Partition Stories

I started this blog after an increased interest in my family history.  I wanted to write something a bit different to the ‘how to’ family history blogs.  Lately my posts have taken a different turn, according to how I have been feeling about the world in general.  However, my own family history is particularly relevant at the moment.  And in a far more direct way than usual.  It is seventy years this week since Partition in India.

This anniversary has led to a flurry of articles and documentaries, many of which are making use of testimony from the dwindling number of eye witnesses.  These testimonies have attested to the previous reluctance to discuss what happened during Partition.  But over a million people died and at least fifteen million were displaced. Due to arbitrary lines drawn on maps by the escaping British.

My own paternal family were (are) Anglo-Indian, as mentioned on previous posts.  Their community existed on the fringes of ‘real’ British society.  Mostly Christian, mostly European-dressed but not white, they had developed their own way of life.  (The photo, which has appeared on this blog before, is of my grandmother - in white - at school.)  Their numbers were substantial at this point.  A distant relation of mine, Sir Henry Gidney, had even managed to represent them at the independence negotiations in the Thirties.

But when Independence actually came and Partition happened, the British had little sense of what was about to be unleashed.  The terror, the violence, the frantic movement of millions of people.

Anglo-Indians were endangered by their positions as ‘assistants’ to the British.  But on a day to day basis, they were endangered simply by having to live in a country where random and terrible violence could break out at any time.  Watch some of the documentaries currently on iPlayer and you get a glimpse of hell. 

Some of my family left almost immediately.  My grandfather stuck it out until 1949, two years after Partition.  But then he upped sticks and took flight remarkably quickly.  He, my grandmother, her mother and brother and my father were all on a ship within days of being caught in a riot, by all accounts.  Presumably, in waiting, he had had the relative luxury, not afforded to so many, of being able to plan a little as regards money.  They were not supposed to take much out of the country.  I don't know if he planned the destination but since his sister-in-law was already in the UK, it seems there was a choice not to join his own parents and siblings in New Zealand.

Since my father subsequently married an English girl, I clearly have reason to be grateful for this move.  Who would wish themselves from existence after all?  But in reading the many accounts being published at the moment, I can see that my family were terribly fortunate in many ways.  Although I am sure, in leaving everything they had ever known, it didn’t feel that way.  Their lives in India were comfortable and their position was one of relative privilege in some ways, despite the discrimination and resentment against them.

Partition is a word which has been used thoughtlessly for seventy years now.  It makes it sound like it was a kind of natural phenomenon that a country was summarily split by civil servants.  And as the current wave of comment is finally admitting, the event is still not given the notice or importance that should be attached to it.  Younger generations are barely aware - if at all - that Pakistan is only seventy years old.  You could wonder, for example, how much the arbitrary agreement to  Muslim state in India has contributed ever since to the ideas of Caliphate which fuel Islamic extremists.  If it could happen there, why not elsewhere?  State sponsored religious sectarianism, anyone?

I hope you will take the time to read or watch some of the anniversary pieces.  And take a moment to explain it to your children.  Independence was long overdue but its accomplishment was an appalling example of the kind of governmental arrogance and gung ho which still exists in our world today.  The actions of these ‘players’  reverberate amongst ordinary people for generations.  Just ask those desperate people still trying to escape across the Mediterranean.

Perfect World?

I have recently discovered the joys of Instagram.  Yes, much later than most people.  Especially those younger than me who are now onto something else which hasn't even hit my radar yet.  But never mind.  I am enjoying discovering this visual brand of social media all the same.  I have not made my account private (@debcyork if you are interested) because I thought it would be interesting to see what kind of people might 'like' my pictures.  

So far, I have posted mainly pictures from dog walks and pictures of food.  I tried one 'fashion' kind of picture but it made me terribly uncomfortable!  The temptation, of course, is to copy the methods of those trying to make a living from Instagram and to make your photos look as perfect and gorgeous as possible.  To say nothing of your life itself.  And following all the people who do make everything look easy, perfect and beautiful does make you a little too aware of how unperfected, difficult and annoying many aspects of your own life are.

For example, tomorrow is my birthday.  After watching a number of make-up tutorials - as advised by my daughter - I have settled on some apparently much needed up-to-date make-up as one present.  I have also been seeing endless pictures of women in 'Bardot' tops roll by on my photo stream.  You know, those off the shoulders, stretchy tops.  So I determined to ask for one of these as well.  Worrying about what I would end up with if the family were left to purchase this item without guidance, I have spent some time on trying on these garments.  In a wide variety of shops.  And almost none of them were even vaguely flattering.  I have finally found one.  But now I am left wondering how all these Instagrammers keep their chests in place under said tops...

I do wonder what someone like my ancestor who went to India with the army in 1804 would have put on Instagram if it had existed.  If there is a human desire to say 'it's fine' and 'having a lovely time' whatever is happening, it would be funny to see what he would have posted.  If he followed twenty-first century human behaviour, presumably it would be pictures of fabulous scenery, unusual animals, beautiful girls/boys and amazing food.  Ignoring the illness, the appalling living conditions and the general nightmare of soldiering in that age.  So we would be no wiser about how they managed even if we had access to such material.

All very frivolous.  But I do have a more serious point.  It seems to me that the more difficult and worrying our world becomes, the more we retreat into the pursuit of 'perfection' - that is, perfection as dictated by a relatively small number of our planet's inhabitants.  Whether it be huge caterpillar eyebrows, equally huge bottoms or thick make-up for women.  Or triangular body shapes, endless workouts and recipes for protein rich foods for men. ( Or a mixture of both for everyone.)  We all want everyone to believe we are doing brilliantly at everything.  Looks, decor, fitness, reading, crafts, cooking and eating, you name it.  Never was the campaign for better awareness of mental health issues more needed.  It is ok not to be ok.

Face it

Last night I was listening to an episode of Lemn Sissay's Homecoming on Radio 4.  Sissay is a Mancunian of Ethiopian origin, a poet and broadcaster.  In yesterday's and the previous episode, he has been looking at the nature of home.  You will find them on the BBC Radio iPlayer.

The programmes are extremely funny but also touching.  Very heartfelt.  He was the only black person for miles around for much of his childhood in Lancashire.  This was what he was discussing last night - the first episode was recorded in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where he is descended from.

The idea which struck me in relation to this blog was his assertion that Ethiopians can recognise each other physically, by face shape and cheekbones and so on.  He wondered if this was true for other ethnicities.  And I got to thinking about my own roots (as usual! - it is obviously all about me!).

Sissay mentioned never seeing another Ethiopian in Manchester then getting to London and instantly recognising 'his people'.

So how did this work for Anglo-Indian people during British rule?  I have a strong memory of my father being very uncomfortable around Pakistani and Indian origin people in England when I was a child.  He was brought up to consider himself unlike them.  But in truth, he looked very similar of course.

For the early Anglo-Indians - Eurasians as they were called then - it must have been quite easy to recognise each other.  'Blacky White' (to quote Indian Summers) in colour.  Dressed in European style clothing.  Worshipping as Christians.

I just wonder if full blooded Indians would be able to tell if there was an Anglo Indian in their midst should those people be dressed as Indians.  Is there a face shape unique to the blend of Indian and European?

Looking at the photos I have amassed so far, I think that probably the European blood was already so diluted - by Normans, Vikings, Celts, Slavs, etc - it is not possible to identify an Anglo Indian "look" other than in colour.

Bet there were a few eventually who were blacky white with red hair or blue eyes or whatever.  What a give away, as the Monty Python boys would say.

Be My Guest

 

 

This last week, every time I have sat down to write, something has interrupted me.  Stuff completely beyond my control but I do apologise for the silence (although maybe you were relieved). 

 

However, I have been attempting to write a post about my great great great grandfather Edward Guest.  I was even going through my notes as I sat waiting in A&E after my son sustained a footballing injury - not serious incidentally, I am not completely heartless!  So here, finally, is the tale of Edward Guest... 

I knew that one of my paternal great great grandmothers had been Annie Jane Guest and from her marriage and baptism details, I knew that her father was called Edward.  Until last year, however, I had not pursued this line of inquiry very far.  Reading a back copy of a  Families In British India Society (FIBIS) journal though, I came across a mention of an Edward Guest.  The article's author Dorota Walker was a British Library employee and had been engaged in research in areas of the library's resources outside of the India Office collections.  [These are the collections that relate to the entire period of British rule in India - the East India Company, the Empire and all their records.  Follow this link for details.]

Anyway, she had stumbled upon two volumes from the papers of a Sir Charles Napier relating to his time with the Indian Army.  Some related to the 22nd Regiment of Foot and amongst them was a permit for a Private Edward Guest.  From her description of him and from the follow up work I was able to do, I am sure that this was my ancestor.

Edward Guest was born in Belfast in 1808.  A labourer by trade, he signed up for the army in 1825 and joined the 41st Regiment of Foot.  He served in Burma, Afghanistan and Madras apparently.  There are records relating to him in the National Archives though and these concern three court martials.  Two in 1834 for drunkenness and theft.  He served three months in solitary the first time.  The theft charge brought a sentence of fourteen years "transportation" but this ruling was overturned for, as yet, unknown reasons.  Makes one wonder what he stole!  The court martial papers for these two appearances can be seen at the FIBIS website.

 

The third was in 1839, again for drunkenness.  According to the FIBIS article, this resulted in the loss of a Good Conduct badge - I could not find this note.  In the meantime, he had married, in 1837, an "Indo Briton" (ie an Anglo Indian) woman named Amelia Emsley.  The marriage record states that she was fifteen - her baptism record suggests that she was probably thirteen... shocking to us now but not unusual then.  Her father Joseph Emsley had also been in the 41st Foot and the Emsleys were a large family.

Between 1838 and 1861, Amelia and Edward had at least eight children - I suspect there may be others as yet untraced as there are some long gaps between them.  Five children were living when Guest made his first petition in around 1850.  He had been discharged from the army in 1846 (having transferred to the 22nd Regiment of Foot in 1843 in order to remain with his family when the 41st returned to England).  "Extreme ill health" was cited.  He then managed to get a permit to open a stall in the bazar [market] of the 22nd Foot - selling anything but alcohol!  The pension award is also shown on FIBIS - 26 April 1846.  However, in 1848 his pension was withdrawn - it looks like drunkenness is given as the reason for this....

Ex-Private Guest must have been desperate at this point.  He obviously had issues with alcohol - a common problem in the army in India in the nineteenth century as it was not exactly a stimulating posting - Billy Connolly's Who Do You Think You Are? gave further details of British India army life recently and it left a lot to be desired!  He managed for two years but then tried and failed to get his pension reinstated in 1850.  In 1854 he wrote to Sir Charles Napier and even to the Duke of Wellington [hence the tenuous use of his picture above! - I could not identify the correct uniform for Guest - when you Google, you get lots of re-enactment society snaps...].  There are no records pertaining to the result of this second attempt.

At my great great grandmother Annie Jane's birth in 1858, Guest is listed as "a discharged soldier of the 41st Regiment of Foot".  Then in 1860, he died on 10 September of "ebritas".  If you were watching the  Billy Connolly WDYTYA episode, you may remember that this is alcoholism.  He was buried a day later, aged around 52.  [As an even sadder postscript, his youngest daughter Isabella Bedelia was born in 1861.  Her father is listed as the "late Edward Guest".  She herself only lived for a year.]

By my calculation, my 3 x great grandmother Amelia was then left with at least three children who would still have been dependent, including my toddler great, great grandmother.  In 1860, Amelia also lost her father Joseph, then aged 72, to dysentery.  Her mother had died in 1841.

 

In a move typical of the times in which she lived, Amelia Guest almost immediately remarried.  Another soldier, Daniel Liffick.  He had been widowed only months before he married Amelia in June 1861 but it would seem to have given both of them a form of security as he too had young children to cope with.  However, in 1870, Daniel Liffick - by then working as a guard on the Great Indian Peninsula Railway - died of "an accidental gunshot wound to the chest" according to his death record.  I am still looking into this - not that he is directly related to me, of course but as previous readers of the blog will know, I find it hard to resist a detour when an interesting story awaits!

 

So it just goes to show what information is out there about apparently lowly relatives.  We can find chapter and verse about the Duke of Wellington of course (although I prefer to think of him as Stephen Fry played him in Blackadder The Third!) but Edward Guest, Joseph Emsley and Daniel Liffick were in the lowest ranks of the British Army and there is far more available to find then I ever thought would be possible.  Incidentally, if you want to make a start with military records, the National Archives are the best place to begin but the various chat forums such as Victorian Wars are also very good.

You say Poona, I say Pune

With apologies for the lack of regular blogging during the school holidays....  working on getting better at blog time management!

This post has been born from my attempts to find out exactly why my grandparents were in Karachi when my father was born and also when they left.  As previously mentioned, I had been reading a book about the Partition of India (1) and I knew that if they had stayed in Karachi after August 1947, they would, of course, have been in Pakistan.  However, as also previously mentioned, I do possess a postcard sent by my grandfather's sister in December 1948, when she and her family left the country. It was posted to an address in Bombay.

Well, my search has not been progressing well.  Information about either Pakistan or India for the years after the Partition is harder to come by than the details from the period of British rule - and that is not easy!

So I have decided to take a different tack and try to reconstruct some idea of their personal lives during that period.  I do have a few photos on which Nana had written on the back and I am trying to use these small clues to help me.  More of this on a future post when I hopefully have more details.

In the course of looking into their personal lives though, I thought I would also have a look at my grandparents' education.  Many of the photos I have appear to be related to my grandmother's school days so I decided to start there.

The above picture is a photo of a treasured possession of mine.  It is a bookplate that has been pasted into a small leather-bound copy of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.  As you can see, it was presented to my grandmother in December 1935.  For Grade 8 in Cello!  A fact that I never knew until we discovered this book after her death....

Anyway, the key thing for this search is the school name and the date given in the book.  Now, the power of speculative Googling can not be underestimated when looking for long lost relatives and information about their lives.  I have found all sorts of snippets of information by just sort of "wandering" around the internet.  If you know someone's job or employer, for example, you can often get the history of a firm or at least mentions of it.  Definitions are always useful.  I came across "cordwainer" as a profession and was amazed to discover that it was  "shoemaker"!

Two tips which I have picked up (sorry if this seems basic to you, it made me happy though!) - are to 1) use AND in capital letters between items that you want to search for as connected - eg a name and a regiment; and 2) to put speech marks around complete names and phrases to make sure that only items with the full phrase come up.  I found a new entry for a relative simply by putting speechmarks around their complete name.

In fact, I did not need to look far for St Mary's in Poona.  It seems to be a very well respected school and there is quite a lot of really interesting information available.  I did though have to first of all check Wikipedia to be sure that I was looking at the right place!  As with many Indian places now, an official name change has taken place.  "Poona" is now "Pune".  If you are looking for an Indian place name, do check that the name even still exists and is spelt the same even if the pronunciation has not changed.  [Click the link for information on why names have been changed.]

The next thing is going to be to contact the school, I think.  In my genealogy dreams, they will provide me with a full school record, photos and an invitation to visit as my grandmother will turn out to have been an exceptional, honoured ex-pupil... in reality, if they do actually reply, I will be astounded if they have kept pupil records for so long.  I will update you as and when....

1. Indian Summer: The Secret History of the End of an Empire - Alex von Tunzelmann,
    Simon & Schuster UK Ltd. 2007

Great (Travel) Expectations

The school holidays are upon us once again.  The mind automatically turns to travel (even though one is not going far this year!).  Everyone is talking about where they are going, how they will get there and what they will see when they arrive.

We know so much about so many places these days.  Often, before we arrive at our destination, we have made restaurant bookings, booked outings, even taken virtual tours of our hotels or the sights around the area.  There are, of course, many places where you might not know quite how it will be upon arrival, even in these highly internet connected days - the Antarctic, the desert, the jungle, certain bars (!).  However, for most people, they do at least have some idea what they can expect once they have booked a holiday.  And you tend to want to talk to your travel company if your travels do not live up to these expectations!

Which leads to one to wonder what it must have been like to take months to get somewhere whilst all that time not knowing what you are in for.  One of my ancestors joined the army in around 1804, when Napoleon was emperor of France, George III (the one who lost the plot somewhat) was on the British throne and the general population really had no concept of foreign travel.

Joseph was a "staymaker" from London (ie he made corsets!).  On the enlistment roll, no reason for joining up is given but he joined the 30th Regiment of Foot, the Cambridgeshires - as mentioned on a previous post.  By April 1806 he was on his way to serve in India. 

It would have taken four to six months to get there at least - actually the battalion stopped to help with the taking of the Cape of Good Hope on the way!  The conditions on the ship must have been awful.  And then there was the worry of what awaited him and for how long.

As it happened, Joseph never saw England again.  The First Battalion 30th Foot remained in India until 1829.  Much to their frustration, it seems.  Life in India was hard and there were long periods of tedious garrison duties.  Their opposite numbers in the Second Battalion got to fight in the Napoleonic Wars... far more exciting for professional soldiers presumably.

The picture above shows Cannanore (also called Kannur) in South Western in India - in Kerala, actually.  The regiment had landed in Eastern India and had lived and worked on that side of India since arrival.  However, in autumn 1811, they were ordered to march (!) to the strategically important Cannanore.

It was in Cannanore that Joseph's eldest two year old son, who had apparently accompanied the regiment, died and his second son was born.  Joseph himself died in Hydrabad (back on the east coast again) in 1822, having worked his way up to Sergeant and had four Anglo-Indian children along the way. 

Imagine taking months to get somewhere that you have not even seen in a picture.  Imagine finally making a life there and then being ordered to walk hundreds of miles to start all over again.  Actually, it is hardly possible to imagine, for most of us.

The idea of international travel is taken for granted these days.  You only have to look at the list of the poor passengers on the Malaysian airliner that was apparently shot down this week.  They were (mostly) not on the way to start completely new lives in unknown lands.  They were holiday makers, people travelling for work, people visiting family or friends.  Short, planned trips that would have been laughably impossible in 1811.

We are very lucky to have such opportunities as those people thought they were taking - to travel, experience new places whilst being able to return to easily to our roots if we so wish.  It is unbelievably sad for those families who have lost their loved ones this week that what should have been easy and routine travel has ended in tragedy.

The pressure, the pressure of a Name

What's in a name?  My maiden name was just annoying quite frankly.  I got sick of spelling it out to people (as my sister in law now must) and no-one ever seemed to know where it had come from.  It is not, as far as a I know, rude in any other language, infamous for some reason or any such.  It was just highly unusual and therefore caused much annoyance.

However, it has proved to be a genealogist's dream.  At last it is proving its worth.  And yet, it has also shown me just how unreliable some of the family tree sources available to us actually can be, if you take them at face/(ie transcription) value.

Initially, when I began my father's family tree, it was not plain sailing because I had to learn about the India sources.  However, the unusual surname then often worked in my favour.  So much so that I began to wonder if I was over excited, as everyone of that surname on each database seemed eventually to link to my tree!  Was I, in my enthusiasm, making connections that were just not there?

But no, I am  now as certain as I can be that my initial conclusions were right.  The tricky part has been the gaps - or "brickwalls" as they are known to genealogists.  For example, I simply stalled on the question of how my ancestor founded our line in India.  That is to say, I do of course (!) know how the mixed race babies were made!  But how would I ever find out who their mother was?

I had the name of the original Napoleonic era soldier who had gone to India.  His name appeared on a marriage entry for my 3 x great grandfather and I was able to establish that he had been born in Shoreditch in London.  No sign of a mother's name - it was not required on the marriage certificates.  What to do?

To quote Kit de Luca (Pretty Woman sidekick - got to love a Pretty Woman quote), "the pressure, the pressure of a name"....  However, in my case, it was clear that "Cinder-f**king-rella" was not going to work as an answer...

And so I ventured to the British Library for the first time.  Pathetically over excited at the idea of a whole day of research and a hotel night on my own. 

It was amazing.  For the first time, I could actually see the handwritten records of things that I had seen transcribed on websites.  There was so much more that could be gleaned from these records.  For example, until recently, most websites' transcriptions for British India deaths simply gave the dates and name, possibly a spouse name or place of residence but definitely not causes of death.

A big question for the day was Joseph, the original soldier.  To my immense surprise, I could not find the birth of my 3 x great grandfather even though it was one of the few dates of which I was certain.  My desperation at knowing that it would be months before I could return to the Library spurred me on and I began to feverishly look at all entries with similar spellings.  And there he was.  My 3 x great granddad and 3 siblings!  But each of their surnames were spelt differently (hey, I did say that it was a pain of a name!). 

So different that were it not for the regimental detail given in each birth (and sadly death for one child) entry, I would not have made the connections.  So different that unless I had trawled through every web entry for names with the first same few letters, I would not have found them from the comfort of my own home. 

And even better, the name of a mother was given for the eldest sibling.  "Namallah, a native of Madras".  Not Cinderella but for me, a fairytale (after a fashion!) end to my Library day.

I have to go shopping now.....