Nostalgia
Recalling the Hatch-Barnwells
Flashback ! One sunny, summer afternoon in Dhaka of 1961. Our father had just picked us up, me and my sister, after school in a Willys jeep, probably a World War II vintage vehicle. He knew that his children cherished a little ride around the enthralling beauty of Ramna Park before heading for home. We were leisurely cruising down Minto Road savouring the verdant foliage, the lush greenery, interspersed by colonial era red-brick bungalows. It was a picturesque sight to behold. Scenic, serene and somewhat languid. Hardly much traffic in those days. Dhaka was still a laid-back provincial capital then. Suddenly, father drew our attention to a tall, lanky figure ahead of us, slowly riding on a bicycle. He was dressed in all white, as gentlemen were wont to in those days. He was wearing a loose half-shirt which was flapping in the breeze, baggy half-pants and sporting a solar-topee (pith helmet), a relic of the British Raj. "That's Mr. Stephen Hatch-Barnwell, I told you about", father said. He motioned the driver to draw abreast of the cyclist and greeted him respectfully. Both our jeep and the cyclist slowed down and stopped by the roadside. As my father got down, the tall Englishman dismounted from his cycle, which I later learnt was his hallmark. They shook hands, spoke for a while, after which father called us out. We froze. Father was tall, but this man seemed to loom large over him. To add to our discomfiture, he was a saheb, an Englishman. We were just children then. It was rather intimidating. After some initial hesitation we gingerly alighted from the jeep and were introduced. The usual must have transpired --- the basic exchange of pleasantries. While my memory still serves me 48 years on, a few vivid details are etched in the 'labyrinth' of my mind. As the towering Englishman stretched out his arm to shake my hand, it appeared to be the longest limb I had ever seen. And when he clasped my little hand in his, it simply disappeared. It frightened me. Great was my relief when he finally let go. He seemed to smile a lot, winked at us children, and exuded a natural warmth. There was none of the proverbial stuffiness about him, usually associated with former Raj officials or Englishmen. From all available accounts Stephen was an affable, soft spoken, humorous an easy-going person. Awed by his height, I remember gaping up at him. And, that was that. On our way home we were excited and chirpy. We must have bothered our father with incessant queries about Hatch-Barnwell. He seemed exasperated. Much later, I learnt more about Stephen from others and my father, who had first met him in Calcutta in 1944, when he and a few close friends, bright young graduates of Dhaka University, joined the Civil Supplies during the war period. Stephen Benedict Hatch-Barnwell of the once coveted Indian Civil Service (ICS) opted to serve in Pakistan after the partition of 1947, and was absorbed in the erstwhile Civil Service of Pakistan (CSP). He served for long with the provincial government in East Pakistan, retired in 1962 and went back home to England. Fast-forward! Dhaka, 2001. I came to know from the print media that late Stephen Hatch-Barnwell's son Philip and his family were visiting Dhaka on a nostalgic trip. I was intrigued. I managed to get in touch with Philip Hatch-Barnwell, who was staying with his family at the Bangladesh Institute of Administrative Management (BIAM) facility. We spoke for a while over the phone and hit it off rather well. Philip was in Dhaka to relive his dad's last service years spent here. He too, had spent part of his early life in Dhaka and wanted his family to share in the experience. Philip had already been to the Dhaka Club which his dad joined as a member in 1936. He too, had fond memories of the Club. I offered to help him as best as I could, hoping to get him in touch with some elderly civil servants who had either known his dad or worked with him. My father, who was unwell, warmly welcomed Philip to the house and reminisced about his dad, Stephen Hatch-Barnwell, while Philip always the attentive listener, would ask an occasional question and take notes. Philip had converted to Islam after his marriage to Tatik, an Indonesian muslim lady. They have three children Charles, Helen and Oliver. We spent some memorable time with Philip and his wonderful family. The Hatch-Barnwell's in Dhaka, 2001 left to right : Helen, Charles, Tatik, Philip and Oliver Before he left, Philip told me of his dad's unpublished manuscript which was lying with him in London. And that he was eagerly looking for a suitable publisher. I got excited about this. As one belonging to a generation of the 'post- midnight's children', that is, those of us born in the early 1950s, I grew up reading and loving books. Apart from the must read classics, I had developed a penchant for the biography, autobiography or memoirs. I immediately contacted Mr. Mohiuddin Ahmed of University Press Limited (UPL) with the news. He said he would be very interested to look into it. Some years back, UPL had published the memoir of an Englishman, P.E.S. Finney, OBE, entitled, Just my Luck: memoirs of a Police Officer of the Raj, which was well received here. Chris Finney, son of P.E.S. Finney, then a technical consultant with the Government of Bangladesh in Dhaka, was instrumental in publishing his father's book. Chris lived in Gulshan and was known to me. Before he left for home, he was gracious enough to give me some of his father's photographs taken during his service days with the British Raj. I requested Philip Hatch-Barnwell to send me his dad's manuscript once he got back to London. He kept his promise. Soon a package arrived with it. Even a cursory read of the unedited manuscript convinced me that it was excellent material. I promptly passed it on to UPL. I also received some rivetting photographs sent by Philip from his dad's album. Having carefully shortlisted the best ones for the forthcoming book, the photo-restoration and writing of the appropriate photo-captions were painstakingly completed with Philip's help. Well, it now seems that the collective endeavour has finally paid off. Regardless of inordinate delays, the book The Last Guardian memoirs of Stephen Benedict Hatch-Barnwell is due for publication by UPL, having been edited by the deft hands of Mr. Khalid Shams, himself a former civil servant. This book, I am confident, will be a delightful read not only for those old timers who will be able to relate to it, but would also be of interest to the younger generation. The wealth of information in the book including the felicity of expression, literary flair, anecdotes, wit and humour should attract the attention of the civil servant, history buff, academician, writer and the sundry reader. Having said the above in appreciation, a word of polite caution for the prospective readership. The book should be read in the context of the times. Otherwise, one can lose the perspective. It should be borne in mind that while Stephen Hatch-Barnwell may well have been a progressive person, compared to most of his contemporaries (Britons) who served the British Raj, he was still very much a byproduct of the same colonial regime. As such, some of his candid observations were perhaps not totally free from inherent prejudice, that is, the mindset imbibed from the ethos of the Raj. All in all, the book is a good read. And, I must confess that I feel gratified for the privilege of having been associated with this publication. Meanwhile, do keep an eye out for the forthcoming publication of The Last Guardian by UPL. Remember to get your copy and enjoy reading it!
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