大象传媒

THE SAHIB WILL FIX IT!

Another, happier, railway journey I remember well, and with affection. Also a small degree of personal satisfaction, though I still can鈥檛 decide to this day if I did the right thing politically. I鈥檓 happy about it, anyway, and it doesn鈥檛 matter now.
I was traveling on my own for some reason, to the Regimental center at Lahore, via Calcutta, where I had been made OC train as the only officer on the train, I presume, as it was usually the senior officer, and I was a lowly Subaltern. We left late at night, and about 11 a.m. next day reached, I think, Cawnpore. Certainly a station with a raised platform, so major. As we pulled in I noticed a group of IORs (Indian Other Ranks) gathered apart at one end. When I got out to stretch my legs, the Havildar with them called them to attention, and saluted, so I went across to talk to them. Everyone of the eight were missing an arm or a leg. It turned out they had been dumped there about 6.30 that morning, to catch a train to the IMH (Indian Military Hospital) at Lahore to get artificial limbs fitted, but the earlier train had been so crowded they couldn鈥檛 get on it. Mine didn鈥檛 look too good either, but the Havildar and I walked the length of it to see what could be done. It was really pretty solid, I didn鈥檛 want to split them up, and in any case getting even one or two on would need a damn great shoehorn!
When we got back to the group they gathered round looking po-faced and glum. The Havildar told them he had spoken of their 鈥榯roubles鈥� to the 鈥淏reetish Afsar Sahib鈥�, then added the memorable words 鈥淎ccha, zara dekko. Abhi sab thik hojaega!鈥� Roughly translating as 鈥淪o, just you see. Now everything will be fine!鈥� What confidence. Much later on in my life I realized that this was part of the belief of so many men of the Indian Army, that a British Officer could fix any situation. The impossible we would do at once, miracles would take a couple of minutes. As I say, at the time it didn鈥檛 occur to me, but became clear in my later reading and researching. Nothing to do with me personally, the trust had been built and instilled over the two hundred years of service by far more exalted, and better, men than me, who permeate the history of the British in India, and especially the Indian Army, - men like Clive, Nicholson, Skinner, Lumsden, the Lawrence brothers, Hodson 鈥� so many of them, and also hundreds, - thousands - of other unknowns who served their men so well. The list is endless.
I was at the end of this long, illustrious chain, which explained why this tiny semi-circle of war-blasted men, mostly older than me, more experienced, more mature, didn鈥檛 know me from Adam, had never seen me before, relaxed with broad smiles, waiting for this young, pink-faced, wet behind the ears subaltern to solve their problem.
I was really in a quandary, time was running short, I couldn鈥檛 possibly dessert them, so I took the easy option. 鈥淧ick up you bistros (bedding rolls/possessions)鈥� I ordered, 鈥� and get into my compartment鈥�. I had a 4-berth 1st Class compartment to myself, so there was some surplus room, but eight would make it a tight fit! However, there was another hurdle to get over. Three, in fact. As they started climbing in, out of the next compartment to mine trooped three Indian officers, a Major, Captain and Lieutenant. The major was furious. 鈥淲hat is going on!鈥� he shouted. Then ordered the men to stay where they were.
I explained the situation. 鈥淣o鈥� snapped the major, 鈥淚 forbid it. Other ranks are not allowed in 1st Class. They must travel 3rd class.鈥� I told him I had been down the entire train and it was too crowded
鈥淭hey will just have to get in I where they can鈥� he said, 鈥� or wait for the next train.鈥�
THE SAHIB WILL FIX IT!

Another, happier, railway journey I remember well, and with affection. Also a small degree of personal satisfaction, though I still can鈥檛 decide to this day if I did the right thing politically. I鈥檓 happy about it, anyway, and it doesn鈥檛 matter now.
I was traveling on my own for some reason, to the Regimental center at Lahore, via Calcutta, where I had been made OC train as the only officer on the train, I presume, as it was usually the senior officer, and I was a lowly Subaltern. We left late at night, and about 11 a.m. next day reached, I think, Cawnpore. Certainly a station with a raised platform, so major. As we pulled in I noticed a group of IORs (Indian Other Ranks) gathered apart at one end. When I got out to stretch my legs, the Havildar with them called them to attention, and saluted, so I went across to talk to them. Everyone of the eight were missing an arm or a leg. It turned out they had been dumped there about 6.30 that morning, to catch a train to the IMH (Indian Military Hospital) at Lahore to get artificial limbs fitted, but the earlier train had been so crowded they couldn鈥檛 get on it. Mine didn鈥檛 look too good either, but the Havildar and I walked the length of it to see what could be done. It was really pretty solid, I didn鈥檛 want to split them up, and in any case getting even one or two on would need a damn great shoehorn!
When we got back to the group they gathered round looking po-faced and glum. The Havildar told them he had spoken of their 鈥榯roubles鈥� to the 鈥淏reetish Afsar Sahib鈥�, then added the memorable words 鈥淎ccha, zara dekko. Abhi sab thik hojaega!鈥� Roughly translating as 鈥淪o, just you see. Now everything will be fine!鈥� What confidence. Much later on in my life I realized that this was part of the belief of so many men of the Indian Army, that a British Officer could fix any situation. The impossible we would do at once, miracles would take a couple of minutes. As I say, at the time it didn鈥檛 occur to me, but became clear in my later reading and researching. Nothing to do with me personally, the trust had been built and instilled over the two hundred years of service by far more exalted, and better, men than me, who permeate the history of the British in India, and especially the Indian Army, - men like Clive, Nicholson, Skinner, Lumsden, the Lawrence brothers, Hodson 鈥� so many of them, and also hundreds, - thousands - of other unknowns who served their men so well. The list is endless.
I was at the end of this long, illustrious chain, which explained why this tiny semi-circle of war-blasted men, mostly older than me, more experienced, more mature, didn鈥檛 know me from Adam, had never seen me before, relaxed with broad smiles, waiting for this young, pink-faced, wet behind the ears subaltern to solve their problem.
I was really in a quandary, time was running short, I couldn鈥檛 possibly dessert them, so I took the easy option. 鈥淧ick up you bistros (bedding rolls/possessions)鈥� I ordered, 鈥� and get into my compartment鈥�. I had a 4-berth 1st Class compartment to myself, so there was some surplus room, but eight would make it a tight fit! However, there was another hurdle to get over. Three, in fact. As they started climbing in, out of the next compartment to mine trooped three Indian officers, a Major, Captain and Lieutenant. The major was furious. 鈥淲hat is going on!鈥� he shouted. Then ordered the men to stay where they were.
I explained the situation. 鈥淣o鈥� snapped the major, 鈥淚 forbid it. Other ranks are not allowed in 1st Class. They must travel 3rd class.鈥� I told him I had been down the entire train and it was too crowded
鈥淭hey will just have to get in I where they can鈥� he said, 鈥� or wait for the next train.鈥�
I began to get a bit cross at that, but had to be careful, as he was, after all, a major. Then suddenly the idea came. Maybe it was the spirit of some long gone Skinner, or Hodson, whispering in my ear to give me courage. 鈥淚鈥檓 sorry, Sir, but I am OC Train.鈥� And remembering the powers invested in the ubiquitous chitthi, or piece of paper, in Indian society, I pulled the slip that the RTO at Calcutta had given me, and waved it at him, more in hope than confidence. It worked! After a brief show of resistance, he contented himself with taking my name and unit, the three Indian officers tramped back into their compartment, and I told my guys, now rather doubtful, to carry on into mine. The Havildar voiced the worries of the others, typically not for themselves, but for me, concerned they had got me into trouble with the 鈥楳ajor Sahib鈥�.
The 鈥楳ajor Sahib鈥� actually had the last 鈥� spoken - word. As the train pulled slowly away, he stood in his doorway and shouted to me, 鈥淵ou are a British Officer. You are letting down the side!鈥� Maybe I was. But in the last tragic chapter of British India, it was very small beer.
It turned out to be one of the most entertaining and enjoyable journeys I have ever made. The men were good company, full of interest and humour as usual, never, ever invaded my personal space without anyone saying a word. My lower berth was sacrosanct. There was great excitement at the fixtures and fittings and comforts of first class, lots of laughter. All Moslems, there were three prayer sessions, the Havildar gravely asking permission first each time, and out came their little prayer mats for those on the floor, others perched on the bunks. Quite an experience.
We got to Lahore around 11 p.m. if I remember. I went off to find the RTO, and got one of his clerks to arrange transport for the men from the IMH. I must have been on some sort of official visit to my Regt. Centre, as a truck was sent to pick me up. It arrived first, and I went to tell the Havildar I would have to be off, and wish the men luck. He asked me to wait a minute, lined the motley group up as if on a parade ground, called them to attention, marched over to me and saluted, and with a twinkle in his eye I鈥檓 sure, reported them 鈥榬eady for inspection鈥�! I had to walk down the line shaking hands with them and wishing them well in my limited Urdu. The Havildar was last, 鈥渟hukria, Sahib, bahut shukria.鈥� Then I was away, a bit choked, feeling as if I had known them for ever.
Many years later when I thought of them, - and still do sometimes 鈥� I wondered what became of them and hoped that maybe back in their villages they would tell their families and friends about 鈥榯he day they traveled 1st Class鈥�, courtesy of a young British officer, and not think too badly of us after all. We did do our best, you know.

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