Two formidable women

September 20, 2015 08:27 pm | Updated September 24, 2015 05:32 pm IST

21mpmuthiah

21mpmuthiah

Two women I’ve been writing about in recent columns, M. Hannan-Angelo (Miscellany, August 17 and 31) and Subur Parthasarathi (Miscellany, September 7) have in the last few weeks brought me a heap of mail, every correspondent without exception indicating they were “formidable women”.

The nurse who strayed

Relating a bit of Hannan-Angelo’s history — apart from the pioneering role she played in contesting a Legislative Assembly seat and winning Royapuram in three Municipal elections — reader E. Robert Smith-Ansari recalls her significant contribution initially to what was once active as The Nurses’ Association of Madras — Bureau, Hostel Club.

With Poonamallee High Road having several excellent private nursing homes in those days as well as the homes of leading doctors, it used to be known as the ‘Harley Street of Madras’. These nursing homes and doctors had a wealthy clientele who wanted round-the-clock attention by qualified nurses. To meet this need in a more business-like manner, Hannan-Angelo, a Madras Medical College-trained nurse and midwife, and three sisters, Eva Lewis, a Lewis who became a Dias, and Nathalie Lewis, founded the Nurses’ Bureau in 1925 in the premises of the White Memorial Hall of the Anglo-Indian Association of Southern India (on whose site the CMDA headquarters now is). Soon, other qualified nurses joined the Bureau and they elected Hannan-Angelo as Secretary and agreed to pay her an honorarium to run the organisation. And run it she did most efficiently, every member over the years agreed. Each member paid the Bureau a percentage of the fee for her 12-hour shift.

When Dr. Muthulakshmi Reddy moved to Adyar from her home at 7 Rundall’s Road, Vepery, in 1935 she sold her large house and its 22-ground property to the Bureau for just Rs. 45,000. Her equation with Hannan-Angelo had much to do with this. And then Hannan-Angelo took the next step; as many of the nurses had European patients and Zamindari types, she got the nurses to reach out to them in a collection drive. This enabled renovation and refurbishment of the building and creation of 11 rooms with en suite bathrooms and excellent furnishings to make them truly homes away from home. A widowed midwife, Mrs. Hopkins, was put in charge of the office. A management committee comprising two doctors as President and Vice President (in name only) and seven nurses and Hannan-Angelo as Secretary (and all-in-all) ran the establishment.

Then came World War II and the inflow of British and American soldiers. The Association before long began to host them for Tea or a meal in its beautifully furnished sitting and dining rooms. One thing led to another in the age of the gramophone and soon so many were dancing that Hannan-Angelo decided to build a dance hall at the rear of the premises. And she followed it up with a huge open air one in front of the building (since the 1970s, site of a Jain temple). It wasn’t long before the daily dances led to less savoury activities that Hannan-Angelo turned a blind eye to, but others didn’t and around 1945 she was ousted from office and the organisation became “one of the casualties of the Second World War,” as Smith-Ansari’s mother used to tell him.

Today, the hostel that had been emptied by Hannan-Angelo during the War Years to serve as a ‘hotel’ is in a decrepit condition, but is home to two retired nurses. The dance hall at the rear hosts prayer meetings every Tuesday. And even the address has changed; it is now 59 EVK Sampath Road, when it could easily have been Hannan-Angelo Road if she had done things differently. Unfortunately, it would appear, she took caring for “the social interest” of the members of the Association, one of its aims (Miscellany, September 14), rather too far.

Cecilia Pillai writes to tell me that her mother and her family, Royapuram residents, knew Hannan-Angelo, They appear to have remembered a stern person who was always dressed in a long white dress. She was regularly called to homes in the area to deliver babies. But, says my correspondent, there was another side to her that was talked about in the area; she used to lend money against jewellery.

No doubt, the dual roles Hannan-Angelo played in life led to her being forgotten in death by most people.

The feisty English Professor

Quite a terror appears to be the fond recollection of couple of her old students who have responded to the recent references to Subur Parthasarathi in this column. She was the first woman to head Presidency College’s famed English Department, writes Dr. Beatrix D’Souza, who was the second to do so. GP, as she appears to have been known at Presidency when she was there in the second half of the 1950s, is remembered by Dr. D’Souza as having been “short, fair and plump, always in chiffon sarees and walking briskly on small heels.” But she could be quite intimidating.

Once, a Father Robinson from Ceylon, who was in her class, overtook her on the Marina on his motorbike as she drove sedately along in her small Austin. The future Bishop was called into her room later and given a lecture on courteous behaviour.

On another occasion, as she drove through the main gates of the College during a student protest, she was brought to a stop by students lying in front of her car. She switched off her engine and sat silently in the car till the students dispersed eventually.

And then there was the time when a student raced passed her up the magnificent central stairs of Presidency, recalls another correspondent, only to be summoned back and asked to walk up the stairs “like a gentleman”.

This prickly attitude of hers had GP being referred to as ‘Gun Powder’ behind her back, writes Moosa Raza, who later joined the IAS. Everyone who knew her at the time agrees she had a running feud with Prof. Ramasamy, the Additional Professor of English, an orthodox Brahmin and a Shakespearean. Moosa Raza also recounts that in 1956 when he had been persuaded to stand for College Union President, he saw another side of her. She called him into her room and advised, “Moosa, you are a first class student. In the history of the College, no College Union President has got a First Class. Consider that.” I withdrew from the contest, adds Moosa Raza. She was a great professor, he — but so was Prof Ramasamy, even if he was not an Oxonian.

*****

The victor at Seringapatam

The other evening I was rather surprised to hear a quizmaster give as correct the answer: The Duke of Wellington defeated Tippu Sultan. In the first instance, the Duke of Wellington was nowhere around during the Fourth Mysore War and if it was being thought that Col. Arthur Wellesley, who later became the Duke of Wellington, was the victor, that was wrong too; he was safely in the reserve. No doubt having been the brother of Lord Mornington, the Governor General, who was overseeing the campaign.

The Commander of the victorious army was Lt. Gen. George Harris, Commander of the forces at Fort St. George. He led an army of 20,000 men, including Col. Wellesley’s regiment, which was joined by 10,000 men from the Nizam of Hyderabad’s army and 6,000 men from the Bombay Army. The final assault on Seringapatam was made by Major General David Baird, who had nearly 20 years earlier been a prisoner in that fort. Carrying the fort by storm on May 4, 1799, Baird on the next day delivered, on orders, the fort to Col. Wellesley who thereafter was made the governor of the captured territory by his brother.

It was in September 1780 that Col. James Baillie’s field force of 4,500, sent out to relieve Arcot, which was being besieged by Haider Ali, was routed at Polilore by Haider’s army and virtually slaughtered. Baillie was taken in chains to the dungeons in Seringapatam. Amongst the other European officers taken with him was David Baird. He had the last word.

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