Category Archives: British Raj India

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1926: Silent Valley

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In 1926, Kerala India, Gladys and Ken finish their honeymoon hiking in Silent Valley. (How silent? Can screams still be heard?)

Photo by J. Kenneth Pearce of their group in Silent Valley with Gladys on the chair.

1926, Gladys Gose Pearce, Kerala India

Dear Diary,

Today we finished up our honeymoon with a trip to Silent Valley, where few white men and fewer women have ever been. There was no road. We had to hike in with our camping necessities carried on coolie’s heads.

NOTE: In this context nearly one hundred years ago, coolie meant laborer. I‘m aware this term is considered insensitive now in many countries. Since this is an excerpt from an actual diary from 1926, to alter it would be to alter historical context. Gladys and Ken simply went by terms they were told to use back then, and in their minds the term simply meant a hired laborer.

I had been looking forward to some needed exercise on this trip. But word had gone ahead that Ken, the Chief Engineer Sahib, was bringing his Memsahib, so when had we arrived at the end of the road to meet the coolies, we found that the Indian Ranger had arranged to have a chair provided to carry me. Two long bamboo poles had been lashed to an office chair and four husky coolies stood by.

“Imagine me in a chair!” I snorted to Ken. “I don’t need or want a chair!”

I, Laurie, must interrupt here to note that Gladys was very athletic –a former swimmer and basketball player, and a physical education teacher (and yes, that was unusual, even in America, in the early 1900s.) She was also a very independent woman, so felt no need to have others carry her.) Now, back to Gladys:

Ken told me, “The coolies are hired and I’ll have to pay for them anyway. We might as well take them, and use the chair for crossing streams. The ranger thought he was being considerate of you.”

The servants and peons we left behind bid us a rather anxious farewell because they thought going into Silent Valley wasn’t such a good idea. Only Freddy our butler accompanied us. Ken’s Shikaris (gun-bearers and trackers) led the way, followed by Ken, me on foot, chair coolies and porter coolies, all strung out single file.

As we climbed the steep trail, the sun grew hotter. Although Ken reduced his usual long stride to that of the rest of the party, I was hot and tired. I glanced back at the chair but pride forbade my mentioning that I no longer felt it to be useless. Ken seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. He called a halt and said casually, “You might as well use the chair.”

Such welcome words! I took my place on the seat. The coolies lifted the chair poles to their shoulders and set off at a steady gate. It was not unalloyed pleasure, however. One coolie seemed a little shorter than the others, so I felt at any time I might slip from the chair and down the precipice at the edge of the path. A shift of coolies made no difference, for the path itself sloped to the outside bank. Thus the coolies on that side were lower than the two on the inside near the bank.

From Laurie: This made me giggle a bit, imagining Gladys hanging on for dear life, when she was supposed to be resting!

A Respite on a Veranda

Once we reached the summit, I was delighted to walk again, then as we next hiked downhill the going was easy. The place where we’d stay that night was a welcome sight: a little square one-room house, perched up on four iron-wood posts. The stairs led to a diminutive serambai veranda where we sat to gaze across the valley. As we rested, Freddy brought us a refreshing drink of fresh green coconut milk.

But then… (creepy crawly warning!)

The next day I made the acquaintance of the most detested denizen of the jungle, the leech. Looking like a small animated rubber band, it crawls like an inchworm up your legs or through the eyelets of your shoes, seeking a spot where the vein lies just under the skin. You do not feel it bite the tiny triangular hole through which is sucks your blood. You’re not aware of its presence until the leech drops off, distended with blood to the size of your little finger, while the hole left behind continues to ooze. For days after, whenever you bathe, the bleeding starts again.

The Indian Forest Guard who accompanied us through the deep jungle carried a little bag of damp salt on the end of stick. Whenever he spied a leech he touched it with the salt so it curled up and dropped, yet while one was being routed, another would crawl on, undetected.

I asked, “Are the leeches always this bad?”

“Oh, no, Madam; in the dry season the ticks come.”

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1929: New Motherhood in Ooty

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In 1929, expat Gladys sent this sweet note on motherhood from Ooty, South India to her mother in Walla Walla, Washington.

Baby in a teddy bear suit.
Photo by Brytny.com on Unsplash

Today, I (Laurie) in 2020 had the delight of Skyping with my daughter and grand-babies. In this modern age of motherhood and grandmotherhood, I can see them instantly. I can even capture video or screenshots of them while we video-chat! My oldest granddaughter, 2 1/2 years old, is so accustomed to this she is mystified when we have a regular phone call. “Grandmama? Grandmama? I can’t see you!”

But nearly a century ago, news from Gladys to her mother about her babies took ages to arrive. Letters and photos traveled via very long, slow steamships from India to America.

She and her husband Ken, a forestry expert from Seattle, were living at Ootacamund Hill Station among British officers (and occasional royalty) during the British Raj era.

Gladys, who loved to write, used sweet prose to describe her newborn:

Braemar, Ootacamund Hill Station

7 May, 1929

Dear Mother and Dad,

I’ve just tucked Pamela, now seven weeks old, in her little bed. She is a fascinating little miss. The last I saw, she had both little hands flying back and forth and she was agoo-ing for all she was worth. Not a whimper when I left and the light went off. Her little bed is alongside ours so I know what she is doing. 

She is getting so plump — little dimples in her elbows and back and one below her little mouth at one corner. The other day, three children came to see her and she cooed and “talked” to them in the cunningest way I’ve ever seen. Babies seem to speak to other children in a language we do not understand.

Pamela as yet refuses to let us know what color her hair is, and whether it is to be straight or curly. Her first hair was brown and decidedly straight. Now her little head is covered with a fine down that at times looks yellow and at other times brown with auburn lights.

She has very keen eyes. When she awakens they just shine and she reminds me of a little bird. Her mouth is an adorable rosebud and she is just finding her tongue and loves making gurgling noises, and then looks so surprised and delighted. She is now placing the direction from which sounds come, like approaching footsteps. Most gratifying of all, she knows me.

The monsoon has come early. We have heavy rain every afternoon and evening. Tonight it simply pelted down. There was some hail in it. 

There are beautiful walks out from Braemar. Now the rain has settled the dust, it is nicer than ever. Sunday home mail brought by the last ship was a tremendous success: I got 11 letters. I scarcely know where to begin answering them.

I am knitting a pull-on teddy bear suit for baby for travel. Pamela sends a kiss to each of her grandparents, and says tell you she will be coming home to you soon for home leave. I also send love and much of it.

Your daughter, Gladys

From Laurie: Isn’t it funny that teddy bear outfits are still considered cute on babies? My own grand-babies have a few sweater hoods with bear ears!

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1923: Ken in the Raj

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While Gladys worked as a physical education teacher in San Diego, she received letters from India describing strange and wonderful tales. Ken, hoping for romance, had finally gotten her attention.

Envelope postmarked from India, Taj Mahal Hotel Bombay. Addressed to Miss Gladys Gose c/o Roosevelt High School, San Diego, California, U.S.A.
Taj Mahal Hotel Bombay, 1923

In 1915, Ken and Gladys had been classmates at Walla Walla High, in Washington State. He’d grown up among various lumber mills, educated in one-room school houses in the Northwest. (One day as a child, in a small sawdust town, he’d sat on his dad’s shoulders while witnessing a gunfight. )

Gladys, a year older than Ken, paid him little notice. After high school graduation (he at only age 16, as he was quite brilliant) their friendship grew at the University of Washington in Seattle.

But it wasn’t until 1923 that Gladys began to eagerly tear open his letters. Ken, with his degree in forestry and logging engineering, had been hired by the government of India.

Ken sent this letter to Gladys from India, ten days after his arrival:

J. Kenneth Pearce, Taj Mahal Hotel, Bombay, to

Miss Gladys Gose, ℅ Roosevelt Junior High School, San Diego, California, U.S.A.

7 Oct, 1923

Dear Glad:

I like India! At least from all I’ve seen of it so far. Everything is big and airy and cool — you don’t notice the heat nearly as much as in the states, because your whole life accords with tropical conditions.

Our hotel room is as large as an ordinary cottage in the states, with a ceiling twice as high. Electric fans all around instead of windows. Plenty of good cooling “likker” (no prohibition, here!) and the crowning convenience of all, a “bearer” (a Travancore Hindu) who acts as my valet, butler and servant extraordinaire.

He takes care of all my belongings, prepares my bath, puts on my shoes, lays out my clothes, takes care of my luggage while traveling, etc., etc., all for the princely sum of 40 Rupees or about $13.00 a month. He has been an army officer’s servant for many years – through the Mespot Campaign and in France.

In addition, the Government furnishes me a “tour clerk” or private secretary, who looks after my traveling arrangements, accounts, correspondence, etc.  He is also an interpreter in Tamil, Telugu, Hindi, Malayan and English — the prevalent language in South India. 

The government also supplies me three “duffadors” or orderlies who stand outside my door, run errands, convey messages, and do everything I, the “Sahib” desires. It keeps me busy sometimes finding work for all my staff to do!

Railway travel (First Class) in India affords a luxury unapproached by anything in the U.S. short of a private car. Each compartment is the entire width of the car, with two big leather lounges instead of seats (you carry your own bedding), a private showerbath and electric fans. A servant’s compartment adjoins so someone is always at my call.

Haven’t been in the jungle yet (only got to India Sept 29th), as it takes some time to get a kit together and must first make rounds and get acquainted with all the Gov’t officials, Ministers, Secretaries, etc., etc., with whom it is well to be on good terms.

I wrote to you from France, then either Belgium or Germany, and Port Said, I believe. Hope you got the letters. I sent them ℅ your sister at Seattle, but lost the street number, so just put Ravenna Blvd.

The Red Sea lived up to its reputation as being one of the hottest places in the world, to the extent that one of the native ship’s coal stokers (a Punjabi) jumped overboard. Our voyage across the Indian Ocean was calm and quite uneventful except a fancy dress (masquerade) ball at which I portrayed an American flapper — most successful — but to the horror of the missionaries. One of them–you won’t believe this—graduated from Whitman in ’19.

 I was very glad to get your letter of 4 Sept on my arrival in India. I hope your work continues interesting and all life likewise. And remember I’m always hoping to hear from you.

Cheerio! (as we Britishers say)

Ken

Note from Laurie, (nearly 100 years later): I can’t resist giggling at the image of my grandpa, as a young man, dressing up as a flapper during that costume party aboard the steamship!

This was the beginning of a ten-year adventure for Ken; seven for Gladys when she finally sailed off to marry him. Want to be sure you read future posts with their wild and funny stories? Click my Subscribe box (top right on this page) to get new posts via email, or subscribe via WordPress Reader.

Did you miss these previous posts?

1918: A Day She Beat the Boys — In 1918, Gladys was not to be deterred from winning the race against the frat boys, so she ditched her cumbersome ladies’ “swim dress”.

A Naughty Baby Elephant — When elephant Kitty gave birth to the first baby elephant born in Nedangayam lumber camp in S. Malabar India, Kitty’s Baby became a beloved pet to all — until she outgrew her welcome.

1929: Dearest Funny Baby — Kenneth — 91 years ago — wrote this note to his wife and new child when all were confined to home. Ken and Gladys, Americans, were expats in Ooty, India and their home called Braemar.

One Less Crocodile — This 1926 jungle story is from the diary of Gladys Gose Pearce, a Seattle woman who lived with spouse Ken in India during the British Raj era.