ANGLO-INDIAN

CHRISTMAS STORIES

BY WARREN BROWN

The Christmas Visit by Warren Brown

The whole army, with a strong advance guard of cavalry, guns and infantry,

proceeded to attack the enemy’s position, at the Nuwab’s residence.

In this small camp at Bareilly in 1840, there were a few men led by Colonel Jones of

the 60th called “Jones the Avenger”. The place was still quite full of the enemy, most

were said to be fanatics who were still hiding in the Nuwab’s house, which they

would defend and fight to the last.

It was Christmas Eve, the European, native and Anglo-Indian regiment of soldiers at

the small camp were feeling very cold and hungry, as provisions had not been

supplied from the beginning of the week. It was now Friday and Christmas was the

very next day. The fury of battle had ceased temporarily.

It was dark and cold, when out of the shroud of mist and fog a man’s voice called

out in Hindoostanee, “ Don’t shoot, I am Abdul, I have the provisions”. Then out of

the darkness stepped a middle-aged Indian man and a teenaged Indian boy, with a few

bags of letters and provisions. The Colonel ordered a soldier to take the letters and

provisions and to distribute it among the men. “Why did you bring this young boy

with you to the battlefield ?”, asked the Colonel. Abdul replied, “ Colonel Jones

Sahib, I had met this young fellow on my way here, he is from a neighbouring village.

He insisted that he should come with me to meet the soldiers, so I brought him along.”

The young boy was talking animatedly to the soldiers who had gathered around a fire.

He seemed to keep them all amused. An hour of peace passed in the blink of an eye.

Suddenly, the battle resumed, as shots rang out through the night. The enemy was on

the attack again. The soldiers rushed to their positions and manned their guns. Some

ran into the trenches around the camp and fired from their camouflaged positions. The

war resumed with renewed force. Small shiny bullets flew through the air and toppled

grown men, like lifeless puppets, soaked in dark flowing blood.

Robert, a young soldier from the frontlines was among the first to be fatally hit by

bullets in the first hour of the renewed battle. As he started to bleed profusely, the

young boy who had come along with Abdul, went quickly and knelt beside the

wounded soldier Robert and place his hand on the gaping chest wound, he next

whispered something in the soldier’s ear…….

The battle waged on, there were a lot of casualties. Three hours later the war ended,

the enemy’s position was finally captured, the guns were put to rest. The wounded

were attended to on both sides. As the injured were being taken off the field for

medical attention, Colonel Jones asked Rashid an infantryman, “Have you seen Abdul

and the young boy ?”. The soldier said “ No, Colonel Sahib, the two of them must

have left during the battle”.

The next morning was Christmas Day and the men who had survived the battle

greeted one another in joy. News arrived from base camp that the letters and

provisions would be arriving with gifts for the men, as Abdul the delivery man had

died five days ago, on his way to the battlefield.

The young soldier Robert recovered from his wounds, he kept saying that the Christ

child visited him that fateful night and had saved him from certain death. The words

that the young boy had whispered in his ear were, “ Jesus saves, your time has not yet

come to die young man”.

Were the soldiers at Bareilly in 1840 visited by the spirit of a faithful friend and the

young Jesus, on the battlefield where blood flowed, that Christmas Eve?

**************

The Musical Christmas Cards by Warren Brown

In a little colony in eastern India called Lawrenceganj there was no joy and no

happiness, as there was no music and no children. There was a strict law in the town,

which stated that no music could be played in any home, until a child was born in the

township. For the last ten years no child was born in this small settlement.

It was Christmas Eve, the streets were deserted, a sharp cold breeze had driven

everyone off the streets. Even the drunkard’s liquor would not keep him warm, in a

building, shivering beneath a staircase. The town wore a grim and deserted look on

the eve of Christmas. The gray streets and shadowy buildings cast phantoms into the

night.

The silence of the shadowy night was shattered by the harsh screeching of the

wheels of an old car, which came noisily into the town. The bright headlights were

shining and the car stopped near the Doctor’s Clinic at the end of the dark street. The

Doctor had closed his small clinic and gone to bed. The old gentleman lived with his

family directly above the clinic. The car from Mayurnagar must have been on its way

to the city nearby.

A young man stepped out of the car in a great hurry, he went to open the back door

of the car and a young pregnant lady stepped out. It seemed that she was heavily

pregnant and in labor and the young man was frantic. He kept ringing the bell of the

Doctor’s Clinic several times. The elderly Doctor opened his window and seeing the

situation below him, he along with his wife and two teenage daughters rushed to the

aid of the young couple.

It was two minutes past midnight on Christmas Eve when the young man’s wife

Radha gave birth to their first born, a healthy and happy baby boy. Raj was very

proud to be a father. The Doctor, his family, the young couple and their newborn child

went into a sound sleep, after all the excitement of the night.

The Sun rose brightly in the sky the next morning, it was Christmas Day. The town

seemed to be happier as news spread of the birth of the first child after ten years in the

small township.

That Christmas morning every citizen of Lawrenceganj found a beautiful musical

Christmas card playing “Silent night, Holy night”, placed in each of their homes

beside the Christmas trees. Each card was filled with Christmas wishes and New Year

wishes. All the Christmas cards were signed by “The Christmas Angel”.

Lawrenceganj was alive again with music, joy and the sound of a child’s laughter.

**************

Grandma’s Christmas Cookies by Warren Brown

Tracy always looked forward to Christmas, since she was a child. She loved the

Holiday season, the festivity in the air and a Calcutta Christmas with her grandparents

and family, which made the festival so very special.

Every year the pattern of preparations were the same or similar. Christmas was three

weeks away. Tracy’s parents were getting their home ready for the occasion. The

home was brightened with the Christmas tree with the colourful decorations bought

by Tracy’s Dad from the New Market shopping centre.

Two weeks before Christmas, Tracy’s mother and grandmother would cut all the

dried fruits for the Christmas cakes. They would then take the flour and ingredients to

the Bakery in McLeod street, to have the cakes baked.

During the Christmas week from the 22nd to the 24

th heaps of egg shells could be

seen scattered on the pavements outside the Bakeries, where lines of people were

gathered to have their Christmas cakes baked.

Grandma started making all her Christmas cookies at least ten days before

Christmas. Tracy loved the smell of the “rosa-cookies” and the “Kul-kuls”. Tracy

enjoyed helping her grandmother make all these tasty Christmas treats for the family

and friends, as Tracy’s two brothers helped their father make the Christmas crib.

Tracy would always carry these special memories and cherish them, even though she

would be in Canada, which was simply miles and miles away from the small city of

Calcutta, where her family still lived.

Children like Tracy never forget the sweet moments spent during Christmas and

New Year celebrations with their families, friends, wherever in the world they may

be. The years come and the years go, families reduce in size, as we lose our close

ones, in our journey through life. Our early Christmas experiences remain in our

hearts and minds forever. Every Christmas which comes along will never be as

special as the cherished memories we have of our festive season with the complete

family, of parents, grandparents, children, grand-children, cousins, friends, Uncles

and Aunts. A special wish goes out to all those who are far away from their parents,

grandparents, brothers and sisters, “Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

with your families and friends.

************

The Christmas Email by Warren Brown

It was Christmas Day when Arlene received the Christmas email message filled with

the good news of……

Arlene C. had left Calcutta 45 years ago for Australia when she was a teenager. It

was now 45 years later, she was a grandmother and she wanted to find her long lost

cousin Dulcie, who had lived in Calcutta all those years ago.

Arlene approached a known agency in Calcutta which promptly started a complete

search for a substantial fee. Her friends had warned her to be cautious when selecting

an agent to track down her cousin.

As part of the complete search, advertisements with photographs, a brief history,

contact address, phone and email were printed in several newspapers and magazines

throughout India. A lot of false information was also received which was investigated.

In addition to this promotion, special posters were designed and distributed among

clubs, associations and church groups. The “cousin-search” was also posted on

several Anglo-Indian and Indian web sites, groups, clubs on the Internet.

One year later, on Christmas Day, Arlene received an email from her cousin Dulcie,

in Canada. She had eventually found her dear cousin who was a grandmother, and a

widow with two married children.

All searches do not necessarily yield fruitful results. However, at least an effort needs

to be made. Have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year 2003 and may all

your dreams, hopes and wishes be fulfilled.

Warren Brown is a freelance writer, Life Coach, Copywriter, Administrator, Poet

and Affiliate Marketer.

info@publishsuccess.com

http://www.publishsuccess.com

http://www.positivewriting.com

http://warrenbrown.blogspot.com

Kindly email Warren Brown for permission to publish any of the original stories

written by him. Copyright@Warren Brown. London. UK. 2010