January 2012
(December 1946)
It was an extra-ordinary journey that I took on that cold December morning. Things had not gone to plan from the start. Due to problems on the bus to the station, I had missed the train I expected to be on. Here l was on one that was stopping at every station instead of whizzing through at high speed.
When I got on the train it was quite empty, but as each station came and went, more people joined and slowly started filling up the seats.
We had just left the small station at a hamlet of about ten houses and a church, when the door of the carriage opened and in came another traveller. He pushed his case onto the overhead rack, then took off his coat and flung it on top. He sat in the corner seat by the window, opposite me, gave me a weary smile and settled back behind his newspaper.
I glanced across. He seemed to be rather dishevelled. Creased trousers and slightly frayed cuffs to his jacket. With a quick look up to the rack I perceived that his case had seen better days. It was worn at the corners and had cracks in the leather. Was it because it had been on exciting foreign journeys? Or perhaps it had been stored in a dusty attic for years.
It was some fifteen minutes later when the stranger's tale began to unfold. It all started when the ticket collector entered the carriage and asked for everyone's ticket.
The stranger went rather red, and explained that he hadn't got a ticket, as the ticket office at the station had been closed. The collector asked him where his destination was, and began to get his machine ready.
The stranger went even redder, fumbled in his pocket and came out with a handful of coins.
'How far can l go with this?' he asked.
By this time everyone in the carriage was listening, aware that something strange was happening.
'Not far, Sir, two stations up the line.' came the reply, 'Haven't you got any more, or a cheque?'
'No, only Indian rupees.' whispered the stranger, 'l only arrived in this country last night. It is imperative that I reach London and the Foreign Office today.'
By now all the travellers nearby were listening and whispering.
'l have a passport and a letter of introduction to the Foreign Secretary,' went on the stranger. 'Perhaps l could show you these and give you my address and an IOU.'
The stranger passed the documents over, the collector looked at them, paled and then stammered 'My Lord, I'm so sorry, please forgive me.' He gave the stranger a ticket, and quickly moved on.
Now the occupants of the carriage were agog. 'My Lord' and 'India' were being muttered between them.
I looked across at the stranger, who gave me another weary smile and tried to settle back and ignore the mutterings.
'You've been in India for long, Sir?' I asked tentatively.
'Over twenty years.' was the short answer.
'Which part, North or South?' I enquired.
'Both, but mainly North.'
'With the army, or for business?' I tried to make my question as casual as I could, realising that others were still listening, trying to glean some more information.
'I've been in His Majesty's Service,' the stranger answered. 'working with our Viceroy in India.' After a slight pause, he continued in a hushed voice, 'You've read about the troubles out there?'
I nodded my head.
'Well it's worse than we could have imagined. They're killing their neighbours, and whole communities are on the move. I have to get my information to the Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister as soon as possible.' He paused again, 'Before it's too late.'
'Too late?' I muttered, 'For what?'
'To get our people out.'
Then he fell silent and thoughtful.
'If it is so important for you to get to London, why were you at the station of that small hamlet? You must have gone there with a purpose? You can't have been just passing through.' I couldn't make any sense of it.
'Ah, well,' he replied 'I had a special delivery to make at the Manor House there.'
'Something of importance?' I inquired.
'Yes, to myself and my parents.' He answered, with a gentle tone in his voice, 'My wife and children. We had to leave in a hurry, and I felt my parents' home would be the best place for them.' There was a slight pause, 'Not London, not yet . . . if ever.'
His voice became harder, 'Now I must get my report in, so that action can be taken.'
All this time the train had been continuing its journey to London. The view from the window had now changed from countryside to urban sprawl. We must have stopped at some stations because the carriage was full of people and cases. Fortunately no one had joined us at our table, which could have seated four.
'If you only arrived last night, you must be sad to leave your family so soon?' I said. 'I assume you came in at Southampton by ship?'
'Yes, by Naval ship,' he agreed, 'late yesterday. We were lucky that the Captain was able to get us transport to my parents' home. I am sad to leave them, but at least I know they are safe and no harm can come to them there. I hope to be able to return very soon.'
'Will you go back to India?' I asked.
'Never.' he whispered sadly, 'Never. Their life here might be hard, but impossible there.'
I was surprised by this remark and was about to ask another question, when an announcement came through.
'Next stop, London Terminus. Please remember to take all your belongings when you leave the train.'
The stranger got up and retrieved his coat and case.
I had to ask, 'Why hard here and impossible there?'
'Why?' he snapped, 'Why do you think? My wife is Indian and my children are of mixed race.'
At this he put on his coat and grabbed his case, and went to move towards the door of the carriage.
I put my hand on his arm, 'Good luck to you all.'
'Thank you,' he said as he left the carriage, walked swiftly down the platform and out of sight.