Ballrooms, bagpipes and a bond: Bombay Scottish turns 175 – Times of India

MUMBAI: Almost every December in the 1870s, the grim Elephanta caves echoed a set of merry Scottish sounds. A government-lent steam boat would steer a group of young “lads and lassies” to its coolie-dotted jetty for their annual shedding of coats, hats and inhibitions.
Soon, darts would be blown through tubes for a prize of two rupees, racquets would be whipped out for a round of ‘Battledoor,’ low-hanging puns would be plucked for laughs and a three-faced Indian deity would be imagined smiling at their choruses of the ballad ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
Besides platefuls of cold fowl, ham, bacon and cake, refreshments in Bombay Scottish Orphanage’s yearly picnics included lemonade, iced water, tea and a “wee drappie” of something stronger for the adults.
This rare snapshot of those times when Scottish Presbyterian soldiers had migrated to India as part of the East India Company following the formation of the United Kingdom, is among the many forgotten history chapters of Mahim’s soon-to-be-restored Bombay Scottish School turning 175 on February 18. Not many know that this elite alma mater of many elite families began life as ‘Scottish Female Orphanage’ in 1847. Started by Scottish Christian missionaries to educate the daughters of Scottish Presbyterian soldiers and Indian navy seamen, this Byculla orphanage then merged with the 1857-born ‘Orphanage for the Sons of Presbyterians’ to form ‘Bombay Presbyterian Male and Female Orphanage’ before evolving into ‘Bombay Scottish Orphanage’ in 1863.
Skimming through handwritten roll call registers dating back to 1848 recently induced goosebumps in principal Sunita George whose mind conjures up scenes of the famous Scottish ballroom parties that must have played out in the ‘Parlour’ of the soon-to-be-restored ‘Heritage Block’ —the oldest of five buildings on the two-acre school campus. “That building is its own heritage walk,” says George, referring to the 144-year-old Gothic Revival-style, single-storeyed basalt-stone monolith that has survived everything from measles-and whooping-cough outbreaks during the World War years to Independence-driven bankruptcy to men sneaking in with guns to seek admissions.
Architect and urban conservationist Brinda Somaya’s firm will peel off the layers of paint to restore the structure that sprang up in 1878 when the orphanage bought a large plot of land along Mahim Bay. Either side of Cadell Road sprouted a curved boundary wall reminiscent of medieval Scottish castles. The orphanage’s teak-floored dormitory overlooked the Arabian Sea and there was even a sea-facing playground which the BMC later converted into a public park. “Mum Don” would become the unofficial alias of a strict “lady superintendent” at the orphanage after it became a boarding school in the early 20th century.
“Most people thought we were orphans,” recalls 84-year-old Malad-based alumnus Amelia Greene D’Souza aka Mili, who had joined the boarding school in 1946, decades before the orphanage closed and the institution shed the then-stigmatised word ‘orphanage’ from its moniker. With its dainty bathing tubs, bloomers (knickers), tunics and table manners, the vibe was Cinderella meets Snow White. G11, the number imprinted in indelible ink on her navy-blue uniform and bedsheets, is yet to wash off of her memory. “Our syllabus was Junior and Senior Cambridge. And our exam papers used to come from the UK,” recalls D’Souza, whose Anglo-Indian roots–embedded in her maiden surname ‘Greene’–helped her secure admission at the time “when you had to be either European or Anglo-Indian from the Church of England” to receive education here.
From her recollections, Mr Adam Mackay, the last Scottish principal of the school, becomes easy to assemble: wavy hair, an easily-sunburnt face, a long black principal’s gown, a leather strap that would hit deviant boys “only below the legs”, enthusiastic player of the bagpipes. The pathway of the school boasted a sprawl of Phlox flowers, thanks to the principal’s gardening-loving wife, Lady Mackay. Immaculate dress sense and a tie bound all the teachers including her Hindi teacher, Mr Pandit, who used to pull D’Souza up for her poor command over Hindi. “I could never sing Vande Mataram,” says D’Souza when steered to August 15, 1947.