McCLUSKIEGUNJ

Mr Dobson who was one of the early settlers
 in the Gunj

Mrs Dobson, formerly Mrs Hourigan,
 mother of Ken and mother-in-law of Ivy
Hourigan nee Shepherd

below)

Kenneth Hourigan on a visit to the
 Gunj with his wife, Ivy

THE GOOD TIMES

From Ray Barnes in Patna

1977: I came to take up a job in a school at Ranchi and first of all I was appalled at the level of poverty in Bihar when I arrived here to work. Also at the dismally poor working conditions in almost every place I visited. Bihar to me was everything I saw and heard on the news, a dry, forlorn state where drought and famine were a common sight… I wondered what kind of people I would be meeting here, maybe my decision to work here was a bad one?

My first few days at a famous school were filled with trepidation. I found myself so different from the rest. However all this changed dramatically when I discovered a large group of Anglo-Indian Staff on the campus who were friendly, helpful and above all, very clued-up. Some of them were from Chakradharpur (CKP is the Anglicized name), some from Jamshedpur, some from Adra and some from McCluskiegunj.

The Christensen brothers from McCluskiegunj, Frank and Brian were immediately my best friends as we had so much to share in common. They spoke of 'The Gunj' with such affection that I wanted to go there with them as soon as we had our first long break.

Besides them we had a small knot of elderly ladies and gents from the domestic section that we bachelors messed with. Stories about our respective home towns flew around at break neck speed at practically every meal. We talked of situations we had been in, food we were used to, common colleges and schools we attended, all the topics a group of persons would normally talk about…

Mr. Alfred Fitzgerald our Principal was a man of integrity. He ruled with an iron hand and most of the staff quivered with fear whenever he was around, but not the Christensen brothers and me. We were good at our jobs, made the difference the school needed and we were favoured by him openly… not that we took undue advantage but that we were on even ground with him. We had our share of 'scrape-up's' with Fitzi (as he was fondly referred to), as he was a difficult man to convince. In his own words, he would always say, 'I am an old fashioned man'… but we were full of good ideas and each time we managed to get him to adjust to something we wanted him to implement, it was a victory of sorts. The non AI staff were mainly Bengali but we got on with them largely too.

These were good times. The school was an old and reputed one, (The Bishop Westcott Boys School, Namkum), and Ranchi town was a quaint semi-developed city we visited (we were 10 km from town) on weekends. Being a musician I was quickly inserted into the school Band and we played good music for the Staff and students at every social and were even out on display at all major school functions. Yes, Fitzi knew his stuff all right…

Within three months of coming to Ranchi we got our first long break, Easter. The Christensen brothers prepared to go home to McCluskiegunj (I will refer to it hereafter as the 'Gunj') and invited me to come with them. Their father had just retired from a plush Government job and they were a well to do and respected family of the Gunj.

McCluskiegunj:

My first experience was the bus ride from Ranchi to the Gunj, a three hour journey that felt like 33… the bus was the only single link to the Gunj and was packed with villagers mostly. In fact the only persons wearing pants and shirts were us three. The smell in the bus was foul with sweat, body odor, stale breath, and there were even two goats as our fellow passengers. Did I forget to mention? Yes, there were as many persons on the roof of the bus as were inside. The Christensen brothers told me that in earlier times, the bus had two compartments; the forward one for the AI 'sahibs and memsahibs' and the rear one for the villagers, but that had changed many years ago.

The journey up to Chama (the point on the Bijupara - Khalari stretch where we branch off for the final 10 km to the Gunj), was fairly smooth, (roads were a mess but they were just about roads). However, when we reached Chama, the track changed dramatically… it had become dark already and in the dim lights of the bus I saw just a dirt track ahead. The bus lurched maddeningly at every turn and to my horror, there were certain stretches where the bus practically turned turtle when one side would go into a deep cleft in the ground… the persons atop the bus did nothing good for the already compromised center of gravity of the bus. But, somehow we made our way painfully down the Chama – Dooley – Lapra stretches.

Lapra was the Gunj – the final / starting bus stop for Gunj – Ranchi – Gunj travellers… Brian and Frank kept pointing out the various homesteads but I couldn't see them too well because of the darkness. We got wearily off the bus at Lapra and then trudged the half kilometer to the Christensen homestead.

When we reached the house I was struck by the grandeur of the place. It was an old rambling bungalow with a verandah running right around, and spacious high-ceilinged roof over all the rooms. Huge ceiling fans from the British times hung ominously from the rafters and there was even a candle chandelier (if I remember correctly) in the living room. There was no electricity as a power cut was on. (In the Gunj, it is still common to have no electricity for up to three months at a time). However this did not dampen any one's spirits and I was quickly introduced to the rest of the family. Mr. Christensen was another (no fooling around) kind of person who actually had a sense of humour you needed to understand… the lady of the house Mrs. C was a quiet and efficient person who had the experience of looking after an 11 member family and we soon had dinner and retired to our rooms. This was my first impression of the Gunj and the folk who lived there. Houses built in this fashion abounded in the Gunj, some bigger, some smaller but the lifestyle of those earlier times showed in the way the homes were built.

The next morning Frank and Brian took me around. We would traverse hundreds of meters at a time and suddenly come across beautiful cottages sprinkled about the dense foliage of the place. 'That's the Mathew's place, there's Mr. Castlehari's place, here's the church' and this is how it went on…

I was fortunate to see McCluskiegunj at just the beginning of its decline at this and several subsequent visits. I was able to be friends with Keith McGowen and Chris Thipthorpe. Keith left for Spain over 25 yrs ago and his mother followed about 10 years ago. Chris died tragically on his motorbike at a railway crossing and is survived by his wife and two lovely daughters.

I spent many memorable days with Keith and Chris, roaming around the area and me full of questions. There was one homestead right against a hill which must have been a wonderful place in its time. Beautiful landscaping had been done around the house and inside, each bathroom had a sunken bath. Marble tiles had been ripped out leaving just rubble but one could still imagine the luxury its owners had worked for and enjoyed. This place I was told, had just been left, just like that… no successor, no deed nothing. They were here one day and left the next… I don't remember the name of the owner but older Gunj residents will know the property I am talking about.

So, we spent days like this, exploring and trying to imagine what it must have been like in the older days. I used to tote a guitar and we would spend hours under the shade of a tree composing songs we thought would one day make us famous… usual early adulthood stuff. I was introduced to many of the people then residing there and one of my favourites was old Mr. Cline. What he had forgotten about motorcycles was more than we could ever learn. He had a lovely little cottage close to the Christensen's' place, it was so small it could have been a doll's house. But it was enough for the old couple.

Just across was the residence of Miss Bonner, a mysterious German lady who had few friends and no one dared to get into her garden… ever. The whole hamlet appeared scared of her. She left no will and the huge double storeyed place on a large plot of land has now been taken over by the local Thana. That's the last I heard.

Alice McGowen (Keith's mother) and Mr. McGowen had the most beautiful cottage, and I remember, the deepest well, cut all the way through solid rock. It now belongs to Mr. Alfie DeRozario.

Well I could go on, as there were still a lot of families around but the exodus had already begun. The parties I heard of had stopped a couple of years ago when most of the younger people left with their families. Now people paid courtesy calls on each other and if there was ever a dance, it would be a private affair, and not a community affair like it used to be…

The writing was on the wall…

Like many others, the Christensen's also left. Years later I became friends with Roderick Cameron and his family. They tried in vain to modernize the Gunj but like others they too left quite a few years ago. Others who I knew (and there were many I didn't meet at all) were the Ramsbottom's, the Hourigan's, Gordon's, and if I have left someone out I hope they will forgive me…

Before my eyes in the last 30 or so years many families left and migrated to the UK or Australia, some left their houses to the servants who served them loyally, some sold out for a song and yet some just left the house as it was for vagrants to occupy and plunder the remaining fittings and plumbing…

There are now barely seven or eight AI families left; one of them is the Hourigan family whom I know well. About 10 to 15 years ago Mr. Alfie DeRozario from Patna bought some property in the Gunj and started a branch of his famous Patna school, Don Bosco, in the Gunj. This school has grown in stature and strength and is the last vestige of AI tradition left. The remaining families are somewhat involved with the school, keeping boarders. Here too, lack of business acumen played a role. Alfie initially gave all the AI families the opportunity to run private hostels but though some started off well, most folded up due to lack of professionalism and business acumen. Noel Gordon is probably the only person along with Kenneth Jennings who have made their hostels work and give them a good standard of living.

So, I have witnessed the breakup of a once great colony to a small scattering of somewhat disunited families who for some reason could not or did not want to, migrate somewhere else…

Lack of a proper marketing place (only a village market exists and the trip to Ranchi is the only other option), proper schools (before Alfies time), and the typical squabbling amongst the persons there, helped to be one or two of the factors. 'Theres no future here for the children' was another cry, truthful indeed, as no development by the State Govt. ever got to this place… funds allotted were swallowed up and so the Gunj as we knew it once upon a time, is no longer the same.

Windows and doors that sported colourful curtains and drapes, sumptuous gardens and carefully planned vegetable patches (all traces of the lifestyles of good AI families) have almost totally disappeared. The Naxalite menace is a further threat to the development of this place, people are threatened openly and some have even been shot… the exodus is a silent one with families slipping away quietly and what's left is a dry and desolate place, devoid of the cheerful chatter of AI boys and girls cycling around madly, the sound of a stereo blaring Englebert or Jim Reeves at odd times, the arguments between neighbours which ended up in shaking of hands (and maybe some imbibing of homemade brew after friends made them up)… All these sounds and sights are a thing of the past.

An outsider but a fairly regular visitor, I have seen all the good times but mainly the decline. I do not blame the people, just the situations they faced. The lack of vision of our Anglo-Indian leaders, and even of many like me who stood by as silent spectators … watching an icon of Anglo Indian hope dwindle to nothing in such a short time.

Remnants will always be there; Kitty Tikshera and her family is one… so are the Hourigan family, Judy Mendonca – Gomes and her sons, Dennis Meredith and family, Harold Mendies, Robert Fleming, Christopher D'Costa, Kenneth Jennings and family, Ivan Barrett and family, Noel Gordon and family, John Hourigan and Brian Mendies.

These are names given to me by Malcolm Hourigan who works in my school in Patna. A handful and some in their 70's or 80's … many of them have nowhere to go, and there isn't an old people's home nearby…

A good friend of mine from Lucknow, Robert Cooke and his wife came down to our home in Ranchi. Sandra was really keen to see McCluskiegunj. I kept trying to put them off but my wife Shirley was adamant we go. Well, we did and first of all the lonely roads were scary enough. Then when we finally came into the Gunj I could hardly recognize it myself. Dry and dusty houses showed their ugly fronts and I had to search for someone we knew. We met Kenneth Jennings who is running a girls hostel for girls in Don Bosco School. He is doing well as other AI's gave up their hostels leaving him comfortable. He is one of the people (of maybe another two) who are making a living. The others are just hanging on to pensions and bank balances that are dwindling…

There were also some good people who came into the Gunj with dreams of settling down to a nice relaxed retirement, one such person was Amit Ghosh and his German wife, Loni. They spent 5 – 7 years in the Gunj before they decided it wasn't worth it and shifted to Ranchi after selling out. There was another couple whose names I forget who actually had to face the Naxalite's head on. The wife was kidnapped and held in the jungles till the husband fetched all his guns from Ranchi and handed them over to the Naxals. They left almost immediately after.

Each year during the Durga puja season, hundreds of Bengali's flood the Gunj as they hear it's a lovely place. At this time many of the remaining families convert their homes into Guest Houses and make a little money. For the rest of the year the Gunj looks like a ghost town.

There are now two buses that ply to Ranchi from here (and you will still find the odd goat as a passenger…) but that's the way of the Gunj… it never improved, just regressed with time. Electricity has been virtually non-existent from the time I first stepped into the Gunj. Months go by before power is restored and then it lasts but a few days before the next 'breakdown'. I am talking here of a time frame from 1977 till 2010  - 33 years! Who would want to stay in a place like this without electricity? Water too. There's no supply, you either dig a well or bore well to get water and then you may reach a contaminated source…

I salute those who are holding on grimly to what they have because that's all they have. Maybe after people read this article some bold person/s will try to do something to bring this old bastion of Anglo Indian culture back to some semblance of its glory. Or move the Government into action, or better still get our AI leaders in Delhi and the South to motivate persons, NGO's or such organizations to re-develop McCluskiegunj once more…

The good times are gone…

Ray Barnes
President: The Bishop's Heritage Society
Hon Principal: The Bishop's Heritage School
PO Anandpur – Bihta (Beside Home Guard Camp)
PATNA 801 103
BIHAR - INDIA

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