The Other Railway Children Chapter 8 (extracts) "Exotic train journeys and some strange VIPs"

It was in 1999, I think, that I experienced one of my more exotic Indian rail journeys. I had been booked on a train to Anantapur, further south in Andhra Pradesh, and someone had assumed that I’d rather go via a through slow train all the way that did not require a change rather than on two expresses with a four hour wait at Guntakal, a large railway junction. This meant a hair-raising taxi trip in the dark on the 25 miles of dangerous roads to Guntur before joining the slow passenger train which was booked to call at all stations and take 14 hours. At Guntur a porter took my case onto his head and resolutely refused to believe that I was really travelling on this particular train! There was no such thing as a sleeping car, second or third or any class, and I found a corner seat on the wooden bench in a compartment whose windows were open to the balmy air with only three bars across to prevent large objects entering or leaving the train.

Once the train set itself in motion, I found I was the object of much friendly curiosity, being visited by a large percentage of the train’s passengers come to marvel at this white man travelling on an all stations slow train. I can’t remember how many times I was asked if I knew someone’s relative in Bradford or Southall! About halfway as dawn was breaking we spent nearly 45 minutes manoeuvring an extra coach full of Indian army soldiers onto the front of the train and then, later as the sun was really hotting up, stood for two hours in the baking heat outside Guntakal station, where, I was reliably informed, they were still changing the gauge from metre to Indian Railway’s standard ‘broad’ gauge to allow us into the platform! We eventually arrived at my destination some three hours late after a 17 hour journey to be met by a very patient host. Apparently meeting late trains was just a normal occupational hazard for our partner project’s staff!

Gordon Pettitt, former General Manager of BR (Southern Region) and Managing Director of the Provincial Services Sector, had supported Railway Children from its inception, became Deputy Chairman and accompanied me on another hectic visit to India late in 1999. I think he was a little startled by how much I was trying to squeeze into the torrid days and suggested we took the Sunday off and do some sightseeing. I had to admit that I’d been so busy with projects on the stations or in the slums that I’d seen little of the fantastic sights India has to offer. We went to the tourist railway booking office at Delhi and despite my scepticism, managed to obtain two tickets for us to visit Agra for the following day, out on the Shatabdi Express and returning on the Taj Express.

We duly allowed ourselves to be chaperoned by a taxi driver for the day for the not unreasonable sum of 1,300 rupees - about £15 - and got to see the Moghul Emperor Akbar’s deserted vast palace complex at Fatehpur Sikri as well as the Taj Mahal itself. I actually found the vista of the Taj Mahal seen from the opposite side of the river in the evening pink mist a more beautiful and mysterious sight than the traditional view. However, we missed out on the Agra Fort as our taxi driver - clearly in cahoots with one of the very many tourist traps - insisted on taking us to a carpet and marble gift shop instead. When we arrived back at Agra station, we found there had been a major power failure and all the station lights and signalling were affected. We struggled in the darkness to discover which was our train as all were running around four hours late and most only had Hindi script destination boards. Eventually we found our seats on the right train and got back to Delhi at midnight in one piece.

I had another palace visit on my next visit, although this time in the line of duty. I’d been introduced to the Chief of Staff of an Indian Maharajah in a Delhi club by one of the British ex-pats working there who took an interest in my activities and had introduced me to a small NGO run by a former street boy in Delhi Cantt station (the former British army cantonment). On my way to Ahmedabad from Delhi I was persuaded to alight at Jaipur and invited to tour the Maharajah’s palace and then brief the Maharajah himself on street children work, as there was to be a Millennium banquet there and someone had suggested that any profits from the event should go to a street children charity.

After my tour of the palace I was introduced to the Maharajah, a gentle elderly man of some 70 years who had experienced a slight stroke recently, but his first question threw me - he wanted to know what a ‘street child’ was! I was amazed that such an apparently kindly man did not know and I felt like taking him to his palace gates and saying ‘Look! There!” pointing to the myriad scruffy children playing and scavenging outside. Then I realised that he’d been insulated from such sights for years - he only left the palace in a darkened limousine en route to his 5 star hotel or golf club and was genuinely unaware of the ragged children within a stone’s throw of his palace. We discussed the plight of these children and I went in search of a local Jaipur NGO working for street children in the city, but in the event the costs of the spectacular banquet were very high and I’m not sure if any money eventually went to the charity.

I had another experience of the attitude of some high profile Indian celebrities on the same visit - but this time in my view with much less excuse. I’d been invited to give a paper at a Child Rights Conference organised by Calcutta University at the Science Park conference centre - I think Edith Wilkins had suggested me. That went well enough and aroused some interest from the 500+ conference delegates and simultaneously, apparently, there was a youth conference going on. At the last plenary session three young girls - I would guess 14-15 year olds - were invited to present their conclusions from the youth conference which they did very eloquently before a panel of three academics chaired by a male TV personality (who reminds me now very much of the quizmaster in the film ‘Slumdog Millionaire’). After polite and supportive comments by the academics, the celebrity Chairman weighed in with a scathing attack on the presence of these girls and their presentation implying patronisingly that such inexperienced youth (and girls at that!) had nothing of value to give to an august adult conference and the time spent listening to them was wasted. One of the girls stood up for herself and gave back as good as she got. The conference delegates were appalled at the behaviour of the Chairman and gave the girls a standing ovation.

Afterwards I was interviewed by these three pupils of St Xavier’s school in Calcutta as they wanted to put something about the Railway Children in the conference magazine they were writing and I congratulated them and assured them that the conference totally rejected the reaction of the panel Chairman and appreciated what they had said. In fact I was contacted by e-mail by one of the three girls ten years later - she was now doing work with vulnerable children in the voluntary sector, was a journalist and clearly highly qualified and motivated.