January 26 2009
Wax Models of Siddhagiri
as shown in the Siddhagiri museum

Alan received these from Barry and Jean Piggot who in turn received them from 

 

Return to top

January 1 2009

We are once again indebted to Alan who has found an amusing old paperback book by Maurice Hanley with some interesting tales and poems in it

Kamjari

I’m going on kamjari
It is long past half past eight
And I’ve lots of blooming work to do
And as it is I’m late.
There’s the hoeing and the plucking
Which are never properly done.
So I’m going on kamjari
Just to have a bit of fun.

It’s Maytime here in Assam
The Home folk say, “how sweet”!
They think it’s like the English Spring
That cheers you quite a treat;
They forget about the Indian sun
That burns your face right off,
And the heat and the mosquitoes
At which we’re supposed to scoff.

Then there’s the Indian Cuckoo,
He’s a topping little bloke,
He shouts “You’re ill” the whole day long
And makes you want to choke.
And the dear old “Make-more pekoe”
The harbinger of rain,
You’re very pleased to hear him,
Yet, you wish him lots of pain!

No, it’s not so beastly dusty
When you’re walking around at noon
To have your body roasted
Or to feel you’d like to swoon;
Or to stay for hours soaking,
While the ague makes you shiver,
And you feel at peace with all the world,
With a lovely Assam liver.

Or to work inside the teahouse
When your head is spinning round,
And your temperature is a hundred
And you want to hit the ground;
While the machines go clatter clatter
And makes an awful din,
Oh, you quite enjoy the row they make
‘Neath the teahouse tin!

So cheerio, you fellows,
And come along with me,
I’ll show you how to prune and hoe
And manufacture tea.
It’s really not so dusty,
Though we’ve got our troubles here,
And it ain’t exactly skittles
And mopping up of beer;
But if you stick it, it may mean
A thousand pounds a year!

************************************ 

The Teahouse Assistant

  The Factory starts at 4 am, I’m as fed up as can be,
Oh Lord! Why ever did I come to this wretched job in tea.
I’ve got to see it started and stay there all the day
And all I get’s two hundred rotten chips as monthly pay.

The garden man is lucky, his work is done by four,
And the plucking and the hoeing they worry him no more.
But I’ve just got to carry on and work right up to ten,
And start the morning after, at 3 am again.

Last week we had a thousand maunds, I had some work to do
To wither and to roll it and to make tea of it too,
Then the damned old engine broke, and the Manager went mad,
And I got the biggest telling off that I have ever had.

Still, I don’t mind Jink’s tellings off, he’s not too bad a chap,
One is apt to get excited when the Agents start to rap.
And, he always says sorry, when he finds he’s gone too far,
And makes it up in many ways when he buys a man a jar.

So, things are not so bad you know, in their own peculiar way,
We’ve got our job, and do it, though we don’t get too much pay.
But some day I’ll be a Manager and get commission too,
And have my car and horses on a very decent screw.

So, cheerio you teahouse blokes, and make your engines run,
Though factory life is boring, still there’s always lots of fun
To be had with your machinery, and if late the hours be,
There’s always Kudos to be had in the making of good tea.
Yes, you’ll get a putty medal if you go and make good tea.
Return to top

  *******************************

Assam Valley Light Horse

I’ve joined the army once again, I’ve joined up in the forces,
I’m getting very muddled up with spurs and bits and horses;
I’m used to gravel crushing, and dishing out the soup,
But I’m blessed if I know what to do when I’m mixed up with the troop.
Oh, it’s Head Left, and Head Right and threes about and trot,
Form half-sections left or right; or some such other rot.
But it’s nice to be a sodger man in a very famous force,
So I’m now a full blown trooper in the Assam Valley Horse.

I went to camp at Dibrugarh, the Adjutant said, “Hi!
You’ve got to be a Sergeant and drill your men thereby.”
I called the troop a company and made them all form fours,
While mounted on their horses amidst a great applause.
Oh, it’s wheel left, and wheel about, and change direction right,
My horse, he galloped off with me, I had to hold on tight.
He took me to a water tank and gently bucked me off,
And the Sergeant-Major laughed and said I was a blinking toff.

But I’m grad-u-ally learning the whys and wherefores now,
And I’ll soon be quite efficient in my drilling anyhow.
Then I’ll take an – er – commission if they offer it to me,
And I’ll mix up drills and horses in the making of the tea.
'Twill be head left, and head right, and roll the leaf quite hard,
That horse has got a snip and blaze, oh well! the blighter’s starred.
You’ve got to keep the temperature at eighty-two at least,
Now look here Trooper Brown you’ll have to take care of the beast.

But I’m only joking with you, and I think that every man
Should join the fine AVLH, and drill too, if he can;
Remember what their motto is and try to do your best,
And old “Semper Paratus” will surely do the rest;
So come along you youngsters and do your little bit,
You’ve a duty to your country; you’ve a target there to hit.
There’s nothing like good soldiering so do all that you can,
A keen efficient soldier is a keen efficient man.
**************************************
POLO

Sitting astride my pony,
Riding my old brown mare,
Chasing the white ball up and down
Hitting here and there;
Riding like hell with excitement,
Doing my utmost and best,
Give me a chukka of polo,
And I’ll leave you take all the rest.

Tennis, at times, is quite thrilling,
Soccer and rugger quite good,
Cricket is slow in the uptake,
Golf I would play if I could.
But what is there to beat Polo,
What sport with it can compare?
Whacking the ball and riding your all,
Astride of your old brown mare.

There’s Mac our jolly old captain,
He shouts like the devil to the wind,
And he rides an old grey pony
That has left its youth far behind;
Bur every time we’ve a match on,
He pulls up its girth by two holes,
He plays like the deuce, he knows every ruse
In the way of scoring us goals.

Yes, get you a horse to ride on
And a polo stick in your hand,
And a little white ball that rises to fall
And a keenness you’ll soon understand.
Leave your cricket – and tennis
And any old game beside,
But have your chukka of polo
As long as you’re able to ride.

Sitting astride of my pony,
Riding my old brown mare,
Chasing the white ball up and down
Hitting here and there
Riding like hell with excitement
Doing my utmost and best,
Give me my polo always,
And I’ll leave you to take all the rest.
     **************************

The Ladies in Tea

The Ladies in tea they are charming,
They make our dull lives full of cheer;
Even though their chief topic is scandal,
And they squabble and fight half the year.
That, they tell us, is woman's first privilege,
They pull every fellow to bits,
And they're jealous of each other's dresses,
Till their husbands are out of their wits.

Just watch them at club in the evening,
They sit in a circle and chat,
They're discussing some fellow in private
As to why he does this and does that;
They know all about his shortcomings,
They have Ayahs to tell them you see,
But with all their big faults, I must tell you,
We love the dear Ladies in tea!
************************************
To My Planter Friends

I write of the days in our lives
When all was not rosy or fair,
We were youngsters - mere boys - don't forget,
And the country was oft hard to bear.
There was loneliness gripping our hearts,
And often it led us astray,
And we went the whole pace - more's the pity
And few ever showed us the way.

But we stuck it, as most of us do,
We have grit quite enough of our own,
And we laughed in the eyes of our Fate,
And were happy as best we had known.
We are rough, if you will, yes and why not?
As rough as the country we're in,
And the Good God above will bear witness
How hard 'tis to keep from all sin.

Some of us went to the dogs,
And supped all the pleasures of hell,
Others, who went the straight course,
Lived all their lives good and well.
I don't blame them the lads who were wild,
They were honest and straight, always kind,
They were mostly fools to themselves,
So, poor chaps, they were soon left behind.

I write of the days in our lives
When all was not rosy or kind,
And I think of the planters I have met,
Good fellows, as ever you'd find.
They laughed in the eyes of their Fate,
And fought it from day unto day,
And they each did the best, as they thought,
And then silently went on their way!
***************************************
Return to top

Maurice had words for a great number of subjects; His comments as to the slowness of the installation of telephones could be construed as probable –but the service was a long time coming—strange to read about it today when the world is about to sink to it’s waist due to so many mobile phone users—Editor

TELEPHONES

"Telephones" - The engineering difficulties in establishing telephonic communications in a country like Assam have been considerable. The long leads between gardens, through jungle, must make somewhat precarious the maintenance of overhead lines, but the high water table and other geographical difficulties, to say nothing of the cost, have made underground leads impossible.

Proposals for telephones between gardens in certain small circles within the Province, and one in the Jorhat district, connecting that town and gardens in the immediate neighbourhood, were made by the Government Telephone Department in 1932.

On the grounds of costs for the service which such group communications would provide, the sceme was not sanctioned.

There were two distinct lines of thought (no pun intended) as to the nature of the service telephones would provide in a district like Assam. On the one hand it was thought that telephones within the confines of a group of gardens would be utilised merely, whilst Master was doing his kamjari round the garden, by his better half for the dissemination of local scandal and the checking up of their delinquents' hours and condition of return from the club. On the other, planters themselves had visions of being called off their kamjari, or during the hour of their well earned 'lie-back', to answer searching questions from the agents in Calcutta! This was a prospect which they did not relish, and one which they thought perhaps outweighed the advantages of essential business calls and facilities which they would reap from prompt news from the railway terminus or steamer ghats about the arrival of stores and despatch of their teas.

Of course, these first thoughts on the subject have been disproved in practice, but it was quite probable that they were responsible for the delay in the telephone lines being installed. It was not until 1935 that a workable scheme through-out the the tea districts was approved, and two years or so afterwards that this means of communication was a matter of daily use."
Return to top

January 3 2009

Fi-Aou

It was mating time. Old Seyal got up, shook his shaggy coat and turning his head up to the sky gave a call to the pack.

Something moved in the undergrowth near him. An angry hiss and a dart, and a huge gliding monster shot straight at him. Old Seyal bared his fangs snarling, and sprang aside. It was a narrow shave, for Wookho the Python was hungry, and had visions of a nice tit-bit in the way of supper. As soon as he could, the gliding monster turned around to the attack again, but old Seyal was gone. Quick as lightning he sped, giving vent to the call of fear - "Fi-aou".

From the distance he was answered by one of the pack, and soon forty throats were sending their gruesome shrieking call on the still afternoon air.

Sanderson, as he was going around kamjari, heard it and wondered, for it was the first time he had heard a Jackal call in this particular manner. The Sirdar who was standing near, turned to him. "The Huzoor listens to the cry of the Jackal," he enquired. "Yes, Booda," Sanderson replied, "I have heard many jackals cry but not in that peculiar manner. What was the cause of it?"

"There are several stories told about it Huzoor, and one does not know which to believe. Some say it is their mating call, others that it is the call of the outcast Jackal which has been driven out of the pack for madness. Another story is that the Jackal only calls in this manner when he has been frightened by a tiger or leopard or some other wild beast. And then I have even heard people say that it is not a Jackal at all, but a golden cat which cries like this. We, in this kooti, believe Huzoor, that it is a Jackal which makes that noise, and that when he does so in the daytime it is a precursor of evil. Before the graet sickness came, for many days the same sort of cry was heard in the daytime all over the place. Then this kooti got it and many people died." "In my country," he continued, "there is a legend told about the Jackal, which if the Huzoor would like to hear, I will tell him."

"Yes," Sanderson said, getting interested, "I would like to hear it Booda, so go on."

"They say, Huzoor," Booda said, "that when the Gods first created the animals of the Earth, they made the Jackal one of the fleetest. In those days the Jackal lived on the flesh of deer and other animals, which he hunted in packs like the wild dog does now. Soon the swiftest animals of the forest stood no chance against him, and would easily fall a prey to him as a timid hare to to a fleet dog. Then the Devil, always looking for mischief to do, got hold of the Jackal, turned his head, and so filled his heart with vanity that he went around the jungle taunting and annoying all the other creatures in it. Meeting an elephant he would say, "O hathijee, thou cumbersome son of a mountain, the flies do not fear you for all of your size, for you are too slow to drive them away; and they laugh at you, and tickle your great big nose, until you blow, and blow for pure helplessness, and waste good air and breath. Now if you were like me, sleek and supple and agile, you could run away from them and leave them many miles behind. Wake up you lazy ponderous creature" - and darting in where the elephant would least expect it, he would give him a bite on the leg and run away. Thus he would treat all his other companions in the forest until at last he became the hated foe of all the jungle folk.

Booda continued, "Several times they set traps to catch him, but he was too cunning and always ran away from any danger. At last it got so bad that all the animals of the earth appealed to the Goddess Saraswati against him, and the Goddess ordered a council to be held in the jungle at which she would judge between the Jackal and his accusers. For this purpose she summoned him to answer the charges laid against him. Now the Devil once more got hold of the Seyal and flattered him. 'Oh most beautiful of all living creatures,' he said, 'why do you fear Saraswati? You are greater and nobler than she is, and being so fleet of foot you can defy her for she will not be able to catch you.' The Jackal's heart was filled with more vanity than ever now, and he decided to insult the Goddess at the Council meeting.

"The night appointed for the Council at last came, Huzoor. All the animals and birds of the jungle came to the appointed place at the appointed hour, but the Jackal was nowhere to be seen. Saraswati grew impatient and the other animals lost their tempers. At last, after they had been waiting for about half-an-hour, the Jackal turned up. Saraswati rebuked him, and demanded an explanation of his lateness. 'Oh,' he replied, 'I saw a rat on the road along here, and waited to kill it, and anyway, it did not please me to come before'. The Goddess became very angry, 'You dare to insult me, vermin, by not obeying my commands? I could turn you into dust this minute, but in order that you should be fairly treated, I will hear the charges against you first, and then deal with you.'

"The first witness was the deer. 'Even when he is not hungry he pursues us for fun, and tears our flanks leaving us to die, O Goddess, simply to satisfy his vanity. I claim protection from you, O Mother'. Then all the other animals one by one laid their charges against him, and told the Godess of the wrongs the Jackal had done them. The Goddess, after hearing them all, turned to the Jackal, 'What have you to say, thing of evil, in your defence?' The Jackal put his tail between his legs and gradually sneaked nearer and nearer to the exit. 'All your powers you have received from me, and you have abused them by annoying your fellow creatures. I gave you fleetness.' 'You did not, for if you did, Saraswati, catch me now' and away he sped from the meeting like a flash of lightning before anyone could hold him. Then Saraswati, flashing forth fire from her eyes, pursued him, and before he had gone very far, caught him, and brought him back to the Council. 'Now, creature of evil, who is the greater, you or I?' 'Mercy, O Goddess,' the Jackal cried, 'you are the Mother of all creation,' and he gave vent to his call of fear, 'Fi-aou,' for the first time.

'You beg mercy, you cur, but you will have non at my hands now. For your devilish deeds I curse you. You will lose your fleetness so that the least of the fleet animals of the forest will be able to beat you in pursuit. Vermin and offal shall be your food instead of the princely food which you have enjoyed until now. You will haunt the dwelling places of human creatures as a scavenger, and be despised by all creation of man, bird and beast.' The Jackal groveled on the ground, 'Pardon, O Saraswati,' he pleaded, but the Goddess was adamant. Turning to the tiger, she said, 'Take your leper and cast him out of the assembly.' This the tiger did immediately, and bestowed many a buffeting on him on doing so.

"From that day, Huzoor, the Jackal became a despised creature, detested by both man and beast alike, and lost all his power of fleetness, so that he has to rely on the cast-off food of others to fill his stomach, and is ever a scavenger in the track of dead and decaying substances. Such is the legend they tell about the Jackal in my country, Huzoor."

Old Seyal shook himself once more and pricked up his ears. From afar he could hear the sounds of a ponderous creature crashing through the jungle. There was a thud and a cry, the dying cry of a Sambhar buck as it lay in the death grip of a tiger. He turned up his nose to the sky once more, and gave the call to the pack. From all around he was answered, and one by one they came to him, their leader. Putting himself at their head, he trotted off, followed by the others, licking their lips in anticipation of the great feast before them.

"There they go, Huzoor," the old Sirdar said to Sanderson. "A tiger or leopard has killed something at the jungle edge, and the scavengers are off to get their share of it. If the Huzoor listens, in a little while he will hear the cry of fear and ill omen.

From across the distance it came - the call of a solitary Jackal, warning his mates of danger.

"Fi-aou! Fi-aou! Fi-aou!"
Return to top 
******************************

August 19 2008

Once again we are grateful to Alan who has managed to obtain a copy of
” The Recollections of a Tea Planter    by W. M. Fraser ”


 from his supplier of books about India,  Verandah Books

Alan tells me that :

Not only is the book in fine condition, but the author had written a short message to Hyslop, a friend of his who had also retired from being a tea planter. Also pinned to the first page is a five page letter from Fraser to Hyslop remembering their days in tea. 
It seems that Fraser was quite ill with heart trouble at the time that he had written to Hyslop in May 1937, so I surmise that he must have passed away not long after this letter. Possibly buried in a cemetery in Kent somewhere.

I am attaching a scan of the book cover, plus the first page of Fraser's letter to Hyslop - apparently Hyslop lived in Norfolk somewhere. I have typed the full letter out and this is attached for you to read. Fraser sounded so sad as he neared the end of his life - it certainly brings it home when you read it and think of the current koi-hais, not only in tea, but from any walk of life who had been in India.

Below is the first page of Fraser's letter to A. B. Hyslop  dated 26th May 1937 

and below is the typewritten copy in full kindly typed by Alan

BARNFIELD COTTAGE
IVY HATCH P.O.
Nr. SEVENOAKS
KENT

26^th May 1937

 My dear Hyslop,

Twenty years – or was it a hundred years ago – you and I and MissMuffet, were sitting in the drawing room of 236 Lower Circular Road and I boasted, to the amusement of you both, that I would one day write a book about my experiences in tea and further that I would donate the proceeds to the Planter’s Benevolent Fund – I remember the sly look you gave Miss Muffett when you turned to me and said, “You will of course put a small chapter on pruning in it!”

Well, I’ve managed the book and I was able to send £50.00 to the P.B.F and I hope there will be something more for it. The book first appeared as a serial in the Home & Colonial Mail, now the Tea & Rubber Mail, and has only recently been published as rather a shabby book – but for the dust cover, which Miss Muffett and I chose, and which we think is more than attractive enough to sell the blooming volume.

And so, you doubting Thomas, I have a great deal of pleasure in sending you a copy by separate post. It will not be of much interest to you as it deals only with the Luskerpore Valley and the Dooars – but you can dip into it when you are hard up for something to read. Though the book only covers 1894 – 1907, I managed to squeeze two later periods into it via your old self and Arthur Brown, and I could only do that by using Hunt Ross – poor broken little man - I was sorry to hear from Parrott the other day – as a link.

Although my writings are limited to two small areas of the Tea Districts, I have received the most amazing letters from literally all over the world – Tasmania to Aberdeen! – from old planters or their connections – among them from an old friend of yours who used to be in Steel’s office, then the Surma Valley and later in Assam, where I remember you used to visit him – he is now retired and living in Stirling.

So much for the book.

I was glad to hear about you from Byatt a little time ago and I sometimes get first hand news of you from Bushell who is always hoping, as we are, that you will turn up here for a visit. If only I was fit we would venture into Norfolk to get a glimpse of you – but three years ago I developed angina and I have been since a very unstable quantity. After quite a bad time, I got much better for 18 months and I guess I took risks then. Anyhow the old ticker began to play up rather badly last August and since then I have been in the specialist’s hands all the time. I am now trying a new treatment he has evolved and I am hoping – there is no harm in hoping!!

2.

Meantime I can’t write letters very well – this is a special one because of the book! – or do anything else, but fortunately I am an omnivorous old reader and get on very well in spite of my handicap.

I sold Raspit Hill last year and Miss Muffett has designed us a fetching little house in the orchard below – you may remember it – where we still have ample room for visitors.

Miss Muffett has had a deuce of a time looking after me and though worked to a shadow keeps her spirits up well both at tennis and gardening. Also, we have one room as a cocktail bar and she officiates there to the pleasure of everybody who visits us. Fortunately we have been able to remain in the same district and have not lost our friends.

Both Garbett and Byatt are very generous in their visits to me and keep me informed of what is going on – as also do the ITA of Sylhet, when I used to see Trevor and Arthur Brown – but now not for sometime, as just as they are coming, I am usually being shoved into a nursing home, or being given treatment that forbids visitors! But we had Parrott for a night last week and Dring (who used to be in Surma and then was at McLeods office) is coming down for the night on the 28^th instant.

I have however – I may say we have - one wonderful standby, L.Drysdale, a contemporary of mine in the Dooars, who lives only a few miles off. He not only drops in at least once a week, but when he has Dooars friends staying with him, he makes it a point to bring them over to see us –he goes up to London pretty often, meets old friends at board meetings, lunches at the Oriental, where he meets more – and then comes and regales it all to me. Such an answer to prayer!
      Now old chap - goodbye and my wife says she will never be content until you bring your wife on a visit to us.
     Much love from us bot
     Yours sincerely –
     W M Fraser 
*************************************************

 July 4 2008

Thanks to Alan Below is a very interesting web site giving  Recollections of Calcutta for over Half a Century / Massey, Montague to read please click

http://infomotions.com/etexts/gutenberg/dirs/1/2/6/1/12617/12617.htm

January 20 2008

This shows the Maijan Black Panther and was sent in by Alan Lane whom we thank
The photos were taken from the Maijan Bungalow

The Maijan 'heritage' bungalow is the former Superintendent of Upper Assam Company abode that has been renovated by Assam Company (and Shalini Mehra!) to be classed as a 'heritage bungalow' This so called bungalow is a double storey house (not a 'chung bungalow') and was affectionately known in the area as the White House - because it resembled, after a fashion, the US Presidents one in Washington!! 

***************************************************************************************

These  photographs taken from the Maijan Heritage Bungalow showing the Black panther

**********************************************************

February 4 2007
PHOTOGRAPH WEB SITES OF INDIA

Alan has been working hard as usual and has found some superb photographs of India on the Internet--- to look at these collections please click the coloured lines below to go to the sites

Site 1  India- 19th Century photos

http://www.flickr.com/photos/51241911@N00/sets/72157594306916319/

 Site 2 --Bangalore old Paintings

http://www.flickr.com/photos/18249957@N00/sets/72157594458145882/detail/

 Site 3 --James Hunter's Bangalore

http://www.flickr.com/photos/18249957@N00/sets/72157594460104089/detail/

Site 4 --Remains of British India

http://www.flickr.com/photos/51241911@N00/sets/72157594306270651/

*************************************