The tradition was that subalterns may not marry, captains may, majors should and colonels must

Asmall bonus was that for regimental line-ups he could be photographed, not in a kilt, which he disliked wearing, but in a pair of tartan trews.

Angus was due two months’ leave. Generally, families (military wives and children) headed for a hill station: the Murree hills in the north in an area now part of Pakistan or south to Ootacamund, often referred to as Ooty, situated in the Nilgiri hills in the province of Madras.

They set off by train at the end of March and stayed until mid-June, the favoured destination being Wellington, on the outskirts of Ootacamund. The latter was to South India what Simla had been to the north.

At 7,500 feet above sea level, a pleasant temperature change to the plains, it was a home-from-home, reminiscent of the English South Downs with houses or suburban villas surrounded by neat hedges and rustic nameplates on the gate.

For their leave, some officers were drawn to the bright lights of Bombay, but spending hard-earned money in the fleshpots of the metropolis was termed ‘poodlefaking’ and frowned upon.

Tradition

This expression applied to anything resembling the seeking of women’s company like dancing, horseriding, playing tennis, picnicking, and taking part in theatricals. One author suggests, army officers should pursue animals, not women.

If there was to be any passion, it should be for the regiment and not a girl. The tradition was that subalterns may not marry, captains may, majors should and colonels must.

However, few junior officers could afford to have a wife as the army paid no marriage allowance until an officer reached 30 years of age.

Nevertheless, some did marry like Angus Rose, whose wife, Alison lived with him at Trimulgherry. So did John Lindsay MacDougall, married to Sheila Sprot.

They lived in a bungalow at the garrison which they shared with other officers. Ian Stewart married late. Many were surprised he had a wife at all as he was clearly wedded to the regiment.

As a 26-year-old bachelor, Angus planned to spend his two-month leave in Kashmir on shikar. The shooting of big game there was popular among army officers. It not only symbolised British imperial manliness but was in direct contrast to the emasculated pastimes of fox-hunting and pheasantshooting where birds were bred for the sport.

For virile young men seeking adventure, shikar in India was the counterpart of wildfowling in Britain, where salt marsh estuaries were swapped for the solitary mountains of Kashmir.

For some time, the army in India had used this form of sport as a cover for gaining intelligence, particularly in the north-west of the sub-continent, where, in the latter part of the 19th Century, the British and Russian empires vied for supremacy in Central Asia.

There is no reason to believe that Angus went on shikar for any other purpose than recreation, as did David Wilson in 1938.

Shooting was a favoured subject for the pages of The Thin Red Line and many articles claimed that Srinagar, Kashmir’s capital, was full of agencies for sportsmen. One voluble writer explains the vagaries of shooting a bear. Although amusing, the subject matter was distressing for me to read.

Ingenious

However, David Wilson and Angus were thrilled at the prospect of shooting one. Evidently Kipling’s The Jungle Book had had little effect on them and they had no hesitation in knocking off a Baloo or two. “The village,” writes the author, “will be delighted.”

Bears did much damage as they lived on grass, apricots, berries, Indian corn, and chutra gald (golden syrup).

The feature appraises the reader of the correct footwear for bear-stalking: felt shoes covered with grass rope and the big toe separated from its neighbours by rope inserted between it and the other toes.

These ingenious coverings, the writer informs, are ideal shoes “for the police, cat burglars, soldiers breaking out of barracks and nurses”.

Angus’s Easter letter expresses a hope that he would shoot a red bear, as had David Wilson, who killed two. Whether my uncle succeeded is unknown as the regimental game book in which officers recorded their spoils, was “lost in the ashes of Singapore”.

However, I remember that a russet-coloured animal skin used to hang over the banisters on the landing at Ballure. Remaining in this position until 1966 when my grandmother died, this pelt may well have belonged to a red bear or, more prosaically, to a highland cow. It’s likely this object was a trophy from Angus’s Kashmiri trip.

When travelling to and from the UK, officers and their wives often carried parcels for and from the families of others. Perhaps when leaving Singapore in February 1940 to return to the UK, Ivy Greenfield took the bearskin with her as a present from Angus to his mother.

My uncle wrote in detail about his plans. He was to leave by train on May 9 and travel from Secunderabad to Lahore via Delhi.

“This takes me through the hottest parts of the plains of India at the hottest time of the year and Indian trains can be perfectly beastly when it is really hot,” he said.

Intense heat

Angus wasn’t exaggerating. Trains in his day had no air conditioning but within a few years, some contained in each compartment blocks of ice placed in tin containers to help lower the temperature. As he travelled north by rail he suffered intense heat, was plagued by dust, and at night, had no sheets on his bed.

The journey began on a Saturday evening, when he boarded the Grand Trunk Express to Delhi, which he reached on Monday. Perhaps he contacted his old chum, Bobbie Rumsey, and lunched with him in the light tank company’s mess at the Red Fort.

From Delhi he boarded the Frontier Mail for Lahore and reached the city on Tuesday morning. For the final 200 miles, he boarded a bus for Srinagar and reached his destination on Wednesday at noon.

At best, the journey was fearfully uncomfortable and at worst, hair-raising.

In his letter, Angus bemoans the fact that he had the choice of a “native bus... in acute discomfort” at a cost of 10 rupees or of hiring a car for 80 rupees; “a question of two evils,” he surmised.

More on Monday. © 2017 Mary C Gladstone, all rights reserved, courtesy of the author and Firefallmedia; available in hardcover and paperback online and from all booksellers.

By Mary Gladstone