and was asked if I had an
appointment. By this time my temper was up, and I made it quite clear that I
was not standing any nonsense.
When I entered the Controller's room, my first impression was of its
great size and impressive furnishing. Three very fine glass chandeliers hung
from the lofty ceiling a fine example of Victorian moulded plaster, and the
furniture of the room matched it in elegance. Later I learnt it had been Lord
Kitchener's personal office, and leading from it was a comfortable tiffin room,
also retiring rooms. As I entered, I came face to face with a slightly-built,
elderly man, who looked somewhat sourly at me through his spectacles. I
introduced myself and sat down, waiting for what he would have to say,
which proved to be a tirade against what he termed the unreasonable attitude
of everyone from the General downwards, and the trouble he had had with the
staff. He stated that they had twice tried to burn the office down, hence the
introduction of a dozen armed police constables under a havildar. I then
realised that I would have to bear in mind that the Non-Cooperation
Movement, which had been rife in Calcutta, might indeed have been at the
bottom of the trouble. Realising the futility of any discussion, I asked to be
shown over the office.
The round took same time, and in the course of it I endeavoured to get
some idea as to the situation by studying the faces of the establishment as we
passed through the numerous sections. While I gained the impression of
widespread hostility, there were many that seemed to convey to me the
unspoken question "what are you going to do about it?", and I came to the
conclusion that I would have the officers, much of the clerical and most of the
supervising staff, on my side.
It was a very large and important organisation. Upon the Supply side,
with which the local military authorities were in no way directly concerned, it
controlled the financial aspect of supplies of every sort made to and consumed
by all military units in India and Burma, and of all military establishments
such as gun, shell, rifle, small arm ammunition and cordite factories and
arsenals, harness, saddlery and boot, bedding and clothing factories, hospital
supplies and medicines, grass and dairy farms, educational establishments and
sanatoria, and so on. In a Shipping and Railway Section, it kept a check upon
and paid the bills on account of shipping and rail charges pertaining to all
military movements of personnel and materiel throughout the sub-continent.
In the Presidency @ Assam Sections, all the duties of a District Controllership
were carried out.
Returning to his room, I informed Mr. X that I would take over from
him next morning. My wife and I spent a hectic day unpacking and doing all
possible to get settled down. I did a lot of thinking over a plan of action for
the office. Next morning Mr. X and I signed our handing and taking over
certificates, we exchanged a chilly handshake, and he departed. I then
summoned all the officers and superintendents for a conference, in the course
of which I got a better idea of the organisation, while they became aware that
half-measures would not satisfy me.
The two of three days that followed I spent in section after section
acquiring a closer understanding of the detailed working and the more
obvious shortcomings, and knowledge of members of the staff. I then returned
to my room, summoned all the officers and the Superintendent of the Central
Section which was virtually my headquarters staff, and in the presence of all,
dictated to my stenographer the following orders to be given effect to
forthwith:
Pay some 250 temporary clerks a fortnight’s wages in lieu of notice
and discharge them forthwith. Fit out all the chuprassies (office messengers)
with white uniform, pagris, scarlet belts and brass badges. Have all records
returned to the Record Rooms, and corridors whitewashed. Have printed and
framed Notices put up forbidding spitting in the building. Spittoons to be
provided at suitable intervals. Have all Attendance Registers placed on
sidetables in my room within ten minutes of the time by which all members of
the staff should have reported for duty each day, with a red ink line drawn
under the last name to be entered by 10 a.m., the opening hour. Have a Graph
prepared and posted up daily, showing the percentage of absentees up to the
day previous, this to be hung up in my room.
Many hectic weeks followed and it was by no means all plain sailing,
but on the whole the senior members of the staff were loyal and worked hard
to remedy matters. One of the older Bengali officers came to me a few days
after I had got busy and gravely advised me not to come to the office
unarmed! Meanwhile I had the telephone installed alongside my table and it
kept me pretty busy at first. Until then there had been only one in the whole
office, inconveniently placed and of little practical use. As an indication of the
volume of work handled by this office, it will suffice to mention that the daily
receipts through the post averaged 1,000 to 1,200 items.
As I had surmised, the temporary clerks had been at the bottom of the
trouble. I exceeded my authority in dismissing them summarily and
authorising the payment to them of what collectively was a very substantial
sum in lieu of notice, but I wired reporting what I had done and my reasons to
the Secretary to Government in the Finance Department and my action was
confirmed. Naturally the success of my efforts was very pleasing to me. When
I felt that the units in the District had begun to appreciate the changed
conditions, I wrote demi-officially to the General expressing the hope that
some improvement had been observed which must be regarded as a beginning
only, and for the first time let him know that I had received a copy of his letter
to Headquarters of the l0th November 1921 upon my first arrival in Calcutta,
and that I hoped he might now be able to report a less serious state of affairs. I
append a copy of his subsequent letter to Headquarters, also of an extract from
"The Statesman" of Calcutta, which I felt amply rewarded me for all my
worry and hard work.
"From the General Officer Commanding, Presidency & Assam
District FortWilliam, Calcutta, 6th March 1922. To Headquarters, Eastern
Command, Naini Tal. "With reference to my 39/15/A.l. dated l0th November
1921, I am glad to report a very marked improvement in the state of affairs in
my C.M.A's office so far as it concerns the District under my command.
Lieut.-Colonel Hardinge has reorganised the office. I trust I was wrong in
attributing the previous state of the office partly to the Non-Cooperation
Movement. I have every confidence that things will continue to improve until
they leave nothing to be desired. Complaints from units have largely
disappeared, and those that are made are attended to by Col. Hardinge
personally who deserves every credit for the marked improvement in feeling
between units and the Accounts Department!."
"Copy to Military Accountant General Headquarters Simla. and to
Lieut.-Colenel H.R.Hardinge, C.M/A., Presidency & Assam District."
To The Editor of "The Statesman". "Sir- I am one of those who sought
Colonel Hardinge's aid with a grievance .... He has done all in his power to
help me... Colonel Hardinge, who is always a sympathetic listener to
grievances both imaginary and real (he undoubtedly has a few of the former
class) has done his utmost to redress my grievance and claim. He makes no
distinction between the humble private and the brass-hatted brigadier, and
anyone who has been to him will, I am sure, endorse my opinion. My advice
to any man who has a claim that has not been settled is to see the Colonel at
his office, No.6, Esplanade, before rushing into print.... " Calcutta,
August 6. GRATEFUL. "
The above is one of several letters that appeared in "The Statesman"
from time to time, some of which were replied to by me in the same columns.
It will be observed that I have been referred to as Lieutenant-Colonel, whereas
my substantive rank ,was that of Major, and in the normal course as an officer
of the Indian Army, another four years would have had to pass before I
became entitled to the higher rank. Meanwhile, however, it had been
considered desirable to grant me the higher local rank in an appointment that
hitherto had always been filled by an officer considerably senior to me in
service and rank.
While all this was going on, my wife and I were having a very
pleasant time socially. Everyone seemed so hospitable. In fact, Calcutta was a
difficult station for an army officer on that account. It was a city of wealthy
merchant princes whose abundant means permitted a scale of entertainment
which we military people greatly appreciated but which was somewhat
embarrassing, since we could not possibly afford to respond anything
approaching the same standard. However, it was all very enjoyable, and there
was dancing at the Saturday Club, golf at Tollygunge, and the meetings of the
Royal Calcutta Turf Club, well known everywhere on account of its famous
Calcutta Derby Sweep. We were made honorary members of the Turf Club.
The General was one of the Stewards and he did much to make our stay in
Calcutta pleasant. When first we dined with him and his wife, it amused me to
think what a different person he was then to the impression I had gained at our
first meeting!
There was an occasion when I had difficulty in getting a member of
his staff to accept a ruling by me concerning some expenditure under the
Training Grant of the Auxiliary Forces, of which there were numerous units in
the District. So I went to see the General in his office and explained my
difficulty. He saw my point of view and accepted it. Then he rang his bell and
told the messenger who came in, to tell Major X that he was wanted. When
the officer arrived, he was kept standing while the General opened up at him
with a torrent of abuse, told him what he had to do, and then said curtly that
he could go. Feeling thoroughly uncomfortable when I left the General's room
I went along to Major X's and told him I would not have had that happen for
worlds. He laughed and said, "My dear fellow, that was nothing unusual. Here
we expect that sort of thing almost daily! It is just his way of doing things!"
The crowning event of the Calcutta Season was the arrival of the
Prince of Wales in the course of his tour in India. Receptions, a Garden Party
at Government House, and a State Ball, followed one another in rapid
succession. The Ball was a magnificent spectacle. Indian Princes, and those of
their consorts not debarred from attending owing to the restrictions of the
pardah system, and British ladies among whom were several members of the
Peerage, displayed magnificent diamond and other priceless jewellery, while
the dresses were gorgeous. The men who held official positions made a fine
show in their full dress, civilians wearing Court dress with white satin knee
breeches and silk stockings and shoes adorned with gold buckles, and
jewelled swords hung at their sides. It was an unforgettable experience for us.
But although I did not then know it, my military service in India was
drawing to a close. Towards the end of 1922 my wife went down with malaria
which she seemed unable to shake off, and ultimately I decided to apply for
furlough and go home. We left Calcutta in the "City of York", a vessel of the
City Line that carried passengers as well as cargo. The voyage was much the
same as many we had made previously, and after an uneventful voyage we
arrived at Selsey in Sussex, where we joined our second son Rex who at that
time was staying there with his recently-married wife. The lady who had for
so long been my friend and companion in Bognor and during their annual
visits to Combe Martin was also staying with them. Here we passed Christmas
together, and on New Year's Day, 1923, our first grandson was born.
 LIV
It was just about that time that radio broadcasting had made its first
appearance, largely as the result of the pioneer work of the Marconi Company.
My interest in the development of what at that time was known as wireless
telegraphy dated from when I specialised in Army Signalling, an interest that
had never flagged throughout the long years of my association with
regimental duty land military finance. Now in my leisure hours this interest
became intensified and I decided to see if I could not take up the work
seriously against the days of my retirement from military service.
Having secured an introduction to the Marconi Company, I accepted a
temporary post in their recently-formed Marconiphone Department. The
development of broadcasting necessitated the provision in very large numbers
of suitable receivers, and Marconi's were in the forefront of the leading British
firms that embarked upon this entirely fresh line of business. Hitherto the
Company's business had largely been the manufacture, supply and erection in
various parts of the world, of a relatively small number of large and powerful
transmitters, each designed and produced to order. Broadcasting demanded
the production of large numbers of small receivers for a retail market, and it
was to handle this new line that the Marconiphone Department had been
formed.
It was not until some time after I had joined that I learnt that my
success in obtaining the appointment was due to my having come from
holding an important position under the Government of India closely
associated with matters affecting Supply. Trouble was being experienced in a
large store at Dalston in the suburbs of London, in which many thousands of
receivers and equally large quantities of the various accessories needed for
their installation and functioning were stored, the total value of which
amounted to nearly half a million sterling, and it was thought that I should be
able to clear it up.
I had so often heard it remarked that the army ought to learn business
methods of keeping accounts, that I entered upon my task with considerable
trepidation, but that feeling vanished completely before I had been an hour
looking round the store. It was very simply a case of a staff with no previous
experience of handling many bits and pieces in great quantities and not
knowing how it should be done. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly in the
circumstances, it transpired at a later date, when I had a proper system
introduced and in working order and we came to know exactly what should
have been in stock, some defalcations came to light among some of the
recently-engaged extra staff.
I must admit that it gave me some rather puckish pleasure to spread
myself in the report I wrote, going into detail regarding up-to-date methods of
store accounting, while bringing to notice the shortcomings discovered and
suggesting how they should be remedied and their recurrence in future
avoided. I did so with no ulterior motive, but it transpired subsequently that
my report had been brought to the notice of the financing Director, and shortly
afterwards I was summoned to his presence and offered the Managership of
the Department at a four-figure salary. Needless to say that I gratefully
accepted the offer.
The Marconiphone Department had already gone far on the road to
becoming a self-contained retail business concern with its own technical
engineering, sales, accounts, publicity and transport sections, and at the start I
certainly did have much to learn. The volume of sales mounted steadily,
totalling for the month of January 1924 alone no less than £37,000. Within the
year it had been decided to turn the Department into a separate Limited
Liability Company. This was done, and I was appointed its Manager. By then
I had become a representative of the Marconi Company on the National
Association of Radio Manufacturers and the Valve Manufacturers
Association, and the organisation worked out by me for the new
Marconiphone Co. Ltd. had been approved without modification.
My days with the Marconiphone Company were full of interest.
Distributing and servicing depots had been established at Aberdeen,
Newcastle, Manchester, Birmingham, Liverpool, Cardiff and Belfast, most of
which I visited. We had our own fleet of cars and lorries, and a staff
numbering over two hundred. Memories of visits to our depots reminds me of
an amusing incident that seems worthy of mention here. It was in Aberdeen,
and after a day of conference the Depot Manager and I repaired to a local
hostelry for an exchange of refreshments. The local conception of a whisky
and soda was a hock glass three-parts filled with whisky, to which was added
half of a "baby" Schweppes, shared between two drinks. It recalled the story
of the Scot who caught cold through drinking out of a damp glass, and I
realised it was not so fantastic a story as hitherto had appeared.
My recollection of those days is that the Marconiphone propaganda
merchant, who was responsible for our Publicity Section, was great at
evolving stunts. I remember one in particular, when he collected a goodly
assembly one summer evening at the White Hart Hotel at Windsor, and after
an excellent repast, fortified with champagne and wines (all, of course,
charged to Advertising!) we proceeded to drive through the Forest and kid
ourselves, and Press representatives present, that we were getting excellent
reception on the primitive receivers of those days, serving as car radios.
Presumably after such a meal everyone thought it simply marvellous!
I well remember Mr. Reith (as he was in those days) sharing with his
typist and the "uncles" and "aunts" one large room on the first floor in Magnet
House, the G.E.C. building in Kingsway, since I went to see him there. That
was the B.B.C. in those days. One of our stunts about then was to put a
microphone into a building facing the Clock Tower at Westminster, and
broadcast Big Ben striking the hour. I was much impressed by that item in the
programme, and next morning I wrote a note addressed to Mr. Reith asking if
he did not think it might be made a permanent feature, and sent it over to him
by messenger. His reply expressed agreement and that he would see what
could be done about it.
 But it had been a tough time, and I had never worked harder or for
longer hours since the war, often up against hindrances placed in my way by a
few of those over whose heads I had passed, and I was badly in need of a rest
moreover, there had been a recurrence of the trouble that had put an end to my
aspirations as a Signals officer back in 1899, and the day came when I was
obliged to enter a nursing home in order to undergo an operation. My days
with the Marconiphone Company were ended. They had been full of interest
and the gratification I felt when I received the following letters was not
unmixed with regret.
From the Chairman of the Marconiphone company, dated the 20th
May, 1924
"Dear Major Hardinge,
I have to acknowledge receipt of your letter of the 16th
instant in which you tender your resignation from the position as
Manager of the Company, which I have no alternative but to accept
with much regret. In doing so allow me to put on record my
appreciation of the valuable services you rendered the Company at a
particularly difficult time in the history of its business, and to say that,
speaking for myself as well as the other Directors, we regret that it has
been necessary for you to come to this decision."
Yours very truly,
(Signed) Adrian Simpson,
Chairman."
From the Managing Director, dated the 27th May, 1924
"Dear Major Hardinge,
Colonel Simpson has acknowledged your resignation and
I now have the pleasure to send you herewith cheque for £500, being
your salary upto the 31st October next, which the Board have
arranged to pay you. I hope that you have now completely recovered
from your recent operation and that it may not be long before we have
an opportunity of meeting again.
Yours truly
(Signed) C.T. Bazell,
Managing Director."
This unsolicited bonus was quite unexpected and was very much
appreciated and the more so since the very favourable circumstances in which
I found myself since my appointment to the Managership of the
Marconiphone Company and the bright prospects that seemed to lie in my
path had induced me to send in my application to retire from military service,
and I had taken this irrevocable step during the spring of 1924, requesting that
it should have effect from the l0th of May of that year. My reason for
choosing that date was that on the 7th of that month I would automatically
attain the rank of a substantive Lieutenant-Colonel, and since I had to my
credit more than a year in that local rank during the period of my service in
Calcutta, I would then be entitled to receive the pension due to the higher
rank, to qualify for which a minimum of one year of service in that rank was
necessary.
Had I foreseen that I would have to relinquish my occupation for
reasons of health, I would not have taken that step. My prospects in India
were excellent, and there was no reason why I should not have risen to the top
of my Department in the course of time. But the step having been taken, the
only course that appeared open to me was to secure another appointment,
which I succeeded in doing when I was fit enough to undertake such work.
The electrical firm in question needed reorganisation, and it was upon the
grounds of my reputation for organising that I secured the appointment.
Things were in a bad state. I worked very hard to pull them together and
believe that if I had had my way I could have succeeded, but the Managing
Director and I failed to see eye to eye in the matter, and I withdrew. It was no
satisfaction to me to learn subsequently that shortly afterwards the firm in
question was obliged to go into liquidation.
Meanwhile our eldest son Jack returned from Canada, where he had
gone in 1922 while we were stationed in Calcutta. He had married during his
stay in that country; his young wife had been a fellow-passenger on the
outward voyage, and they were now bringing with them their baby daughter
Barbara.
Jack had always shown a marked aptitude for mechanical and
scientific subjects, and during the course of his stay in Canada he had begun
to take a great interest in radio. I secured an appointment for him in the
original Marconiphone Department’s Technical Section. Shortly afterwards
we all moved from the London Hotel where we had been staying to a small
furnished house at Chiswick, and there much to our grief, little Barbara
developed cerebro-spinal meningitis and after a brier illness, died. It was a
painfully sad time for us all, and shortly afterwards we decided to leave
Chiswick and move to a furnished maisonette in South Kensington. It was
here that Jack's second daughter Patricia was born, and some months later
they all returned to Montreal, where he secured a post with the Canadian
Marconi Company.
My wife and I had meanwhile decided that our best course would be
to establish a home and settle down. So I commuted a part of my pension and
we purchased a house then in course of erection and nearing completion, at
North Wembley, and derived considerable enjoyment from the task of
choosing the essential furniture. Shortly afterwards we entered into possession
and there followed a busy time unpacking our belongings and getting
everything disposed to our liking. Jack with his wife and baby daughter did
not leave for Canada until some time after our move to North Wembley, and
as it was not possible to take them all in there, we found them a small flat in
West Kensington where they spent the last few weeks of their stay in England.
 We had barely settled down in our new home, when I received the
offer of a minor but interesting appointment, upon a modest salary, in the
B.B.C., from Mr. Reith. One of the biggest mistakes in my career was my
rejection of that opportunity. The B.B.C., though by then grown considerably,
was still in its infancy, and I would have got in on the ground floor and with
unlimited opportunities of rising with the growth of that organisation, destined
to become such a power not only in the United Kingdom, but throughout the
British Empire and, indeed, the world. I have long since realised that my
previous successes had given me an inflated idea of my own importance. With
the passage of time and after experiencing considerable tribulations, I have
come to see things in a truer perspective!
Our house at North Wembley was not a success. Built upon the Weald
clay, it was damp, and the place did not suit us. We had lived in it for less than
two years when we decided to sell it, which we did, together with the
furniture, returning to a hotel in London. Then came the General Strike of
1926, and I immediately volunteered as a Special Constable and was posted to
the Paddington Green police station along with a number of others. It was not
a quiet area, including as it did parts of the Harrow Road, Regents Canal, and
back streets of questionable repute round about Paddington Goods Depot of
the Great Western Railway.
We served in four-hour relays throughout the twenty-four hours,
during which we were held in reserve at the police headquarters, incidentally
with the honorary membership of the Wet Canteen in the basement, and from
time to time parties of varying size were called up and despatched upon some
particular mission. There were some exciting moments. A bus and some cars
were turned over and burnt out. An old woman wheeling a covered
perambulator was brought in when we discovered that she was wheeling, not
an infant, but some hundreds of leaflets printed upon red paper and headed
"STRIKE NOW - THE HOUR HAS COME" and so on. Red-hot communistic
stuff!
I had a little affair on my own shortly after I had joined up. A
disgruntled bus conductor out on strike was amusing himself, breaking up
public property. I tackled him, hurt my hand doing so, and was rewarded by
promotion to Sergeant with the honour of sporting a yellow band on my arm
in addition to the dark blue and white police arm band. My job was then to go
round the various "points" and pickets in my allotted section every four hours.
This duty had its amusing moments. One I recollect was when I was passing a
pub and one of a crowd of strikers collected outside called out "Hie, Mister,
come and have a drink!" I complied, to find that they wanted to know the
latest developments. Then there was the occasion when I visited one of my
"points" consisting of two of our Specials posted as a guard upon a sub-
transformer station of the electric power supply system, hidden away as is
customary in a mews in a back street. To my surprise I found them seated
upon chairs and drinking cups of tea. They explained that a women who lived
opposite had come out and told them that her husband was on strike but that
she had no use for it. Then she had remarked that they must be tired standing
there, so she brought out two chairs, and followed this up with the tea!
Some weeks after the strike had come to an end, there was a big
parade of all the Special Constables in London. It was very impressive and
finished with a march past the Prince of Wales, who took the salute. It was a
strange and unforgettable event.
Our next move was to look round for another house, and this time we
found a place much more to our liking and in more congenial surroundings
than north Wembley, at Bracknell in Surrey. It was not for sale and we rented
it unfurnished, but took far more trouble with the furnishing than we had done
at North Wembley, and collected some very nice things. There were lots of
pleasant people living round about, some of them retired army or navy
officers with their wives and families, and it was not long before we were
enjoying tennis and other entertainments. Brien came to us for his holidays.
We had arranged for his move when these came to an end, from the
preparatory school at Streatham Hill where he had spent some time, to another
at Maidenhead.
 LV
As had happened so often in the past, we were not destined to remain
at peace in Bracknell for long. One day we had an unexpected visitor. Before
he had time to introduce himself, I recognized him as an officer whom I had
last met when he was holding the appointment for Deputy Assistant Adjutant
General of the General Officer Commanding, Bombay District, when I was
Controller of Military Accounts, 6th Poona Division. He had sought me out in
order to put to me a business proposition. I should explain here that he was
not a regular army officer. He had been in a stockbroker's office and an officer
in the Territorial Army who in the ordinary course had been called up for
service during the war, and had served on for some time thereafter in the
above-mentioned staff appointment.
The preposition he put forward appeared to be very attractive. A
Company had been formed in New Zealand to take advantage of the
established fact that, on account of extremely favourable conditions of soil
and climate, softwoods could be brought to maturity in that country in a
surprisingly short time to meet an ever-increasing demand for pulpwood to
feed paper and other manufacturing concerns, wood pulp being the raw
material for a large number of products in everyday use. The plan was to plant
vast forests of pine trees with a view to creating a continuous source of supply
of timber for the purpose, and this of necessity demanded a great deal of
capital expenditure, the funds for which would have to be raised by public
subscription. Since the total amount of capital needed eventually would be
more than was likely to be readily forthcoming from the peoples of New
Zealand and Australia, the proposal put to me was that we should form a
business association with a view to bringing the proposition to the notice of
our former brother officers in India, to the Indian Civil service, and to both
Europeans and Indians in general in that country.
It transpired that the late G.O.C., Bombay, had already been
approached and had agreed to come in on the proposition, and with him was
another not personally known to me but whose name was a sufficient
recommendation. All the usual investigations through Banks and otherwise as
to the standing of the New Zealand parent concern and its Directors had been
made, with entirely satisfactory results. A Branch Office had been opened in
London by the parent company, and it was suggested that if I thought fit to
join in the business, it would be desirable to meet the Branch Manager and
discuss matters with him.
My reaction to all this was that I would like to have an opportunity of
studying all the available literature concerning the proposition before coming
to any decision. I spent some days doing this and I put through an independent
enquiry to my own Bank. The outcome was that I resolved to join the
proposed syndicate, but with the proviso that our operations must be based in
India and not conducted from England as had been contemplated, and I
decided to offer that, upon certain conditions, I would be prepared to go out to
Bombay and launch the scheme from there. A few days later we met and
discussed matters with the Manager of the London Office of the New Zealand
Perpetual Forests Limited, the title of the parent concern, and I then made my
offer to go out to India. It was approved, and we set about forthwith having
adequate quantities of the essential literature printed and making all other
necessary preparations.
My wife and I decided that I should go out alone, and that she would
stay on in Bracknell, where she was among friends. I had much to do, getting
my kit together and making all arrangements for my journey and for her
during my absence. Needless to say that I was delighted at the idea of once
again having something interesting to do, and that back in India. Moreover,
the immense potentialities of this great afforestation scheme had captured my
imagination, and I was determined to make our effort as great a success as I
hoped, and felt, was possible.
It was by then late autumn, the outward voyage was very pleasant,
and upon arrival at Bombay I found the Taj Mahal Hotel thronged with
residents and visitors. On all sides there was evidence of the boom years
through which we were then passing. Thé dansants in the Winter Garden and
dancing in the great dining room after dinner was of daily occurrence, and
there appeared to be no place into which even a small additional table could
have been squeezed. Many well-known wealthy business men from the
United Kingdom and elsewhere were to be seen, while the ladies were all in
the latest fashions.
A busy time followed for me, despatching the packets of our circular
and subscriptions soon began to literally pour in, amounting during the first
few weeks to a very substantial sum. Then came a severe check due to two
causes. Our activities were pilloried by "Truth", not because we or the
genuineness of the afforestation company were impugned, which they were
not, but it was considered that we had painted somewhat too bright a picture
of the profits likely to accrue to subscribers, substantial though it was
admitted these were likely to be. But for every person who actually read the
temperate and reasoned criticism in that well-known periodical, there were
very many who only heard mention of "Truth" in association with the
afforsetation business and immediately concluded that the whole thing must
be a swindle.
That was bad enough, but what in effect was even worse was the fact
that a British firm of Bombay stockbrokers, doubtless alarmed by the
activities which appeared likely to threaten the volume of their own business,
proceeded to blackguard us in every way possible without actually going to
the extent of rendering themselves liable for defamation. Had I been more
experienced in business technique, no doubt I would have approached this
firm in the first place and offered them a commission upon subscriptions
secured by them. Obviously it was too late to remedy this omission after they
had launched their attack.
I need hardly say that the months that followed were not at all
pleasant for me personally. However, we weathered the storm, and the time
came nearly three years later when I succeeded in bringing about the
formation of a Holding Company of India, the Directors of which included
some of the most distinguished members of the legal and business community
of Bombay and a Director of the parent afforestation company who came to
India from New Zealand for the inauguration. The Holding Company
continues in Bombay to act as Trustee for Indian subscribers.
Having seen the business through its troubles and after holding the
General Managership for over a year, I handed over and came home in the
spring of 1930. It is pleasant to be able to record here that New Zealand
Perpetual Forests Limited has since achieved its object of planting 100,000
acres of pinewood forests, and it is now some time since their timber
commenced to flow to the pulp mills. While I am satisfied that "Truth" was
correct in accusing us of rating the probable returns too high, nevertheless
they are very substantial, and I trust that those subscribers who may have
thought that they were being let down, have since come to see things in a
better light. Four years in the climate of Bombay with only two or three brief
visits to Poona or one of the small hill stations at the top of the Western Ghats
was a trying experience, and I much enjoyed the voyage home on the mail
steamer. Of those four years, my wife was with me for nearly three of them
and we had a nice flat out at Colaba, otherwise I doubt if I could have stuck it
out for so long. It had been a very difficult and worrying period, but I knew
that what I was doing was right and was determined not to be beaten.
When I reached London, my wife was living in a small flat in the
West End. The house at Bracknell had been given up and the furniture sold
when she came out to join me in Bombay, and she had come home some
months ahead of me. I had not been back long before our youngest son Brien
arrived from Bradfield College, at which he had been for some years and was
by then one of the senior prefects in the Army House. It had been his last term
there, and shortly afterwards he went up for Sandhurst and passed into the
army. My wife and I then went down for the winter to Felpham, near Bognor,
and in the following spring we rented a nice house at the latter place, which
we had come to know so well.
The rates being secured during the summer that followed from
visitors to Bognor for furnished accommodation were so attractive, we
decided to take advantage of this and we let our house to an elderly couple
who had been in India for many years and they were only too pleased to take
on our cook along with the house. We then went up to London and settled into
some furnished rooms where I set about following up an opening that had
occurred to me before I came home.
Shortly after I had arrived in Bombay to embark upon the a
afforestation business I was offered the use of a small panelled. compartment
in the extensive office premises of the firm of Managing Agents that had been
appointed the representatives in India of the Marconiphone Company. This
was a great convenience for me, and I was then able to engage and
accommodate an assistant. In return for this friendly act I did what I could to
assist with the development of the radio side of their business. Much of my
time was devoted to this work during the couple of years that followed, until
the Indian Holding Company for the afforestation business was formed and
it’s staff was installed in premises of its own.
Radio broadcasting had made great strides in the United Kingdom and
indeed throughout the civilized world, but in India there were by then only
two small transmitters functioning, one in Bombay and another in Calcutta,
both of limited and entirely inadequate power. This relatively insignificant
development in the great Indian sub-continent with its indigenous population
of which some 95% was illiterate and in which, therefore, broadcasting
obviously could serve a great purpose from the aspect of education alone,
presented a great opportunity for those who, like myself visualised its vast
potentialities.
As the result of articles contributed by me to the press and much
canvassing in appropriate quarters, within the year of my return to England
the Marconi Company had undertaken to loan a small transmitter; for an
experiment in broadcasting to villages in India, and in the autumn of 1932 my
wife and I went out to India and undertook an extensive tour of some of the
principal Provinces with the object of doing whatever proved to be possible in
the way of enlisting interest in such a project. It was a most interesting
experience. I was much encouraged by the attitude of the universities and
educational establishments in general, but found it extremely difficult to
arouse official circles from their masterly inactivity in regard to the subject.

The author, aged 54 years.

 It was in Peshawar, where I had been Divisional Instructor of Army
Signalling so many years previously that I found the official imagination
needed to appreciate the possibilities of a project such as I had in mind. But it
was not until the autumn of 1934 that the Marconi transmitter and fifteen
specially-designed receivers, produced at the instigation of the Marconi
Company by The Gramaphone Company and the main features of which were
upon lines suggested by me, reached Peshawar. A Marconi engineer also
arrived, and no time was lost in installing the transmitter in a wing of the
Government Secretariat, in which the necessary accommodation for a
broadcasting studio and other essentials was also provided. While this work
was proceeding I carried out the very interesting, and at times exciting, task of
supervising the introduction of the receivers into fifteen villages some miles
from Peshawar, some of them close to the frontier separating the North-West
Frontier Province from Afridi territory.
We were several months engaged upon this work, during which my
wife and I lived at Dean's Hotel in Peshawar, which had housed so many
whose names were bywords in the Frontier's tumultuous history. We had a
very pleasant time in Peshawar, a sociable station with its Club, long-
established and famous throughout the services. My wife accompanied me on
some of my trips into the countryside, and we had some quite exciting
moments. An article by me describing the undertaking appeared in the
October 1935 issue of The Asiatic Review, the journal of the East India
Association, from which the following extracts are reproduced.
The installation of community receivers in the villages presented a
number of difficulties. Those to the north-west of Peshawar were situated in
an area in which an armed escort is insisted upon by the local authorities. At
some places considerable suspicion was shown as to our intentions, two
questions asked among many such being as to whether we proposed installing
the village receivers in order that we could listen to what the villagers were
saying, or whether the intention was to enable us to communicate with our
aeroplanes. Complete ignorance of broadcasting and what the installation of a
receiver involved gave us considerable trouble in the first few instances, and
when we wanted to climb roofs in order to examine the general layout of the
village and subsequently to erect an aerial, we were suspected of wishing to
peer into the houses of neighbours and so violate the purdah of their
womenfolk.
The first test transmissions of Pathan speech, song and music soon
cleared the air, however, and willing helpers were then readily forthcoming,
while the hospitality shown by the naturally large-hearted Pathan frontiersman
was at times positively embarrassing. He never seemed to quite understand
that we were out to do a job of work and could not spend most of our visit
seated on charpoys or in the well- appointed house of the local Khan
(chieftain) eating, drinking and gossiping.
 The hujra (guest house) of a Khan at Tangi on the North-West Frontier.
Nevertheless the situation was not without its anxious moments,
notably when we visited Utmanzai, the "home town" of Abdul Ghafur Khan,
leader of the famous "Red Shirts" and at the moment in gaol, in order to
install a set there. We found that only a few hours before our arrival there had
been a regular battle in the village between the police and two most notorious
outlaws ,who had been surrounded during the night, but, armed with
automatics, had killed one police inspector and seriously wounded another
before they were finally captured. Possibly the idea of some free
entertainment was welcomed after a disturbed night, and nothing untoward
happened.
The service was formally declared open by His Excellency the
Governor in his inaugural speech, delivered in Pushtu, on March 6, 1935, at
6.30p.m. He emphasized the educative value of broadcasting, which had been
introduced by the Government of the North-west Frontier Province as an
experiment. He described the nature and diversity of the programmes, which
would cover education, sanitation, health, farming and other rural topics. He
hoped that these would result in improving the economic and general
conditions of the Pathan villagers.
The following are typical of comments that appeared subsequently in
the press:
From The Statesman of March 15, 1935:
" Encouraging reports of the satisfactory results of the
Peshawar rural broadcasting service are pouring in at the office of the
Director of Broadcasting, Peshawar, from the various villages in
which receivers have been installed, and numerous requests for
extension of the service to other villages in Peshawar and ether
districts of the Frontier have already been made by Members of the
Frontier Council. The first week's programme included discourses by
the Director of Agriculture on practical improvement in methods with
a view to increasing the economic value of produce. The public was
greatly responsive to the suggestions made from Headquarters.
Reports have also been received that the Peshawar broadcast was
 listened to with unusual interest at Lahore, Delhi, Lucknow, Bhopal
and Chitral, where every word transmitted could be heard clearly. The
Pathan folk-dance music was greatly appreciated, affording relief
from jazz on the one hand and classical music on the other. It is felt
that the present programmes are short, and it will be necessary to
extend the time to cater for a bigger circle of listeners. The urban
section urges that the programme which at present caters for the rural
areas alone should be made comprehensive enough to interest the
cities."
From The Statesman of March 27, 1935:
" Khan Bahadur Abdul Rahim, Deputy President of the
North- West Frontier Province Legislative Council, has tabled a
motion for a cut of Rs.5 in the Grant for the Miscellaneous and
Scientific Department in order to point out the inadequacy of funds
allotted for broadcasting. Members belonging to different parties in
the Council are also submitting a petition to the Governor-in-Council
to urge the Government of India to allot a substantial amount to the
Province from Rs.22 lakhs set apart by them for broadcasting. "
The foregoing extracts from records of those days demonstrate that
the experiment had been a pronounced success. Naturally all of us who had
helped to create the few service were very pleased, but what pleased me most
of all was to learn thus for the first time that the Government of India
evidently had decided that the time had come when they must do something in
the way of developing broadcasting in India, and moreover to have shown this
in no uncertain manner by allocating for the purpose no less that Rs.22 lakhs,
the sterling equivalent of which is £165,000. I was pondering what my next
move should be, when I received a letter from the Honourable Member for
Commerce and Industry in the Government of India, informing me that our
activities in Peshawar had attracted a good deal of attention, and if I happened
to be coming up to Simla he would be pleased to see me.
There was nothing to keep me in Peshawar, where my task was
finished, so my wife and I packed up and left for Simla. We reached the head
of the railway at Kalka in the early hours of the following morning, and after
breakfast in the Railway Refreshment Room we left by tonga for the drive up
the hill. There was an alternative, namely, the narrow-guage railway, but we
had been advised that it was slow and very cramped and uncomfortable, so we
had decided upon the old-fashioned mode of travel. I was vividly reminded of
when last I had passed that way as a boy going to my first school, and as we
came close to Simla and the cart road wound through the pines that clad the
precipitous hills, en route for the Cecil Hotel, we passed the school building,
still there but no longer a school.
Simla seemed to have changed very little in all these years. Doubtless
the native bazaar below the Mall had grown considerably in size and there
were more shops, but I recognized many of the old landmarks. The church on
The Ridge was the same as ever, and I saw myself once again wending my
way there with the other boys, "crocodile" fashion, all neatly attired in our
Etons, and exchanging shy glances with members of the girls' school that not
infrequently arrived at the church door at the same time as we did.

The Khan of Tangi with his daughter and bodyguard.

My interview with the Honourable Member was most encouraging.
He told me how interested he and other Honourable Members had been in our
activities at Peshawar and the success attained, and informed me that it had
been decided to ask me to secure from the Marconi Company, details of the
most powerful transmitter they could supply find erect at Delhi for an outlay
of Rs.3 lakhs, the equivalent in sterling of which was £22,500. I forthwith
cabled this information home, and in reply was requested to return as
expeditiously as practicable to discuss matters.
We were soon on our way, and at Marseilles we took seats in the Air
France mail plane which landed us at Croydon Airport the same evening. It
was early summer by then and the crossing of France in glorious weather with
the snow-clad Alps in the distance was a most enjoyable experience. Next
morning I met the Chairman and Managing Director of the Marconi
Company, who congratulated me upon the results of my mission and then
passed me on to the Engineering Branch.
Several busy days of discussing of ways and means followed, the
outcome of which was that a specification and quotation for a twenty-kilowatt
transmitter with all essential studio and other equipment was put in hand, and
while this was being prepared my wife and I had a very pleasant holiday. I
met a number of distinguished men, including several of the Directors of the
Company, at a luncheon in a private room at the Savoy, and my wife and I
were among the Chairman and Managing Director's guests at a dinner party at
the Hurlingham Club. But not a month had passed when I was on my way
again across France and back to Simla, with the documents in my brief case.

The author’s wife leaving the Cecil Hotel, Simla, for the Viceregal Lodge,
1935.
It was decided that my wife would follow me later, going round by
sea from Tilbury, and it is pleasant to record a very thoughtful and kindly act
on the part of the Chairman and Managing Director of the Marconi Company.
When my wife went aboard the mail steamer and entered her cabin, there on
her berth lay a long box that had been delivered by Special Messenger. In it
was a magnificent spray of carnations having tied to it with ribbon a card with
his compliments and best wishes. Moreover a place had been booked for her
at the Captain's table in the dining saloon.
Several months passed before the equipment reached Delhi.
Meanwhile the Marconi engineer who had carried out the installation of the
transmitter at Peshawar had remained in India and took over supervision of
the erection of the building, and subsequently of the installation of the
equipment. The station was declared open by His Excellency the Viceroy on
January 1, 1936. The Government of India had appointed a Director of
Broadcasting, a former member of the British Broadcasting Corporation, and
an Indian State Broadcasting Service was created, into which the existing
stations at Bombay and Calcutta, a small station more recently established at
Madras, and the Peshawar station, were absorbed. Shortly afterwards this
freshly- formed Department of the Government of India became known by the
apt title of All India Radio, or A. I. R.
Having done what I could to assist in this work, I turned my attention
to the possibility of encouraging similar developments in the Indian States,
mostly of those situated in Central India. I had no success in that direction,
finding that the governments concerned hoped to get all the broadcasting they
needed at no cost to themselves from the Central Governments stations. But it
was an instructive experience to see so much of conditions in these virtually
independent territories, where Indian potentates in many cases continued to
rule autocratically as they had done for past centuries.
 I had a very amusing experience in one comparatively small State,
where I was invited to play golf with His Highness the Maharajah. I was so
impressed with all I saw on that occasion that I lost no time afterwards in
recording the facts while they were still fresh in my mind, and I think they
will be of interest. It was a three-ball match between His Highness, and Aide-
de-Camp and myself, the winner being the A.D.C., while H. H. and I tied.
A motor lorry preceded the party, conveying the retinue of H.H. to the
first tee. We followed in a sumptuous Rolls-Royce car. In the course of the
round I was able to observe the part played by each of the numerous
Individuals who had gone ahead of us. These included a small boy attired in
coat of bright red ,with large pink spots and a white and red pagri to carry
H.H's clubs, and another with tees whose sole duty was to tee H.H's ball.
There was a veteran in pale blue with a mauve pagri as Master of the
Ceremonies who called out "His Highness is about to play!" in a loud voice
before every stroke. Two huntsmen with gun and rifle, cartridge bags etc. and
leading four greyhounds followed, on the chance of any game appearing in
the course of the round.
A Head Groundsman in coat of two-inch stripes of red, white and
green with red and white striped trousers and pagri to match stood nearby
when H.H. was about to play, and if he failed to make a good stroke this
individual made profuse apologies for the state of the course. Three youths,
members of H.H's family, in white jodhpur breeches, brocaded silk coats and
out-sized pagris of flaming hues accompanied the cortège as commentators
and assistant obstructers. Three forecaddies with strained and anxious faces
marked H.H's ball, and the rear of the column was brought up by a white-
bearded ancient in black silk frock coat and sealskin cap who was understood
to be H.H's former tutor. The A.D.C. and I had to be content each with a
caddie and a forecaddie.
The crowning fantasy of this amazing match came when we left a
hole to proceed a little farther than usual, perhaps as much as fifty yards, from
the hole to the next tee. Here a Rolls-Royce car waited to convey the elect -
H.H., his A.D.C. and myself - over this short distance. It was perhaps as well
that all this ceremony put me somewhat off my stroke and as a result H.H. and
I ended up all square, since it put him in a good humour and I was invited to
return to the Palace for drinks in a large lounge the walls of which were
adorned. with numerous trophies of the chase and the floor littered with tiger
skins.
Not all the smaller States I visited were like that. Most of them
appeared to be sanely and well run, and the larger ones particularly so. But I
recollect one outstanding instance of absurd ostentation, where I dined alone
in a Guest House furnished throughout by Maples. The dining room was
large, the silver on the table and side-board was notable, there were several
Goanese waiters, and a good string band with an European conductor played
during the excellent meal with champagne and liqueurs, and all this was
maintained throughout the year for the benefit of an occasional visitor!
 I subsequently made the long journey by rail to Hyderabad in the
Deccan. His Exalted Highness the Nizam was reputed to be the richest man in
India, and this and this great and exceedingly wealthy State could well afford
to do things upon a lavish scale. It's Guest House was a model of comfort and
dignified elegance, supervised by a retired British officer and his wife. There
was no ostentation or signs of extravagance, but nothing could have been
more enjoyable than my stay there. I had a substantial success in that State,
securing an order for two broadcasting transmitters, one of them of
considerable power.
My wife and I remained in India, at Simla during the hot weather and
Delhi in the winter, until the spring of 1939, and during those years we took
part in all the social life of both those centres of Government. When in Simla
we lived at the Cecil Hotel and for the cold weather we had a comfortable
quarter at the Imperial Delhi Gymkhana Club. Each year, in the late spring we
had to go home for a conference at Marconi House, returning for the cold
weather at Delhi. His Excellency the Viceroy, Lord Willingdon, and Lady
Willingdon, showed great interest in my efforts and we received much
kindness at their hands, on one notable occasion having the rarely- bestowed
distinction of being treated as Guests of Honour at one of the lunches to which
we had the privilege of being invited.
Before we left finally to return to England I had the great satisfaction
of securing a very substantial order for the supply and installation by the
Marconi Company of all the powerful medium-wave transmitters required to
replace those lower power and outdated at Bombay and Calcutta, and also for
Madras, Lahore, Lucknow, Dacca and Trichinopoly, while the small
transmitter which had been loaned by the Company for the rural broadcasting
experiment at Peshawar had meanwhile been purchased by the Government of
India and the station taken into the Indian State Broadcasting Service.
It had been an intensely interesting experience. Needless to say
Marconi were not the only competitors of what obviously was an order of
outstanding importance, and whether at Simla of Delhi, my every move was
followed by the representatives of other leading firms who had come out from
England and elsewhere, intent upon defeating my efforts. It was a great battle
of wits and intrigue in which my wife played her part, and until the last, the
outcome was never assured. The Chairman and Managing Director of the
Marconi Company expressed his gratification at the result of my labours when
I called to see him upon our return, and at a later date when I was again
hoping to return to India and undertake fresh work under the Government of
India, I received from him the following unsolicited testimonial;
 London,
October 14, 1940.
"Dear Colonel Hardinge,
Thank you for your letter of the second of October, which
reached me after some delay. I was particularly interested to hear that
you are seeking an opportunity of returning to work in India because I
have such agreeable memories of the services which you rendered this
company between 1923 and 1938. Your long experience in India,
together with your expert knowledge of all aspects of Indian affairs,
political and commercial, enabled you to guide us in carrying on our
business with the central government, with the provincial
governments, and with the States of the Ruling Princes. It is not often
that we have been served so well with advice which was always
sound.
With all good wishes, I am,
Yours sincerely,
(Signed) H. A. White."
We saw quite a lot of our youngest son Brien during the last four
years of our stay in India. Upon leaving Sandhurst and being gazetted to the
Indian Army, his first year was, as is customary, passed with a British infantry
regiment, the Loyals then stationed at Lucknow, and we met him there during
the course of our preliminary tour of the Provinces. Later on and after he had
joined his Indian regiment, the l0th Baluchis, he came up to Simla on a
Russian language course and joined us at the Cecil Hotel. After we had gone
home he went to Esthonia to complete his studies and subsequently passed the
examination in London with the high percentage of marks that secured his
qualification as a lst Class Russian Interpreter. He had previously qualified as
an Interpreter in French, German, and two Indian languages.
When we reached England again, the old couple who had continued
as the tenants of our house at Bognor Regis were still in occupation, so for a
few weeks we stayed in a small flat in London before returning to our home.
But it was not long before I was once again on my way out to India, this time
to undertake the highly remunerative task that had been offered me by the
Indian Civil Service Commission of marking some 1,500 examination papers
of Indian members of the Subordinate Accounts Service of the Government of
India to qualify for their promotion to a higher grade in that service. I stayed
at Maiden's Hotel in Delhi during the few weeks occupied by this wearingly
monotonous task, and by working for long hours daily without a break, I
managed to get back to Bognor Regis by mid-summer.
Badly in need of a rest as I then was, and tempted by making some
money by letting our house for the remainder of the summer months, we went
over to St. Malo and passed a pleasant time there. But the clouds of another
war were swiftly gathering, and the day came when we had to pack up hastily
and leave by the last passenger vessel to sail from that port for Southampton.
Since the period for which we had let our house still had some days to run, we
went to stay with our son Rex and his wife at Four Marks, near Alton in
Hampshire.

Quarterguard of a crack Indian infantry unit: the 2nd Battalion Baluch

Regiment.
 LVI
When war came and we had helped to put up the blackout in our son's
house, we returned to ours in Bognor Regis and the weary months of the
"phoney" war followed. Then came the days of peril when our army in France
had withdrawn to Dunkirk and this country. A meeting of local residents was
summoned in Bognor's Pavilion at which recruits were sought for the Local
Defence Volunteers, renamed at a later date the Home Guard. I attended that
meeting, my offer to train a section was accepted, and I was allotted an area
that included Pagham Harbour with a front of some three and a half miles of
foreshore.
Many in this country took part in that enterprise and there is no need
for me to do more here than to record the fact that within a remarkably short
time we had a Pagham Section in being more than a hundred strong. The
majority of its members were ex-service men, over-age of service with the
active army but well able to give a good account of themselves if needs be. I
took considerable personal responsibility by carrying out several demolitions
in order to clear the field of fire for some of our posts and in prevailing upon
the Post Office authorities to link up portions of my area by telephone.
We had a very anxious time round about the days of the famous Battle
of Britain, without doubt the turning point in the war, and for several nights
such sleep as I could get was in my uniform. On one notable occasion in the
very early hours of the morning when we were "standing to" and several
flares had been dropped by enemy planes, a message came through from
Headquarters informing me that an attack from the sea was imminent and that
it would probably be preceded by a smoke screen, likely to be mixed with gas.
Fortunately for us nothing happened, since with only twenty rounds per rifle,
four American-type quick firers and a few "Molotov cocktails", we could
hardly have done-more than, perhaps, delay the landing of a small party for a
few minutes at most. But of course it might well be that those few minutes
would just suffice to warn our forces farther back of the point at which a
landing in force might follow, in time to permit of dispositions being made
accordingly.
 The author, aged 63 years.
It was an extraordinary experience for us all, and for those to some
extent in the know, a wonder how we came through it. The only immediate
support to our Bognor Regis Home Guard spread over a frontage of our
southern foreshore of nearly twenty miles, was one regular British infantry
regiment, or it would be more correct to say, the remnant of that regiment that
had returned from France by way of Dunkirk. A substantial portion of its rank
and file were at that time without rifles! My section was fortunate in being
armed throughout with .303 Lee-Metfords.
It was about nine months after we had started these operations that a
London Infantry Brigade, since moved to West Sussex in our support, carried
out an inspection of our No.6 (Bognor Regis) Company in which my Pagham
section was known as No.5 Platoon. I have already remarked that this
"Platoon" was over a hundred strong, while the "Company" was about the
strength of an Infantry battalion! Shortly after this inspection, when we had
put up a little show at the request of the staff officers who came to inspect us,
I received the following communication from the Officer Commanding the
Company;
Extracts from 140 Lond. Inf. Bde. Report on Home Guard Exercise, 2
Mar.'41.
General Report on all Coys.
"Efficiency appears to depend almost entirely on the personality
of Platoon Commanders. Where the Commander has some military
experience and plenty of drive, the Platoon achieves a very satisfactory
standard (notably in the case of No.6 Company, Bognor Regis, No.5
Platoon).
 All ranks are extremely keen (conspicuously so in No.6
Company) and are capable of making considerable progress if affiliated
Regular Bns. show equal enthusiasm in the assistance they supply to
the Home Guard.
Special Report on No.6 Company.
General Task of Platoons. No written orders except for No.5
Platoon, which is good.
General. Standard of efficiency varies tremendously with
Platoons. No.5 Pl. H.G.(Pagham) is a model of how a H.G. Platoon
locality should be organised. "
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Hardinge,
The above is the cream, skimmed from several sheets of
constructive and useful criticism of the report. It is sufficient to show
the success achieved by your untiring efforts under extremely difficult
conditions, and is a triumph for you and all members of your extremely
keen and efficient Platoon.
I wish you equal success in your new venture.
Yours ever,
(Signed) C.H.I. Jackson."
(Colonel, D,S.O.,Commanding No.6 Coy., West Sussex Home
Guard)
Bognor Regis 12 Mar. ‘41 ).
At the end of his letter, Colonel Jackson wished me success in my
"new venture". The explanation is that shortly before the inspection I had
received an offer from the Marconi Company to proceed to Chelmsford where
their Works had stood for many years and to which place the Head Office had
transferred from London at the commencement of the war, and organise a
series of short courses of instruction for members of the Technical (Wireless}
Branch of the Royal Air Force. Certain wireless equipment of a novel type
had been designed for the R.A.F. by the Company, and the object of the
course was to instruct these men in its functioning and maintenance. It was
important equipment intended for installation in all aircraft of Coastal and
Bomber Commands and was on the Secret List.
Needless to say I was delighted at the idea of rejoining the Company,
and the more so in view of the very interesting and important nature of the
proferred appointment, which I forthwith accepted. My wife and I speedily
packed up, stowed away what was not needed for a letting, and left our house
in the hands of a local agent to the latter end.
Upon reaching Chelmsford and having settled into some furnished
apartments, I had to undergo an intensive study of the new equipment and
relevant technical literature and devize a detailed programme for the courses
of instruction, each of fourteen days duration for batches of up to fifty men at
a time. I had the use of the lecture hall in the Company's School of Wireless
Communication which had long been in existence for the training of fresh
entrants to the Company's technical branch and its representatives and others
from overseas.
These courses ran for over three and a half years without a break and
nearly 3,000 members of the R.A.F. passed through them. During that period
several of the courses were attended by members of the wireless services of
other countries. Among these were Poles, Danes, Scandinavians and a few
Americans. At my suggestion one class was devoted to foreman fitters from
aircraft factories throughout the United Kingdom, with a view to improving
the standard of installation of the equipment.

My Lecture Hall, Marconi College, March 1941 to November 1944.

Throughout the duration of the war, Chelmsford was protected by

numerous Anti-Aircraft Batteries and by more than thirty Barrage Balloons, in
spite of which we were bombed repeatedly. The whole area was a vital target
for the enemy, since within its limits were not only the Marconi Company, but
also Crompton's great engineering Works and the Ball-Bearing Factory of
Hoffmann & Company. During the earlier years of the war the latter firm was
a "Key" industry, being the only factory then manufacturing a particular type
of ball-bearing for our tanks.
On one occasion in particular my wife and I had a very narrow escape
from a near-miss by a five-hundred pounder. We were rudely awakened in the
dead of night by a convulsion like an earthquake, to find our beds covered
with plaster from the roof of our room and splintered glass from the windows.
But there were other incidents almost equally alarming during our stay.
Chelmsford certainly was a much-favoured target! Both the Marconi Head
Office Building and the Works, and the ball-bearing factory, suffered several
direct hits with heavy casualties and extensive damage.
 The last few months of that period were quite the most trying. V.1
flying bombs or "doodlebugs" as these were popularly termed, launched from
Holland and intended for London, passed over Chelmsford and not a few
came down in our area. There must be many who well remember listening to
the throbbing of a V.1 overhead, and then the suspense when that throbbing
ceased abruptly! I recollect only one V.2 but it scored a direct hit on
Hoffmann's great Machine Shop, and what terrible havoc it created!
Incidentally there was heavy loss of life.
But apart from these trials, I thoroughly enjoyed that job. The men
who passed through my hands were so admirable. All were, of course,
wireless experts and come to us for instruction in a novel type of equipment,
but they all were so keen and hard-working that it was a pleasure to work with
them. It was a strange experience in many respects. Mounted upon the
reinforced roof of the Lecture Hall was a Bofors anti-aircraft gun that on more
than one occasion shook us with its fire when, under cover of the light
morning mist, an enemy plane flying low and following the course of the
railway line that passed though a cutting upon the edge of which our building
stood, on its way to bomb a target in Chelmsford, was fired upon at close
range. A few yards outside the Hall there was a row of underground shelter's
into which we had to move when an alarm bell rang immediately above my
head. There were times when our work was interrupted thus more than once
during a lecture!
Nevertheless in spite of all these distractions, towards the end of the
war fleets of as many as a couple of hundred bombers were sallying forth to
strafe the enemy and all his works and Coastal Command planes were equally
active in other spheres, and it was most gratifying for us to learn that our
equipment, fitted in all these aircraft, maintained a very high average standard
of efficiency.
I recall one particularly pleasant memory among many such. It was on
Boxing Day and when I went to my place on the platform in the morning, on
my desk lay a brown paper parcel. Looking round, I realised that an air of
expectancy pervaded the class. I opened the parcel and found that it contained
half-a-dozen tins of Sobranie pipe tobacco and a slip of paper informing me
that it was from the class. One more such incident has just occurred to me. I
must explain that we knocked off work for a few minutes at 11 a.m. daily and
moved to an adjoining room where a cup of tea was served and some of the
men produced bags of biscuits or fruit. On this particular occasion my class
consisted entirely of Polish Air Force men, and the bag on my desk turned out
to contain some apples from one of them.
That the course met requirements satisfactorily is best shown by the
following extracts from letters received during and after its long run:
From Air Vice-Marshal E. D. Davis, Headquarters No.25(A) Group,
R.A.F., Market Drayton, to The Marconi School of Wireless
Communication, dated May 3, 1943
 "I wish to express my cordial appreciation of the generous co-
operation you have recently given my staff in drawing up some
technical additions to the syllabus of Aircrew Instructor training at the
Signal Instructors' School. I feel that we are very fortunate to have had
the benefit not only of your intimate knowledge of the equipment but
also of your long experience in the practical teaching of radio. I wish
particularly to thank you for your courtesy to my Signals Officer and to
the members of the Instructors' School who recently attended one of
your courses."
From The Deputy Chief of Air Division, Marconi's Wireless Telegraph
Co. Ltd., to The Principal, Marconi School of Wireless Communication
dated June 26, 1944.
"You may be interested and pleased to know that I am repeatedly
hearing praise for 'Marconi Course' at the College. Maintenance
personnel, with whom I am continually in contact in the two
Commands, who have had the course, almost unanimously express their
gratification at the information and teaching received at Chelmsford. I
have often been the recipient of this confidence, and I quote - 'The
Marconi Course is the best course among the specialised courses in the
R.A.F.'"
From The Chairman and Managing Director, Marconi's Wireless
Telegraph Co. Ltd., to the High Commissioner for India, India House,
London, dated January 7, 1945. dated January 7 , 1945.
"From March 1941 until the end of November, 1944, Colonel
Hardinge has been employed upon specialised wireless training of
members of the R.A.F. Technical Branch. The manner in which he has
discharged this highly responsible and often arduous duty continuously
throughout this lengthy period, demanding good health energy and
keenness, was eminently satisfactory. These training classes were
initiated at the request of the R.A.F. Training Command whose
Commander-in-Chief expressed his appreciation of the 'outstanding
success' achieved. They were only discontinued when their purpose had
been fully met."
Owing two my advancing age it seemed obvious to me that this
training course in all probability would be my last assignment in the public
service, consequently it was a great satisfaction to know that it had proved so
successful. Nearly fifty years had passed since my military career began at
Sandhurst, and during the greater part of that time had been filled with tasks
of infinite variety, responsibility and interest. Having regard to my long and
very varied experiences, will it be thought presumptuous of me to offer some
words of advice to the younger members of our public services? What I feel
impelled to say is that however good the planning of any organisation may be,
its success depends upon filling the various appointments with individuals
best fitted for each, never failing to see to it that every member knows why his
job, however humble, is as important as any other, or to praise where praise is
due and not only to criticise when duties have not been satisfactorily
performed. If you do that and your staff realises that you know their jobs as
well as your own, they will do their best, and it is the team spirit that ensures
success.
As will be appreciated from what appears upon the title page of this
my autobiography, it has been my hope that my life story will serve to
demonstrate that the average Indian Army officer does not deserve to be
referred to with a sneer as "Colonel Blimp" or a "Poonah-Wallah". While
undoubtedly I had the good fortune to serve in more differing capacities than
most, and there were of course those less enterprising individuals who
preferred to settle down to the somewhat humdrum life of a regimental
officer, on the other hand there were many who rose to positions of great
eminence in India's past history, for instance, the Nicholsons, the Skinners,
Jacob, Sandieman, and others who became great administrators.
I find that I have omitted to explain for the information of those who
do not know it, that in the earlier years of our rule in India, an Indian Staff
Corps came into being. This "Corps d'Élite" as it undoubtedly became, was
recruited from officers trained at Sandhurst, and in earlier years at the East
India Company's military school at Addiscombe, who had competed keenly
for the then much coveted privilege of appointment to the Corps with its great
opportunities for a life of adventure and fortune. Upon receiving the
Sovereign's commission as a second-lieutenant, he was in every case posted to
a British regiment of cavalry or infantry, according to which branch of the
service he preferred, as a "Second-Lieutenant, Indian Staff Corps,
(Unattached)". After one years service with this British unit, he was then
posted in that rank to an Indian unit.
Until Lord Kitchener, at that time Commander-in-Chief in India, in
1906-7 abolished the four separate Presidency Indian Armies of the Punjab,
Bengal, Madras and Bombay and renamed all the units, thereof upon one
combined roll, an Indian Staff Corps officer upon completion of his year of
service attached to a British unit was posted to one or other of the four
Presidencies and remained for all time a member thereof, no matter to what
special appointment he might eventually pass on. But it was extremely
unusual for him to do so to any appointment outside the boundaries of his own
Presidency. That is why the Punjab was the most popular among those who
welcomed adventure, since obviously it covered the greater part of the Indian
frontiers. But the Kitchener reorganisation abolished all that, and service for
all might be anywhere in the sub-continent. Undoubtedly it was a very
desirable change that made for higher all-round efficiency.
The foregoing reminiscences remind me of a widespread present-day
misconception among the general public regarding Regular officers of the
army, doubtless due to the fact that since the First World War by far the
greater proportion of our officers have been members of the civil professions
who have joined up for the period of the war, to return in due course to their
civilian vocations. A regular officer has chosen a military career as his
profession and been trained for it from boyhood. When he receives his
Commission it is at the hands of the Sovereign and for life, whereas that
granted to a temporary officer is from the Secretary of State and only for the
duration of the national emergency. As will be seen from a paragraph on the
first page of the King’s (or Queen's) Regulations, at the end of a Regular
officer's active service his name is transferred to the retired list, but he
continues as an officer in the rank held upon retirement and moreover remains
under certain obligations to the State in case of emergency, whereas upon
completion of his military service a temporary officer ceases to have any
military association and can continue to use the rank title he held at the time
of his release only if specially authorised to do so by the Secretary of State as
a mark of appreciation for past services. On those happily very rare occasions
that a Regular officer is cashiered by the finding of a Court Martial, he cannot
be deprived of his rank unless the reigning Sovereign confirms the Court
Marshal proceedings.
 LVII
It was in the early spring of 1945 that we went up to London from
Chelmsford and for a time to a hotel in South Kensington that had suffered
severely from a near miss. There was hardly a window with its panes of glass
intact or a door that closed properly. We were not sorry to leave and return to
Bognor Regis, there to remain for some weeks at a hotel until our erstwhile
tenants evacuated our home at Aldwick and we were able to reoccupy it.
Some months previously a large bomb had dropped nearby, with the result
that most of the ceilings, some of the windows, and quite a lot of our china
and glass had suffered severely. Then at a later date an enemy plane,
swooping down to attack a Bofors gun emplacement situated in a field behind
the house and within a hundred yards of it, opened fire a shade too soon and
the first few rounds of its burst of fire hit our roof and did considerable
damage to it and to our furniture and fittings within.
Our tenants had been an elderly widowed lady with two daughters,
and it did not take us long to realise that these experiences had been too much
for them. The interior of the house was indescribably neglected and dirty, and
the large garden, was a wilderness. But with some temporary domestic help
and much labour on our own part, within a few weeks we had got everything
shipshape again. By then the summer was approaching and we felt that we
had earned a real holiday, so having secured some temporary tenants we
decided to go over to the Channel Islands and see something of my wife's
relatives. We were fortunate in having delightful weather and thoroughly
enjoyed the few weeks that followed.
It was May 1946 that our son Rex returned from service overseas. The
last we had seen of him was when he had paid us a very brief visit at
Chelmsford to say goodbye before proceeding on foreign service, but at that
time he was unable to let us know what was the nature of his appointment.
When several years earlier we had stayed a while at Four Marks near Alton in
Hampshire with him and his wife and war was then declared, he had joined
the Observer Corps, enlisted subsequently in the Royal Tank Corps and at a
later date qualifying for a commission and volunteering for the Indian Army.
Reaching India, he completed his training for a commission at Mhow and was
posted to the 8th Punjabis but with orders to proceed to Delhi for a course of
instruction in the Political Department of the Government of India. Upon the
conclusion of this course he received orders to proceed to Chungking, China,
there to report to the British Embassy.
What follows is taken from a record of some of his subsequent
achievements. ".... After intensive instruction, he was posted to China with the
rank of Captain, attached to the British Military Mission, Chungking, to join a
undercover organisation operating an extensive intelligence network
throughout China, Mongolia, Manchuria, Korea and parts of Burma. Twice
mentioned in despatches, he was also mentioned in the Official Record of War
in the China Theatre of Operations made by the American Generals Stilwell
and Wedermeyer. Promoted to Major, 1945. He was the first British officer to
journey overland across China in the closing stages of operations and enter the
old capital city of Pekin, which had been in the hands of the Japanese for
more than ten years. On foot, and by such local transport as was available, in
the face of hostility from Communist forces as well as Japanese, and
accompanied only by one British civilian agent and two Chinese, he travelled
more than 1,5000 miles. He served in China with only two short breaks from
1945 to 1946 and returned to England in April of the latter year, to become a
free-lance author once more."
Meanwhile his eldest son Patrick, our first-born grandchild, had also
been serving his county no less efficiently. Having qualified as a Wireless
operator he joined a ship that was torpedoed and sunk in the Bay of Biscay
with in ten days of leaving her home port. He spent five days in an open boat
in the Atlantic before being picked up and later saw service in that ocean, the
Baltic, the Mediterranean, and Eastern waters, including several hazardous
voyages to Russian ports, Gibraltar, Malta, and Tobruk. Since the war he has
served in the Air Ministry Weather Service and passed out top in the special
Admiralty Radar Course at Devenport Dockyard. Rex's younger son David
joined the Royal Navy as a Boy. He was not then sixteen years of age and got
in only by reason of this fact having been overlooked. He saw active service
in the Channel, when he was one of the few survivors of a raid on the French
coast, and was subsequently invalided out of the service.
Shortly after Rex's visit we let the house for the summer months as
we had done in the previous year and went again to the Channel Islands, but
on this occasion after a brief visit to Jersey, the greater part of our holiday was
spent in Guernsey, and from there we made a trip to Alderney. This island had
been completely evacuated during the war and the Germans had converted it
into a veritable fortress and had left the little town in a terrible state of
disrepair and neglect. Since then Commander S.P. Herivel, C.B.E., D.S.C.,
Royal Navy, whose family has been associated with the Island’s history for
generations past, had been elected President of the States of Alderney and
much had since been achieved in the way of repairing the devastation and re-
establishing the Island's prosperity. Commander Herivel, a cousin of my
wife's has a distinguished war record, details of which already appear in these
Memoirs. My wife and I met him and Mrs. Herivel for the first time when we
called upon them at Les Mouriaux, their residence and at one time that of
Alderney's Governors. It was from Commander Herivel that I learnt of the
existence of the book entitled "Memoirs of Colonel Aymar-Olivier le Herivel
de Gonneville," published in Paris in 1895, and lent me his copy. A translation
of extract therefrom have already been reproduced herein.
We had not been back in Bognor Regis many weeks and Christmas of
1946 was drawing near when our youngest son Brien arrived home on
furlough from India with his wife and their two small children Jennifer and
John, and they came to us for a while. Brien had served with his regiment, the
l0th Baluchis, in Malaya. And with the 14th Army in Burma, where for a time
he commanded the battalion and attached troops with complete responsibility
for the administration of a surrendered Japanese Infantry Division and was
mentioned in despatches. On this occasion he had the unique experience of
accepting the surrendered swords of nearly five hundred officers of the
Japanese Division. Prior to the Burma campaign he had held the appointments
of a Staff Captain and Interpreter Officer at Army Headquarters in India, Staff
Captain with the British Military Mission, Tiflis, to the Union of Soviet
Socialist Republics, and G.S.O.3, Detailed Interrogation Centre Baghdad. He
had also been a member of an armoured reconnaissance into Azerbaijan in
Northern Persia. Possessing a special aptitude for languages, it was not long
before he had acquired Interpreterships in French and German in addition to
proficiency in those required of him as a Regular officer of the Indian Army.
Having settled his wife and family down in England, he returned to India and
was Second-in-Command of a battalion of his regiment on the North-West
Frontier, subsequently transferring to British Service in England and joining a
department of the Foreign Office, and at a later date, the Intelligence Corps
with which he served in Vienna as a Security Officer. By 1953 he was back in
England and Second-in-Command of the Intelligence Corps.
In the summer of 1947 we went up to Scotland to stay with our eldest
son and his wife and daughter Patricia at Aberdeen. An expert radio engineer,
he was still holding the important supervisory appointment that he had filled
throughout the war, which I involved much travelling through Eastern and
Northern Scotland. It was during those difficult times for us all that he had
suffered the grievous loss of his wife Phyllis, mother of Patricia. Left alone
with his motherless young daughter, we were glad to learn towards the end of
the war that he had married again, and this was the first opportunity we had
had of meeting his second wife and finding them all comfortably settled down
in a new home. We greatly enjoyed our visit, the numerous drives we had, and
the excellent golf Jack and I had together. That was some years back and their
two small sons Raymond and Keith have since reached school age.
That, I feel, should suffice to show that our family continues to give
of its best for Sovereign and Country. But I am inclined to think that "family"
is too restricted a term to meet the case. Surely when its members now
includes my wife and myself, three sons and two grand-daughters-in-Iaw,
eight grandchildren, two grand-daughters-in-law, and three great-
grandchildren, "tribe" would be a more appropriate designation!
My story is now drawing to its close. As the years passed, life in
England became more difficult for Regular army pensioners. The rates of
pension for Indian Army officers in force up to 1919, remained so until 1947,
when an increase averaging 20% was granted, followed in 1952 by a further
supplement of about 8%. Regular officers are comparatively few in numbers,
and we have no Trade Union to demand for us the periodical and substantial
supplements enjoyed a by the masses of our work people. So my wife and I
settled down to live the simple life so many others like us were doing. It
became a daily habit for me to go off on my bicycle with its shopping basket
strapped to the handlebars, after breakfast, while my wife busied herself with
all the household chores. The wages of domestic help had by then risen to
levels quite beyond our means.
 From time to time I had to call at the Bank to cash a cheque, and it
was on one such occasion that the unexpected happened. The elderly cashier
having glanced at my name on the cheque, looked up and said with a smile, "I
don't suppose you remember me in Poona during the first war, do you?”
While his face was familiar, I was unable to place him until he told me that he
had learnt who I was from one of the Southdown bus Inspectors who was, like
himself, a member of the local branch of the British Legion. Both these men
had been members of my staff in the Military Finance Office at Poona,
between 1916 and 1919. Shortly afterwards I was asked if I would accept the
post of President of our local branch of the Legion, to which I agreed, and I
served in that capacity for the following three years, attending their periodic
meetings, taking part in discussions, fortified with tankards of ale, at the Bar
of the Branch Headquarters, and Commanding the parade and march to our
local Cenotaph to lay a wreath, with church service to follow, on
Remembrance Days. On those occasions our parade was joined by parties of
ex-service members of other organisations, both military and naval, and by a
detachment of the R.A.F. under an officer from the Air Force Station at
Tangmere. On all such formal occasions my most moving task was the
delivery of the beautiful words of the Exhortation:
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old, Age shall not
weary them, nor the years condemn, At the going down of the sun; And in the
morning we will remember them!

Lieut.-Col. H.R. Hardinge (President of the Bognor Regis Branch) laying a

wreath on behalf of the British Legion.
(Bognor Regis Post, Nov.18, 1950).
 So my job of work with the R.A.F. lads at Chelmsford was not
destined to be my last as I had surmised! The Bognor Regis Branch of the
British Legion was strong in numbers, and there was also a substantial
Women’s' Section. It is a well-organised Branch, for which a keen and hard-
working Chairman who had held the post of several years was largely
responsible. The majority were the older men and women, and I was very
interested to find that for the most part they deplored the passing of the old
days and conditions, and complained that owing to the greatly increased cost
of living and shortage of accommodation, the higher pay of civilian
employment was not a sufficient compensation. But what struck me most
forcibly was the entirely different outlook of the younger members, and how
impossible it seemed to get them to see our point of view.
On Sunday, April the 23rd, 1950, my wife and I completed fifty years
of married life, and we had decided to spend the day, our Golden Anniversary,
at Stockbridge. Our plan was to go there on the Saturday, visit our old haunts,
stay the night at the Grosvenor Hotel, attend service next morning in the
church in which we were married, returning later to our home. But unknown
to us, our sons and their wives put their heads together and planned a far more
ambitious programme for us.
Rex was staying with us at the time, and he accompanied us to the
railway station. Here he left us for a few minutes, returning with a lovely
bouquet of roses and maidenhair which had just arrived to order from London.
We had to change at Southampton, and the obvious interest of other
passengers standing on the platform I caused us considerable amusement.
Were we suspected of being a newly-married couple on our honeymoon?
However that may have been, to our surprise we were met at Stockbridge
station by a taxi which had been ordered, and when we found the Manager
and his wife standing at the top of the steps of the hotel entrance waiting to
receive us, we realised that something unusual was afoot. We were shown to
our room by the Manageress, and there were lovely flowers tied with ribbon
in a true lover's knot, and cigarettes, and even a tablet of Babs' favourite soap
on the washstand! Only then did we learn that Brien and Peggy had come
down to Stockbridge and done all these things. But there was more to follow!
We had arrived in time for lunch. When we entered the dining room it
became evident from the interested glances that the story had gone round. We
were shown to a table nicely set, enjoyed an excellent lunch, with which
burgundy was served which, we were gravely informed by the butler, had
been ordered for us. That afternoon we went over to Andover as we used to do
in the old days, pottered round and had tea as of yore, returning in time to
dress for dinner and the bottle of hock that went with it.
Next morning, our wedding anniversary, the Manager was at the
entrance when we left for the morning church service, and as we passed out
he remarked to me that he hoped we would come straight back to the hotel
after the service, as there was a little surprise in store for us. Wondering what
it could possibly be, we assured him that we would do so. Meanwhile,
however, one of the biggest surprises of all was in store for us. We were
shown into our seats in the church, and the service commenced with the entry
of the Rector, followed by a full choir. When they had taken their places, he
came towards us, enquired if we were Colonel and Mrs. Hardinge, and then
informed us that he had been told that it was our Golden Anniversary,
congratulated us, and said that a special anthem was to be sung in our honour.
I must leave it to my reader's imagination to picture our feelings at that
moment. At the conclusion of the service we stayed for the Holy Communion
and were able to see the Rector afterwards in his vestry and thank him, and
make a small contribution to the church funds.
When we returned to the hotel it was to find that the manager and his
wife the Manageress were once again on the front steps to greet us, and
conduct us to a reserved lounge where, set out on a small table stood a
magnificent cake, a large bottle of champagne, and glasses! Of course we
invited the Manager and Manageress to join us. They drank our health, the
cake was cut with all due ceremony, and a very pleasant little party followed,
during the course of which I learnt that the Manager had been a trooper in the
Australian Army, during the First World War, and had served in Egypt when I
was there.
While I was exchanging reminiscences with him, my wife learnt from
the manageress how Brien and Peggy had arrived with the flowers and other
nice things we had round in our room, and the cake, and had made all these
arrangements. It transpired that Peggy had made the cake and iced it, and had
sat up most of the night awaiting for it to cool sufficiently to permit of the
decorations and inscription being added. It had suffered some damage on the
journey down from London, but Peggy had proved quite equal to the
emergency. She had approached the hotel chef and enlisted his interest, with
the result that the damage was skilfully remedied. It was a lovely cake, as
good to eat as it was to look at. Of course we took it home with us, and were
able to distribute slices among members of the family.
After another enjoyable lunch, we went of to have a look round a
neighbourhood we had come to know so well half a century earlier. It had
changed very little. Even the row of cottages in one of which I had stayed
before our marriage, stood there looking just the same as in those days. The
narrow bridge over the river at the end of the village had a special interest for
us, since we had learnt that when Rex was serving with the Royal Armoured
Corps on Perham Down in the early years of the last war a tank he was
driving when out training had fouled the side wall of the bridge and knocked a
bit out of it, and there was the sign of recent repair that confirmed the story!
A good dinner and a pleasant evening in the comfortable hotel lounge
followed. Several of the residents came over and congratulated us during the
course of that day and evening. It had indeed been a wonderful experience and
words could not adequately express what we, both felt regarding what had
been so thoroughly, and bounteously, planned for us. It was above all the kind
thoughts that mattered most. We returned to Bognor Regis and our routine on
the Monday morning. Three uneventful years followed which would have
been hardly endurable but for our nice friends, many of them service
pensioners like ourselves and struggling along as we were doing, but I doubt
if any had even a tithe of the pleasant and often exciting times in the past that
we had enjoyed, to look back upon. Afternoon teas were about the only form
of entertainment to which any of us could aspire, but we all I am sure enjoyed
those little exchanges now and then. But as the months passed, both my wife
and I felt that the strain of running a home and garden without help was
becoming too much for us. For my part, I was becoming more subject to "that
tired feeling" in my back after gardening or any other manual work, which too
often developed into attacks of lumbago and rheumatism, and I suffered with
increasing frequency and intensity from pain on that account, though I did not
then know how serious was the cause that lay behind these attacks.
So it came about that we gave up house keeping and left Bognor
Regis for a London hotel, and some weeks later for a delightful country house
in North Devon, to stay with some charming people who also have seen much
of the world in better days. But we had not been there many weeks when I had
a stroke during the night, and but for my wife's presence of mind I would have
passed out. It seems that on the previous day, when filling in time by repairing
a rustic garden seat, I must have strained my back, and there followed quite
the worst time I had ever had with it. The doctor decided upon an X-ray, and
this revealed that I had what he termed "a crushed spine." We came to the
conclusion that the origin of this dated back no less than fifty-nine years,
when as a lad in my teens I strained my back severely, making spectacular
dives into the sea in Jersey, as a result of which I had to lie on my back for a
considerable period. There was no X-ray in those days which would have
disclosed the extent of the damage, but the bones were young and soft then
and I had recovered and lived through all the years that followed, as active
and hard a life as most men. I then realised the true cause of my "tired" back,
and why from time to time of late, it had given me so much trouble.
So now I am considerably crippled, though still able to limp about a
little. It is a painful business, without a continuous backbone! But for the past
three years now, I have been far more than ever dependent upon my wife's
never-failing devotion in seeing to it that I am as comfortable as is possible at
all times. That with her advancing years this is a great strain and is wearing
her down, troubles me greatly but what can I do? We both have enjoyed to the
full a long and happy life full of interest, and it is not everyone who can say
that! So we look forward to celebrating our Diamond Jubilee at Stockbridge in
1960. Why not?