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MEMOIR MEMENTOS
An unexpected and delightful benefit of publishing my father Stanley Brush's memoir "Farewell The Winterline, Memories of a Boyhood In India" last year are the new friendships we're making with readers from around the world!
Some of these wonderful folks are storytellers, raconteurs, and authors as well, though not all have published works. Bill & I have asked several friends if they would be willing to share their stories with our readers. Story excerpts will be featured here in The Winterline Journal and on a new Autobiography & Memoir section we're planning for FarewellTheWinterline.com.
To spark your interest in his fascinating, often humorous, yet poignant memoir, we are introducing a bit of Stan Blackford's writing from "One Hell of a Life".
The North West Frontier: The Pathans' Code
By Captain Stanley Blackford
Ex Adjutant, 6th Royal Battalion (SCINDE)
13th Frontier Force Rifles, Indian Army
From Chapter 40 - "I Become a Piffer":
The Frontier! in all the annals of modern British military history there is no name to conjure up such romance as 'The Frontier'. Books have been written about it. Films have been made about it: North West Frontier with Kenneth More, The Lives of the Bengal Lancers with C. Aubrey Smith and Errol Flynn, and scores of other stories on the screen have brought the romance of the Frontier to millions around the world. It has been dragged, on the slightest pretext, into any novel set in India where the author wished to dwell on murder, intrigue, cowardice, valour, honour, loyalty or treachery.
A region of inhospitable, rocky, arid mountains at the west end of the Himalayan range, the 'North West Frontier' was a buffer separating Afghanistan from the part of the Indian sub-continent now known as Pakistan. It was inhabited by wild unruly tribes of warlike Pathans ruled by their own chieftains, some with only a few thousand followers, others with hundreds of thousands.
A number of these tribes provided recruits for the Indian Army. They were mercenaries. They did several years' colour service with the Indian Army, when they were often called upon to fight against their own tribesmen. Then they returned to their homes and fought against the British, firing upon their brothers and cousins serving in the Indian Army; then returning to do colour service with the Reserves at regular intervals, when they might again fight for the British against their own kinsmen before going home to fight against the British once again. They were loyal to the 'hand that fed them salt' and had no compunction with swapping sides; but when they did so, even temporarily, their loyalty was absolute for the duration of their new commitment.
There is a well-documented story told of a Pathan sniper, skilled in concealing himself in the nooks and crevices of the barren hills, who inflicted so many casualties and so much damage on British forces that a price was put on his head: one thousand rupees. This represented many years' pay. Many hours before dawn one day, a Pathan sepoy (Indian infantry soldier) slipped away from his regimental bivouac up into the hills.
At dawn the sniper started taking his toll from among the troops. Patrols were organised to hunt him down. They had never been effective in the past, but some show of force was necessary. Suddenly, a single shot rang out from a new quarter. The dead sniper toppled off a high boulder and tumbled down the rocky mountainside. The lone sepoy came out from hiding, picked up the body and brought it into camp, threw it on the ground and claimed the reward
'But how did you know how to trap him?' exploded the surprised Colonel.
'Easy,' chortled the soldier, 'I knew his habits and his favourite hiding spots. He was my father.'
All this may sound sordid and mercenary to Westerners, but these were professional soldiers with a strict and honourable code which governed their complex set of relationships.
You can check out more about "One Hell of a Life" at Stan Blackfords's web site.
© Copyright 2003, Stanley Blackford
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