Here is an extract from my sixth letter, which is in effect my diary entry for 26 July 1979:
I’m a couple of days behind now, as you’ll realise when I explain what happened. Today we went south, visiting all sorts of interesting places there. Again Garçon couldn’t come so again we took picnic lunch and chauffeur. the thing was, the next door neighbour passed away in the early hours so we had to return early for the levayah [funeral]. Like Jews, Hindus insist on burial [sic] very quickly, usually within 24 hours. Anyway, we went to Chamarel again and also Baie du Cap by the sea where we took lunch. Then came home for the funeral (or rather, watched it from the house) and then (it was evening by then) got ready for dinner. Lynford Smith [Anglican Priest from Vacoas] came for dinner, which made for quite a pleasurable evening.
Chamarel – probably. I didn’t label photos much back then.
I’m sure my reference to “burial” is an error; the funeral will have been a cremation. But my point about rapidity was accurate.
I seemed to have got ever so used to being chauffeured around ever so quickly, once we got to Garçon and Janee’s place.
Here is an extract from my sixth letter, which is in effect my diary entry for 25 July 1979:
Today was even more interesting [than 24 July]. We went north today, but Garçon couldn’t come so we took the chauffeur. We went to see the largest sugar factory in the world; Flacq Union – and saw the town of Flacq…
Anil with sugar cane…but probably taken before the day we went to Flacq
I think that massive old sugar factory in Flacq must have closed down by now. Possibly just as well; it didn’t look very “health and safety” as I recall it. But fear not, Alteo, for example, still refines plenty of sugar in Mauritius 40 years later.
I’m pretty sure Marraz was with us that day and I’m pretty sure it was him who made some very gut-wrenching remarks about the only possible method for a sugar factory worker to take a piss if he got caught short while up on that enormous factory rigging. “why do you think demerara sugar looks the way it does?”, said Marraz. I’ve never been able to look at demerara again without thinking of that factory and that remark.
…and went to Belmar Plage [sic] where we bathed and had picnic lunch. Then we went to Pamplemousses Gardens (THE BOTANICAL GARDENS) for a brief visit to “sus the place out”. We intend to spend a full-half day or whole day there photographing and observing. We returned [to Rose Hill], prepared for dinner and then went to Roy’s for dinner. (Roy is Jan Sooknah’s wife’s brother – GET IT???) where we had a very pleasant evening.
Anil bathing, possibly Belle Mare. Not labelled.
“Belmar Plage” must refer to Belle Mare Plage, which is now (40 years later) a fancy-shmancy resort, like so much of Mauritius now. It was just a nice beach back then.
Another topic from the Overcrowded Barracoon came up that day, which affected me deeply and triggered an element of political alertness in me that remains to this day.
As we drove around the coast along the Flacq peninsula, we drove near Le Saint Géran.
“See that hotel over there”, said Marraz to me.
“That hotel is run by a South African Company on an apartheid basis. You could walk through the front door and be served. We could only enter through the back door and could only serve people like you.”
“But that’s outrageous”, I said.
“That’s what apartheid is”, said Marraz, “and our lousy government is letting the South African’s treat our country as an offshoot of their corrupt South African regime.”
That conversation really brought home to me what apartheid was. Before then, I’d never really given it a great deal of thought before. It hadn’t really touched my life, I suppose. The little I knew of it, I realised it was bad. Also that it was stopping a darned good cricket team from playing international cricket. But on my return from Mauritius, I found myself quite avidly anti-apartheid. I switched away from Barclays Bank as soon as I was able and abstained from South African fruit and wine until apartheid was over.
Here is an extract from my sixth letter, which is in effect my diary entry for 24 July 1979:
We went out with Garçon in the car quite early and went south. We visited Gris Gris and Telfair Gardens and then we met Janee (Garçon‘s wife) from the hospital nearby (she is a doctor)…
The rocks at Gris-Gris
Then we all went to Grand Bassin and visited Janee’s sister. Then we all went home [Garçon and Janee’s house in Rose Hill], had dinner here and then Anil and I went out for a walk and met some Creoles and had a good time.
Ganga Talao – commonly known as Grand Bassin
Mercifully there is no photographic evidence of me and Anil having a good time with the Creoles we met. I’m going to guess that it involved drinking rum and I suspect the use of some “whacky backy”in less legal circumstances than our first foray into such herbal remedies, at a wedding a few days earlier.
Writing some 40 years later, in July 2019, I believe the politically correct term for “Creoles” is “Mauritians of African Origin”.
Here is an extract from my fifth letter, which is in effect my diary entry for 23 July 1979:
Well here’s what happened yesterday. We completed the move to Garçon‘s house in the morning, had lunch at Garçon’s (after a little shopping in Rose Hill where Anil bought a Chinese trinket box). Then we went in the afternoon for a drive around some of the sites of Rose Hill. We went to Balfour Garden, where there is a beautiful view of waterfalls and they have giant tortoises.
Unlabelled – guessing Balfour Garden
We also went to the Divine Life Society building (a place for weirdos I think).
We then drove to Marraz’s to collect the last of the stuff and then drove to Narrain’s, where we stayed, went for a walk, and had dinner. We then went home and I went to bed quite early and slept well. Today we are seeing some more interesting sites, so tune in to tomorrow’s exciting episode of: – Anyway, see you soon, lots of love, hope all is well Ian H (PS all mail still goes to the same place)
Here is an extract from my fifth letter, which is in effect my diary entry for 22 July 1979:
Dear parents,
Just thought I’d let you know that all is okay and tell you what happened yesterday. Garçon came in the morning and collected us, along with all our luggage except for one night necessities, as we stayed at Marraz’s last night, to move to Garçon’s this morning.
We went to his house for lunch and then went on to the races. Garçon is an expert, wagers large amounts (and wins large amounts). We youngsters just took his tips for the low stake game, so we made pence rather than pounds (although Anil made about 5 pounds as he bet a large amount and won on the last race).
Champ de Mars Racecourse
Marvellous when the horses get into the final straight. Everyone gets really excited and jumps up and down.
We then went on to the home of Buddu, the husband of Bill’s cousin. Buddu own cinemas and is so rich it’s coming out of his ears. Their house is like your description of Stella’s in Bournemouth – like an antique shop. We had supper there and returned. We were so tired, we both lay down for a moment (at 9:45) and I didn’t wake up until 12:45, when I got into my pyjamas, got into bed and slept like a log.
Here is an extract from my fourth letter, which is in effect my diary entry for 21 July 1979:
I wrote that first paragraph this morning (1st thing) and now I’m speaking this evening (last thing).
We went out this morning. We went to Lynford’s first and then to the post office and to the shops. Then we had lunch. This afternoon we went for a ride with Jan down to the south coast (Gris-Gris) – where we will be staying (week three I think). On our return we got ready to go out this evening.
Gris-Gris
We went to a wedding ceremony and feast (the ceremony of the night before the wedding). The feast we ate with our fingers off coconut leaf plates. It was a superb experience to see this and we will be going to another wedding next week, and they will let me take photographs there. In the late evening Anil and I went for a walk and we saw a lorry full of workers from the sugar cane fields making carnival, which was great fun.
In the event, we never did get to the wedding ceremony where photographs were to be allowed. Perhaps the neighbour’s untimely death and funeral put paid to that idea.
But I do have two strong anecdotal memories for events during the wedding ceremony we did attend on this day.
I was really struggling with the business of eating with my fingers. There is a particular technique to it (I’m better at it now) but at that time it was all new to cack-handed me. An old lady shrieked out a few words in Mauritian Creole and everyone within earshot burst out laughing. Anil told me afterwards that the old biddy had basically said, “does no-one have a spoon for that unfortunate English boy?”.
Secondly, I recall trying cannabis for the first time at that wedding. I had been forewarned about this opportunity and in fact tried smoking cigarettes (or little cigarillo things) with Anil on the beach two or three days before the wedding (and subsequently) by way of preparation. It seems that Mauritius had relatively tolerant laws with regard to marijuana in those days, such that, as I understood it, although it was illegal to buy, sell or smoke the drug on the street, it was legal to grow it for certain legitimate purposes, one of which was for use in wedding ceremonies. Lots of people were having a toke at the wedding. I recall asking Dat if it really was legal to be doing what we were doing, to which he replied, “I think so, but why don’t you ask that fellow over there with the big spiff? He’s the Chief of Police”.
For some reason, I omitted these smoking and cannabis-related details from the letters to my folks.
I’ll just put you in the picture a little as the general side of life here. The poverty we see around us is quite perturbing, although I find myself acting very much like the better off native people here; trying not to see the poverty. It is very easy to look at this island “through rose coloured spectacles”. In many ways, however, it is quite accurate to call it a Paradise Island. The sheer beauty Flic-en-Flac, Gris-Gris, Chamarel et cetera quite takes your breath away.
The feature that surprises me a little about the island is how very clean it is. It is quite compatible with the continent and even England these days.
One thing that surprises me is: (1) how few Jews there are, and (2) how little the educated Mauritians I’m staying with know about Judaism; their knowledge was minimal, very unflattering and wrong, and we’ve had many interesting discussions on religion with which I’ve open their eyes, I hope.
Anyway see you at four-and-a-bit weeks, please write, love Ian
Here is an extract from my fourth letter, which is in effect my diary entry for 20 July 1979:
Dear folks,
Here’s news of yesterday. In the morning we went to Lynford Smiths. At first he was out, so we waited for him. The maid (who doesn’t speak English) answered the phone and called me to take a message. I found out during the course of the conversation that I was speaking to Trevor Huddleston (the Bish O’Maurish).
Actually Trevor Huddleston was the Archbishop of the Indian Ocean, but what did I know of Archbishops back then?
More important than the mundane conversation I had with that great anti-apartheid campaigner that day, was the more general political awakening I had, while I was in Mauritius for those five weeks, to the evils of such racism. More on that anon.
Anyway, then we went to Flic-en-Flac (the seaside) where we swam. Marraz and I snorkelled and we had lunch. Then we came home and got ready for dinner; we were going to Jan’s, so we dressed smartly. We had a wonderful discussion and meal there.
