Posted Friday, 22nd November 2019
Hello, from us all at the Angus. We’re back again after quite a while , but we are as busy as ever!
Today on this cold and grey November morning in Oxford I thought it might be good to have a glimpse into the daily journal of Clara R Southwell . A member of the committee of the Baptist Zenana Mission, Clara toured India from late 1907 to early 1908 writing vivid accounts of her experiences whilst visiting Zenana stations across the country. The Baptist Zenana Mission was established in 1867 with the aim of converting Indian women to Christianity . Female missionaries could visit the private area of houses , the Zenana, where only women were allowed to go.. By the time Clara wrote her journal ,the BZM was involved with education and medicine, setting up many schools and hospitals, some of which still exist today. In this extract written in mid November 1907, Clara is off to Chitor , also known as Chittor or Chittaugarh, now a major city and municipality in Rajasthan and she wasn’t so keen on her means of transport….
I cannot say I enjoyed my elephant ride. The animal kneels down and one climbs up by a ladder on to a flat padded seat on his back, which has an iron railing all round to keep one from from falling off. We had to sit back to back,with our legs dangling over the elephants sides. It is a horrible sensation when he gets up and one is jolted first one side and then the other. I was thoroughly uncomfortable and more than half frightened all the way; and when the beast went down a steep bank and up the other side , and forded the river, it was decidedly terrifying. One could feel that he was very sure footed by the careful way he put down each foot, and he went at a slow steady pace throughout. We had to go about 3/4 of a mile across a bit of jungly plain-the dark mass of the ancient city facing us. Chitor stands on a mass of rock rising out of the plain at an angle of 45 degrees, and 3 1/2 miles long across the top-the width of the rock at the top is only 1200 ft. It is surrounded by a high massive stone wall, with curious battlements, pierced for firing from , and with fine bastions. The road is not very steep but much zigzagged, and one is mounting all the while….then one passes under 7 fine stone gateways before reaching the fairly level gateway at the top, on which the city stands, or rather stood. For it is a mass of ruins…We were there at sunset and the light was wonderful . We went into Padmans (sic) palace (13th century) all blue and white , with a smaller palace on an island in the middle of the lake….
Chitor is now quite deserted and wild animals live in the jungles on the slope of the hill. It is a weird and fascinating place with its reminders of ancient chivalry and cruelty As soon as the sun set we started out on the return journey. Fortunately for us it was bright moonlight, or it would not have been pleasant crossing the jungle. Instead of fording the river we crossed it by the fine old 14th century bridge, and altogether had not so much jolting as before. However, we were all thankful to reach the Dak Bungalow near the Railway Station, and get on to terra firma again-the next day my arms and shoulders were quite stiff from holding on so tight to the iron bar, for fear of being pitched off the elephant’s back.Categories: Uncategorized
Posted Wednesday, 7th October 2015
It’s been a very busy few days here at Regent’s Park College. All our new students have arrived and there is a much busier, more vibrant feel to the building than there has been over the summer. All of the academics are here. The main office is hectic. As for the Library – Emma, our college Librarian, has been busy doing inductions, Sukie has been busy with exhibitions, Lucy with the cataloguing, Julian with his Adlib database, Celia and Emily have been very busy with visitors and requests for information, and I have been busy setting up an online shop on Abe Books. We have some real treasures for sale. Some are duplicates, some do not relate at all to Baptist history/theology, but all of them are old and/or rare. Please do have a look at our Abebooks shop, (http://www.abebooks.co.uk/the-angus-library-and-archive-oxford/60538303/sf) and our Amazon one for that matter (www.amazon.co.uk/shops/RPC) , as we are in need of funds. Thank you!
So, it is the end of the working day on Wednesday (7th October 2015) and I thought a few minutes with Mr Lorrain & co. would be a suitable way to wind down. So sit back, have a cup of tea and relax as we find out what J Herbert and Fred were up to in 1896 India…
“There has not yet been sufficient rain to make the river rise high enough to allow the large Calcutta steamers to come up so far as Silchar, so we have to be content with the smaller boat. We spend the whole day on the steamer, puffing away down stream, twisting and turning with the tortuous course of the river. Now the beautiful North Cachar hills tower up before us, now we seem to be leaving them behind us, now they are on this side, now on that. The man at the wheel has as much as he can do to turn us round the sharp bends & is incessantly spinning the wheel round, first this side, then that. We are sitting on the upper deck on the part marked off for Sahibs & we wonder what the poor natives must be suffering if this is what they call first class accommodation. The propeller takes good care that we so not forget that it is doing all the work, for it keeps the deck in a constant state of vibration; we can scarcely sit in our chairs, our heads bid fair to jump off our bodies. A poor old gentleman close by, who is a regular Tichborne, seems to be suffering agony. We attempt to read but it is an impossibility & the noise of the engine makes conversation anything but pleasant. So at last we resign ourselves to our fate, hanging on to our chairs & hoping that we shall not fall to pieces before we reach the end of this first stage in our journey. At Budarpur we see the piers of the bridge which is being built across the river & we can also see the cutting on the low hills not far away & we wonder how many more years will pass before the long promised railway to this place is really opened. The fat gentleman gets off here & we go on, and sometime after dark reach Fenchoogang where we anchor for the night.
During the dry season & the early rains it is the custom for passengers from Silchar to Calcutta to change from the small steamer to the large one at Fenchoogang. But we are not going direct to Calcutta. We have planned to strike northwards from this place and to get to Calcutta by a very circuitous route, passing through the whole length of the Assam valley on our way thither. As previously arranged by telegraph we find two pony traps awaiting us on the other side of the river when we awake in the morning. We accordingly hire a boat, put all our belongings aboard & direct the Indian in charge to land us on the opposite shore. Nothing more forlorn & piteous can be imagined than the two wretched beasts which are brought out & put into the shafts of the two ramshackle conveyances, which for courtesy’s sake we call “pony carts”. It seems almost a sin to give these poor creatures the trouble of dragging us & our luggage all the way to Sylhet, and it is with a feeling of guilt that we climb into our seats, Fred and K in one trap & Khuma & I in the other. The luggage is stowed away in a net under the carts & requires a good deal of watching to prevent it from jumping out. There is a driver to each conveyance & they commence the journey be belabouring their wretched steeds with thick sticks, choosing as it seems to us, the most skinny parts on which to strike. I now turn my attention towards the creature which is slowly drawing my trap along, & I marvel that men can be so cruel & heartless as to keep such wretched animals in constant work. The one upon which I am gazing seems to possess absolutely no flesh, & is a mere framework of what once presumably was a pony; the bones stick out to such an extent that with every movement they look as if they must burst through the skin, & where the larger bones project beyond their surrounding prominences they are one mass of open sores caused by the rubbing of the rude harness & of cuts & bruises made with the driver’s stick. I remonstrate with the native in question, & for a time he puts aside the stick, but the animal has grown so used to being thrashed that he positively refuses to be persuaded by any other means. I look round & see that Fred’s pony is even worse than mine & besides having a wretched personal appearance has a vile temper, & every now & then stops short & threatens to back them into the ditch. It is with some amount of fear for my friend’s safety that I watch the antics of the little brute, but by & by the fit passes and we all jog on again & come to the first ferry. There is a good deal of delay here, but eventually we are trotting along as gaily as ever. The country through which we are passing is perfectly flat, the road is raised slightly above the level of the surrounding rice fields, which at the present time are just beginning to be covered with water. On either side of the road is a wide ditch from which the earth has been cast up to raise the road above the water. Here & there we pass a native turning over his patch of soft muddy land with a primitive looking plough drawn by a yoke of oxen, or wending his way homeward with his oxen before him and his wooden plough on his shoulder. We are not getting on at all well, there are numerous stoppages, first one & then the other of the horses takes it into his head to stop or go backwards or sideways & so we are not at all sorry when we spy a man coming towards us on horse-back at full gallop, whom we are given to understand is something to do with the proprietor of our turnouts. Upon reaching us he salaams respectfully & goes off to rescue Fred & K. who are just on the point of being precipitated into the ditch backwards. The man on horseback puts his steed in front of the one in the cart, & then starts at a gentle pace, the other following like a lamb. When he comes up to me he gets in front of my horse & puts on some speed & away we all go after him. This is something like, and we are speedily at the last ferry. On the other side we find a kind of antiquated close cab awaiting us, it evidently being though below the dignity of a sahib to drive into the station of Sylhet in such swell conveyances as those we have just vacated. The luggage is piled on the roof of the cab & one of the little carts is also loaded & away we go!”Categories: Uncategorized
Hidden treasures, part 5. In which I realise that this diary is written by Herbert J Lorrain and was sent to his mother as a gift
Posted Friday, 25th September 2015
First of all, today’s excerpt for your enjoyment:
“On Monday morning we are up betimes, soon after sunrise we pass by the piles of the new bridge which is to bring the train across the river & so on to Silchar. There are numbers of cooleys at work, but very soon the rains will swell the river & the whole will be under water until next autumn. It may easily be understood that work of this kind is slow & that years perhaps will elapse ere the steam engine is seen bearing its freight of passengers & goods into Silchar. By six o’clock we have reach the mouth of the river which has borne us upon its bosom from the heart of the Lushai Hills & now we turn our heads upstream on the wider river Barak. The boatmen no longer sit at ease & merely guide the crafts, but are on the shore tugging at the towing lines. K’s deserted boat & our own are lashed together & one man guides the two while the remaining 2 men tow us along. The cook boat is not far behind & we can see our boy Khuma sitting outside & trying to take in the big river at a glance, & surveying with wonder the vast expanse of flat country on either side. A crowd of ugly vultures, 26 in number, quarrelling over the carcass of a cow as it floats down with the stream, is of great interest to him, for these repulsive looking creatures are unknown in his native hills. Just before breakfast time we spy a number of men pulling a drag net to shore, so we go across the river to them & watch them as they labour at the heavy ropes. A large area of the river has been enclosed by a net some quarter of a mile in length, & now, men are standing at either end slowly & laboriously & with many a shout & grunt pulling the net ashore, every minute lessening the area enclosed & consequently crowding the fish closer & closer together. We watch for a quarter of an hour & by that time the men at wither end of the net who were originally standing about 100 yards apart have gradually moved along the shore & now are close together, the net is almost all drawn in, when two or three men jump in the water to keep the fish from escaping when it is finally drawn ashore; the whole surface of the water inside the net is one mass of struggling fish & one huge monster nearly succeeds in bounding over the net, but is quickly knocked back again by the alert fishermen. At last the word is given & with infinite care & rapidity the whole finny company is hoisted on to the beach, kicking & jumping in the bright sunlight to the infinite delight of our Lushai lad. We leave the servants to wrangle with the fisherman & take a short walk getting on the boat when we hear that the fish are fried & ready. So passes the day, quietly and uneventfully, until at last the puffing of the Silchar steamer is heard behind us & our boy is all alive to see the wonderful “Fire Boat” of which he has heard so much. His dreams however seem to have exceeded the reality, for when the great ugly, soot-begrimed stern-wheeler goes grunting by upstream he remarks how very slowly it travels & seems to be somewhat disappointed. But the lumbering old boat pays us out for our disrespect by giving us a good shake up after she has passed & nearly driving us upon a rock. Next day at noon, Silchar comes in sight, with its long row of “go downs” and imposing crowd of country boats, steamers & barges. Slowly we pass them by on our way to the landing, which at last we reach, &climb the rude steps cut in the steep bank & stand once more in a place which can boast of a certain amount of civilization & which we in the wilds of Lushai-land amuse ourselves by dubbing “The Metropolis”. K’s servant is on the bank to meet us & informs us that K. is rounds at the “Hotel”. (please note this word). We accordingly make for that imposing edifice (which by the way is nothing more than a thatched bungalow), & greet our friend once more. We next go in search of our old friend & fellow missionary Dr. J. & find him in a new house close by, with his wife & little son. We have arrived somewhat before the expected time, as we had wired from Jaluacherra that we should put in an appearance on the following day, but we did not think then that we should have made any progress on Sunday. However, a day earlier or later in India is of no consequence & we are soon made perfectly comfortable in a nice large bedroom, where everything speaks of the presence in the house of a lady. What a delightful rest it seems after the hot journey & how nice, when our boxes have arrived from the boat, to change our clothes & make ourselves look something like civilized beings. K. says that business matters will detain him here until next Monday, so we have several days to spend with our friend Dr. J. and his wife, & they are days of real pleasure. The bachelor life we live in our mountain home makes this happy home seem truly a little paradise, & our kind hostess does everything she can to make us feel that at any rate we can always reckon on having one Indian home, in whose charmed circle we shall be always welcome. The newly arrived son & heir is just able to sit up & make himself interesting & many an hour we spend fanning the poor little creature, who however seems to bear the extreme heat very well, which is more than we do. The change from the comparatively cool climate of Aijal to the tropical heat of Silchar is about as much as we can bear, but in a few days we find ourselves getting used to it, however we still wonder how we could have lived a whole year in Silchar, as we did before going to Lushai, and not know that it was such a warm place. Dr. J. is busy building a temporary house away on the other side of the station & is over there the greater part of the day looking after the native workmen. Occasionally we accompany him thither & watch the men as they slowly fasten up the reed walls, or the women as they smear over the said walls with a mixture of cow dung & mud, or the gang of prisoners from the neighbouring gaol as they creep like so many snails from the tank which is being excavated over yonder to the house, with baskets of earth upon their heads which they empty in the verandah to raise the ground above the surrounding flat. Each man has a wooden ticket suspended round his neck & some are in chains, & there is little fear that they will over exert themselves. Dr. J. tells us that just before we came down, they had a great storm. The house then was nearly thatched, but there were no walls up, & the wind blew the whole down & gave our friend no end of trouble. On Wednesday evening there is a Bengali service in the little girls’ school & among the native Christians we recognise many familiar faces, & receive from their owners many profound salaams. Fred gives a short address in English as there are some present who know, or think that they know, that language and I follow by one in Bengali, in which I find it very difficult to keep myself from using Lushai words now and then. Our English concertinas are much appreciated & help in the singing greatly. None of the missionaries here seem to have a taste for playing and if they have, they certainly do not exercise it in the services. There are two unmarried ladies here working in the zenanas & of course we are invited over to tea one afternoon, together with Dr. J. and his wife. There are some very nice little native children about the house, orphans who have been taken under the protecting wing of these 2 zenana workers. At tea they stand round the room with fans, and work their little arms amazingly in their efforts to make us cool. What comical creatures they must think we Sahibs are, to drink hot tea when the temperatures in up in the nineties & then to want the punkahs to make us cool again. But to change the subject to something not quite so warm. We take our little Lushai boy round to the “godown” – a kind of barn in which all kinds of European stores are for sale & what in America would be called a “store”. The proprietor is an Englishman & his wife comes from that charming island in the Thames not 100 miles from London & known as the ‘Isle of Dogs’. We inspect the store & by & by are shown the new ice machine which has lately been set up at no small expense. Knowing that our boy has never seen such a thing before, we get a piece of ice from the storing vats & hand it to him, and it is highly amusing to see how quickly he drops it & looks to see if his finger is burnt. He can scarcely believe that it is not hot & it is some time before he can make out whether it is hot or cold. But at last the times comes to bid our friends farewell, & early on Monday morning we are on board the steamer with K. and his dog.”
As you can see from the excerpt above, there is reference to a ‘bachelor life’ at Lushai, which I have to admit completely confused me. I thought this diary had been written by a Mrs Lorrain. Until I started doing some reading about James Herbert Lorrain and looked at other items in the archive.
I started with his BMS candidate papers. The candidate papers we hold here at the archive can sometimes have many letters enclosed in the file, and some of them have very little at all. Unfortunately James Herbert Lorrain’s papers fall into the latter group.
As can be seen in the photographs above, James Herbert Lorrain was rather young when he applied to become a missionary – 18 and a half – and his friend was only 16. When they applied to become missionaries in May 1888, they were both working at the West Central Post Office in High Holborn (and could not afford to put themselves through college). Then I compared the beautifully-clear handwriting of the journal and letters, which were certainly written by the same person. Finally, I found out that James Herbert Lorrain did not get married until 1904 to Eleanor Mabel Attkinson. So, yes, I’ll be going back and editing the first couple of my blog posts about this diary!
I end with a rather wonderful sketch, which was most certainly done by James Herbert.
Posted Monday, 21st September 2015
Over the last 3 years the Angus has produced four pop-up exhibitions as part of our current Hidden Treasures project which is being funded by the HLF and BUGB. This funding has allowed us to work with a very modest budget. We’re not complaining, working with even a small budget is a hundred times better than our previous outreach budget of Absolutely Nothing.
As the final exhibition in this series is on display this week, we thought we would share our top 5 tips for putting together an exhibition on a budget:
1. Find hidden talents
You will be surprised at the range of skills you can find in a small team, so make the most of what you’ve got. Recently one of our volunteers created a set of wooden audio listening stations from reclaimed wood. It turns out we also have a professional voice actor on staff who has contributed great recordings to install in the listening stations (thanks Will!).
2. Flexibility is key
If you are investing in professional equipment such as display stands and cases, try to invest in a system that is as flexible as possible so that it can be used again next time.
3. Professional printing doesn’t always cost the earth
These days professional printing doesn’t have to blow your whole budget in fell swoop. Posters, pamphlets and booklets can be designed on software such as Publisher, Photoshop or Gimp (which is free) that can be sent away for immediate printing. If you get confused by terminology such as bleeds, crop marks, CMYK and RGB, we’ve found that most commercial printers are happy to offer advice on making documents print ready. To keep costs down, stick to standard paper sizes (A4 or A5) and get quotes for different paper weights.
4. But see what you can achieve in house
If you are handy with spray mount, a craft knife and hot glue gun you can get a long way on your own. Just because the process it simple, it doesn’t mean it can’t look professional. While we send some things out for commercial printing, we produce our display panels and labels in house using stiff foam mounting board and I think they look pretty slick.
5. Thank your volunteers!
The Angus relies on the hard work of our Exhibitions Volunteer team, who carry out the majority of the research and interpretation work. Our volunteers get the opportunity to contribute ideas and work that has a direct effect on how the final exhibition looks. We hope that the experience of co-curating an exhibition means that the time they give us in the archive pays off, but we still can’t thank them enough for all the hours they put in to make these exhibitions happen and we hope they’ll join us again next time.
Our new exhibition Navigating the Congo is open 21st – 26th September 2015 and looks at missionary work in the Congo during the 19th and early 20th century. Visit our exhibition page to find out more about the exhibition and talks!Categories: Events Exhibitions Volunteering
Posted Tuesday, 1st September 2015
Next morning we wake to find it raining, but this does not hinder us in the least; the naked boatmen perhaps work all the harder, for the air is cool & pleasant. At 8 oclock [sic] in the morning we reach Jaluacherra the first sign of civilization we have seen since leaving Sairang, here we find a few rude huts, a miserable shanty bearing the legend “Post & Telegraph Office” upon a board, & a dilapidated looking stockade crowning the hill just behind it. A more wretched looking spot it would be hard to find, surrounded as it is by dense jungle & possessing a climate the reverse to pleasant. We only stop here to see if there are any letters for us & then we are off again. Presently we are gliding along within sight of a tea garden, then another stretch of jungle & another garden & so on the whole day. The beautiful mountains are left far behind & nothing bot low hillocks and flat plains can be seen. At last the day is done, we stop to take our dinners & to give the men time to eat their rice & then we are off again. The rain has cleared off & the sky is full of stars which give sufficient light to enable us to see where we are going. A man sits in front of each boat looking out for snags, while the man behind works the large oar which serves as rudder & propeller. K. is in front sitting outside his boat & we are not far behind enjoying the still beauty of an Indian evening. We play a hymn on our English concertinas & the sound of some familiar tune goes floating on the breeze, perhaps startling the natives as they lie half asleep in their bamboo huts, or attracting the attention of some dusky fishermen as he patiently plies his net, and bringing to our minds & perhaps to the mind of our fellow traveller thoughts of the dear homeland & of those who once joined with us in singing those grand old hymns. Hour after hour goes by & still the men work away, for they have to reach a certain landing before they tie up. Presently we go inside & lie down & the next thing we know is that we have arrived at our desired haven & that it is 11.30p.m. and we say to ourselves that we must have been asleep. When the sun rises on Sunday morning we find ourselves alongside a sandy beach, a few huts surrounded by the usual banana, papaw & jack, trees is all that is visible. We climb the bank and find a fair-sized shed called in this country a “godown”, well stocked with English stores, wines & spirits. The owner is a portly Babu, who no doubt does a fair trade among the Planters in the district. This lively place is known as Kalacherra & from here K. has arranged to wide across to Silchar. The pony is waiting for him close by, & it is not long before he starts off. Being Sunday we intend to spend the day here and give the men a rest, but they do not seem at all inclined to fall in with the proposal as they are so near home. Knowing that there will practically be no work to do, if we allow them to put out into mid-stream and float down with the current, we let them have their way & all day we are gliding gently past pretty native villages & tea gardens. All nature seems so bright and happy, & it is hard to realise that we are already approaching a district where death in one of its most awful forms is working havoc amid these sunny homesteads & wringing many a heart with bitter anguish. Yet it is, alas, only too true, the fearful scourge, cholera, is all at work here. We glide on. The cries of the mourner reach our ears; all thoughts, save that we are in the presence of death, are forgotten. Ahead, on the margin of the water we see a fire burning, we know what those figures flitting to & fro’ in its light are doing. We draw nearer & now we are within a few yards of it, can see the form of the poor unfortunate lying midst the flames, & can hear the fizzing & spitting as the tongues of fire leap about the emaciated body. The water of the river laps around the funeral pyre, & soon all that remains of that once manly form, which but a few hours ago was hale & hearty, will be cast into the stream, will float down & contaminate the water, & who can say where the mischief will end? We hear the boatmen exchange greetings with the group around the fire & hear the dread word “cholera” follow us as we glide out of sight. A little further on we see an object floating upon the water & as we pass it we catch sight of a woman’s form, rising & falling with the ripples, & we wonder whether she has been cast there by her cruel neighbours because she did not happen to be of their particular caste, or whether she had been seized by the fell disease when in the act of drawing water, or bathing & had not strength enough to drag herself to the shore. By this time all the boatmen are talking of nothing else but “cholera”, relating past experiences & raking up all the most fearful stories of its cruel ravages. Presently a man hails one of our boatmen from the bank, & tells him that a certain relative has been carries off & that the family are anxiously awaiting his arrival. Poor fellow, his face looks so sad as he gathers together his few belongings & asks our permission to leave the boat. It is explained to us that two of the boats can be lashed together when we reach the big river on the morrow so that our progress will not be retarded by the absence of one hand. We give our consent & by & by the youth jumps ashore & makes for his home across country. The river is now very dirty, & sometimes covered with scum & debris & as we are hoping that we shall not be obliged to drink any of its polluted water we see the cook dipping up a pot full, & know that at any rate our dinner will be cooked in it. There is no help for it however, no other water is available & like the poor inhabitants who live on the banks we must take our chance, trusting that the cooking process will deprive the microbes of their usual vitality. We drift on long after sundown in order to get beyond the villages & it is late before we tie up for the night. The Sabbath has been a day of solemn thoughts, we have been brought face to face with death & we have tried to impress the boatmen with the fact of their nearness to the other world & of their need of a Saviour like Jesus who alone can rob death of its terrors & secure to us life eternal.Categories: Uncategorized
Posted Friday, 21st August 2015
21st September – 26th September 2015, Regent’s Park College, Oxford
Featuring artefacts, navigational equipment, maps, photographs, personal letters and diaries, Navigating the Congo is an exhibition which explores the history of non-conformist involvement in the Congo River regions during the 19th and 20th century.
By looking at the collections held in The Angus Library and Archive, the exhibition seeks to bring to light some of the challenges faced in navigating this history and the relationships that developed between Baptist missionaries and the Kongo people during the period of European colonialism.
Two free talks will be held during the exhibition:
Tues 22nd Sept – Bandi Mbubi (Congo Calling) will be speaking on conflict in the DRC and fair trade technology
Thurs 24th Sept – Dr Rob Burroughs (Leeds Beckett University) will be speaking on Protestant missionary travellers in the Congo Free State
Bandi Mbubi is a founder and director of Congo Calling, an organisation who are working to bring the world’s attention to the atrocities being committed in the Congo and for a peaceful resolution to the ongoing war. Bandi writes and speaks nationally and internationally to create a mass movement of consumers who demand the development of fair trade technology which uses ethically-sourced, conflict-free minerals from the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC).
Dr Rob Burroughs is Senior Lecturer in the School of Cultural Studies and Humanities, Leeds Beckett University. His publications include Travel Writing and Atrocities (Routledge 2011) and The Suppression of the Atlantic Slave Trade (co-edited with Richard Huzzey, Manchester 2015). Rob is the lead UK partner in the NWO-funded European research project ‘The Congo Free State across Languages, Media and Cultures’. Current projects include research of the Africans who testified against colonial violence in the Congo Free State.
For more information about our upcoming and past exhibitions visit our Exhibitions pageCategories: Exhibitions
Posted Friday, 14th August 2015
August is a somewhat strange month here at the Angus. We are closed to the public for the month which allows us time to get on with other jobs which are not that easy to perform when we have visitors. For example, I was able to do a stock take last week (using both of our large tables in the centre of the reading room!) and list some books for sale on Amazon.
Another task I have been enjoying very much this week is preparing some more books in the Angus archive for cataloguing. Our cataloguers, Lucy and Anna, have been doing an amazing job cataloguing everything (they’ve catalogued over 9,300 items since the start of the project) so in order to help speed up the process a bit, I have been inserting barcodes on little slips of card. I’ve also been identifying whether a book is pre-1830 (that get’s a little slip of green paper inserted into the book) or post-1830 (orange slip of paper). I think Lucy must have been inspired by Tic Tacs to choose those two colours…
Some might think this a rather odious task; after all we have lots and lots of books. Thousands of them in fact. And old books are dusty, and leave your clothes covered in a fine light brown powder (not to mention your hands). It has, though, been absolutely wonderful (and has been greatly assisted by the Beautiful South, Norah Jones and Radio 4 on occasion). Listening to the radio aside, it is all the little treasures that have been falling out of the books that have inspired me to write this blog post to you this afternoon and to share a few photos of them with you.
Here’s one of the first I inserted a barcode into. It’s a tiny little book called Meditations, complete with a lock of very fine blonde hair. The inscription made me well up…
There’s love poetry (not something you would perhaps expect in a Baptist library). This one was my favourite in this little book.
There’s something for those interested in the Clan Angus, a book printed by an Angus Watson and seems just circulated amongst friends and family.
Some of the books have amazing illustrations, like these which are in books which have clearly been well used (their covers having fallen off at some point and now held on with binding tape) and probably well loved
There are some wonderful examples of illustrated Victorian/Edwardian book covers…
And some 17th and 18th century writing inside the first few pages…
Beyond a shadow of a doubt, my favourite find this week has been this (sorry the photo is so rubbish)
More discoveries will be shared next week…Categories: Uncategorized
Posted Tuesday, 11th August 2015
“It seems that we have been asleep but a few minutes when we hear the stentorian voice of our travelling companion shouting to the boatman to get up, & upon looking at our watch we find it already past five o’clock. There is the usual groaning among the men, the mumbling of inarticulate sentences & then again the startling shout “get up, get up” from our friend K-, repeated by his cook, his serving man & our boy who likes to feel that he has someone to order about. Presently the sound of the bubbling hookah is heard we know that the boatmen are taking their usual morning pull at the fragrant weed before turning out & unfastening the boats. A smell unknown to any but those who have travelled in the East pervades the atmosphere, it is the perfume given off by the smoking of a peculiar mixture of molasses & tobacco, in which all Bengalis revel, and which no doubt has a charm quite its own. The roof creaks & we know that one of the men has finished his humble breakfast & is walking over our heads in order to get to the front of the boat, & just as he is about to push the boat into the mainstream, the head of our boy Khuma appears in front of the dog kennel arrangement & then his hands come into view & we see that he is bringing us a cup of tea each before we start. We are soon shooting down the “long rapid” in fine style & all day long keep up at a fair speed, and as we are going with the stream there is little work for the men to do. We stop at midday for the men to take their food & we climb into K’s boat & sit under his “kennel”, native fashion on the floor & take our breakfast also, but we are nearly melted with the heat, the sun shining upon the mat roof so near to our heads making the boats almost unbearable & we are glad when we are once more moving for the rapid motion makes a cool breeze even in the warmest part of the day. When sunset comes we are glad to get off our backs where we have been lying all day & to stretch our limbs on a sandy beach, by running up and down & finally by taking a swim in the river. This gives us an appetite[d] for dinner & we do full justice to the goodly repast which is set before us. Soon after turning in, the heavens become overcast & the rumble of distant thunder warns us of the approach of a storm, amid the howling of the wind we hear K. giving orders to secure his boat & we see that ours is safely moored, the bamboo flap which serves as a door to our “kennel” is let down and tied, & presently the rain begins to fall in torrents, the whole air is full of the roar of thunder claps, groaning forest trees, & howling wind, & as we lie on our backs we can see through the numerous holes in our fragile door the almost incessant lightning flashes. The gentle rocking of our tiny craft upon the water serves however to sooth us and before long we are fast asleep, “rocked in the cradle of the deep”. The next thing we are conscious of is that the men are preparing to start & the day passes by quietly enough & at evening we tie up at Hermits’ Ghât. This is a rude landing place in the forest close to the hut of 2 hermits who are held in great veneration by all the boatmen who ply on this river. It is customary for every man to give these holy recluses some little token of respect as he passes, a few pice [sic], a pumpkin, a little salt or anything that happens to be handy. The old gentlemen who were here when we first came up the river have gone & their places have been taken by younger men – one a Hindoo & the other a Mahommedan. As we sit outside in the starlight – we amuse ourselves by watching the cooking operations of a Bengali, who being a good friend of the Hindoo caste, thinks that his food will be defiled if he cooks it on board the boat in which he is journeying, belonging as it does to Mussulmans, so he is sitting out in the open & in the darkness doing his best to prepare his evening meal, holding a lighted stick over the pot occasionally to see how his rice is cooking & between times fanning off the swarms of winged insects which seem intent upon precipitating themselves into his food. Suddenly our attention is arrested by a large meteor falling from the sky like a globe of fire & lightning up the darkness for one brief second. It appears to fall into the forest, a short distance from where we are seated, but doubtless our eyes have deceived us. We now think of turning in & the usual preparation of our beds takes place, & before long the only sounds which break the silence are those of the frogs on the shore & the insects in the surrounding jungle…”Categories: Uncategorized
Posted Friday, 31st July 2015
As I mentioned last week, the story of the Lorrain’s “holiday trip of 4000 miles” is too good not to be shared. It is very much fixed at a certain point in time but is so well written that it gives a different, perhaps more complete, perspective than we would perhaps find in a history book. Enjoy escaping the modern world for a few minutes.
Over to Mrs. Lorrain for our second installment…
“… to Sairang. It is a fairly easy march of 12½ miles, down-hill nearly all the way, & the road is shaded for the most part by feathery bamboos, bananas, & other tropical trees. Were it not for this kind protection the road would be well nigh impassable during the greater part of the day, for the sun shines full on the mountain side & where the forest has been cleared the concentrated heat is almost unendurable, especially is this so as we get lower down, where the breeze is intercepted by the surrounding hills. Down, down, down we go, at a brisk walk, every now and then stopping to take a draught of water from the pretty cascades which cross our path or to enjoy the cool of some secluded spot shut in, by the overhanging foliage & the rugged hill side, from the rays of the sun.
Suddenly there is a noise away up on the mountain, we stand still & look upwards, the sound grows louder & louder & presently a large boulder comes thundering down, gives one mighty bound on to the path we have just traversed& then never staying in its mad career, leaps into the valley below, crashing through the jungle, & overthrowing every obstacle until at last the sound dies away in a faint murmur & we surmise that it has found a resting place at last in the bed of a mountain stream. How true it is that He who watcheth over us, slumbers not nor sleeps & no thing however trivial, happens by chance. Surely it was naught but the good hand of our Jehovah God which prevented that rock from becoming detached from its place two minutes earlier and crushing us to atoms. May we not, at this the outset of our journey, take this as an earnest of Divine protection from the many dangers known & unknown which will threaten us during all our wanderings & as a pledge that we shall return to our mountain home in peace & safety? The latter part of the walk there is not much talking done, the heat is too great & we are already beginning to feel tired & faint, we have within an hour or two, come from the temperate climate of the hill tops to the more than tropical heat of a mountain-locked valley more than 3000 feet lower. Presently Sairang burst upon our view at a sharp turn of the road, & very soon we are walking across the desolate bazaar where several Bengalis drive a good trade among the Lushais in cloth, salt and copper cooking pots. Then we reach a bamboo shanty which serves as post & telegraph office. & there we find both the Baboos suffering from fever & looking altogether miserable. It is a curious thing that an office like Sairang, where there is not above a weeks honest work to be got through during the whole twelve months of the year, should be provided with both a telegraph operator & a postmaster. Both these are Bengalis. And the telegraph operator especially not being over-troubled with a conscience, thinks nothing of shutting up office & taking a days fishing occasionally & leaving what few telegrams there may be to look after themselves. A little distance from the post-office is the stockade where the sepoys in charge of this unhealthy outpost drag out a miserable existence, looking forward no doubt to the time when they shall be able to take their turn in the fort at Aijal. We now pass along a narrow winding path & very soon come upon the Rest House or “Dâk Bungalow” which is a very pretty little house built of timber, reeds & mud. It is raised some 10 ft above the ground on stout timber supports & the verandah is reached by two flights of wooden steps. The river is close by & we soon hurry off to make arrangements for the morrow’s boats; which over, we are glad to fling ourselves down in the only chairs which the bungalow can boast of, draw out to the verandah an old housemade table, & enjoy the luxury of a cup of tea & a good rest. Rest did I say? Why I was forgetting that we are in Sairang, there is no such thing as “rest” there during the rains, with its myriad of mosquitos and sand-flies. But the rains have only just begun, and by walking up & down, trying to read, & a good deal of slapping & scratching & rubbing of our persons we are able to pass the time fairly well, till the boy brings dinner. This meal over we again try to read by lamplight, but finally have to give it up & to seek the shelter of our mosquito nets where kindly sleep soon puts an end to our troubles.
The morning of May 6th dawns clear & bright, and we are up betimes to enjoy the cool breeze which is making itself felt. We have the pleasure of looking forward to spending the best part of the day in this delightful spot, as we are to wait for the arrival of W.K- the engineer at Aijal who is to be our travelling companion as far as the Khassia Hills. He would have down with us yesterday had he been able to obtain enough coolies to carry his luggage. The day is spent in getting the boat ready & putting our luggage on board. By & by K’s things begin to arrive & by the time these are stowed away K. himself puts in an appearance & after taking a short rest we all three embark & about 5 o/c we are quietly drifting down with the current, not caring how far we get before dark so long as we do not have to spend the night in Sairang. While we are gliding along so quickly let us have a look at our tiny fleet. There are three boats; one occupied by our friend K – & his dog, another serving as a temporary house for Fred & myself, and a third doing duty for a cook house, wherein are seated our boy Khuma enjoying the novelty of rapid motion for the first time in his life perhaps, K’s cook who is preparing the evening meal over a fire in an old kerosene oil tin and K’s table servant, a portly Mussulman with gigantic turban & flowing white robes. Just as the sun sets we come to the head of the famous “ long rapid”, and fearing to risk shooting it in the gloom which has already succeeded to daylight, we tie up for the night, pull out a little camp table which we have brought with us & set it upon the shore & then having lighted a couple of candles we sit round on our wicker chairs & eat the dinner which our boys have prepared, the while dodging the crowds of curious insects which attracted by the light have come to keep us company. As soon as possible we are glad to remove our seats to a distance from the light & to converse on various subjects, until at last we say good night & make for our respective boats. Crawling under the bamboo mat roof which puts one much in mind of a dog kennel, we spread our blankets, put up our mosquito nets & tucking them in safely all round to prevent the intrusion of unwelcome visitors, we commit ourselves to the care of our Father and lie down to sleep…”Categories: Uncategorized
Posted Friday, 24th July 2015
Seeing as I have now been in post for three weeks, I thought it about time that I write a blog post to replace the advertisement for my position. My first three weeks at the Angus have been wonderful. The team has been incredibly welcoming and I delight daily at all the wonderful items we have in the archives. I have a huge interest in social history and we certainly have a very large amount of documents which can be read to feed this interest. As the HLF-funded project I am working on here at the Angus is called Hidden Treasures, this is the short story of my first discovery of a hidden treasure from the archives.
A reader came in on Monday researching missionaries in the Lushai Hills (now Mizoram), India, for his PhD. As I was putting the boxes back into the stack, I decided to have a quick peek into one of them. I was immediately drawn to one of the small notebooks and started to read. This diary, written by Mrs Lorraine, tells the story of a holiday she took with her husband between May and August 1896. I hope you enjoy this as much as I have.
I now hand over to Mrs Lorraine…
“The sun has not yet risen. From the village, borne on the gentle morning breeze, comes the monotonous thud, thud of the maidens pounding the household rice for the coming day, presently the gentle patter of bare feet is heard on the path outside and the silvery laugh of the girls as they go to the valley to draw water, sounds for all the world like that of happy English children, and the illusion is only dissolved when the smell of foul pipes which they are smoking is wafted in at the window and fully awakens us to the fact that we are strangers & sojourners in a foreign clime. A faint light appears in the East, shining through the cracks in the wall and as we turn over in bed & gaze upon the bamboo roof & floor and walls which it reveals, all dreams of the homeland which may have blessed our sleeping hours, vanish, and with something which sounds very much like a sigh, we slip from under our mosquito net & commence the process of washing and dressing. While this is in progress, the back door is opened by a little native boy, who slips in & spreads the table for the early morning meal, which ready, he opens the front door by carrying it away bodily to the other end of the verandah & props up the flaps which serve as shutters to the unglazed lattice windows, and lets in the light of the sun which has just risen. As we sip our tea we converse upon the approaching journey & wonder if the men & women who last night so faithfully promised to carry down our luggage to the river, will at the last moment back out of their contract. Through the open door we catch a glimpse of one or two of them coming up the path to test the weight of the various packages which litter the verandah. This we must not allow as experience has taught us that if they lift even the light loads from the ground with their hands the imagine that they are too heavy for them to carry; whereas if we lift them ourselves & put them on their backs so as to rest on the strap which passes across their forehead they carry them off quite happily without grumbling at the weight. Two or three bearers are got off in this way and by & by others come up & before long the verandah is clear & only one or two women remain behind to carry down the pots and pans which at present moment are being used in the cook house to prepare our chotahazri – There is now a lull, during which we can have prayers undisturbed, and commit ourselves to Him who is able to take us through all our wanderings safely & bring us back to this little cottage which we call home. There are still a few minutes wanting to eight o’clock so we may as well walk up and down the verandah & look for the last time for many weeks upon the familiar scenes around us. The house is situated upon the very top of a mountain ridge, which slopes down steeply in front to a deep valley, and behind forms a precipice covered with dense forest. From the front verandah, looking eastward the scene is one of peculiar beauty, steep mountain ranges from the most part running N. & S. like the one upon which we stand, rise one behind the other as far as the eye can reach until they are lost in the distance on the Burmese frontier. The valleys between the ranges are filled with clouds, which in the morning light shine like freshly fallen snow & from this sea of dazzling whiteness, thickly wooded peaks and spurs rise like a fairy archipelago. As we watch, a breeze disturbs the even surface of the cloudy sea, & the whole assumes the aspect of an angry ocean, dashing against the rocky islet, submerging some & leaving others high and dry, rushing like a mighty cataract over project spurs, & sending its milk white spray high into the heavens. Then a grand transformation takes place, the clouds influenced by the warm rays of the sun, rise from the valleys, and as they ascend higher & higher they are at last dissolved into invisible vapour, & for the first time we see the well wooded valleys & the precipitous mountain sides covered with their wealth of tropical greenery, broken there & there by the jooms or cultivated patches of the Lushais. If we go around to the back of the house & look westward, a view even prettier than the one upon which we have just been gazing meets our eyes. To the N. & S., on either side of our house a slight indentation in the ridge, forms a natural boundary between our domain & the Lushai villages, into either of which it would not be a difficult matter to throw a stone from our verandah. But we must hurry, for chota hazri is already on the table & we have got a long walk before us. Of course you know that chotahazri means – Chota “small” and hazri “breakfast”. With us it is generally indeed almost invariably, consists of a plate of porridge, an egg & a piece of bread & butter or jam. Perhaps you mistook the other meal which we had at sunrise for chotahazri. That was what is known in Assam as palang cha or “bed tea” because as a rule it is brought to us by one’s bed by the quiet-footed native servant as soon as the dawn begins to break. But we like to get up to have it, as taking it in bed is liable to make one lazy, & anything which tends to this evil must in India be strenuously withstood. A cup of tea at early dawn is in this country a necessity & not a luxury for without it the system is unable to overcome the pernicious influence of the climate, unless indeed one stays in bed until the choto hazri is ready, and loses the best part of the morning. But we must not loiter; the cooking pots, camp stove &c are already being packed into the women’s curiously shaped baskets, and our little Lushai boy Khuma is anxious to start, upon what will be to him a wonderful journey indeed, for he has never been away from his native hills before. A few of his friends I see are entrusting him with money where with to purchase beads when he arrives in the great city of palaces the marvellous “foreign village of Kulkuta” (Calcutta) as the Lushais call it. The other Lushai lad, Lusheia, who is to stop and take care of the house while we are away, looks rather cast down, and evidently reflecting upon the possibility of a repetition of the fearful tornado we had the other day, calmly asks what steps he had better take in case of the house being blown down. Giving him our parting injunctions, which mainly consist of exhortations to keep the books well dusted & to put them out in the sun on fine days, which, by the way, is the only means of keeping them from rotting during the rainy season, we pass from our humble cottage, salute the crowds of friendly Lushais who are at the gate to say farewell, and soon we are on our way…”