A Long Battle on the Heritage Front

The High Court of Madras may have declared a certain number of buildings as protection-worthy and ordered that they cannot be demolished but that is clearly not enough. For in the absence of any Heritage Act or any directive on what is to be done to such buildings, their future continues to be uncertain. Those who are keen on protecting heritage buildings in their possession are not sure as to what they can do and those wanting to demolish and develop are seeking out various loopholes in the law to be allowed to go ahead. Caught in the middle of all this is the Heritage Conservation Committee, which is moving at a pace that may make snails seem to be in an unseemly hurry.

The Bible Society building on Memorial Hall Street was demolished long after it was included in the Justice Padmanabhan Committee list of buildings, which formed the basis for the High Court’s order to protect them. It now transpires that the church had all along had in its possession a demolition certificate from the CMDA which allowed it to proceed. It is also reliably learnt that the church has abandoned its earlier plan of a multi-storeyed structure on the site and is promising a new construction that will be in architectural sympathy with the neighbouring Memorial Hall. If so, why the demolition at all? And what defines architectural sympathy? In the absence of any guidelines, you cannot help recollecting two earlier instances – that of Spencers and Bentinck’s Buildings. In both cases, it was promised that the new structures would be on the lines of the buildings that were brought down. What we got finally was not anything even remotely similar.

Lack of guidelines is proving to be a major headache in a host of other cases as well. The Government is keen on demolishing the historic Mint on the eponymous street. The Heritage Conservation Committee it is learnt, is evenly divided on the issue and matters rest there for the present. Several hospitals are proceeding with demolition and development with no restraint. The Kasturba Gandhi (Victoria Caste and Gosha) Hospital in Triplicane has brought down entire wings and is proceeding with modern highrise, completely out of synch with the remaining buildings. The Ophthalmic and the CSI Kalyani Hospitals are also planning on various developments on their respective campuses and nobody is certain as to what plans are afoot.

If these are issues concerning lack of guidelines where redevelopment is involved, at least two other instances point to the lack of a Heritage Act. Both Gokhale Hall and Bharat Insurance Buildings are semi-demolished structures where further destruction was prevented by court order. But there has been no progress in terms getting a positive direction on how to restore both these buildings. Cases are pending in court and both the structures are exposed to the vagaries of nature. A fortnight back, the LIC, which owns Bharat Insurance Building, had the entire structure wrapped in synthetic sheets with ostensible purpose of preventing further damage. But this is a double-edged sword for now nobody can be certain as to what is happening inside the building.

It is in cases like this that a more dynamic Heritage Conservation Committee could make all the difference. But right now, meetings of the Committee are few and far between with very little concrete action emerging. And the composition of the Committee being largely bureaucratic, the ongoing State elections have emerged as the most convenient reason for no further action being taken. Everyone on board is keenly watching out for any changes in the composition of the powers-that-be and much will depend on the eventual outcome. Till then the future of heritage buildings in the city will continue to remain uncertain.

At the old Minerva Theatre

Most writers on heritage have lamented about the demolition of the old theatres of the city and among those most lamented about is the Minerva on Davidson Street, George Town. Columns have been written about its first floor location above a godown and its screening of English movies, in early days largely to a European clientele, later moving on to upmarket Indians.

“How do you know it has been demolished?” asked Stephen Hughes, the noted film historian, with a twinkle in his eyes. We were both in a cycle rickshaw one Sunday morning last year in June, travelling down George Town searching for the possible location of Mrs Klugg’s bioscope, the first theatre in the city. (Stephen later found it and wrote a detailed article on it for The Hindu).

“Because that is what has been written,” I replied. Now Stephen is a person who always doubts the written word and sure enough he was proved correct. “What is that then?” he asked pointing to a cinema poster of an MGR rerun which proclaimed that it was being screened at the Batcha Theatre (Minerva). “So that is what it is,” said Stephen. “It is now run under a different name”.

We immediately got the rickshaw to take us to Davidson Street and sure enough there was Batcha (Minerva). The godown on the ground floor was still in operation with its Madras terrace roof and Stephen, in his near perfect Tamil enthralled the labourers there with his account of the theatre and its history. We then went to the first floor.

The owner of the Minerva is a Mr Batcha who has since changed the theatre’s name (how would it have been if he had become Mr Minerva instead?). We had tea with him, walked around the large open terrace and also took a look inside the single level theatre. It is still running and screening movies. Mr Batcha looks happy and so hopefully this piece of heritage will survive.

Madras Musings turns 20

April 2011 sees our publication turning 20. And as it steps out of its teens, this is perhaps the right time to sit back and analyse what have been the significant achievements and failures in past two decades.

Begun as a monthly that later became a fortnightly, Madras Musings has remained true to its stated objective of providing a platform for those concerned with the heritage, history and culture of the city of Madras which in 1996 changed its name to Chennai. That such a publication with an admittedly niche platform has survived all these years is due in a large measure to the 20 or so corporate citizens who have come forward spontaneously and contributed financially year after year. The initiative for that generosity came from N Sankar of the Sanmar Group who garnered the necessary support when in the mid 1990s the paper found the going tough. Chennai Heritage was formed as a not-for-profit company that took over the ownership of the publication. We have also been helped in no small measure by subscribers and donors.

In 1991, heritage was not a subject that was of any importance. It still is not a top-of-mind concern but that it has become a topic of relevance in this city of ours is largely due to this publication. We participated actively in the attempts to save quite a few heritage structures – Spencers, the DGP Building on the Marina, the Senate House, the old Madras Club buildings on Express Estate, Victoria Public Hall… The list is long and the number of losses has been far greater than the number of successes but we did fight a valiant battle on each one. We were of course not the only agency that struggled to change official and general apathy to one of awareness, and our partner in arms was INTACH in most of these instances. Together we have managed to create a scenario today where there is certainly a debate and some degree of soul-searching among stakeholders before a heritage structure is brought down. That, by itself, is a major step forward.

Madras Musings has provided a forum for people to express themselves on issues that did not usually make it to the dailies. Thanks to its continued support for matters such as environment and heritage, newspapers and neighbourhood magazines have come to realise that there is publication-worthy content on such subjects and have begun providing space for them. We have also encouraged a whole host of writers and photographers who have gone on to make a name for themselves as journalists and authors.

The celebration of the city’s founding has been a success. Admittedly, Madras Week was not a Chennai Heritage/Madras Musings idea for it came from Vincent D’souza of Mylapore Times. But a large measure of the credit for making it an annual event with active participation from the general public has to go to Madras Musings. We have been catalysts, encouraging several organisations and institutions to celebrate the birthday of this city. We have provided speakers, helped in the organising of exhibitions and arranged for venues where Madras can be celebrated. After seven years, what began as Madras Day has become Madras Week and moved on to Madras Fornight. Madras Month is perhaps just around the corner.

Our circulation has been going up and today when someone wants to ventilate views on heritage, built and natural, Madras Musings is perhaps the natural choice. All this is most encouraging. One of the biggest disappointments has been the fact that the State has not seen it fit to pass a Heritage Act despite so many evidences to show that it is a crying need. But that is a battle to be fought in the coming years. It is of course a heartening fact that the High Court of Madras has declared some buildings as protected and the Government has appointed a Heritage Conservation Committee to watch over them. Small consolations perhaps but significant steps nevertheless in the battle to protect our heritage, which we intend fighting for with your support.

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Short and Snappy dated 16th April 2011

On Red Riding Lights and Snow White Hoods

Babudom, as the Indian bureaucracy is referred to, has triumphed yet again. The Man from Madras Musings alludes to the recent directive from the High Court that red-lights being flaunted from the roofs of government cars had to be removed forthwith if the users of the vehicles were not entitled to them. The steel frame that holds our country together (as is often said by its admirers who are invariably members of that glorious service) was shaken. It also MMM learns, affected babudom’s chauffeurs even more and many it has been revealed threatened to put in their papers for they could not imagine driving a vehicle without a red-light (preferably revolving) on the roof. “What is this but the end of civilization as we know it?” they asked. “Tomorrow they may even ask us to obey traffic lights!!” And as no babu worth his salt can imagine driving his own vehicle, particularly without a red light on the roof (preferably revolving), everyone affected put on their thinking hats to ponder over how to save the light on the roof. And thus they came up with a winner of an idea.

So what if we are not allowed to use the red light, they argued. We can still retain it and all we need to do is to cover it with a white rexine hood. That way, the lesser mortals on the road (read pedestrians and policemen) can still realise that a government vehicle is on its way and react accordingly (the former by scuttling away in fright and the latter by saluting like an automaton). And thus it has come to pass. MMM notices several government vehicles now going around with a small projection on the top that is nothing but the red light now demurely covered with a snow-white hood. MMM also learns that those who still miss their red lights drive around in the privacy of their gardens with the hood off and the red light on (preferably revolving as well). Among this heaven-born community, there are some anxious souls who worry about the fact that those on the roads may not fully grasp the significance of the white hood. What if a pedestrian chooses to cross at leisure or (inifinitely worse) a policeman were to stop the vehicle at a traffic light? For the benefit of these less intelligent humans, these considerate men and women have large metal boards on their vehicles, some of them bigger than the number plate. These boards announce to the wide world the status of the personality being carried forth in the vehicle. Words such as Commissioner, Director, Chancellor etc bear down on you as you rather timidly try to drive your own vehicle. MMM would like to add a few more status definitions to help matters along. What about Grand Panjandrum or General Factotum or even, to take a leaf from Gilbert and Sullivan – Grand Poobah?

Has your candidate come calling?

And so the elections are around the corner. Or are they? That at least is the doubt that is plaguing the Man from Madras Musings. Of course, by the time MMM’s faithful following reads this, the elections would be over and everyone will be all agog for the results, but the low level of campaigning in the city has taken MMM by surprise. He has asked around and all agree that there has hardly been any campaigning, at least of the kind that used to happen till a few years ago.

Lets face it. This time we have had no graffiti or posters on walls (and for those who are wondering, MMM DID demolish his compound wall just before the campaigning process began), no rallies that blocked traffic for a few hours, no loudspeakers and no street-side meetings complete with song and dance sequences from popular films. Is this what is called an election campaign? The general theory is that the Election Commission has come down heavily on everyone concerned. But MMM believes that there is more to it. The political parties in his view, believe that the city voter and particularly those who belong to the middle and upper classes are of no consequence. What would the promise of a colour TV, a laptop or a wet-grinder mean to them? And where would they keep a cow or a goat? On the other hand, offering such things to a rural voter or definitely one from the masses would help and bring the proposed beneficiary to the polling booth on election day. Which is why all parties have focused on the mofussil and not on the urban population. And that brings MMM to the multi-million rupee scam, sorry, question – are urban voters being taken for granted? And the answer to that is a resounding YES.

There was a time MMM remembers when candidates went calling from house to house. Their followers would er… follow and give slips of paper which apart from giving details of their candidate would give you details of your voter identity number and directions to your polling booth. And on polling day, though it was strictly forbidden, they would even send cars round for the ailing and elderly to make it to the ballot box. MMM in particular remembers a grand-aunt who made it to a 100 and almost till the last year of her life, made it a point to vote. Candidates would vie with each other to get her into their car. She would take her time, select the best vehicle, get in, go over to the booth and cast her vote which would invariably be in favour of the Grand Old Party, no matter in whose car she had come. Then she would return in some other candidate’s car.

This year, not a soul came to MMM’s. And they did not call at his neighbours either. At least now MMM knows his place in the scheme of things. He could have done with a colour TV.

Museum Musings

The Chief has consistently been reminding the Man from Madras Musings that he (MMM that is) ought to visit some of the museums in the city and improve his (MMM’s) mind. And so off MMM went to the museum that belongs to a hoary institution of the city. The staff that manned the place was most suspicious for they had never received a single visitor after the day of inauguration (which was several years back). It was only after giving them the name of a prominent personality who had worked for the same institution in the not-so-distant past that MMM could gain entrance into the air-conditioned portals of the museum. Even then, at least one docent (if you could call him that) staff followed MMM everywhere asking a number of probing questions as to MMM’s profession and his credentials. It appeared to MMM that the man was suspecting him (MMM ) to be a modern day Raffles. The visit having come to an end in due course, MMM was informed that the curator would like to meet him and so could he please step into first door on the right? MMM did and found it to be a toilet that was none too clean either. He came back to ask the correct way and was assured that he had to go into the toilet and open a side door. Feeling rather like Alladin, MMM followed the instructions and presto, was blessed with a vision of the curator. A brief and cordial conversation followed and then MMM left. MMM has been to museums abroad where the exit route is through a souvenir shop. That an exit almost via a toilet was possible had not occurred to him.

Still more on DM Reid

It has since been possible (from more Who’s who on the net) to identify that Reid served during the First World War and rose to rank of Major. He then came to Madras and worked for Beardsell. He was member of the Madras Legislative Council from 1933 to 1936. He must not have seen active service during WWII for his rank of colonel was honorary. From his wife’s name it is probable that she was the daughter of Sir Alfred Ashley Biggs, the powerful agent of the M&SM railway in the 1910s and 1920s. The Ashley Biggs Institute still survives and promotes sport among railway employees.

More on DM Reid

I have since discovered some more information on him from a 1938 Who’s Who:

Director, WA Beardsell & Co., Ltd., Madras. s. of Douglas Reid. b. at Saffi, Morocco, 1894, British. Educ. Gresham’s School, Holt and Emmanuel College, Cambridge. m. Olive Ashley Biggs, 1925; 3 d. Hazel, Beryl and Rachel.

DM Reid – Heritage-loving Boxwallah

While it is true that the Empire was built on a foundation of commerce, most of the books on it deal with the lives of civilians and army officers. The boxwallah or the businessman who continued focusing on private enterprise long after the East India Company was wound up received short shrift from biographers and historians, with Parry, Binny and a few others being exceptions. And yet, men of commerce left behind their impress on various aspects of life in India. In Madras itself, some were pillars of the various clubs that are still going strong, several were sheriffs, there was a mayor or two, quite a few made it to the Madras Legislative Council and the Madras Corporation. One such personality is Douglas Muir Reid, or DM Reid for short.

It is not clear as to when Reid arrived in Madras. But he was definitely here at least from 1925 onwards for that year he became the Secretary of the Madras Boat Club. Rowing appears to have been his passion and while he was part of winning teams at the club, he was also much in demand as a commentator during the regattas that took place along the Adyar. Reid was Secretary of the Boat Club till 1928.

What was Reid’s exact nature of business in Madras is also not clear. But when he chose to enter politics in the 1950s in England, a single line reference to him states that he had been the Director of a Madras firm for 20 years. Whatever be the firm and the nature of its business, he was important enough to become a member of the Madras Chamber of Commerce in the early 1930s. In 1936, he was a committee member and therefore oversaw the centenary celebrations of the Chamber. In 1938 he was decorated with an OBE and he also became the Chairman of the Madras Chamber of Commerce in which capacity he also became a member of the Madras Legislative Council. Throughout the 1930s he was also a member of a committee comprising several prominent citizens of Madras that worked to control strikes and labour issues, especially at Binny’s and the M&SM Railways.

When the Second World War broke out, Reid joined the army – becoming a Lt. Col. in the Madras Guards, one of the oldest regiments in India and formed by Lord Harris for the protection of the city in 1857. Reid appears to have seen active service, for he became a full Colonel and also received the Military Cross in 1945. He also served as honorary ADC to the Governor, Sir Arthur Hope and when the war ended was Officer in Charge of the Madras Guards garrison stationed in Fort St George.

Reid was a man who took keen interest in history and the fine arts. In 1944, it was he who suggested that the old Fort Exchange be converted into a museum “for the exhibition of antiquities illustrating the historical evolution of the Province since the days of the East India Company”. In 1946, he, according to a reference in the ASI’s Ancient India (1953), also sponsored the setting up of the museum, which was completed in 1948. By then Reid was probably back in England, having joined the vast contingent of European army officers, civilians and businessmen who opted to not stay on after independence.

In 1950, Reid unsuccessfully contested the British parliamentary elections as the Conservative and Nationa Liberal candidate for North Norfolk. What happened to him after that is not known.

In his last years in Madras, Reid authored a book titled The Story of Fort St George, a slim and highly readable volume. Printed at the Diocesan Press, it had a foreword by Sir Arthur Hope and was released in 1945. There are two unique aspects to the book. The first is that the entire volume in embellished with a series of black and white sketches of the fort, all done by Ismena R Warren, a woman about whom very little is known beyond the facts that she had graduated from the School of Art, Dublin in 1938 and was from 1940 at least an ardent member of the Methodist Church in Madras. Reid was an accomplished painter himself and in 1945 he founded the South Indian Society of Painters, becoming the first President. DP Roy Chowdhury of the Madras School of Arts was a co-founder and succeeded Reid as President.

The second interesting aspect is the way the second half of the book is structured – as a heritage walk around Fort St George. In his foreword, Sir Arthur Hope had commended Reid for “making the streets, the walls and the buildings of the Fort themselves tell their enthralling tale” and he was not wrong. The author writes that his book “may be taken for reference at each point of the tour, but as the enthusiasm of the writer may have caused him to expand unduly at times, it might be as well to read this through before setting out, instead of standing with the hot sun glaring on to the pages. And also, you may not wish your fancies to be disturbed as you go round”.

The fort walk as per the book, starts at the Guard-Room on the South side of the Barrack Square and goes on to St Mary’s, within which are a series of instructions on what needs to be done to see everything (Enter the church – please sign your name in the visitors book- go up the central aisle- stand on the chancel steps etc, with a paragraph on what to see below each of those instructions). In Reid’s time the fort was obviously far easy to access than it is now for he manages to take you to various spots that you cannot even dream of seeing today, thanks to security. He also states that “the Regiment in residence will doubtless be glad to show the visitor the regimental portraits and pictures on the walls”. He evidently lived in simpler times.

What is most fascinating is that through the pages of a book, Reid manages to extract as much drama as possible (“Where you stand, on these steps, Margaret Maskelyne and Robert Clive knelt to be married, for these were the original altar steps” is just one instance). This kind of passion for story-telling is something that most guides of today do not appear to have.

Centenary of a Ladies Club – Part 2

The Ladies Recreation Club had some characters on board. There was on the rolls a Mrs Fernando who according to Mona Hensman was “a pillar of club life. Quietly, humbly and ever so gladly she would take charge of our small children when we were busy with a tournament on a Friday, or our parcels when we came on from shopping, or make pickles and her famous brinjal curry for some occasion”. There was a manager – Subramaniam who was the only man about the place – housekeeper, telephone operator, manager and clerk, all rolled into one. There were two ayahs – Pattu and Rajam, the former later becoming the soul of the canteen- doling out vadas and dosas. Savitri Rajan listed some of the colourful members – Lady Sankaran Nair with her dazzling huge diamond ear-rings, the graceful and charming Chinnamba, Maharani of Pithapuram, Lady Mangalammal Sadasiva Iyer, in her friendly simplicity and dignity, Lady Bazlullah’s humorous conversation, the Maharani of Travancore in mystic and wonderful whites, great names in a princely galaxy such as Vizianagaram and Bobbili, Mrs Krishnaswami Chetty, Radhabai Subbarayan, Mrs Alwar Chetty and Mrs Kanakammal Sitapati Iyer. She also included the fierce women of the Sriman Srinivasa Iyengar family such as Janammal and Ambujammal who were ardent freedom fighters and had been to prison for the cause.

The Victoria Technical Institute was a beneficiary of the club’s ladies. Lady Wright, Lady Todhunter and Mrs Sitapati Iyer served on its committee and the members manned the counters of the VTI on specific mornings, attending to the sales of laces and handicrafts.

Mary Clubwalla Jadhav remembered her introduction to the club shortly after she came to Madras as a bride in 1926. The first event she attended was an At Home hosted by Lady Goschen at the Banqueting Hall. Her name was proposed in 1931 by Mrs Ameen Khaleeli and she was inducted. On 2nd September 1939, the club members met to ponder over the announcement of the Second World War. Mary was one of the attendees and she was to recollect that the Nursing Division of the St John’s Ambulance was formed at the club. The members formed a division working the Air Raid Patrol Posts and they also served at hospitals. They took lessons in the use of fire-fighting equipment and trained other ladies in their use. The members attended to the needs of the sick and wounded soldiers and also ran canteens under the auspices of the Indian Hospitality Committee for the Armed Forces’ Welfare. Later, several of the club’s members became active participants in Mary Clubwalla’s Guild of Service.

The war unfortunately saw the club being turned out of its home, the Willingdon becoming a transit camp for soldiers. Mrs AA Hayles, wife of the editor of the Madras Mail, offered her home and tennis courts to the club and later, it shifted to Montieth Road where it became a sub-lessee of the National Indian Association. At the end of the war, the club hoped to regain its premises only to be thwarted by the Government, which made it the headquarters of the Prohibition Department. It was only in 1949 that the club, after much lobbying, managed to regain its old home. By then, most of the European women had left, leaving it to the Indians to run the place. Among the last celebrations was a Government House party organised by Lady Nye (wife of Sir Archibald, the last of the British Governors of Madras) for Christmas. “The gardens were tastefully illuminated and paths were laid out lit by concealed lights, through which children and adults wandered. One path led to the cave of a fairy; we had to cross a small bridge over a gurgling brook. At dusk Santa Claus arrived in a puss-moth amidst fireworks and the children shouted with pleasure and excitement, even we elders were entranced by the sight. Santa distributed presents according to sex and age groups” wrote Satya Srinivasan. By then, Christmas Day was an institution of sorts at the club.

In the years after independence, the club did much to foster an interest in sports among women. Badminton, snooker, carom, tennis, TT and bridge were all encouraged and the members participated in state and national level sports championships and brought back trophies. The golden jubilee of the club was celebrated with gusto in 1961.

But by then, a decline of some sort had already set in. The men’s only clubs had begun relaxing their rules for membership and the raison-d’être for the club received a beating. Membership began to dwindle. In 1971, when the club celebrated its diamond jubilee, an article in the commemorative souvenir reveals much. “Oh where are the open shuttle court, the badminton court and the tennis courts?” wrote T Satya Srinivasan. “ Grass has grown over the first two leaving no trace of them; and the one tennis court which put up a losing fight has had a natural death and is at the mercy of the sheep, cows and dogs”. Sheelu Ranganathan, who played a vital role in the development of women’s cricket in the state, remembers resigning from the club the day it was decided to scrap the tennis courts. “I was not interested in playing cards. You should have seen the grounds- full of trees and the three tennis courts” she says. “And the old building –so big and airy”. It was also, to judge from photographs, filled with classic art-deco furniture. It was perhaps reflective of changing times that when Mrs Madhuben Shah, wife of KK Shah, Governor of Madras in the 1970s visited the club, she remarked that surely such large grounds could be turned over to the slum clearance board and made into hutments for the poor! The club shortly thereafter gave up the tradition of having First Ladies as its Presidents.

Little remains to be told. Contrary to the prayers of Hamsa Doraikannu, (wife of the Manager of the Imperial Bank and better remembered today as the mother of cricketer CD Gopinath), that “Women may come and women may go, but let the LRC go on forever”, the club fell of lean days in the 1980s. It is ironic that at a time when women were finding a space for themselves in several walks of life, the club chose not to make much of the exclusivity which had been the cause for its success or market it. The Willingdon Trust, which for some reason came to be increasingly guided by the Chettinad family, decided to develop the grounds and the sports facilities became the victims. A whole host of buildings came up on the estate.

The club however still survives. As part of the new constructions, space was allotted on the ground and first floors of one of the buildings and there it operates from, cards being the sole recreation now available. It also gives scholarships to needy students. However, it is a mere shell of its former self. As this is the centenary year of the club it is to be hoped that it will rejuvenate itself.

Afterword: It is interesting to note that two formidable women of Carnatic music owed their careers to the LRC. The first was C Saraswathi Bai who shot to fame as the first woman Harikatha exponent after her maiden performance at the club. It was thanks to Bangaru Ammal Venkatamahipathi Naidu (wife of M Buchi Babu Naidu) that she was brought to the club. The second was DK Pattammal who in the early 1930s was asked to sing here and given a prize.

Centenary of a ladies club

Part 1

Chances are that you would have never heard of the Ladies Recreation Club. But at a time when most clubs of Madras were for men only, it was the one place where women could unwind. Even today, there are several women of the city who remember it fondly and for the facilities it provided.

The LRC owed its origins to a few European women of Madras who had a genuine desire to mix with their Indian counterparts and be able to understand them. In August 1911, at the initiative of Mrs Madeley, wife of the Engineer of the Madras Corporation, Mrs Seethamma Tiruvenkatachariar (daughter of Sir V Bhashyam Iyengar, the eminent lawyer and judge, and wife of CR Tiruvenkatachariar, a well-known lawyer) and a Mrs Subramaniam, the club was formed with the objective of “promoting social and friendly intercourse between European and Indian ladies and between Indian ladies of all classes and creeds; also to provide healthy recreation suitable to the members of the club”.

The club’s first home was the garden of Sylvan Lodge, a bungalow in Mylapore and the property of Justice Sir David M Devadoss. His wife, Lady Masilamoney Chellammal, who was to later play an important role in the education of women and also be a councillor of the Corporation, took an active interest in the club. The annual subscription was fixed at Rs 5 and the club met every Friday. The first committee comprised Mrs Ayling (wife of Justice WB Ayling of the High Court), Mrs A Davies (wife of Arthur Davies, ICS), Mrs Glyn Barlow (her husband was in the Department of Education and wrote the book The Story of Madras), Miss Lynch (later Mrs Drysdale and Inspectress of Schools), Lady Desikachari (wife of Sir VC Desikachari, a legal luminary), Mrs (afterwards Lady) Sankaran Nair (wife of Sir C Sankaran Nair, Judge, High Court of Madras), Mrs TV Seshagiri Iyer (wife of Justice Seshagiri Iyer of the High Court of Madras) and Mrs Seethamma Tiruvenkatachariar. The club’s first secretaries were Mrs Subramaniam and Mrs Madeley. In what became a convention later, Lady Carmichael, wife of the then Governor of Madras, was made the President.

The first facilities that the club offered were badminton and croquet. Then came tennis and it must have been a quaint sight, to see women clad in nine-yards playing with others in skirts. By the end of the first year, the club saw an enormous increase in membership. Donations were solicited and the Maharani of Pithapuram gave Rs 1000. The club began meeting twice a week – on Tuesdays and Fridays. In 1913 it moved to The Luz, a bungalow that still stands on Oliver (now Musiri Subramania Iyer) Road, belonging to S Srinivasa Iyengar. It was here that it hosted a reception to Winifred, Lady Hardinge, the vicerene. The distinguished visitor, on her return to Delhi, sent a cheque for Rs 300 and with that the Lady Hardinge Library was begun by the club.

During the First World War, the club members collected money for the war effort and assisted the Red Cross by sewing, knitting, crocheting and rolling bandages. At the end of the war, the club’s fortunes moved into fast gear with a new and dynamic First Lady taking over at Government House. This was Marie, Lady Willingdon, the pushy spouse of a man who largely thanks to her, had the longest tenure of Government Houses during the Raj for he was Governor of Bombay, Madras, Governor-General of Canada and Viceroy of India. And during that time, he also moved up steadily in the British peerage, starting off as a lowly Mr Freeman Freeman-Thomas MP and winding up as the Marquis of Willingdon. Even today, there are several spots, buildings and institutions in India that commemorate his (and her) name. One of these was also the Ladies Recreation Club.

When Lady Willingdon, by virtue of her being First Lady of Madras became President of Club, she decided that it needed a home of its own. Assisted by Alice, Lady Todhunter (and wife of Sir Charles, member of the Governor’s Council), she identified and settled a rent agreement for a large property with a bungalow on Marshalls Road, Egmore. Soon she decided that only an outright purchase would do and set about collecting the required Rs 2.50 lakhs. Raja Sir Annamalai Chettiar gave Rs 2 lakhs, the Maharajah of Travancore Rs 25,000 and the Rajah of Bobbili Rs 10,000. The balance was made up by donations from members and within the year, the property was purchased. A pre-condition for the Raja Sir’s donation was that the club building ought to be named after the Willingdons and this was adhered to.

The club was by this time meeting for three days in a week and it was decided that on the remaining days it could be let out for social functions and so get some rent. The Indian National Association, a mixed club for Europeans and Indians met up at the premises on one day each month. It was the First Lady’s considered view that women could not manage the property by themselves and so the entire ownership was transferred to the Willingdon Trust, which had as its trustees the Governor of the Province, the Administrator General and the Secretary of the Imperial Bank (later State Bank) of India. The trust deed was drafted by the Willingdons’ good friend and member of the Governor’s Executive Council – Sir CP Ramaswami Iyer. The Trust administered the property through a council the first members of which were Sir Arthur Knapp (Secretary, Government of Madras), Sir CP, Mrs (later Lady) Wright (wife of a senior member of Parry’s), Mrs CV Krishnaswami Chetty (whose husband was Electrical Engineer at the Corporation and is better remembered for introducing the radio to Madras), Mrs Madeley, Mrs Ian Fraser, Mrs Zynuddin (wife of the then Judge of the Small Causes Court), Alexander Mcdougall (of Simpson & C0) and Raja Raghava Varma.

It was a sight to see Lady Willingdon participate in all the club’s events with gusto. Savitri Rajan, daughter of Dr T Sitapati Iyer of the King Institute remembered later a table tennis tournament at the club. She, very much a young girl then, had made it to the finals and it was with a sinking feeling that she came to know that the other finalist was Lady Willingdon! The youngster’s confidence was not helped in anyway by the fiercely competitive First Lady arriving at the club a day earlier and asking for a practice session. “Her standard was so high” wrote Savitri. The ladies of the club however encouraged her on. The finals were played and Savitri lost. But it was customary that the First Lady could not accept a trophy and it was awarded to Savitri in the end. Lady Willingdon also introduced the custom of hosting an evening each year at Government House for the ladies of the club and it was de-rigueur for the children to be in fancy dress. Later it became customary to have two events at Government House- a ladies day and a children’s day. Writing many years later about the Children’s Party, Mona Hensman (wife of Dr HS Hensman of the Mental Health Hospital at Ayanavaram and later member of the Madras Legislature and Principal of Ethiraj College) reminisced, “such lovely entertainments these were, with tables covered with sweets and cakes; magic displays, Punch and Judy shows, and the merry-go-round made the mothers almost as excited as the children”.

While the club did benefit from the guidance of Lady Willingdon, two other moving spirits were Mrs Seetha Tiruvenkatachariar and Miss Gerrard. Seetha or Seethakka as she was better known was described as the guardian angel of the club. Miss Gerrard joined at the end of the First World War as a paid secretary of the club and it benefitted from her guidance. Being fond of children, she allotted two Mondays a month as Children’s Days and later this became a weekly feature, being held of Fridays. Open to children up to the age of 14, the club had seesaws, rocking horses, swings, tri-cycles and a vast playground for their recreation. If it rained, the Lady Hardinge library was thrown open for indoor games. Though in later years rather restricted in her mobility, Miss Gerrard was active in club affairs, retiring and returning to England after a sorrowful farewell in 1945. She lived to a ripe old age, being well enough to send a commemorative message in 1961 when the club turned 50. The children however continued loving the club long after she had gone. At the age of 12, girls became Family Members and several of them later became full members themselves. The ice cream of the club was a major attraction and it was introduced by Miss Gerrard. When children wanted to stay on for a little longer, daddy waiting impatiently in car could be pacified with it remembered Shamugasundaram, a boy whose mother had been a member. During the tenure of Miss Gerrard, the club expanded in its activities and remained open on all days of the week.

To be continued