|
'As I write this in Lymington in 1978, the widow of an Indian Cavalry
Officer, I am a member of a dying breed' begins the Preface to this
book. The author wanted to correct the derogatory impression of the
English memsahib in India as a mindless female, whose sole interests
were drinking cocktails, dancing and 'ordering servants about like
slaves'. The passage of time since these memoirs were written has
somewhat altered our view of the upper-class English woman in the
dying days of the British Raj. There have been further sturdy defences
of such women and many similar autobiographical accounts. In the late
1970s the 'raj industry' was just beginning to get underway and it has
subsequently resulted in a number of sociological studies examining
colonial attitudes and networks. 'Memsahibs' were frequently sought
through BACSA and other channels for interviews by keen young
researchers for many years. The reason is clear. As Sir Mark Tully
writes in his Foreword to this book: 'It seems incredible that such a life
still existed right up to the Second War.' It does indeed. There are the
usual descriptions of polo tournaments, Balls given by the Viceroy,
hunting parties, parties with Maharajahs, the hierarchy of servants,
forty-hour train journeys (first class, of course), and much else that is
over-familiar today.
But what this book does reveal, and what makes it worth reading today,
is how British India was almost entirely a man's world. 'Women did
not seem to belong to it.... our lives were lonely and at times dull,
whereas our husbands' lives were completely fulfilled with their horses,
mess, polo and constant alert for the possibility of active service.' On
the North West frontier, where the Gradidges were stationed for some
time, Indian women were simply invisible, so there was no possibility
of making friends there. Frequent moves did not help either, making it
difficult to build up a social circle, although it is clear there was warm
hospitality among the British towards people of their own kind.
The author lived in India as a small child because her father was a
Calcutta lawyer, and her childhood memories, which open this book,
are vivid. After schooling in England, she returned in 1929, aged
nineteen, already married, and with a six week old baby. Two more
children were born, the last in traumatic circumstances. It seems
extraordinary that the children were sent back to England by sea in
wartime, risking enemy bombing, in order to get a 'proper education'.
Joining the Womens' Voluntary Service (WVS) led to war work in
Dehra Dun and Chittagong, before the author finally left India in 1945,
to be followed by her husband a year later. This book is very much of
its time, and should be read as such, without trying to put a twenty-first
century gloss on it.
|
