The Empire When I was a child, I rarely, if ever, did anything in school history lessons about the Empire. Not a thing. Which is strange given that it had ended within the lifetimes of my parents (babyboomers both). All that I know of the British Empire is from stuff I have read in books or articles and seen or heard on radio and TV documentaries. Perhaps the retreat from Empire, the admission and examination of our collective failure was too much back then. I have never been an admirer of Britain’s imperial past. In fact, living in Lahore, a former city of the Raj, I had no interest in the period of British rule, other than visiting the old British centre when I felt homesick.
What’s that book, again?
Now I’ve read Charles Allen’s Plain Tales from the Raj (1975), my feelings are slightly different, though not for the reasons some people might think. It’s based on a BBC radio documentary series from the early 1970s, which used interviews with the people who had lived, worked and served in India during the British Raj. They had been soldiers of all ranks, from a former Commander in Chief of the Indian Army, to a man who arrived in India as a ‘bandboy’; members of the Indian Civil Service, the Forestry Service, the Police, the Indian Medical service, the Bengal Pilot Service, the Political Service or had been in business. Other contributors were the wives of these men or were single woman working as nurses and midwives. Many of them came from families distinguished by their long presence in British India.
The former club and dance hall is now a major library – but hasn’t lost it’s English country house look
What’s so interesting about it?
I was riveted for this reason; after living in Pakistan for 5½ years and being British I can relate to the British themselves and ordinary people who lived under it. It’s now clear to me that so much of the Raj is still there; all that’s happened is that Pakistanis (and Indians) have picked up where the British left off. What bowled me over were the common experiences; the suffering induced by the brutality of the summer sun, the illnesses to be wary of, the love Indians (now, Pakistanis) have for children, the people employed to help you keep your home running, the food, the corruption, the terrain and institutions such as The Club.
Some things never change
The heat is still brutal, especially in 46˚C heat and the loadshedding (rolling powercuts) doesn’t make it easier. The afflictions the British warned each other about are still common and I’ve had a few of them; dysentery, prickly heat, fungal infections and typhoid though thankfully, never malaria. I agree with the book’s contributors, there is something special about the monsoon. It’s more powerful than anything you will see in Europe; during a rainstorm, the atmosphere seems to be composed only of water. After the rain stops, the air is filled with a remarkable, earthy scent which I’ve not experienced anywhere else; not sweet but certainly not pungent either. Offices, houses and barracks would be kept dark as a way of keeping out the sun, thus helping people inside to keep cool. One way of doing this was to hang rush matts made of fabric and plant fiber over the doorways and windows; something I have seen for myself. My family keeps our house dark during the summer; you can still see the rush matts used to keep out the heat and provide shade during the summers.
The modern Club building is pretty ugly, so I’ve posted this. It could be from the Home Counties but is still well used. Part of f the old Lawrence Gardens, now Bagh – e- Jinnah, Upper Mall, Lahore
The Raj in Pakistan
As someone more famous than me once said ‘and there’s more’. Driving through the Cantonment (former British, now Pakistani, military settlements set outside major towns and cities), you come across signs for the officer’s mess, the regimental club and so on. In other areas you come across clubs such as Lahore’s ‘The Gymkhana’ or ‘Model Town Club’ themselves hangovers from British rule. I visited the Gymkhana some two years ago (as part of a group!). It was all wood panelling, signs talking about the contribution of the members, the rules and history of the Club and so on. It felt like Mayfair rather than Lahore. The most famous school in Pakistan, Aitchison College, is little different. On Founder’s Day (marking its founding) the College authorities and main guests ride to the main marquee in a horse carriage. The College is still run on British lines, with houses, prefects, sports tournaments for British named trophies and so on.
Aitchison College. A mix of British, Hindu and Muslim architecture in a replica of Eton, still going strong in modern Lahore
I’ve noticed that on any graduation day ceremony for any educational institution, the students wear the British cap and gown whilst the Chancellor (British title) wears an 18th century outfit still used in the British legal system. The owner of a Pakistani school chain once reassured me ‘this is a British School’. A few weeks earlier I’d been to see a theatrical production put on by students of the School, The Three Musketeers. A group of fine actors they were, not one misstep or botched line. I thoroughly enjoyed the show. What surprised me was the atmosphere in the auditorium before the performance; a polite colonial throwback where the great and the good mixed without any reference to the outside world.
They still do it now
Everyday life isn’t free of these echoes. For example, everyone from the middle classes upward has a cleaner, a cook, a driver and a gardener to help keep the house neat, clean and tidy. During the day, the streets don’t exactly throng, but there are a lot of cleaners moving from house to house to their next employer. The mali (gardeners) will cut hedges, put in the bedding plants and keep the flower beds looking magnificent. This leads on to outdoor pot plants. A lot of old photos of the Raj feature outdoor pot plants because many of the British were shuffled around from posting to posting up to a dozen times a year. Pot plants made gardens possible.
An unknown woman photographed in Calcutta (Kolkatta) c.1912. The pot plants se are still to be seen all over Lahore in most households, businesses, public buildings and government offices.
Meanwhile, the streets are still patrolled at night by the chowkidar (guard or gunman) who still makes a noise that everyone has to put up with, though these days it’s his whistle, not his coughing and spitting. Newly arrived British officials could get expensive uniforms and outfits cheaply copied by the derzi (tailor) who would also copy the latest fashions from Britain. The derzi is still a major part of the life of families because he will take your latest cloth and turn it into an office rival busting outfit. He will do this for men or women, but not always both. The basically extractive nature of the Raj economy hasn’t really changed either. Living in Pakistan, it’s obvious the money flows in one direction – up. The economy of Pakistan is still based on rent; the most noticeable businesses are property speculation & development and setting up car parks on a patch of bare land. At the national level the country’s main income is borrowed billions from the IMF, World Bank or the Asia Development Bank that are never paid back. I can only skirt over it here, but reading Plain Tales from the Raj whilst living in Pakistan was a remarkable experience because so much of ordinary (and less ordinary) Raj life is still there, albeit without the British.
Resident Alien 
