On the day I received mail from M.A. Nasser about finding an abandoned building during a trek in the Nilgiris and finding the sign ‘Sub-Jail’ on it, I was reading Amitav Ghosh’s Flood of Fire which was about the Opium Wars of the 1850s and 60s. The coincidence struck me because that jail in Naduvattam near Coonoor was once the home of Chinese prisoners taken during the Opium Wars and transported to the Nilgiris in 1859.
It had been around that time, that the growing of tea was experimented with in the Nilgiris after coffee had become blighted. The first field scale experiment with planting tea was done with these Chinese prisoners and that field became Thiashola Estate, thia apparently being ‘tea’ in Chinese and shola , in the local dialect, ‘forest’. Thiashola, according to one record, was considered one of the most beautiful estates in the Nilgiris, comprising “undulating hills, divided by valleys through which flow streams… on the sides of the hills are beautiful woods known as ‘sholas’ and farther in the distance are the grass covered slopes of the Ootacamund plateau…” Well into the early 20th Century, tiger and leopard, bison and wild boar could be spotted in and around the estate.
The Chinese prisoners who were held in Naduvattam and in another camp in the nearby reserve forest were used in the next few years to help in the cultivation and manufacture of tea in the area. They also were used to raise the buildings of Lawrence School, Lovedale, other public works, and in the experimental cultivation of cinchona. Most of them settled here after the wars and married locally — a strain which can still be seen in the area. Many of these families later took to vegetable gardening and dairy farming.
The Naduvattam sub-jail, a brick building with a zinc sheet roof, comprises two large rooms and little else. There is talk of it being pulled down but it has also been suggested that it be converted into a heritage tea museum and tea room serving all the teas of the Nilgiris. If it is put to the latter use, it is to be hoped that the Chinese contribution to the Nilgiris will be commemorated.
Nasser, writing about his ‘find’, adds, “Some framed photos and plaques could be seen in the locked building. The caretaker told us that many people were hanged when the jail was in use around the 1860s and the bodies were washed away through an underground pipe system, specially built for the purpose.”
First woman head?
I was with a couple of old Queen Marians the other day and they were listing distinguished old alumnae. Dr. T.S. Kanaga, the first Indian woman neurosurgeon, Dr. Kalyani, the first Indian woman veterinarian, they began and then wondered “Wasn’t Janaki Ammal the first woman to head a national scientific organisation?” I thought so too, but, searching for confirmation, couldn’t find any; what I did find was that she was appointed Officer on Special Duty and In Charge of reorganising the Botanical Survey of India, then in Allahabad, and after the reorganisation served as head of the Central Botanical Laboratory, Allahabad. There are mentions that she had headed the Botanical Survey of India as its Director-General, but no dates can be found. But heading its national laboratory would, I presume, count as heading a national scientific organisation. She was also probably the first Indian woman to receive a Doctorate in Science from an American university. And that was in 1931!
After teaching for a while on her return from the U.S., Janaki Ammal joined the Sugar Breeding Station in Coimbatore and contributed significantly to developing hybrid varieties of sugarcane that yielded sweeter sugar. But being a single woman and from a caste considered backward, as well as office jealousies, tended to make life uncomfortable for her even in a world of scientists and she quit to go to London in 1940. There, working with the John Innes Horticultural Institute and then the Royal Horticultural Society and living near Kew Gardens, she made significant contributions to Botany. At the Society, one of the plants she worked on was the magnolia. To this day, in the Society’s campus at Wisley there are magnolia shrubs she planted and among them is a variety with small flowers named after her: Magnolia Kobus Janaki Ammal . I have heard of no sugarcane species named after her, but there is a herbarium with over 25,000 species in Jammu Tawi that remembers her in its name.
It was in 1951 that Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, perhaps on the suggestion of a mutual friend, the maverick scientist J.B. Haldane, invited her to return to India and re-organise the Botanical Survey of India. Which she did from 1952. After retirement, she continued her life with science in Bombay as well as in Madras till she passed away, 87 years old, in 1984.
Janaki Ammal’s interest in plants would have come from her father, Dewan Bahadur E.K. Krishnan, a sub-judge in Tellicherry (Thallassery), who kept a beautiful garden, read widely on the natural sciences, corresponded with scientists and wrote on flora and fauna. His desire for learning he passed on to his 19 children — six from his first wife and 13 from the second, Deviammal, the tenth of whom was Janaki Ammal. The Krishnan household was, it is recorded, considerably Western influenced and the boys took to cricket, virtually forming the playing eleven of the famous Tellicherry Cricket Club which sowed the seeds for the game in what is Kerala today.
Geeta Doctor, a niece, once wrote of her: “Janaki was a tall and commanding presence in her prime. She tied her lustrous long hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. In later years she took to wearing brilliant yellow silk sarees with a long loose blouse or jacket in the same colour. Her statuesque presence reminded people of a Buddhist lady monk. Like certain Buddhist orders, she took a vow of chastity, austerity and silence for herself, limiting her needs to the barest minimum. She refused to speak about her life saying, ‘My work is what will survive’.” I wonder how many remember that work in India.
The Addison history
“The rest is history, may be to you, but not to me,” writes D.K. Surya, “What is the history of Addison’s that you presume I know (Miscellany, October 5)”. Well, that firmly puts us in our place, those of us who delight in such throwaway lines like “The rest is history.” It looks, therefore, like we will have to relate “the rest”.
Addison’s, as I had stated, pioneered bicycle imports, moved into motorbikes and cars. In 1904, Addison’s became the first firm in Madras to formally represent a motor car manufacturer. The first car agencies it held were for Alldays and Humbers (both British). Around the same time, it also represented Triumph motor-cycles. The success with all these brought other manufacturers to its doors and it became the representative for Swift (also British) and other cars. That expanding automobile business necessitated a large showroom and the building on Mount Road now occupied by the Central Bank of India’s regional headquarters — and fronting Addison’s present works — was inaugurated in 1909. In its day, it was one of the most striking car showrooms in Madras.
Tom Luker of Addison’s, by now interested in transport, felt there was an opportunity in aircraft. And had his Chief Engineer, a Major Wills, build a plane, but though it took to the skies in 1912, Luker lost interest in the project, seeing little future in it. So he ensured Addison’s remained “letterpress and lithographic printers, bookbinders, manufacturing stationers, engravers, fancy goods merchants, cycle and motor agents and repairers, and general engineers.” And with this range of activities it thrived in the years between the World Wars.
In 1914, Tom Luker brought his family into the business as shareholders and constituted Addison & Co Ltd. He also slowly began to withdraw from the business; this might have had to do with the death of his wife Ellen who swooned and fell off a raised verandah and broke her skull. His sons then ran the business successfully, but for no very good reason decided to sell it in 1943. And Anantharamakrishnan of Simpson’s, Addison’s biggest rivals in the motor sector, was ready to take over.
Growing the business thereafter were new agencies: the Nuffield range from Britain — Morris, Wolseley and Riley cars and vans — and the Chrysler range from the U.S. — Plymouth, Dodge and De Soto cars and trucks. This became the focus of Addison’s and it developed large workshops across from each other on Mount Road.
When J.V.P. Rao moved to Addison’s from Simpson’s in 1948 and returned from time spent with Nuffield’s and Chrysler, he persuaded Anantharamakrishnan to let him assemble Morris Minor cars in India. The first Morris Minor rolled out from Addison’s on November 15, 1950 and there seemed a bright future ahead. That it didn’t work out that way is a story I have told in this column before (Miscellany, June 9, 2014).
Fortunately for Addison’s, the Morris Minor shutdown was offset by sister company George Oakes giving it an assembly order for the 300 Ford 199” truck packs it had taken over when Ford’s closed down its assembly operations in Bombay and George Oakes bought its assets. This gave Addison’s two years to draw up new plans — and that it did, deciding to manufacture cutting tools. Today, it is a leader in this field in India.
