Here we are at last in Calcutta, seventy odd miles away from my Kharagpur, knowing it will not be long before I will be walking those streets and seeing the house I spent my happiest years in.
On landing at Dum Dum Airport all passengers descended the plane and started to walk towards the airport - I noticed palm trees - in all the excitement I took a couple of photos of these trees - I do not remember seeing any palm trees in India when I lived there. Of course the two men (Eric- my husband & Alan my brother-in-law) being engineers - were viewing the one and only dilapidated airplane parked in the corner of this airport.
Once inside the airport - in walked the military towards us. Just think we four tourists were greeted by India’s military. Before we knew it, one of the high ranking military men got hold of Alan’s arm and told him he had to come to their office as he was seen taking photos of their airport.
Alan, born in England not knowing what on earth was happening being his first visit to India wondered why he was picked to see their military officer. I went up to this military man and told him it was I who took the pictures. All this time Eric was visiting the little boys’ room, when he came out and found us surrounded by these military men wanted to know what happened.
Words were exchanged between the military and Eric - Eric removed the film from my camera and gave it to Mr. Singh - accompanied with the signed letter from Eric.
Before leaving I mentioned to Mr. Singh – IF, India does not want their tourists taking photos of their airports – there should be signs barring photos to be taken – like all other countries display at their airports.
Dum Dum Airport does not have these warning signs: “Photography is forbidden at Dum Dum Airport” – since no law was broken by me – this film should not be seized.
Here seen as an unlawful step - taken by Mr. Singh to a tourist visiting his country – this made no difference to Mr. Singh – he still kept my film.
Keep this in mind when reading our exit from Dum Dum Airport to Bombay.
We gathered our luggage and climbed into the waiting cars to drive us to Hindustan International Hotel, Calcutta. Not much can be said about our stay at this Hotel, it was somewhere to refreshen ourselves - ending our first day in Calcutta with a quiet dinner at the Hotel.
The following morning was our day trip by car to Khargpur. I was so excited - at last, after 36 years returning to the town where I was born, educated and married.
Would she remember me as much as I remember her? Would she have changed as much as I have changed? With all these nagging thoughts while the hands of the clock was ticking away drawing me closer and closer to 345 Third Avenue, Kharagpur.
The morning started with having breakfast at the Hotel, moving on to the Office to check for the two drives, each couple had their own driver. When we got to the Office there stood the manager from the Travel Service, greeted us with a big smile and happy to introduce us to our driver (singular). One car, one driver for both the couples, and to top the incomplete order this car was small without air conditioning, for which both couples had paid for two cars with air conditioning. No credit was offered for this short change order.
Words mounted between the other couple and the Manager for this poor service.
Now with a bad taste in our mouth - this small car - no Air, we pile in and set off for Kharagpur with the car windows open and the dirt blowing on us. It was very uncomfortable squeezed into this car, but just the thought we will be in Kharagpur kind of softened the tension here.
A stop was made for a drink - some coconut milk - I remember referring to them as ‘dabs’ bought from a vender along side of the road.
The closer we arrived to Khargpur I remember the driver (a very helpful man ready to please – his credit made up for his employer’s error) brought us down Third Avenue near All Saint Church, two blocks away from 345 Third Avenue, our house. My sister and I had to get out of the car, set our feet on Khargpur soil, the road I had walked often during those 1937-1949 days.
Eric, my sister Blossom and yours truly Clare, were so excited and started talking all at once, while Alan new to this country shouted out for us to please quiet down. One cannot - when you do not want to miss a single moment here.
Finally we come to 345 Third Avenue, our (my sister Blossom and Clare’s) home.
That camera of mine was working over time, click, click and oh the two Neem trees still standing, tall as ever, gracing the entrance of 345 Third Avenue. I run to the back of the house to see if our Mango tree was still there. No, gone our Mango Tree that produced lovely mangoes - Mum made her favourite mango pickle, every year. My first stab felt on my return to 345 Third Avenue. I walked around close to our bedroom window, click and more clicks, when a man on his bike stopped me and asked me why I was I taking these photos.
“Eric” I called out loud. Once again, Clare was in trouble with that camera of hers. Eric to the rescue, spoke to the man on the bike, and told him that I used to live in that house during The British Raj days, and that my dad – Mr. Ernest Johnstone was a Mail Driver on the BNR – etc etc and etc.
The unbelievable - this man was my dad’s fireman, he was so pleased to meet us, and said my dad was the best Mail Driver in Kharagpur, a perfect gentleman, hard worker and treated everyone with respect. He invites us for a cup of tea to his house, now a living neighbour to our house, 345 Third Avenue, Kharagpur. Thoughts racing through my mind – what would dad think about this, his fireman living next door to our old dwelling. On going inside I found those rooms so small, while my mind always thought of them as large rooms during my stay in 345 Third Avenue.
Back to the outside - a lady on her bike stopped to talk with us. Guess we tourists stood out like a sore thumb - We asked her if there were any folks still in Kharagpur after India’s Independence? Her reply was; “The Lennons and Gaudins.” Our driver followed her to Dick & Olive Lennons’ residence that happened to be on the same Avenue. Dick Lennon a friend of Eric’s both completing their five years apprenticeship at the BNR Shed - Olive Peters Lennon (Dick’s wife) was one of my teachers at the European High School. It was great meeting old friends - after spending some time with them, Dick asked us if we heard about the American couple whose camera had been seighed at Dum Dum Airport, Calcutta. We four tourists broke out in a loud laugh. Now I must mention here, Clare is not an American citizen she is a Canadian Citizen. Dick brings out the News Paper and shows us the short article of Clare’s welcome at the Dum Dum Airport, Calcutta, India. Not only do we get an Indian Military welcome at Dum Dum Airport, we also hit their Newspaper News for that day.
From Olive and Dick’s place our driver following the lady on her bike taking us out of Kharagpur to Jhatapatpur where most retired BNR employees either rented a couple of rooms while some built a home for themselves – these retired BNR employees chose to stay in India after Independence Day – 1947. I must add here some of those houses were real large homes.
Our driver drove us up to Darrel Gaudin’s abode, while the lady on the bike who knew Darrel and his wife - mentioned to them that Effie Johnstone’s (Clare’s mother’s nick name) daughters (Clare & Blossom Johnstone) are here to see you. Darrel is our cousin.
Now, place yourself in their position – the shock to Darrel, his cousins returning to Kharagpur after 36 plus years on his door step – he must have thought he was in a dream – I know would think this has to be a dream – impossible cousins long gone and forgotten on my doorstep? You have got to be joking.
Shocked to see the conditions they were living in, when compared to the way of life during The British Raj Days. One will have to say the “Beyond” did not look prosperous - more on the deterioration side for most of those who stayed on in Kharagpur after India’s Independence.
One could not but feel sorry for them, these one time BNR’s employees either chose to stay back or their finance held them from moving forward. Were they happy at this life style? I cannot answer for them, but they sure were living below stand to what they were accustomed to during the British Raj Days.
Some of these folks were happy they did not leave India – some had returned to Kharagpur from Australia and of course there were those who were plain unhappy all round.
On the whole, our day in Kharagpur, returning after so many years was a happy day too short of a visit for Clare.
We visited All Saints Church, the European High School and took a few photos of the most important place, known as the European Institute.
THE EUROPEAN HIGH SCHOOL: Naturally several photos were taken – we walked around the whole layout of classes – and recalling each class with the teacher who taught one in that particular class. Mixed emotions here – seeing the Head Master’s Office was open – I went inside - introduced myself mentioning I was a one time student of this school and asked if they have any records of this school dating back to the l940s.
Here I received a very rude blunt reply; “Ohhhhhh NO – all Brittissh records were burnt – we have no records of those days”. A great shame I told him – you have erased a very important part of India’s History – caused by bitterness.
EUROPEAN INSTITUTE: where we all gathered for Movies (pictures) Dances, Bingo (Housie), Tennis, outdoor grass Bowling, Badminton, twice a week the Gurker Band played on the famous Bandstand in the Institute - while this band played, the children would be skipping around the Bandstand and their ayahs sitting in groups exchanging their employers’ gossip for the day. There would be Fancy Dress Balls, Bridge, and no end of entertainment for all Kharagpur’s employees’ of the BNR – members to this Institute.
Doubt if I can find one BNR expatriate who will disagree with me here - we all lived in a Paradise unknown to the rest of the world - life in Kharagpur will never be repeated nothing will be able to be match that era.
No amount of money will be able to produce those simple, carefree, happy days – children were allowed to be children and morals ran real high.
Speaking for myself - with all the blessings God has bestowed on me - travels to endless countries - living in six different countries (after my marriage) - none can compare to my first twenty years spent in Kharagpur, India - none.
Poor as church mice, rich in happiness – one mother one father – and we came home to a mother – not placed in Day Care Centers while the mother went out to work. A united family – no step parents or couples living together having children out of wedlock – all meals were eaten as a family at the family dinning table – sharing our day’s event with each other.
Seeing our beautiful building ‘The European Institute’ now - was an eye sore, to what it used to look like during The British Raj days. If, only those bricks can talk, it sure will cry out; “Please bring back The British Raj, where we were taken care of and made people happy within our clean walls.”
SACRED HEART CHURCH: where Eric and I were married, 30, March 1949.
Sacred Heart Church looked the same, stayed a while talking with the Parish priest who brought out their marriage registrar showing our marriage date and signatures - signatures of the every young happy couple, Eric & Clare.
Drive back to Calcutta was hot and muggy – our white outfits were covered with brown dust accompanied with dust blown hair.
The end of those few beautiful hours spent in Kharagpur – my thoughts at that time were mixed – is this all a dream – or did I really see my Kharagpur after so many years.
Kharagpur’s deteriorations deepened my love for her.
Loving her more for her deteriorations - like one’s love for their child who has made weak choices in their life increases – so it was for the European Institute and all the other deteriorated buildings in Kharagpur.
Hate for the British Raj is seen in the deteriorations of their one time beautiful historical buildings, gardens, clean streets etc - as the saying goes; “Hate in the end destroys the hater”.
At that time I did not know I would be blessed with two more visits to Kharagpur (1998 & 2001) – with each re-visit – Kharagpur deteriorated to the point - one had lost her completely – nothing was/is left of The British Raj years – their history erased - successfully by their destroyer.
I failed to see any improvements in Kharagpur – only deteriorations after India’s Independence.
I would like to take this opportunity to help my readers understand some of my feelings toward the living standard in Kharagpur, India before her Independence – view the photos and read the life history of all these expatriates - please visit:
http://web.ncf.ca/kharagpurdiaspora
Here you will see photographs of Kharagpur – the before and after, of India’s Independence – plus read of other Kharagpurians’ lives spent during The British Raj days in Kharagpur - our “City of Happiness & Joy”.
Arrived at our hotel in Calcutta – hot, tired and sadly in need of a shower.
On picking up our keys at the front desk - we were greeted with a photocopy of a letter from the Travel Service employee - attached below is his letter that brought laughter to us – and yet showing humility of the author.
And so ends my first return to Kharagpur - with all the disappointments - Kharagpur through my eyes - shall always be: my Kharagpur – one can replace the cover of the Book on Kharagpur during the British Raj – but the contents will spell the same for me – my life in Kharagpur; 1937-1950 – happy carefree days – always thanking God for giving me India as my birth country. Thank you God.
