CR30memoriespage

Calcutta Rescue Fund

Health, Education and Hope

Angus Kirk –

Cosipore Clinic, Jan-July 1994

By the time that I locked myself into the partitioned section of the main upstairs landing of the Hotel Hilson that passed for my room, I had been in India for less than a day and in Calcutta for less than 2 hours but was quite ready to head home. My journey from London had begun auspiciously with news of an upgrade to business class but had continued on a downward spiral thereafter: first, virtually ignored by the air stewardesses throughout the flight once my army surplus and in-part ethnic kit gave me away as the likely beneficiary of an upgrade rather than a bona fide purchaser of a business class ticket and apparently deprived of my right to a glass of complimentary champagne; secondly, managing to leave the airport terminal at Delhi airport without my luggage, to be denied re-entry to the terminal building by a humourless, Lee Enfield .303 brandishing soldier/policeman only to be subsequently allowed to re-enter and collect all that I possessed in Asia thanks to some persistent lobbying by an Indian airline pilot who had taken pity on me; thirdly, spending a largely sleepless night in an airport hotel worrying about whether the tap water with which I had cleaned my teeth would poison me; fourthly arriving in Sudder Street the following afternoon in my pre-paid taxi only to step out of the taxi and be immediately surrounded by a sea of faces and waving hands some offering their services, some begging, but all, including my pre-paid taxi driver, apparently intent on relieving me of burdensome cash; finally, having liberally distributed cash to all and sundry in an attempt to extricate myself from this maelstrom, I stumbled into the nearest hotel, agreed any price for a room and then, in a daze, climbed the stairs passing on the way various slumbering individuals and a sign advising me that there must be “no spitting on the stairs”.

I had travelled to India for the first time in 1994 for a period of 6 months as part of a post-university gap year with the aim of kicking off my sojourn as a general volunteer with CRF. Having first come across CR in the “International Directory of Voluntary Work” I was fortunate enough, shortly thereafter, to meet a number of returned volunteers at an open day in a church hall somewhere in Stockwell and sufficiently inspired by their accounts of the activities of CR to resolve to head out to Calcutta as soon as possible thereafter to get involved.

Stockwell felt a very long way away as I ventured reluctantly out of my hotel into the already hot, noisy and extremely unfamiliar street the morning after my arrival in order to seek to locate the team of CR volunteers on the ground. Along the short way I passed all manner of sights and activities: from rickshaws complete with reclining rickshaw-pullers and bells to residents washing themselves under the street pumps to evidence of once grand Raj architecture to limbless beggars to nasty smelling piles of rubbish in the road and on the crumbling pavement. Within minutes of entering the Blue Sky café, I had somehow been identified as a CR volunteer by the wonderfully welcoming “general-volunteer welcoming/clinic showing round coordinator”, Davy Dhillon from Canada, had met various other volunteers and for the first time since leaving London, experienced the first sensation of feeling at ease in my new surroundings. Several pieces of honey-toast and an unforgettable first-bus-ride-in-India later and we were in the CR clinic at Cosipore and I was being instructed in the arts of being a general volunteer in the clinic pharmacy.

I was struck most by the smoothness and efficiency with which the long lines of squatting and wonderfully patient patients were admitted, examined, treated, provided with medicines and other benefits and then released: a great tribute to the efforts of the CR doctors and staff. I recall that day, and on so many days thereafter, reflecting on how it was that mere accident of birth had decreed that I should be at the clinic that day as a well fed and healthy volunteer and that for so many of the patients, the services provided by the clinic that day and on every other day represented their, and their family’s, only real chance of health and survival.

I spent much of my 6 months in India in Calcutta and much of that time working for CR (eventually rising to the dizzy heights of “general-volunteer welcoming/clinic showing round coordinator” at Cosipore) as well as various other welfare and educational projects throughout the city in the company of some wonderful, fascinating, dedicated and hugely varied individuals and became a longish term resident at the Modern Lodge in Stuart Lane (although, as I believe was the case for all other patrons (unless I was alone in being perceived as a poor credit risk), room rent of 90 rupees was still required to be paid on a daily basis in cash to the ever-sedentary manager, Abdul). My memories of this time are too numerous to record here but are best summarized by simply saying that every day was something of an adventure which brought its own unique challenges and experiences.

In a remarkably short space of time, the initially unfamiliar streets, sights, sounds and smells of that frantic city of contrasts assumed a degree of familiarity and perhaps lost their at-first-threatening air. This is not to say that I became immune to the often unimaginable suffering that existed all around me and which never ceased to shock but rather that notwithstanding such suffering and notwithstanding the objectively appalling circumstances in which so many of Calcutta’s inhabitants were forced to live their lives, I began to become conscious of sensing the presence of an extraordinary resilience of human spirit and even joy amongst the apparent darkness.

I have been involved with CRF in the UK in various capacities since 1996 and remain filled with admiration for the now expanded work of CR in India and of the unstinting efforts of Jack, Bobby and the rest of the team in Calcutta to improve the health and quality of life of the city’s poorest.

Suzanna Williams -

Middleton Row Clinic September 1986,1987, 1988,1989,1991,1992

I walked down to the CR Middleton Row Clinic, even at 8 am it was hot the cars belched out thick exhaust fumes, the noise of their horns almost painful to the ears, I walked on the road the pavement being the home of families, a very small child sat naked on the pavement as her mother scrabbled through a pile of scraps, looking for food, a trickle of sweat ran down my back it was once again oppressively hot and humid.

Arriving at the clinic patients sat on both sides of the road some having walked or travelled for many hours, mothers carrying emaciated, malnourished babies, the old and the injured, the bandaged and un bandaged all arriving with an optimistic hope of free medical care, and support.

Dr. Jack arrived, after looking at the new patients and dealing with any emergencies he sat on his sacred biscuit tin covered with a union jack towel, 40-50 patients lined up medical cards at the ready.

On this day there was an unsettled feeling it was too hot and humid, the water pump had broken down and some patients required immediate medical care, as always it was busy.

A young smartly dressed, western man approached the clinic and spoke to one of the volunteers, who led him through the clinic to stand behind Dr Jack who was intently examining a patient.

The young man magically produced a violin and began to serenade Dr Jack, Mozart’s violin concerto.

A surreal silence swept over the entire clinic even the noise of the cars and lorries melted away, the oppressive heat lifted, as the soft music filled the air transforming the clinic, the stresses and strains evaporated peace and tranquillity prevailed.

Dr Jack turned slowly and gazed in deep wonder at this young man, the music appeared to touched the souls of the many staff and patients, some became lost in thought others smiled, and looked on in amazement, as the notes flowed like magic through the air, as time stood still.

The young man in question was a well known violinist on tour in India with an orchestra, he had heard about the work of CRF but with no medical experience he felt that he had nothing to offer, until he heard about Dr Jack’s love of classical music.!!!

Another memorable day at Middleton Row.