It was not until a full week of work had passed and Jack got his first day off that he really felt he could draw breath, and truly see where he was to spend the next 3 years of his life. Jack’s contract was for 3 years, a term which was not negotiable, but had alarmed Kate. Jack felt that for him to make any progress, and to benefit from the move, it would not be worthwhile moving for any lesser time.
From the large and airy bungalow Jack was to share with three other mill managers, until he got a small bungalow of his own, Jack walked on an early Sunday Morning to the banks of the river, enjoying a warming winter sun. It was a short walk, only around 8 minutes, and immediately, Jack appreciated the situation of the mill. It was the most peaceful setting, and nothing like the imaginings Jack had before he left Dundee. The factories and mills in Dundee were grey and drab, and the smog was quite dreadful. Here were bright bright days, and sunshine. Jack was yet to experience the intensity of a Bengal Summer, and the calm warm morning sat well with Jack.
The mill sat on the west of the River Hooghly in a district called Chengail. The source of the River was the Ganga (Ganges) and it ran for 260 kilometres and a depth of 117miles.
As Jack stood looking across the milky waters to the banks of the river on the other side, he thought to himself ‘Well,well. The first part of my life was set beside my hometown River Tay, and now this next part of my life is against this new River – The River Hooghly.’
Lifting his hand to shade his eyes, he saw the Ghats on the opposite side, not realising then how many trips he was to make across the river – there was no direct road to Calcutta town and the Mill had a small launch boat which was used to reach the Pujali Ghat, from where a lorry or a car would transport the Mill managers up to town.
The jetty was small and narrow and in the years to come Jack would wait under the shelter of the palm trees for the launch to arrive, drop off any passenger and then retrace it’s flow back to Pujali.
Conscious that the Home Bearer was preparing breakfast, Jack left the banks of the river and turned right to walk towards the Mill and the Compound Offices before returning home.
The offices were set in a single story brick building, a short distance from the Jetty, but what pleased Jack immensely was the garden at the side of the office block. It was simply beautiful, and would remain so over the course of Jack’s days at Ludlow.
Crouched low tending the flower beds were 2 malis (gardeners) who in due course were to become good friends to Jack, but for today, with no common language between them Jack could only give a strong smile of appreciation to them with a smile and a ‘Salam’. It would be some time until he could have a verbal conversation with them, once he had taken lessons from a Bengali Teacher he was to engage.
The rectangular patch of garden was framed with strong orange marigolds, a staple flower in India that grew well in the sun, and Jack would never tire of. In the centre was a delightful circular bed of roses. The roses were pale pink in colour, and the warmth of the sun encouraged a delicate aroma to float on the air and reach Jack. ‘If I was home I would pick some for Kate’ thought Jack.
At either side of the rose bushes were two wide rectangular beds of Dahlias. The biggest Jack had ever seen. The sight made Jack smile. They stood tall and their fluted heads were as big as a human head. Burnt orange. Strong yellow. Deep and regal magenta, and delicate creamy white, edged with pale mauve. ‘One day,’ Jack mused, ‘I will have a house with a garden, and I will grow such roses and flowers. One day, that is what I will have’.
Looking at his wrist watch, Jack really needed to get back, but turned to look at the Mill. He had never seen it from this angle, always just entering it from the side, to start his shifts.
It was a white brick structure on two levels, with a tall square tower at its furthest end.
The morning shift was already busy inside, and the paths and tracks outside the mill were quiet aside from the odd man gently cycling by, white dhoti and white shirt being a cool and comfortable attire for the climate. Jack was looking forward to his first trip up to the Tailor in Calcutta where he would order more cotton trousers and shirts, the clothes brought from Scotland were not suitable at all for this climate.
The tall chimney of the Mill constantly wheezed out its grey smoke, fed by the furnace below where the coal was fired, and the jute treated before being loaded and taken to the first floor of the mill for the primary phases of the process. Jack gazed at the smoke as it slowly floated into the sky over this village of Chengail, and thoughts turned to ‘home’. It would be at least another week until any mail would arrive with news of Kate, and the boys. He thought of the boys – Harry being 6 years, was old enough to miss his father and that worried Jack, at least young Jack was still a baby – 8 months old. Jack had written on Thursday to Harry, just a short note of assurance that Da had arrived and what a good boy Harry was to be for Ma. He had written to brother Chay, and Mary Ann, Kate’s sister. Mary Ann would make sure Kate was well supported, and Jack felt a huge wave of gratitude for this.
Jack’s thoughts were broken by an angry outburst of barking from 3 of the Mill dogs. The bigger of the three was a creamy white dog, with a single tan patch at the top of his head, between his ears. Or rather between one ear – the other appeared to have been bitten off most likely in a territory battle with another dog. Jack had never been overly fond of dogs, but in just that week, this dirty white fellow had taken a shine to Jack and was more often than not found snoozing at the foot of wherever Jack would leave his bicycle. Jack had grown partial to this one in just that first week, amused by the name the mill sweeper had given him – Kal, a shortened version of the Bengali word for black – for a white dog! However, rabies was a real problem and Jack had been urged to exercise caution with all the dogs, and told never to try to break up a fight. ‘Let them sort it out for themselves’ explained Stanley, one of Jack’s house companions, who had been in Chengail for 6 months, and was now more used to the way of life on the Mill Compound. Jack would see over the years how very real rabies was.
Jack stood for just a few moments more and closed his eyes. ‘How different the air feels here’ thought Jack. ‘So different from the air up at Grandma’s cottage in Marykirk, away from the Dundee city smog.’ Marykirk had been a haven for Jack and his four brothers, especially after Mother had died. A small cottage, set back off the road, aptly named ‘Burnside Cottage’ for it sat at the side of the burn. Jack thought of his motorcycle trips on a Saturday or a Sunday with his brother Henry, to visit Grandma. Such trips gave the brothers a break from the city life, and appreciate the mothering of Grandma. A sense of longing came over Jack, which he quickly shook off. Jack was a sensitive yet practical man, and life for now, was Calcutta, Chengail, India.
Then Jack went back home for breakfast. His first working week at Ludlow Jute Mill, Chengail, Calcutta, India.
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