Jeeps in a variety of situations

Living in Kashmir 1979-80: A Year of People, Places and Memories

Jeeps

If there was one vehicle that defined life among the UN observers in those mountain postings, it was the jeep: that tireless, open-sided workhorse that seemed equally at home on a paved road as it did clinging to the edge of a precipice. In 1979, these sturdy machines carried my husband and his colleagues across terrain that would have defeated lesser vehicles and, on occasion, nearly defeated them too.

The drivers on both sides of the line were soldiers stationed in the high mountains.They brought to their work every shade of temperament imaginable, from the carefully measured caution of the prudent to the breathtaking confidence of those who appeared entirely unbothered by a sheer drop to one side.

1979 Skardu field station

Here’s a typical UN jeep in 1979 after arriving at a field station. Open sides, rugged going. This one has made it successfully over rough roads and steep climbs. Rest for the driver and relief for the observer.

Not every encounter on those narrow mountain roads passed without incident. My husband recalls with particular clarity the day two jeeps met head-on along a stretch of road where passing was simply impossible. There was nowhere to go, no room to manoeuvre, and the frustration of one driver spilled over into action. He climbed out and thumped the bonnet of the UN vehicle with his fist, as though the jeep itself were to blame. In the end, of course, someone had to reverse until the road widened enough to allow both vehicles through.  Frustration for both drivers.

1979 A jeep impasse

The Deosai Plateau

High on the Deosai Plateau in Baltistan, one of the most remote and elevated plateaux in the world, the jeeps faced a different kind of test. A photograph from the summer of 1979 shows a UN jeep picking its way across a small bridge in that vast, wind-swept landscape, the sky enormous and blue above the tawny plain.

On the return journey, my husband recalls, the driver took one look at the rickety bridge they had crossed earlier and decided the river itself was the safer option. He drove straight through the water. My husband, exercising what I have always considered excellent judgement, chose to walk across the bridge.

1979 bridge on the Deosai Plateau

Jeep Cherokees

For longer official journeys between Srinagar and Rawalpindi, the larger Jeep Cherokees were brought into service. They were stationed at Headquarters for the use of administrative staff. Solid and imposing, they seemed well suited to the distances involved, though, as we discovered, no vehicle is entirely proof against a Himalayan winter. 

We were travelling in one of these vehicles in winter when it slid to a halt in the snow. The more the driver spun the wheels the deeper the vehicle dug into the snow. My husband climbed out into the cold to push. After considerable effort, the vehicle lurched forward showering him in snow. The driver, perhaps caught up in the relief of the forward motion, simply kept going. From the back seat I called out as urgently as I could manage “Bas, bas, Sahib.” It took a while for the driver to realise he had left my husband behind on that cold snowy road. He eventually paused and waited while my husband caught up on foot and climbed wearily into the vehicle. 

On another occasion with my mother-in-law aboard, we were halted by a very large crowd coming towards us. While we trembled, the driver seemed relatively unperturbed. Indeed, the crowd flowed by either side with the force of the surge rocking the vehicle as they passed. It was a local demonstration underway. We continued our journey relieved to get away.

This last picture shows a summer scene high in the mountains, perhaps a rest break on a long journey. It is easier in summer light to remember the mountain scenery.

Jeep Cherokees in summer, high in the mountains

This post first appeared on earlieryears.blogspot.com by CRGalvin

Inglenook and Indian Republic Day

Living in Kashmir 1979-80: A Year of People, Places and Memories

Inglenook

Within the walled sanctuary of the United Nations compound in Srinagar stood a house called Inglenook, a name that conjured precisely what it promised. An inglenook is that most English of things: a cosy recess beside a fire, a place of shelter and warmth carved out against the cold. And cold, in Srinagar, was no small matter.

During the summer months the house was occupied by the Chief of Mission. Observers and administrators of lesser rank found their own lodgings outside the compound walls, scattered through the city. But when the Himalayan winter descended and the mission retreated to Rawalpindi, it became our destiny to remain in Srinagar and occupy this building. My husband was tasked with maintaining the UN presence with administration and other duties as well as responding to the daily radio communications that kept the mission connected to the wider world. The house was ideally situated next door to the Headquarters building so that even in the heaviest snowfall, work was only a few steps across the yard.

Inglenook - February 1980

Inside, the living room was heated with an old bukhari, a squat coal-fired beast that demanded patience and considerable perseverance before it could be coaxed alight. The fumes, when the coal finally caught, were deeply unpleasant. The chimney had been fitted with a right-angle bend to exit through a side wall. The bedrooms were upstairs, so out the side wall the chimney went. 

The floor was covered in a mustard-coloured carpet of a particular ingenuity: it had two sides, one for summer and one for winter. Before the cold weather set in, the carpet had to be turned, because no amount of care could prevent coal dust from embedding itself into the winter side. It was a ritual of the seasons, as dependable as the first frost.

 

A wooden display unit was fixed to the wall at one end of the room. The leaf portraits mentioned in an earlier post about Framing, are clearly visible on these shelves. We used the shelves to display goods purchased through the summer months along with some books and audiocassettes. 

This was before CDs and digital audio. In our Singapore stop over, we had purchased a large stereo cassette player that came with two detachable speakers. The very latest in audio equipment.

Towards the end of our posting an Indian asked if he could borrow our cassette player for a function at his place. We expected it to be returned, but alas that was not what he had in mind. We returned home without recompense for that piece of equipment.

The lounge room 1980

Locally embroidered cushions were displayed along the lounges.

Indian Republic Day

On the 26th January 1980, Australia Day back home, we were in New Delhi and had the opportunity to attend the Republic Day Parade. The occasion marks the adoption of India's Constitution in 1950 and the country's formal transition to a sovereign democratic republic: a day of considerable national pride.

Along with multitudes of onlookers we headed to the ceremonial route to watch the spectacle. Indeed, it was a memorable spectacle. A full-scale parade unfolded before us, marching contingents in immaculate formation, armoured vehicles rolling in solemn procession and fly-pasts threading the sky overhead. 

Woven throughout it all, there was a vibrant cultural pageant of state tableaux representing every corner of the subcontinent. The variety of military dress, the colourful headdresses, the graceful women in their saris, all of it displayed the remarkable diversity of India's peoples. This was much more than just a military parade. 

Our photos were taken over the heads of all the onlookers in front of us. One photo captures the decorated elephants lumbering along, their heads high above the level of the people. The other is of women wrapped in beautiful saris, a swirl of colour on that January day.

Elephants on parade 1980

1980 Republic Day parade

 

We were three, my husband myself and another of Australia’s observers. None of us had ever been in such a huge crowd. When the parade finished and the crowd started to move, I grabbed the back of my husband’s belt and Paul who was behind me held onto my shoulders. Such was the pressure of the crowd we decided to move like this in order to remain together. Pressed forward as a single unit we were swept  along by the human tide.

We returned to our accommodation exhausted, but well satisfied with our experience.

This post first appeared on earlieryears.blogspot.com by CRGalvin

Houseboats on the Lakes

Living in Kashmir 1979-80: A Year of People, Places and Memories

Houseboats

The British colonials were ever resourceful in escaping the fierce heat of the Indian plains. Each summer, they retreated to higher, cooler climes and nowhere offered quite the same beguiling refuge as Kashmir. Yet the rulers of Kashmir in the 1880s had closed the valley to European land ownership, and so foreign residents and visitors found an elegant solution: they commissioned floating houses. These were modelled on earlier versions of covered boats.

Kashmiri artisans proved themselves masters of their craft, gradually building larger and more comfortable vessels from deodar, the fragrant local cedar that lent each houseboat its distinctive warmth and character. Many grew into substantial structures that rivalled the better hotels for both comfort and service. Interiors were adorned with richly patterned Kashmiri carpets underfoot and exquisite wood carvings overhead.

The houseboats themselves were generously proportioned, typically offering four bedrooms, bathrooms, and a proper dining room. Above, an open deck invited guests to sit in the sun and gaze across the shimmering expanse of the lake, the distant Himalayan peaks on the horizon.

Enjoying the summer sun with friends on the upper deck

During our time in Kashmir, houseboats remained a favourite destination for visitors seeking to experience life on the lakes. We spent one short break on Lake Dal. Meals were included and often when booking a stay, one could not be sure whether we would have the place to ourselves.

  
Unfortunately for one honeymoon couple we were sharing a rental. It was well after we were asleep one night that the dreaded effects of ‘Delhi belly’ set in. The evening meal had passed pleasantly but provided a nasty result. The walls of thin wood, charming in so many respects, offered precious little in the way of sound insulation, and one could only feel the deepest sympathy for the newlyweds.

A wide variety of creative names adorned the houseboats. From our summer photos we have Miss England and below the Princess Alexandra and the Alexandra Palace.

A steady procession of merchants arrived by shikara, each hoping to tempt residents with their wares. There were shikaras laden with fresh vegetables, others piled with craft goods: papier-mâché boxes, embroidered shawls and carved trinkets.

A well remembered visitor was a man known to us as Shining Roses, who glided alongside each morning in a shikara overflowing with the most beautiful blooms. He arrived quietly across the water, and delivered colour and fragrance to one's doorstep.

Times have changed for many houseboat owners but we retain pleasant memories of these elegant vessels.

This post first appeared on earlieryears.blogspot.com by CRGalvin