Bernard

Now there's a lot of stuff about Calcutta that's never been put down in writing because it's too personal really to make articles of. But what stuck out most vividly in our minds really was the times when there were strikes and hartals (I day general strikes) and riots and disturbances.

The curious thing was that there could be a riot in North Calcutta and South Calcutta wouldn't know anything about it till they read it in the paper next day. If any huge disturbances took place in Lower Circular Road, for example, people in Sudder Street (off Chowringhee), less than a mile away, probably wouldn't have known a thing about it also till it was reported the next day. These things used to arise over what appeared to be very insignificant incidents, but which Hindus and Muslims took up with instant hostility to each other, that was the top and bottom of it. For instance when the theft of the Hair of the Prophet took place in Kashmir, oh, hundreds upon hundreds of miles away, as soon as it was reported the whole City of Calcutta this time, not just North or South or anywhere else, the whole City erupted. One night everything was comparatively calm and next day the whole City was in absolute turmoil. Usually you could get a whiff when such events were likely to take place because perhaps a bearer, or a servant, would hear a bit of bazaar talk and perhaps they might discreetly say to the employer 'perhaps it would be as well to get a bit of extra stuff in from the bazaar', or 'see the store cupboard is filled because there might be some trouble tomorrow.' 'Disturbance' they used to call them. Sometimes even that couldn't be premeditated. There'd be an instant flare-up. Actually the word hartal has religious connotations. When they said they'd declare a hartal it really means some religious observance. It's a religious word but it's taken now to mean strikes and such things.

But what I was thinking about in particular was over this theft of the Hair of the Prophet. That was on Friday. Saturday morning when we'd sort of smelt that there was a lot in the wind, one Cold Weather day, when the sun was shining and everything appeared to be normal.

Ronald

When was that exactly?

Bernard

Oooh, It was late in... late... Early sixties, that'd be it.

Ronald

Where were we?

Bernard

You were in England, and your mother and I were on our own in the Press, and your Uncle Norman must have either retired or, yes he had, he'd already retired. We were batting single wicket (a cricketing term). Anyway, we'd got an idea from what the bearer had said that there'd be trouble that Saturday. We got ready as usual. The durwan sounded the gong at five minutes to nine and there wasn't a single man outside, as there usually were, waiting to come in. He sounded it at nine o'clock and of course absolutely no one turned up for work except half a dozen. There was Sham Howard who was in charge of money and labour relations; there was a Lino Operator who was an Anglo Indian; there was Suresh Babu in charge of Confidential; Lakshmi Narayan who was... had been head proof reader, he was a barrister of course. I think Pancha Babu had retired by then. Yes he had, Works Manager. There was Mr. Bannerjee. Mr. Bannerjee was Works Manager. There was just about five or six of us there.

So we just gathered in the office and sort of said what are things like outside? Each of them could say because one or two came from North Calcutta and of course the Lino Operator, I've forgotten his name, he just lived in Elliot Road so he wasn't very far away. So I said "Well you'd better clear up what you've got top do and I'll try and get you back to where you belong to otherwise you'll be finding difficulty, from what you've been saying, getting home if there's all these disturbances."

So while we were talking one of the binders came in, a Muslim, well I'd known him from the time he was a boy because he were taken on, of course Indians very rarely know their ages, but he was sort of schoolboy age when I first spotted him at the Press, he'd be about twelve or thirteen I should think. But anyway, by this time he was a married man. He'd got his family. He came into the compound and Bannerjee went out to see who it was and he brought this young man in. His hair was pretty well standing up and he was absolutely frightened to death with his eyes bulging, as you might say, and he was rattling away to Bannerjee in either Bengali or Urdu. Top and bottom of it was that he'd taken his life in his hands to come to the Press at all because, as he said, the Muslims in a quarter right behind Beniapuka, on the other side of Lower Circular Road, had had their quarters burnt down practically over their heads and there were hundreds upon hundreds who were quite homeless. He'd come to the Press to see if somebody could do something about rescuing his family. So I said "Yes we'd do what we could of course."

By this time your mother appeared. She'd gone to the Market...New Market. She said "What's it all about?" she said "They suddenly started closing up all the shops and things." "Clanging the iron shutters to." You know those gates that they bang to and locked up with whacking great padlocks on. She said suddenly people had started rushing about in the Market, scared stiff, practically panic stricken. Your mother, you know, didn't quite know what to do really because there was no transport. That had suddenly disappeared. There were no rickshaws and no trams and no buses, no anything. She was getting ready to walk back to the Press, you know, down Free School Street, Kidd Street... Elliot Road and Royd Street. An Anglo Indian woman had joined her and she'd got very alarmed and she said "Can I go with you?" so the two of them walked back.

Your mother appeared right in the middle of these discussions, and what not, as to what to do for this young man, and so on and so forth. Your mother said "Are there any women involved?" so of course he said "Yes, there were family members" as Indians call them. So I said "Righto." "Lets take the blessed station wagon out and have a go. At least we can but try to get 'em out." Well immediately the other five or six, Sham Howard and Suresh and Mr. Bannerjee said "You take your life in your hands if you go, because..." they said "...there are groups..." of course we'd have called them gangs "...at every street corner with brick ends in their hands, and that's why there's no traffic on the road." Hindus versus Muslims. So I said "Well our experience has been that Europeans are not in a fat lot of danger."

So anyway we started up and took this little station wagon out with this chap, young chap, crouched down and set off and went up towards Upper Circular Road; there, sure enough, right at Royd Street... Ripon Street corner there was a gang of chaps with brick ends in their hands all ready to, you know... But they could see who we were so we went sailing up this whacking great long straight road with double tram tracks, not a tram in sight, not a bus in sight, just odd people on the road otherwise absolutely deserted. It really was a sight. Got up to Seald... not as far as Sealdah (railway terminus), but got up to the market, enclosed market on the right hand side. You could hear... crash... bang... wallop... of glass being broken. You remember don't you?

Freda

Yes I can.

Bernard

I said "Somebody else suffering." So I said to this young chap crouched down... of course he daren't show his face, if his face had appeared above the windscreen he'd have been dragged out. No doubt about that. I kept saying "Is it anywhere here?" and he said "Yes he thought it was." So we stopped. 'Here' was a Roman Catholic School. I got out and went up to the gates and said to the durwan "Have you got a family sheltering here?" The Sikh durwan said "No Sahib, there's nobody here. It's a Roman Catholic School." So I went back to the station wagon and I said "You've got the wrong place." This chap was frightened out of his wits. He couldn't remember where it was. Anyway I said "You'd better to tell us which way to go to get to this bustee area where you say all these Muslims have lost their homes." So he managed to direct us.

Well we arrived, up a narrow lane, I suppose it'd be about, what, ten yards wide, and we'd got this small station wagon and there was a milling throng of Muslims there with their little tin boxes and their parcels and baggage and whatnot. One thing about Muslims they are a very disciplined sort of people really and they surrounded the station wagon completely. So I managed to open the door and got out. This young chap got out too and he found his family. One or two of these people seeking help they came up to me with folded hands, as they say, and said "Sahib can you get us out as well?" I said "Well you can see the size of this station wagon it can't take more than about three or four people at the back and they would be a bit crushed." Anyway. We got this family in and we saw there another of our chaps who had been a 'pukka badmarsh.' He had been a real 'soandso'. Of course he was the one who caused a great disturbance and took Len Hazleton to court for alleged assault. Caused endless trouble to the Press... and expense. There he was with folded hands and he'd caused all that trouble. He said "Sahib." "Can you help to bring my family me out as well?" and I gave him one look and if human nature had had its way I should have said "Well you can pretty well stuff it bearing in mind what you've..." Anyway, of course "No I said If we get out we'll do our best to get back."

So we set off with the family members of this binder Muslim young man. He told us this time when he was a bit more settled in himself where his Muslim friends were and they were somewhere up the back of Ripon Street. That was a safe area. So we deposited him and I said "I think we'd better find our way back now to see if we can get this other chap out with his family." So 'big-hearted Arthur' (reference to war-time comedian Arthur Askey) and his spouse set off back. We knew where to go that time. But we never got as far as that bustee area did we?

Freda

No.

Bernard

It was just like Dunkirk. They were all sweeping down the road. Well we couldn't have driven the station wagon through could we? But we had to park where we could by the side of the road and I said "There's one thing for sure if this 'badmarsh' is among this lot with his family members he'll spot us before we can spot him." I said "Where on earth are they all making for?" Anyway sure enough we found him... he found us rather... and we piled 'em all in and ooh... ooh... you've no idea how much everso... and they all piled in and we took him to a safe area.

Well by that time... we'd set off at half past nine... it was about one or two o'clock wasn't it? It had taken a thumping long time to do all this. Then eventually we drove into the compound and there our chaps still were. They'd not gone home at all. Crikey they said in effect "We never thought we'd see you alive again." And I just stood and I looked up and the sun was shining and a beautiful Cold Weather day. A Saturday, and you couldn't possibly think of riots and disturbances and people's lives in danger. You could wear a suit like this, an ordinary Cold Weather Day.

Anyway they all got taken back. It turned out they thought they were all making for the Maidan to be rescued. Of course they pleaded with us to to take 'em out. I said I couldn't take 'em out in the station wagon, but the Government of West Bengal no doubt would take care of 'em and of course within a few more days, I wouldn't say it was normal again because it couldn't be normal after people had lost their homes like that, but it eventually died down as these things do.

That was the thing about Calcutta that a lot of people outside never really appreciated, especially in England, that one day everything would appear to be perfectly normal, with you know the City running as it usually did, that is on gingerbread wheels, because it never ran properly. But the next day you'd be completely in a state of 'ultapulta', upside-down, 'stone-cold-dead-in-de-market', sort of thing.