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Long Live Patina! By Peter Stringer

From: STRINGER
Subject: 1943-47

An experience every youth entering a boarding institution carries for life. My entrance to Bishop Cotton Preparatory School, Chota Simla (1943) was alone and with tear filled trepidation. I had never slept in a warm flannel night suit in all of my 10 years. Spellbound and lonely I stood like a statute on the edge of the sports playground gazing with moistened eyes as some bigger boys kicking a football around the goal mouth against the stone wall on the opposite side. It was cold and turning to dusk and, must have been after the awful supper. Hunger soon got me used to the grub another new expression I learnt!!
The passage of time does erode many hapless memories but the outstanding contrast of ones very own investiture as a border is so shocking that it presents remarkable guts; an abiding staunch character for such a school boy. Masters and teachers suddenly and effectively take on a new roll, one of strict parent, or dominating relative or understanding loving guardian. We soon learnt discipline, schooled in manners and rules of the establishment. A remarkable, observation was the few Indian borders of varying beliefs quite readily, without objection, accepted Christian doctrine and the European way of life. Leaving me with an inspiring lesson to coexist from which I have benefited throughout my life. (Having visited the school on some occasions in recent years I have thankfully acknowledged many old tradition still exist; perhaps to a lesser degree, to the school’s credible distinction in modern India.)
Often at evening time, at the very edge of the playing field facing the South Western horizon I would stand with thoughts of home. Sunsets brought on melancholy as I watched some of the most spectacular changes of sky and cloud formation and coloured hues that artists would find divine and difficult to re-produce. Adding to the beautiful panorama the four seasons gave more distinct appeal and richness. Now much later in life each time I have returned to our Dear Patina, I begin to realize how extremely fortunate we pupils were to be given an education in such enchanting surroundings.
My memory has not failed to list all this and starting in Form Lower II, Mr. Fred Brown was class master. We respectfully obeyed and feared him then but I began to love and admire the dear man in later years, finally meeting him in London many, many years later. Sadly now he has joined his Maker. Our House Mistress was Miss Cunningham: over 60 years on and I am still reminded of her sensual good looks and charm.
From the Main School, Headmaster Cannon Sinker’s wife, a very artistic, gentle mild and polite mannered lady would walk up hill to take classes of Scripture and Art. I excelled in both and was among her favourite pupils.
Mrs. Sinker RA. took keen interest in artistic talent and always encouraged me to use mine fully
1945 After the defeat of Germany and ending the war in Europe, I was pleasantly surprised. Now in the main School, sitting in class at my school desk in Form III B, I watched a smartly dressed man in soldier’s uniform march across the First (playground) towards the Administrative Offices. A dark beret covered his head as his shiny boots crunched the gravel, all eyes near the large bay windows turned left to peak. Shortly after the school period bell rang for the morning first break. Before I could leave the classroom I was summoned to the Headmaster’s Lodge. Puzzled as to why? I made my way with mixed alarm, still unaware as to what awaited me. How very strange to meet my brother John, as well stood outside the Headmaster’s study door. Gosh! This must be serious, could we both be in trouble was my initial thought. My mind raced on random in thought as we murmured to each other when suddenly we were ushered in. Helpless with relief, shocked with delight – It was brother Wilfred the smart REME corporal, head beret off sitting in a chair chatting to ‘Bogla’, Mr. Sinker’s nick name. Yes we had won the war and my Big Brother had fought in it and he was safely back, and I was damned proud! We showed him to our dormitories and around the school and introduced him to our chums.
Changes, changes as school life prepared us for what the future would bring. Or as scouts we were taught, “Be prepared, be prepared – Shout, shout Third class, Second class First Class Scout!” “Dib! Dib!” And stories we were told sitting round campfires at Consul Rock above campus among the pines and other boys spending camp life at Taradavi, on the opposite lower mountain range facing the School. Taradavi was a hillside station on the railway line up from the plains. Kalka was the railhead junction where the broad-line rail terminated at the foothills. The winding narrow gauge, steam train then pulled us up to Simla, (the summer capital of the British seat of Indian Government prior to partition).
Archbishop of India, Burma and Ceylon – George Edward Lynch Cotton was the Founder of Bishop Cotton School, Simla East – we were told in 1859. He had served as the promising young master under Doctor Thomas Arnold at Rugby School, (as legend has written in Tom Brown’s Schooldays); later transferred to Marlborough College (Wiltshire). As College Head with distinction he redeemed the neglected near bankrupt Institution. This led to a royal command – Queen Victoria despatched him to India after the Mutiny on a mission of thanksgiving. With money collected from a ceremonial church service in St Pauls Cathedral Calcutta he explored the Simla hills. Aided with a grant from government initially premises were founded on a lower mountain range at Jatogh – 28th July 1859.

We are told as this development gained good recognition the location became inadequate and was moved to its present site at Knollswood hilly spur near the tiny village of Patina, below Simla and Chota-Simla. In keeping with the royal consent, to my knowledge, the Viceroys were automatically patrons of my dear Alma Mater. I witnessed our Speech Days celebrations Chief Guests like Lord Wavell and Louis Mountbattern of Burma as he signed in my autograph book in green ink, and some thief robbed from me.

The full School year lasted nine months, as did other boarding schools scattered along the foothills across the mighty Himalayas from Murree (now Pakistan) in the west to Darjeeling in the east. Our School stands to the south and east of Simla located 31*6’ N latitude and 77*13’ E longitude approximately 7000 feet above sea level and 60 miles by road from Kalka.
The nine months – middle March to middle December was divided into three terms. Opening with the hockey season, followed by cricket and ending with boxing, football and the final year-ending examinations. More meaningful to us younger hungry souls was the December House– treats or as we called them ‘JHUG-DAY CHEWS’ held in our dormitories. Catered and brought in from Simla delicious Indian curries, rices, chapatis and fare. Finally next night senior boys would stage their own productions, in the Irwin Hall. Poetry, songs, plays and short sketches, sometimes ridiculous observations of School life and masters’ eccentric behaviour to a riotous audience. Three more sporting events, due to a shorter duration I cannot remember when they exactly fitted in, were the marathon during the monsoons and the swimming finals as well. I think the athletic Sports Day was held just after the monsoons finished. The Indian Monsoon blown in from the Arabian Sea and Indian Ocean usually reached after the middle of June, sometimes late, but never earlier. It started with thunder and flashing lightening of every description drenching the hilly pine-forest ranges till late September and early October.
I also recall our Founder’s Speech Day and Prize Giving fell on the Saturday nearest the 28th July. This was usually well attended by parents and visitors. The chief guest was the incumbent Viceroy or Governor General in this case Mountbatten (1947). After the dignitaries arrived to a formal welcome by the Headmaster, Teaching staff and us boys, they were seated and we were stood in rows placed in front of the main building for the annual School photograph. These heads of government official residence was Viceregal Lodge, Summer Hill across the valley to the west of Simla. Then followed a high tea before we were all ushered into the Irwin Hall. I was also a Treble (terrible) and later an Alto in the School Choir. I missed being with my brother John in the Special Messiah Choir that recorded for All India Radio singing specially Handle’s Alleluia Chorus at Christmas time. Bishop Cotton School was often referred to as Eton of the East, many attributes written in Indian National and International newspapers and magazines.
We have a very proud and unique heritage and have celebrated the 150th Founder’s Year in 2009.
Among the students past were many young princes from the small Indian Principalities, sons of Indian chiefdoms and dignitaries and boys whose fathers served in the armed forces and all other walks of life. We had boys from China, Tibet, Bhutan, Assam and Burma and the Far East and East African Territories and from the British Isles. We had one or two American boys and from France, Italy, Switzerland and Germany. From this august centre came forth some very renowned persona scattered even now all over the globe. Many in the roll of honour gave the ultimate sacrifice in both World Wars.
I was a very average pupil, only remembering a combination of statistics. I failed my Junior Cambridge certificate (’47). Played in the Colts Cricket Team, taking five wickets against Sanawar (’46). DLT! Mr. Thompson was my Housemaster (Lefroy), Coach in cricket and taught us Art and Geography in which I excelled with his encouragement. DLT himself was an Old Cottonian and was Captain of School in 1937. 1947 I had been moved up from Lefroy House B dormitory to A. AC Chopra was my classmate and best friend and he really taught me to play Ping-Pong (table tennis). Practice under his tutorship I competed and was closely defeated against my House Captain Fred Plunkett in house tournament.
ACC’s father was a doctor in Calcutta. Sadly we never got to meet after leaving school. He joined the Indian Navy and became a ship’s Captain and I had heard he met an untimely death on a street in Bombay.
The School followed the same English tradition and about the same period, dividing the pupils into four schoolhouses – RIVAZ (Cambridge blue), Ibbetson (Oxford blue): these two were our School Colours – Lefroy (Leaf green- my house) and Curzon (red). During my years in Main School we had roughly a total of 260 to 280 borders with about 8 to 10 day scholars.
The classes ran from Form lllA&B, 1V Form, Remove, Shell (Junior Cambridge), V Form, V1 Form (Senior Cambridge) Upper V1 (Preparation for college). The school was run by 11 School Prefects (one as School Captain) and helped by senior House Prefects. This was a good sound regime overseer smoothly by the four House Masters and Senior Master and then finally the Headmaster.
Discipline was keenly followed and any misbehaviour was swiftly dealt with in order of seriousness. Minor cases were monitored at house prefect level – punished with writing lines, detention or menial jobs. Fetching balls from the khudside hit or kicked over, cleaning or scrubbing staircases or polishing. Serious cases dealt by School prefect or School Captain, caning on the backside – three, four or six cuts, and oh boy did it hurt! Very serious – House or Senior Master and maybe referred onto the Headmaster, and then you were for the ‘high jumps’.
School Captains were very reasonable fellows. They played a great part in the school function, connecting boys with masters and teachers. During the torrential monsoon rains the weather would sometimes be truly dreadful. We would not see the sun for weeks. Suddenly after a heavy rainstorm the skies would clear and the clouds, white and thick, would fall into the surrounding valleys and we would be treated to a miracle fantasy like sitting on top of the world – cloud nine! This was when a good School Captain exercised good relations and influence with the Headmaster to grant us a sunshine holiday. Gosh a loud cheer of desperate relief would echo round the school and at once energies went into like a domestic overdrive. We would air our bedding and clothes and shoes, cleaning off the mildew and tiding up. Massage our aching leg mussels from practising the marathon or catching up on lost time in class. The evening would soon come and we would be back to normal with Prep after supper and then bed and lights-out at 9pm.
Rouser next morning was at 6:30 herald from the bell-shed; the Guntee-wallah (bell ringer and timekeeper) tapping the thick brass disc about 20” diameter, first rapid and gently slowly increasing the striking louder for a whole near minute with the final few stokes ‘dong-dong! Out of bed and on with the gym kit; a splash of water to wake you up and down for a slice of buttered bread and mug of sweet tea in the dining hall. Run down onto the main Second Flat playing field, sunshine or rain, in line with your housemates.
‘Dunda’ Hawkes our PT Instructor – ex-Sargent-major and over 60years old was a true veteran if ever there was one. Built solid and square and muscles the envy of all us young aspiring hopefuls. He was tough with a heart of gold and a rasping loud voice that took us through our morning exercises. Even on cold winter mornings he would appear, smiling in a singlet-vest and long cream-flannels, with his cane under his left arm and sometimes with his brown terrier dog Sally

Saturdays and Sundays we had no PT. I do recall Saturday morning dormitory inspection. Our beds neat covered with a red blanket and well tucked in. A clean towel stretched covered over the foot end with our toiletries on open display. The bed’s bottom sheet, pillowcase, dirty towel and soil underwear, cotton shirt and short-pants bundled ready for the dhobi (laundry collected from the boxroom) downstairs. The whole School attended daily morning Chapel Service after breakfast was a must. Matins Communion for senior boys, only, on Sunday mornings but Sunday Evening Song was for everyone.
Yes! As the midnight hour approached that fateful August day of the year 1947 when the Imperial Raj was split asunder and the formation of INDIA and PAKISTAN as two independent nations were formed. This indubitably signalled the demise of rule and an end of colonial empire, on which the sun never set, as history had taught us, was now destined to abdicate from all responsible authority.
The School’s thriving great history was dealt a mortal blow. Within a few weeks Boys, Staff and Servants whose family and connection were affiliated to the new found country across the border in the Punjab were separated and sent home- to Pakistan. Each one of us remaining underwent much sadness, for some the grief was greater, to know we were parted from our dearest chums forever. In boyish wonder, question why – completely unaware of the political forces at work, undermining the integral Indian peninsular. Even though now many of us are scattered across the globe today those cherished school days still evoke warmth and friendship, having formed School Association chapters in many countries. How truly amazing through this fraternity I have met six old boys from Pakistan who were removed from BCS, and to this day remain in contact.

Still recalling that favourite prayer as it would begin –
When the shadows lengthen and evening comes, the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life over and our work done

In the late evening of my own life these memories are cherished and are mindful as if of yesterday.
BLESS DEAR PATINA

Peter Stringer

Spotlight story : Humayun Khan [Rivaz 1941-1947]

imageHumayun Khan was born in 1932 to a Pashto-Hindko speaking family in Abbottabad, Hazara Division in the North West Frontier Province (NWFP, now Khyber Pakhtunkhwa). His father was a District and Sessions Judge at the judicial commissioner’s court in NWFP, which is now known as the Peshawar High Court, and his mother was a homemaker. Mr. Khan’s paternal family is from the Yousafzai Clan, hailing from the village of Amazogray in Mardan. They were landlords with ownership of over two hundred acres of lands in the village that depended on wells and rainwater irrigation systems for harvesting wheat. Mr. Khan’s maternal ancestors hail from Dera Ismail Khan and Peshawar. They were traders engaged in businesses with merchants from Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan.

Mr. Khan spent his early years of upbringing in Peshawar with two elder brothers and two younger sisters, and at age seven, he was sent to boarding school at Murree where he studied for two years. In 1941, he was enrolled at the Bishop Cotton School in Shimla where he studied until Partition. Recalling life at the boarding school, Mr. Khan says that there were about two hundred boys from all faiths and backgrounds. “It was considered one of the best public schools. There was a great emphasis on teachings of morals and ethics like fair-play, being truthful, and self-sufficiency. I was always a good student and used to be first in the class,” recounts Mr. Khan. He was also an avid cricket player and competed on the school’s team. “We’d study in school for nine months out of the year and then be with our families. There was no such thing as discrimination in our school. We were never looked upon each other as anything but fellow classmates,” Mr. Khan recalls.

Speaking of his experiences at home during the holidays, Mr. Khan mentions that he enjoyed the traditional Peshawari way of life, including the food bazaars and the hujra (courtyard). “It used to be a romantic life. We would dine at my grandmother’s house, where she used to have these stoves on the ground. She would sit on a low stool all day and cook for the entire family. We never used knives or forks on the table,” he says. Mr. Khan spoke Pashto and Hindko at home.

At the time of Partition, Mr. Khan was at school in Shimla. “On June 3, 1947, all the senior boys were invited to the house of the senior master to listen to the broadcast on the radio, where Jinnah, Nehru and Baldev Singh spoke. We were so out of touch with reality there — we really didn’t take much interest in it. When the trouble started we remained unaware of it. We heard about riots in Shimla and Punjab but our political knowledge was heavily limited inside the school,” Mr. Khan remembers.

In early October of 1947, Mountbatten visited Shimla and spent one day at the Bishop Cotton School, as Mr. Khan remembers. “At lunch, the headmaster told him that he had 40 ‘odd’ boys who ought to be in Pakistan. Mountbatten advised to let those boys stay until they complete their studies. However, our parents in Pakistan were extremely worried. Some of them, including mine, were in powerful positions. They approached the then-acting governor of NWFP and urged them to get their children back from Shimla,” Mr. Khan says. In late October, the governor arranged a special convoy comprising of trucks under the supervision of Gurkhas to pick up the boys from Shimla. “We were loaded onto the trucks and taken to the Ambala Cantonment where we spent the night in barracks. The next day, a Dakota airplane was arranged by the governor to pick us from Ambala from where we flew to Lahore, and then Karachi. Some of the boys had families in Lahore and they were reunited with them. Some of them were flown to Karachi. There were seven of us from Peshawar, and we were dropped off at the Lahore airport and picked up by Mr. Leghari, the Commissioner for Refugees.”

Mr. Khan and the other boys stayed at the commissioner’s home for two days and slowly started to understand what was happening. “We didn’t initially realize the danger we faced because everything had always gone so smoothly for us, in our state of isolation. Two of Mr. Leghari’s sisters, who were students at the Auckland Girls High School in Shimla, had also travelled to Lahore, but by car. They had told him in our presence what they had seen on the road — the refugees and the violence. That was my very first impression of what was going on outside the walls of our school,” Mr. Khan recalls.

From Lahore, Mr. Khan and the other boys boarded on a train procured by the commissioner for refugees, and Mr. Khan was eventually reunited with his family at the Peshawar railway station.
“The clashes in Peshawar had died down by the time we arrived. My mother had very close relations with Hindu families. We used to virtually live at each other’s houses. My mother’s best friend was a Hindu lady. When I returned to Peshawar, I found out that they were all gone but had left their valuables — cars, furniture and carpets — with us,” Mr Khan recalls. “Some of the families managed to send representatives to Peshawar from India after Partition, so we were able to give them the belongings. Unfortunately, we’d later heard that these folks were looted at the border,” he says.

Sharing his observations on post-Partition life in Peshawar, Mr. Khan says that behavior patterns of the middle class remained very “English” for several years after their departure. “Even though there were very few Englishman left, the clubs and the cinemas kept going for several years after Partition and so did the civil structures — only now they were managed by Pakistani posts. We didn’t really find much of a difference in life. The roads and neighborhoods were safe. As boys, we used to go to the cinemas on bicycles at night. We did not live in any fear of being harmed,” Mr. Khan says.

Mr. Khan continued studying for his bachelor’s degree at Lawrence College, and then at the Edwardes College in Peshawar for one year. In 1950, Mr. Khan went on to study economics and law in the Trinity College in Cambridge, graduating with honors in 1953. His degree was later converted into a master’s degree, and in 1954, Mr. Khan joined the Lincoln’s Inn and became a barrister of law. “I had dreams of being a successful lawyer but my complete lack of knowledge of reading legal documents in Urdu held me back,” he says. “At the Bishop Cotton School, we were only taught lower Urdu [basic alphabets and conversational phrases].”

In 1955, Mr. Khan became an officer with the Central Superior Services of Pakistan for the Frontier Cadre and offered his services for seventeen years in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas [Waziristan and Malakand]. After 1971, Mr. Khan, secretary for the North West Frontier Provinces government at the time, was transferred to the foreign services office where he served for another eighteen years, beginning from his posting in Soviet Russia. In 1984, Mr. Khan was sent to India as the Pakistani High Commissioner. “Apart from Shimla, I’d never known India. This was my first chance to discover the country,” he says. He recounts his tenure in India to be the most difficult in the midst of Indira Gandhi’s assassination, and the resulting violence.

In 1961, Mr. Khan married Munawar Humayun Khan. (Read her story here: http://on.fb.me/21p1DGn They have three daughters. Sharing his thoughts, Mr. Khan offers, “We should…focus on the politics of reconciliation, instead of confrontation.”

This interview was conducted by Story Scholar Fakhra Hassan. The summary above provides a brief glimpse into the full interview. The complete video interview is expected to be public in 2017. Browse more stories on the STORY MAP: http://www.1947partitionarchive.org/browse

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Appropriate written permission has been obtained from 1947partitionarchive.org to reproduce this article and photograph which are Copyright © of 1947 Partition Archive.

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Hamayun Khan was at BCS Simla from 1941 to 1947 in Rivaz House.

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School stories of the 1940s era

School stories  of the 1940 era, by: Peter Maidment. Rivaz 89 years  /  Jim Lee. Curzon 90 years / Dick D’Abreu. Curzon 88 years.

Peter Maidment:-

I have some very precious memories of my years at BCS Simla between 1941 and 1943. I was in Rivaz House when Peter Rollo was House Captain. We became very good friends, so much so that I was relocated to a bed adjoining the Captains cubicle in our dormitory overlooking the tennis courts. Our mutual friends Andy, Ken and Jim would often meet in  the dormitory. Andy and Ken are now deceased, but Jim and I still correspond and talk with Dick D’Abreu (a later mutual friend) on Skype. Jim, Dick and I recently resolved that we had some good cause to be included in the Old Cottonian news that is still forwarded to members past and present, hence this account.

One of the regular incidents that occurred in those halcyon days was the surreptitious and sneaky nocturnal visits to the Pictures after lights out. The four good friends would get dressed up in Indian garb and walk all the way to the City to see the chosen film. On one occasion we were half way to our destination, when coming towards us were two House Masters who somehow recognised we were not the locals. To forestall this surprise discovery I involuntarily spoke a few garbled Hindustani words to make us seem authentic. It so happened that my House Master was one of the staff who recognised me and reprimanded me for setting a bad example as the then House Captain. I was given a firm lecture the next day and promised I would not commit the act again.

Jim Lee:-

As a child being lead along the beach on the back of a pony was the only time I had ever been in a saddle. Pete, Ken and Andy desperately wanted to go horseback riding and persuaded me to join them one weekend. From a stable in Simla we rented the horses, and my request was for a small gentle horse because of my lack of experience. When the groom and his assistant brought the four horses into the courtyard, all saddled up, he walked over to me with an animal that must have been well over 16 hands. It was huge compared to the other three horses. He overcame my protests by telling me, that despite its size, the horse that he had picked for me was an old animal, very gentle, well trained and not a fast runner. My buddies assured me they would walk their horses alongside me to make sure I was alright, which they did until we got to a straight stretch of road known as “Ladies Mile.”It was the only area where a rider could gallop his mount. As we approached Ladies Mile  my friends suggested that I let my hoprse graze on the shoulder of the road while they went around the corner and galloped to the end and back. That was fine with me because I was certainly not comfortable or confident to gallop on ‘the giant’I was astride. Away they went assuring that I would be ok until they returned. Well, it did not quite work out that way. When my horse heard the thunder of galloping hooves it raised its head, put its ears forward, and turned the corner in hot pursuit of the others. I was not prepared for the sudden burst of speed, and tried to stay in the saddle as best I could, pulling down on the reins and calling for help. I didn’t make it. I seemed to slide forward in the saddle and rolled to the ground off the horses neck. The horse stopped and just stood over me. The three ahead heard my desperate cries and turned to help. It was an embarrassing long walk back to school after returning the horses. I was shaken and bruised, but what hurt the most was my pride.

It was 36 years before I mounted another horse, my daughter Jennifer’s horse Quinn, and wouldn’t you know, I was bucked off even before Quinn took a step. After this second indignity I resolved I would confine my horsey activities to feeding the horse and cleaning the barn!.

Dick D’Abreu:-

As Peter in Sydney Australia, Jim in Langley Canada and I in Perth Western Australia chat for an hour once a week on Skype, we thought it would be nice to write a few lines on our interesting and happy days at Bishop Cotton School Simla in the 1940ies era.

From an early age of five years old my parents gave me a horse to ride of which I was able to manage very well. I used to ride the horse to my kindergarten classes on week days before I was sent to BCS as a boarder in 1936 in class Lower 1. My father worked on the Great Indian Peninsular Railway as a senior Interlocking Engineer while we lived in Jhansi. My parents would drum into my sister Grace and myself that they were making big sacrifices to send me to BCS and my sister to Auckland House so as to have the best of education. I took a while to adjust to boarding school in those early days as I could hardly dress myself, or tie up my shoelaces. A very kind servant that cleaned our shoes every morning saw my plight and used to assist me in getting dressed for class every day. Many a time I would cry on his shoulder. It never took me long to make friends, as our PT instructor Baby Hawkes taught me the finer points of boxing. At four stone in weight I was one of the flee weights.

In my latter years in school while in the senior classes I became good friends with Derek Blewett  who also loved horse riding . Together we would go down to the stables at the Lower Bazaar on a Sunday to hire horses which we rode out to Auckland house to visit our sisters.  My pocket money was a generous Rs 3.00  a week, the cost of hiring the horse was 8 Annas for two hours. The rest of the pocket money would be spent on Kurram’s tuck shop to buy peg tops and paper kites. We also used to spend it at Kurram’s sons place adjacent to tuck shop eating samousas and cups of tea. Freddy Brown who was a Cottonian in my early days at school returned after he left school as my Curzon House Master. He was a great person.

One Sunday on our visit to Auckland House on the horses, my horse that was tied up to the bench overlooking the girls playground came loose. It ran on to the playground, despite the girls and teachers chasing it the horse eluded capture. It was over an hour after which I took out some of my gelabbies to eat, (Indian sweets) which I had bought wrapped in brown paper, when to our surprise the horse came trotting up to see what I had. I was able to ride it back to the Lower Bazaar and promise to pay the syce the extra 4 Annas the following  week.

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Editor: Here are some earlier stories by this trio

A Very Old Story

Dear All

My name is D(Dick). F.Q. Bas Backer.

After some searching,I found this website and decided I would send you my story.
I am now 76 years old.

On the 29th of December 1945, together with my parents and my sister, I arrived in Shimla. My father had been appointed to the Netherlands consulate general in Shimla.
In March 1946 I became a pupil at the prep school. The headmaster was Mr. Bruce.
In 1947  I moved to the main school. Rivaz was my house and the dormitory was in the headmaster’s house. During my stay in School I spent a great deal of the time in hospital due to several bouts of dysentery. This was mainly due to the fact that, via London , we came straight from occupied Holland. Because of the change of environment, climate and of course the food  I soon became ill and that often interrupted my stay at school. Nevertheless Shimla has had an enduring influence on the rest of my life.  I remember the early morning when the moslem students were transported to Pakistan. On the first of December my sister and I travelled by train via Kalka to Delhi to join our parents. My father was now secretary at the Netherlands Embassy in Delhi and on the 14th of April 1948 my sister and I returned to the Netherlands.

Ten years ago I returned to BCS. I was shown around by the geography teacher and introduced to the headmaster. Saw my classroom, the dining hall and the chapel (where I was christened).

I have included a rather vague photograph  of Rivaz house in 1948. The housemaster was Mr. Papworth. I expect that most of the persons on the photograph are no more, but there might just be one who can recognise himself. You will find me on the top row, fifth from the left.

[CLICK THE PICTURE TO SEE A LARGER VIEW]

Best regards,
D.F.Q. Bas Backer.
Emerson/Rivaz 1946/47

School History and some memories….

Dear Old Cottonians
Old Cottonian Richard [Dick] D’Abreu from Australia wrote in recently and has also sent in a few pictures, appended below.

It was good to read the History of BCS, written up in so much detail. I was able to recall the part written up from 1936 to 1946, the accuracy of which was so precise. In 1937 Allan Fennell was the School Captain. To me at aged 9, I would mistake him for one of the staff, I was in awe of all the school prefects. Fred Brown was a senior student in my time. He was an excellent hockey player and an all round cricketer, and although I was a few years years his junior, I came to know him quite well. He left school in 1939, with his fellow hockey friend Malcolm Petters. Fred then returned as a member of the school staff while I was in Fifth Form. He was first a master at the Prep school for a while, but then, Cannon Sinker transferred him to the senior school. He became my House Master of Curzon when I was a House Prefect. In his single days he became engaged to our Bursa’s daughter Pat Murphy. His living quarters was one end of the Curzon C dormitory. One of his duties was to have the House boys over to his quarters on a Saturday evening. He would often trust me the key to his quarters on Saturday so as I could lock up after the boys left at 9.00pm, while he was out taking his fiancee Pat to the pictures in town. I left school before he married. For a few years while I was in the RAAF in Australia I kept contact with him, but regrettably lost touch when I was with the British Commonwealth Occupation Forces in Japan. Many years later while retired in Perth Western Australia, I met up with Malcolm Petters. He used to ring up his old friend Freddy Brown quite often. I used to go over to Malcolm’s home and chat with Fred also for a while. It was sad when Alzheimer’s got the better of Fred and he could not remember me.

I also recall all the school operas that we sang in under the direction of Mr. and Mrs. Priestley …In the opera Trial by Jury, as mentioned in the BCS History the boys took the part of girls in the opera. I was pleased I sang as a Tenor so did not qualify to be a girl. The singing of Handel’s Messiah in Simla in 1943 was a highlight. The photo of the choir is included.

Old man Karam had the tuck shop on the first playing field. His son we called Silly Billy ran the tea shop next door. Rs 2.00 was the maximum pocket money we were allowed each week, in those days it would buy quite a few things. At the end of each term we would have 10 days holiday, for this my parents would allow me Rs 50.00. We would think we were rich.

Mr. Fisher was a senior master that taught us Physics. I think he was also a House Master. When we used to quite often play up in his lab, he would call us out by name and say “Take your books and leave the class..you are only wasting your parents money…all you people realize is the stick… ” He was also in charge of the little photo lab and darkroom where we could go and do our own developing and printing of films. I had a Box Brownie camera of which I took the photo of Simla in 1937.

I would like to also make mention of the end of year House Chews each House would indulge in. Our parents would contribute to a fund which would go towards buying tasty curries and Indian sweets for everyone to enjoy. This feast would take place in the main dormitories of each House. Sometimes I wish I could wind back the clock 70 odd years to those memorable school days.

My best wishes…Dick D’Abreu.

BEST YEARS OF MY LIFE [at Bishop Cotton School]

16 Replies

The Best Years Of My Life:

My parents settled in Lahore decided to try for my admission at B.C.S where a nephew of my Late Father, Rustom Boga studied in the late 20’s. I was admitted to the Preparatory School situated at Chota Simla in March 1945 and recall Boarding a train at Lahore on around the 10th March,1945 and it was part of the Frontier Mail carrying fellow school mates who were travelling from Peshawar to Kalka via Lahore, Amritsar, Jullundar and Ludhiana to Kalka. We had a short stop at Kalka before Boarding the train around 6 AM to Simla which was about a 6 hour journey with numerous stops. It was an experience travelling on a mountain train which passed through about 100 tunnels. The main attraction was Jetoog/Behrogh where we had a short stop to fill the belly and thereafter I recall the stop at Tara Devi where Kevinter had their farm. We were escorted to the school around 2PM and after a tiring journey were moved to our Dormitory. I was admitted to Cotton House and my house Master was Mr. Shalom and later Mr.Murray. The Headmaster was Mr. Priestly with his wife in attendance to look after us. This was the first time I had left home and the first week was tough for most of the new faces. However, we were very comfortably looked after and fed and soon settled down to a very well organized and settled life. My first friend was Ramesh Bhasin who assisted me in settling down and finding my feet and as time went on the group of mates increased with Derek Crowl, Durrani, Ali Afridi, Niaz-ul-Haq, Persis, Ifti Malik, Mcdowell, Edrich etc.

Among the staff the name of a Mr.Shalom and Jones comes to mind who assisted us in our development and Dunda Hawkes-the Physical Training Instructor who had retired from the Army and was a boxing Champion in his day. I was at the Prep School for 2 years-1945 and 1946. In early 1946 Mr. Priestly left and an Old Cottonian Col. A.E.R Bruce took over as the Head Master. These 2 years at the School played a significant part in my development as the Staff were committed in assisting the country in producing men of character who would take the country and World forward. Apart from taking us for outings regularly to Chota Simla they also took us to some beautiful spots and the one I still recall is Brockhurst. We also visited the Main School on various occasions and they were mainly to view the Inter School fixtures between B.C.S. and Sanawar and we followed the path through the woods to the main school and entered where there was a Birds House in which a variety of birds were held. We watched the School’s matches against Sanawar from the 1st Flat which was covered and was the entrance to the Swimming Pool and the Gymnasium.

I moved to the Main School in 1947 and the year brought new challenges which added to my vision of the outside World as I witnessed the School go through a very traumatic and upsetting period. The School went through a very trying and difficult year in August 1947 at the time of Partition of India when a very large segment of our mates departed for their homes in Pakistan. The Head Master Mr. Drake and Staff at the time Mr. & Mrs. Fisher, Mr. & Mrs. Brown, Mr. Papworth, Mr. & Mrs. Murrey assisted us greatly in settling down. Continue reading →

BCS in WW2 – by David M. Wood-Robinson

I and my two brothers, Mark & Colin, were some of the large number of boys who came out in 1940 to spend the war in India with our parents; while Europe was in turmoil and even the defeat of Britain seemed a possibility.

Mark & I came out with about 600 other children on a passenger ship with Thomas Cook staff looking after us and arrived in Bombay(!) in September. We started at BCS later that month but due to the large number of ‘new boys’ the Headmaster, George Sinker, took about 20 of us into his house while another similar number of older boys went to a house near the school gate with a matron in charge. These arrangements were only for sleeping and we each belonged to one of the four houses for everything else including inter-house games.

Some of my memories include stealing chemistry lab equipment to make hookahs in which we smoked all sorts of strange things, climbing over the barbed-wire school fence to ‘scrump’ bhuttas which we roasted in the school boilers and fighting with kites with ground-up glass glued onto their strings. Also that some of the older boys had their eye on Joy Sinker, the Head’s pretty daughter! And at the end of term in December, the school train spread a trail of destruction along the various lines to where the boys’ homes were all over India. Why do we always remember the naughty things?

At prize-giving every year the current Viceroy came to preside and I was lucky enough to shake hands with Lord Linlithgow, Lord Wavell and one other whose name I forget. And of course we made many wonderful friendships which I’m glad to say joining OCA has opened the possibility of renewing.

David M. Wood-Robinson
[1940-44 Ibbetson].

[EDITOR
Here is a listing of the boys who joined BCS in 1940/41/42/43/44 –  general information for those who might be interested : [ bcs-list-1940-1944 ]

Bon appétit – from Al [Ashok] K. Stokes

Bon appétit – OCA Dinner.

September 18, 2011
Five months ago, I was surprised to receive an email from Sukhinder Singh and Vijay Khurana to attend the 50th class reunion. I apologize for taking so long to reply. Firstly, I was in the process of moving. Secondly, since I could not attend, I did not feel I could contribute anything.

Upper II Class Photograph:
I have included the 1956 Upper II photograph originally sent by Brandy Gill. If my memory is correct, the person in the second row behind the 7th person from the left in the front row (the person with eye glasses) is  Bentick ( I don’t know if I am spelling the name correctly; I don’t know if that is his first or last name). Minor correction to Sukhinder Singh’s  message “we were together in the III form” It should read Upper II and not III Form. I left after completing Upper II, the year this photograph was taken. I joined BCS in 1952 when I was 8 years old and I was expelled from BCS in 1956 when I was 12 years old.


[Click this picture for a full size view, or right-click to save it]

[EDITOR: This is the listing we had earlier from Vijay Khurana when this picture was circulated in April 2011] –
Vijay said: “I can recognise the following :
Sitting first row: (left to right) Gurdial Singh, Brandy Gill, KS Dugal, Sabharwal (Rivaz, left to join Doon), RLV Nath (second from right same row). . . but none of the others .
Standing second row( left to right) Rupinder Singh, Rakesh Sawhney, unknown and Ramesh Suthoo.
Standing third row (left to right) unknown, unknown, Ashok Anand, Ashok Mulchandani, unknown, SM Nanda, Himmat Singh,  AK Stokes, unknown, Inderjit Singh (Badal).
Standing last row(left to right): Preharan Singh, JS Rarewala, Hundal, GS Anand, unknown, unknown,  A Motwane].”

Graduated Senior Cambridge in 1960:
I considered Upper II as the 7th grade and VI Form as the 12th grade. After leaving BCS, I joined Modern School, New Delhi, in the 7th grade. This did not work out and I did not cooperate. I was in the boarding school. My parents then put me in day school. I was staying with my father’s friend. They thought that perhaps I was afraid of girls as Modern School is coeducational or perhaps I did not like the Hindi medium of instruction. Little did anyone know what upset me. I was only 12 years old and kept everything to myself. What bothered me was why they put me in the 7th grade when I had already completed the 7th grade in BCS. If you remember, I use to be on the top or near the top of my class. To make a long story short, I lost one year doing nothing. In 1958, my father put me in Hyderabad Public School. I insisted that I join the 7th grade which the school accepted. Luck would have it, their grading system was different. Their highest grade was not 12th grade but 10th grade. (On the first day of my class I had my Geometry class. I started with the 49th theorem. Within a few days I started to learn Algebra, Trigonometry and Calculus!)  So I gained two years and lost one year. That is why I graduated one year before my classmates in BCS. This is not the end of the story. My father and my elder brother both graduated in Engineering from Benares Hindu University. The only college that I applied to was Benares Hindu University. The university was prejudiced against Senior Cambridge students as it was a foreign examination. I was told I did not qualify for admission. My elder brother told me that I was foolish in applying to one college only. Once again, luck was on my side. The son of the Vice Chancellor of Benares Hindu University was in the same predicament that I was. Finally, the university admitted Senior Cambridge students. In the first year of college I stood first in my class. From then on my mother had complete faith in me. This experience had a profound effect on me. We are taught to think within a box. This taught me to think outside the box.

Uranium Enrichment by Gaseous Centrifugation 1970-1985:
I had proposed to the Government of India for providing nuclear fuel two times in 1970 and 1985. Enclosed is a 1984 article from The Tribune, Chandigarh. Both my attempts were unsuccessful and I gave up on this good idea.

[Click this picture for a full size view, or right-click to save it]

Toastmasters International 1994-Present:
Toastmasters International is a nonprofit organization that teaches public speaking, communication and leadership skills. It has 270,000 members; 13,000 clubs in 116 countries. I have been a member for 17 years. We practice original speeches that last between 5 to 7 minutes.From time to time, I have given speeches on energy in general and nuclear energy in particular. The purpose is to explain in a non-technical the various facets and aspects of energy. I had stated earlier that I felt I could not contribute anything. Then, it occurred to me that this information would be educational to the students at Bishop Cotton School. I have introduced several new terms  such as Nugami (portmanteau of Nu for new or Nu from Nuclear and gami from origami) and Hatt (portmanteau of H from Heat and att from Watt). My proposal was based on providing 100% Nuclear Energy. This included both generating electricity and providing hydrogen fuel for automobiles by the electrolysis of water. France has come close to providing 100% electrical energy though they have not gone as far as using hydrogen fuel. They closed the last coal mine a few years ago. So far only Iceland and a few other countries have experimented with hydrogen as a fuel. I had proposed one 1 Gigawatt Electrical / 3 Gigawatt Thermal (in my terminology 1 Gigawatt  / 3 Gigahatt) Nuclear reactor for every 100,000 (one lakh) population. The title of my paper is: Energy is almost God… and God said “Numbers do not lie”. I had hoped to complete this paper by now but it has taken longer than I had estimated. Firstly, I had changed from a Microsoft PC to an Apple Mac and had minor software issues in producing the documents. Secondly, some of the documents were done on a phototypeset over 40 years ago. I want to convert these documents into digital format instead of just scanning the documents. As a sneak preview I have included a document “Nugami.pdf“. When you print this, make sure the “Page Scaling” is set to “None” so that you get a full size of the drawing. If printed correctly, the 32 x 32 grid should measure 6.375 inches by 8.25 inches (75% of 8.5 inches x 11.0 inches sheet of paper).

Hope to send the complete article as soon possible. Maybe the students at BCS will find it useful educationally.

Regards,
Al (Ashok) K. Stokes

EDITOR: Here is an email from Vijay Khurana to Ashok [published online with permission from all concerned!]

Continue reading →

A School Boy’s Story

I was a young school boy studying at Bishop Cotton School, Simla when partition took place. After 60 years I was invited to the School for its 150th Anniversary and I then decided to write about myself and the journey from Simla to Lahore made possible by the kindness of many from both sides but mainly from the Indian side. The story is
factual. I shall be too glad to answer any queries.

Sincerely,
Iftikhar Malik
Lahore

A Schoolboys story – 1946/1947:

The winter of 1946 was spent with my grandmother and parents, brothers and sister in the  village on the banks of the river Chenab on the GT Road in District Gujrat. It was cold and frost covered the land in the mornings. The sun came up shortly before noon for a few hours before people retired and smoke from their homes wound  up and settled  at a height.

I was a boarder at BCS in Simla and as I had learnt the best way of spending holidays was to walk around the house, fag for my elder cousins Nasim and Akhtar, play football with the local schoolboys and read stories. The elders in the family excelled in medicine, civil service, engineering and were a source of inspiration for me and books around the house on the subjects were of some interest. Grandfather’s desire was that all his children excel in studies and they did not let him down. Visits to the fields were interesting especially where jaggery was prepared.

Off and on news from the city about a rebellion, civil disobedience, public meetings, hartals, tear gas and those who were arrested in the city defying the authorities filtered down to the village. Some of the village folk who used to go to the city  would return and tell us what happened. The word ‘Pakistan’ featured prominently and the village bard hoped to be sitting in the ‘Coamatee’ Hall !

The slogans ‘Pakistan Zindabad’  and ‘Azadi’ were engraved in my memory.

I did not have many questions but kept staring at bandaged men who narrated how they got injured  quite different from the bruise on the knuckles whilst batting or a hard blow on the shin in hockey or a bloody nose at the end of three rounds in the gnat weight league boxing. First class stuff for a young Boy Scouts Cub troop leader and enough stories to tell my school mates when I got back.

I noticed as the jathas increased their visits to the city and the stories became  more vivid and thrilling that a green flag with a crescent, not very neat, all  of different shades of green and size being carried by the village folk when they returned in the evenings. I was presented one which I carried all day long around the house shouting the one slogan I learnt ”Pakistan Zindabad”. I was then just short of 8 years.

One person, Sita Ram, my grandmothers munshi stayed away from these meetings and by nightfall used to retreat to his home across the nullah. He had a beautiful rifle which he carried all the time.

The holidays ended and I proceeded to Rawalpindi where my father was posted after his transfer from Simla in 1946 and awaiting to occupy his residence at Mackeson  Road. Meantime my parents  were living close to the Army Chiefs residence. In late February I was booked to leave home for Simla.I had no idea of the problems ahead and gladly jumped into the front seat of the bus which was to take me to Lahore Railway Station. At the bus stand it was cold and wet but I was well clad in my School blazer, grey flannels and the all important school cap. I was busy trying to see if my box had been loaded when my grandmother called out to me from the car in which she and my mother, sister Kanta, brothers Farooq  and Sheri were sitting. to say farewell to my mother. I got off the bus and approached the car and saw that she  was crying. It was the first time I saw her as such and this memory saddens me even today. She kissed me goodbye and off I went into the bus. She slipped in a Nestle bar and a dinky in my coat pocket. My sister and brothers were quiet and subdued.

The bus ,run on coal gas, lumbered steadily to Lahore. It stopped enroute to drop off and pick passengers the largest number at Gujar Khan. I reached Lahore in the afternoon and was glad to see staff from the school awaiting boys to take the night train to Kalka. I do not remember what food we had but slept all through out the night. From Kalka onwards the journey was a few hours and I reached the school at dinner time and ready to go to bed.

School life settled into the routine with which I was familiar. I had been appointed a Prefect and sat at the top table for meals. Sports were very competitive and camping in the ‘khud’ as a  Scouting Cub was thrilling. Letter writing to parents were compulsory once a week with most of us copying what the teacher had written on the blackboard. The 6 annas per week pocket money was enough to get a bottle of jam to last for a week and a tin of condensed milk consumed on the spot. Meringues from the Mall were a big attraction and I remembered the site where the Quaid e Azam addressed the citizens of Simla in 1946 which my mother attended and I went along..

Academic standards were high but I managed to hold my own amongst the top. Years later in 1999 when I visited the School and saw the honour boards in Irwin Hall I was to see the names of Humayun Khan, Pakistan’s Foreign Secretary, Jal Boga whose friendship has lasted well over 6 decades, Col. Mohd Sharif and General Jahanzeb Khan, Army Officers holding senior positions on both the  academic and sport boards. I stood mesmerized in the great Hall ,there was a lump in my throat and it was  hard to keep me from breaking down. Much that I would have liked my name to be there too it was not to be. Tuition and extra classes were unknown with all work and learning including French and Latin to be completed in class. Turnout was always excellent. The newspaper ‘The Statesman’ was read out to boys by Mr Murray standing around him. Bradman and Hammond entered our minds.

In about July,1947,whilst on the playing field and it was almost past sunset I suddenly heard the sound of people shouting above the school in the  Bazar and the faint sound of ‘Pakistan Zindabad’,  rising and then dropping.. I was amazed and tried to hear the sound again but in vain. I felt that my memory chords  had been touched, memories from a few months ago. Instantly my hockey stick became my flag and I strutted a few smart steps  shouting ‘Pakistan Zindabad’ afraid that I might be overheard some instinct telling me not to be too enthusiastic lest Mr Murray hears me.

As the days went by I noticed the shouting and slogan sessions increasing and one night after lights out we were woken up by the teachers and told to wear our great coats over our night clothes, put on our shoes, and stuff our toiletries in our pockets. We were marched out, all about 200 boys, lined up and led out in the darkness through the khud to the Senior School where cots had been lined up in the corridors of the dormitories on the first floor. On the way our teachers some with guns and torches and lanterns remained close to us with a solitary enquiry ‘kaun hai’ from a house up on the hill. The way down the khud was full of fun, Bushes and nettle thorns , an uneven path, darkness except for the stars…a Scouts Cub dream of leading his pack through enemy territory in complete silence.

Boys evacuated from the Prep School had a pleasant stay in the Senior School. It is located at some distance from the Bazar and slogans could not be heard there. Special classes were organized and there was plenty to do on the sports field and the swimming pool. I noticed tinned sardines were provided on the breakfast table. The routine carried on peacefully but sometime in late August I was summoned by the Headmaster on Flat One where I noticed an army jeep and a Sikh Police officer. Father Drake the Headmaster and another  teacher were talking to the Officer and when he saw me he said ‘Son, he will take you home’. I dashed upto the Headmaster and held onto his legs firmly and sobbing said ’Father, I don’t want to go”. I was quite happy in School and did not know why this was happening. It took him a while to release my grip and he said ’Son, don’t worry, you will get home soon and write to me when you get there’.

I noticed some senior  boys watching from the first floor verandah. I waved out to them and suddenly cheers erupted from them with clapping wishing me well. Off was the Prefect from Cotton House. Amongst the Senior School heroes which I thought had a good rapport were Agha Hashim,the School Captain, Chandulal. Durrani, Hay Jahans , Jones, Stringer, Mehra, Wamiq  Rasheed, Sahibzada, Sarda to name a few who I felt  were on the verandah waving me farewell.

Rubbing my eyes and trying hard to dry them with my handerkechief I sat in the jeep and left the School  with the Officer and his Driver not knowing where I was headed which was ending a happy childhood stay in the finest School  that I knew. Gone were my teachers, friends, my books, my stamp collection, my butterfly collection and my school cap. I thought that perhaps I would be back one day but such hopes faded away quickly as I settled down to a place I did not know. I turned round for a brief moment to look at the School to which I hoped I would return.

About 60 years later I was told that the great wooden doors at the entrance to Irwin Hall were closed in honour of the Muslim boys who left the School in 1947.They were reopened in honour of the contingent from Pakistan who were invited to the 150th year celebrations. A shield was presented to the School. I was one of the lucky 6 who would participate.

The jeep groaned past the Bazar and onto the Convent on the outskirts of  Simla where  my cousins Farida and Asma were waiting clutching hand bags with a few Nuns. The Officer got out of the jeep, met the Nuns and escorted my cousins to the jeep. Somewhere past the Ridge we were transferred to big black car. We settled down on our way I did not know where but in the evening we found that the ferry at Ghaggar had closed and we had to find a place to stay overnight. The Officer rang a bell at a small house in an Army compound at some distance from the ferry crossing and asked the lady who opened the door to keep the children for the night. She was a kind Hindu lady and let us in and gave some food. Her husband an Army officer came in late but we were fast asleep by then. .I was given the sofa in the drawing room whilst my cousins presumably had another place to sleep.

Early the following morning I awoke to see a huge Alsatian dog sitting on his haunches ,head cocked and looking at me lying on the sofa. It was not aggressive but had a loving look. I stretched out and got close to it and hugged it. It stayed close to me during breakfast and went with me to the car where the Officer was waiting. With a big thank-you to our hosts we restarted our journey, crossed the Ghaggar and after a few hours reached the residence of the Deputy Commissioner, Ambala and were lodged in the guest room. Years later I came to know that the Deputy Commissioner was Mr Grewal Singh ,an Indian Civil Service officer and he was a friend and colleague of my Uncle Khalid, the father of my cousins travelling with me.

Mr Grewal met us the following morning and said that we would be living with him till evacuation was possible. I had a vague notion then of what was  in store for us but  my cousins were anxious, worried and always kept the curtains of the room drawn. They never stepped out but I ventured out in the verandah and one day went around the house. It was a big house with a long driveway and lawns around it. ’Dal roti’ was our preferred meal and I tried to keep the room spick and span .I was wearing the same set of clothes with which I left School and did not have a change. My cousins used to threaten me that they would report me to Mr Grewal if I upset them on any count and one day he did visit us which left me motionless as soon as we were told by the bearer that the Sahib was coming. It turned out to be a pleasant visit much to the disappointment of my cousins as they thought he would upbraid me for annoying  them.

I cannot remember how long we stayed there but it was an awfully long period in one room with little or nothing to do. I felt listless and only when some of the DC’S staff told us from time to time that a plane would be coming to take us home would there be some excitement and noise in the room. Days passed and we settled into a routine. We did not  have any news what was happening which added to our misery. One fine morning we were told that we would be taken to the airport to take the plane. We got ready but it was a disappointment as nothing happened. A few days later the exercise was repeated. An older person would have his nerves all jangled with such developments but we were small and quickly went back to normal life in the room with the drawn curtains.

Finally on a beautiful day Mr Grewal Singh rushed us to the airport in his car followed by a police escort. In a short while we reached the airport and in the distance on the horizon saw a plane coming in. It was the first time I saw a plane in real life. It  landed and came close to us near the airport building and the doors were opened with the engines running. Out stepped my Uncle Khalid wearing a suit. He saw us  called out  to run to get in. He got off, met Mr Grewal ,exchanged a few pleasantries and reentered the plane.

The plane taxied to the run way and we were seated in the front part .The doors were still open  and whilst it was   readying to take off, lo and behold it was surrounded by several hundred men and women and children of all ages who wanted to get on. These were Muslims staying close to the airport waiting to take the train to Pakistan.. It was an amazing sight with people trying to enter, some did and some clung onto its wings and undercarriage. It could not move.

Mr Grewal Singh was watching the huge crowd which surrounded the plane and  went upto them and with kind, gentle words  with the help of the Police brought some order. Yet people were clinging to it. Gradually with great difficulty it started moving, the doors open as the staff could not close it because of the people trying to enter. It started gathering speed and from the window I saw people fall off from the wings. One had held onto the roll-bar in the doorway and was pleading and crying to let him in but that was not possible and the staff pushed him out with force and closed the door. We were jam-packed in the aircraft. My immediate reaction at that time was of sadness for the persons left behind and how would they manage. I was one of the few that got across safely.

The plane took off smoothly, this being my first plane journey. I could pull open a little cylindrical window cut in the big window and took my arm and hand out and feel the breeze. It was wonderful. After a short while I was taken to the cockpit where the pilot told me how the plane went up and down. Amazing I thought. The journey to Lahore was over in about 30 minutes or less. At the Airport my father  along with my Aunt Saliha, mother of my cousins and a few relatives received us safe and sound. It was a joyous and happy time.

The get together with other relatives and friends took place at Uncles residence. Lots of  mubaraks and gratefulness to Allah was expressed and suddenly I felt my mother to be missing. She could not come from Rawalpindi but my Aunty noticed that I was feeling that I was not  part of the homecoming celebrations and stood silently in a corner wearing the same shirt and shorts when I left School, now stained and quite filthy. To cheer me up she asked if I would have a squash. I nodded and followed her to the pantry for the drink. That gesture remains as a pleasant memory of my days..

My Dad and I  motored down to Rawalpindi via the village. Many villagers came to see me and wish me well. In the 9 odd months away from home the only language I knew was English, Punjabi and Urdu were forgotten. So the young boy from the plains of the Punjab had returned home but I was anxious to get to Mackeson Road and the tennis court there and my bicycle. It was winter and cold and a few days of food of my choice and freedom changed me. In January 1948, I was admitted to the Convent and upon my parents transfer to Lahore in St. Anthony’s and later Aitchison College. The life at School in Simla had set me on a path to which I have no regrets. Boarding life in particular taught me self reliance, sharing with dormitory mates, competitiveness, good manners and a host of other matters which steadied life ahead.

As the years rolled on, gone is the journey to School, the end of the Persian Water wheel in the village and the ride on the drivers seat going round and round the well, the gas lamps, the spelling competition with cousins. Sita Ram is no more and forgotten  are the deodar  trees of the greater Himalayas around Simla, the trek to Kufri where the flowers were taller than us young boys, Wild Flower Hall, Barnes Court, the Ridge, Flat One in the School, Gone are Cotton, Sinker, Barnes and  Emerson Houses and the Prep School which is now a Tibetan Center, and so are Kathala Railway Station and the beautiful Kidar Nath Farm.

I got my tin box back and collected it from the Indian High Commission office at that time located on the Mall next to the Canal. It was empty and I felt that it was of no use to remember the material part of life. I was glad to be home with my parents and sister and brothers and only now can I feel what parents had to go through as there was little assurance that we would return and life would probably have  taken a different path.

And onto matriculation, O/A levels, graduation, service with a multinational with a multicultural work force with gems from across the border working with  different ideas and values but simple for me to understand as I was in boarding with boys from all over India and had known some of their thinking and my way of getting along with them…Amongst my seniors Zafar Hassan from Amritsar and Lahore,, Zia Shafi Khan from Shahjahanpur in the UP, and Nizam Shah from Sirinagar were outstanding and there are lifelong friendships forged with Ejaz,Naveed,Anwar  . Service  in Aitchison College followed and more attention given in the twilight of my life to a loving family across the globe in a different setting. I married Asma and our sons Jaffar and Usman studied for  their degrees in the US and are now in Calgary and Karachi respectively  with their families. Grandchildren Hassan, Haider and Sonia are growing up to be good human beings.

The village prospers and the descendants of Malik Maula Baksh keep his name flying high. He lies buried there with his sons Abdur Rahman, Abdul Mannan and Abdullah Khalid with place in the graveyard  for more to follow. Doctor Sahib, Chief Sahib and Commissioner Sahib are remembered to this day. But there no slogans or eventful days and the dream that was ‘Pakistan’ sadly disappointed  many. Only a brief period in the 1965 skirmish as Gujrat borders the Jammu area did the residents show the determination to succeed from the soil  that has made them. On a clear day one can see the Pir Panjal range in the Himalayas, beautiful and serene and standing tall and mighty unchanged as time goes by.

Thanks could not be forgotten to be given to Mr Grewal Singh. In the 60’s Mr Kewal Singh, his brother, was appointed as the High Commissioner of India to Pakistan. Aunt Salihas father and who was also Asma’s grandfather and I called on him .He was deeply touched by the gesture of a distinguished person around 90 years old to make the effort. But such men and such values are few.

In conclusion I can sum up my experience in real life as truly rewarding. I was never unsure about my capabilities and fear did not ever cross my path.

Iftikhar Malik
July 15, 2011

The author, Mr. Malik, is an Old Cottonian. He was at BCS from 1944 to 1947.
Mr. Malik was the Head of HR at a Multinational company and later took up position as the Vice Principal and Bursar of Aitchison College Lahore.

Iftikhar Ahmad passed away 2017

20th November 2018

From: Jai Joshi MD
Subject: A SCHOOL BOYS STORY by Iftikar Malik

Last night I read again A SCHOOL BOYS STORY and was moved to tears. I wanted to know how the author was doing so I googled him and was saddened to realize that he had passed away
Iftikhar Ahmad Malik, former Vice Principal (Admin)/Bursar and an Old Aitchisonian sadly passed away on March 13th, 2017.

Jai Joshi MD