Tragic Magic

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Early one morning in late October, while standing on the veranda idly watching the malis (gardeners) planting out the seedlings, I became aware of a change in the atmosphere. A pleasant little breeze was wafting over from the river, the air seemed lighter, the garden fresh and bright. This was the start of the cold weather. The glorious cold weather - 'just like a perfect day in June', as Mae used to describe it. A new lease of life took over. Gone was the exhausting heat, the clammy sweat, the weariness.

By the middle of November the garden was transformed by a riot of colour. The homely annuals - cornflowers, phlox, zinnias, large-headed dahlias - all blossomed at the same time as the autumn flowers of Scotland, such as asters and chrysanthemums. Large flowerpots, brim ming over with blossoms, decorated the steps of the veranda.

It was the season of tennis parties, of entertaining, of weekend visits to and from friends living up and down the river. A tennis party could be arranged well in advance in the secure knowledge that the weather was not likely to let you down. Distance did not mean very much. People travelled up and down the river just for the pleasure of spending a few hours or a weekend with friends. It was a pleasant change to get away for a little while from the enclosed life in a compound.

I can still remember how we spent my first weekend away from Lawrence. We left on Saturday morning and, after hiring a taxi, arrived in Calcutta. In Firpo's we were met by Jimmy Stewart, one of Ron's oldest friends, I who lived in Kinnison jute mill, near Barrackpore, a further eighteen miles up the river from Calcutta. Two other friends joined us for lunch: George Stevenson, who was a close friend of Ron's since early childhood, and Lyn Foulis, a man blessed with an unusual wit and a sense of humour which kept us laughing through out the lunch.

Firpo's food stood up to its reputation. Especially de licious was the renowned prawn cocktail, the like of which I have never found elsewhere, nor solved the secret of the ingredients when attempting to emulate a cocktail with the same elusive flavour.

Lunch over, we all set off to the New Empire Theatre to watch a film in which Greta Garbo was performing in her usual languid style. Later it was back to Firpo's where, following a lengthy session on the veranda, we adjourned for dinner. By now most of the tables were occupied. The bearers, immaculate in long white coats and turbans, hovered around carrying trays loaded with food and glasses. Perhaps because there seemed to be so many people who knew each other and who, moving from table to table, would stop to talk and laugh with some acquaintance, including us, prior to joining friends in their own group, there was this free and easy atmosphere rarely seen in any other restaurant.

The evening wore on. It was quite late when we finally left for the Barrackpore Road, eventually arriving in Kinnison at midnight.

Jimmy was the junior salesman in the head office. He lived in a pleasant house facing the river. A man with a congenial personality, perhaps a little on the stout side, he was an excellent host, who enjoyed entertaining his friends. He was one of our close circle of friends into which on my arrival I was accepted, perhaps on account of sharing the same kind of humour and being a kindred spirit. Time has sadly removed him from our scene, but I can still see his face, the eyes reflecting a warmth and a sense of fun, still hear his laughter.

That evening on arriving so late we were too jaded to linger and after a drink or two gratefully retreated to our respective bedrooms.

In the morning, after breakfast, it was decided that we should go to the Barrackpore Golf Club. There I was introduced to two married couples, friends of Jimmy and Ron. Soon the men went off for their game of golf while I remained with the ladies.

The Barrackpore park is a beautiful part of the district which lies close to the grounds and country residence of the Governor of Bengal. I remember someone telling me once that in the distant past the wife of a Governor, perhaps longing for her home and wishing for the park to remind her of England, had expressed a desire that only a variety of stately trees should be planted, excluding all palms.

I do not know how authentic that story is, but the layout of the lofty trees did resemble that of a park in Europe. I certainly have no recollection of ever seeing a single palm growing there. At a certain corner of the park, close to the river, was a place known as 'Scandal Point' where people liked to meet and exchange the latest gossip. The park was also popular with the ayahs (nursemaids) and their little charges.

Inside Barrackpore were the barracks housing the regi ment stationed there at the time. The whole area was known as the cantonment. It was here in Barrackpore in 1857 that the first rumblings of the Indian Mutiny began, but fortunately the surrounding European population was spared the horrors of what took place in northern India.

The whole of that district with the old style of bunga lows, trees and gardens had a certain charm and reminded one of bygone days.

When the golfers returned to the Clubhouse, tea, sandwiches and cakes were served. We sat talking for a little while with golf being the main subject. Having no aptitude for golf, or any other ball games for that matter, I tried to display some interest in the conversation but was secretly relieved when Jimmy suggested we return to Kinnison.

Refreshed by a hot bath and change of clothing we settled down for the evening and at this point were joined by Jimmy's neighbours, Robert Campbell, who was the assistant manager in Kinnison, and his wife Phil. Phil was blessed with a lively sense of humour and a quick wit often exercised at the expense of some other body, but funny just the same.

We were to meet again under different circumstances, but meanwhile we sat down to dinner accompanied by a lively conversation, jokes and laughter. It was all most enjoyable and we would have liked to stay on, but with a long journey ahead we had no option but to take leave of the congenial company and set off for home. The drive of some two hours in the cool of the night was pleasant and uneventful. Back to Albion Jetty once more we found the faithful serang waiting in the launch to take us across the river. It was good to be back in our house, to crawl under the netting, to fall back on the pillow, to fall asleep.

Tomorrow was another working day. One of the most popular events in Calcutta, during the

cold season, was the celebration of St Andrew's Day when the Caledonian Society presented a concert in the New Empire Theatre. The Scots community flocked to it. We also would set off on the long journey, dressed in full evening dress, to join our group of friends in Firpo's. There to the background music of the orchestra and lively hum of voices we would sit down to dinner and go on to the theatre. Among our friends were Max Kidd and his wife Mary, who had been friends of Ron from the day of his arrival in India. Mary had a wonderful voice and usually took part in the concert. There was a fair amount of talent in Calcutta and the singing of the Scottish airs brought back a bit of Scotland with a certain nostalgia. At the end of the concert the performers and the audience stood up and joined in singing 'Auld Lang Syne'.