Night Train to Jamalpur(88)

Lydia had left no message at Fairlie Place either, and there was no sign of Bennett or Jogendra at the office, but the latter had left on my desk some piles of documents relating to the affairs of the Company in September 1919, towards the end of which month a king cobra and a Russell’s viper had been placed on its trains. A bearer brought me jam on toast and tea thick with sugar and condensed milk; I put on my spectacles and began to read.

At eight, I moved to the opposite side of the table, because the sun raying through the window was beginning to dazzle, and the blind was broken. At half after eight, Jogendra came in with some more boxes.

‘Much obliged to you Babu-ji,’ I said. ‘The more the merrier.’

Each flimsy paper that I picked up fluttered under the revolving fan, as though panic stricken at what it might disclose, but after two and a half hours I was starting to think I was wasting my time. I had read of the doubling of certain tracks, and the temporary implementation of single-line working on others, because it was a time of big expansions; I read of a new batch of tank engines released from the workshops at Jamalpur, which had taken on more apprentices than ever in the previous year. No new light was thrown on the snakes of September 1919.

There was a lot on the social side, as disclosed by that month’s edition of the East Indian Railway Magazine. September seemed to be the season of weddings within the Company, and not only in Calcutta but at the out-stations along the line also. There seemed numerous instances of accounts clerks or permanent way inspectors marrying the daughters of engine drivers or signalmen. ‘. . . Dancing was indulged in to the strains of excellent music supplied by Starlight Juvenile Jazz Orchestra . . . After the reception the happy couple left by train for their honeymoon.’ There was always dancing, the couple was always happy, and they always left by train, of course. These would mainly be Anglo-Indian weddings. You could tell by phrases such as ‘The reception was held at the Railway Institute’, or ‘Many European staff members attended.’ That would have been taken for granted, and would not have needed stating, in the case of a European wedding.

With many men returning from the war there was also the biggest programme of sports yet seen, and page after page in the magazine was given over to the Company’s Annual Sports on the maidan, probably because, being a mixed event with all pay grades and all races represented, this gave an impression of harmony within the Company. I read not only of long jump, high jump and all the running races, but even of events down to ladies’ throwing the cricket ball, hoop bowling, obstacle race, potato race, egg-and-spoon race, three-legged race, open bicycle slow race.

‘An event which caused endless amusement’, I read, ‘was the Invalids’ Race won by A. Tweedie and Mrs P. Turner.’ ‘Another event which evoked great fun’, I read, ‘was the bun-and-treacle race for boys, the winner of this event being loudly cheered as he reached the tape half blinded with treacle and pieces of bun sticking all over his face.’ There seemed a determination on everyone’s part to put the war behind them by means of dances, comic sketches, tennis-at-homes, whist drives, or fancy-dress balls. (‘Mr West won the prize for most original. He went as “the House that Jack Built”.’)

I turned to a thin volume that Jogendra had presented. It was entitled The East Indian Railway: A Short History of the Line, and it was by ‘P. T. Wallace C.B., C.M.G., D.S.O., and Friends’. It began, ‘The history is not encompassed in its entirety, of course . . .’ It certainly was not. Even with the assistance of his friends, P. T. Wallace had produced little more than a pamphlet. Jogendra had marked a certain page. I read fast down it:

It would hardly have been natural if the long strain of the war had not affected the Superior Staff in ways which worked very greatly to their disadvantage . . . But it must have been apparent to those in authority that disaffection was brewing. The cost of living had risen enormously. This was happening all over the world, but it struck one more in India than in England . . . The price of necessities, and the cost of servants, beer, whisky and food of all kinds seemed to have doubled . . .

In 1919, the position reached a climax. A large number of Supervising Staff entrusted to one of their number the formulation of a memorandum to the Directors praying for an improvement in their salaries and conditions of service. In the whole history of the E.I.R. nothing like this had ever before happened: a petition from the officers was unheard of, without precedent, and this is partly why I talk of a ‘climax’.

The precipitating cause was undoubtedly the war. Those Officials had taken leave to serve in the army had found themselves returning to pay grades that were – de jure or de facto – lower than those obtaining beforehand, with commensurately lower gratuities to be expected on retirement . . . The tale cannot be pursued. The matter is, as the time of writing, in abeyance pending the deliberations of the Directors.