Freda Bedi Cont'd (#2)

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The Ghost Club
by Wikipedia
Accessed: 3/14/20

Industry: Paranormal investigation and research
Founded: 1862, London
Headquarters: London, SW19
Key people:
Alan Murdie, Chair
Sarah Darnell, General Secretary
Derek Green, Investigations Officer
Kevin Sebastianpillai, Events Officer
Andreas Charalambous, Media Officer
Mark Ottowell, Journal Editor
James Tacchi, Science & Technical Officer
Paul Foulsham, Ghost Club Webmaster
Gianna De Salvo, Membership Secretary
Revenue: Non-profit

The Ghost Club is a paranormal investigation and research organization, founded in London in 1862.[1] It is widely believed to be the oldest such organization in the world.[1] Since 1862 it has primarily investigated ghosts and hauntings.


The club has its roots in Cambridge in 1855, where fellows at Trinity College began to discuss ghosts and psychic phenomena. Launched officially in London in 1862, it counted Charles Dickens and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle among its members.[2] One of the club's earliest investigations was of the Davenport brothers and their "spirit cabinet" hoax, the club challenging the Davenports' claim of contacting the dead.

The group continued to undertake practical investigations of spiritualist phenomena, a topic then in vogue, meeting to discuss ghostly subjects.
The Ghost Club dissolved in the 1870s following the death of Dickens.

1882 revitalisation

The club was revived on All Saints Day 1882 by the medium Stainton Moses and Alaric Alfred Watts.[2] initially claiming to be the original founders, without acknowledging its origins.[3] In 1882, the Society for Psychical Research (SPR), with whom there was an initial overlap, was founded at a similar time.[2][4]

While the SPR was a body devoted to scientific study, the Ghost Club remained a selective and secretive organization of convinced believers for whom psychic phenomena were an established fact.[2] Stainton Moses resigned from the vice presidency of the SPR in 1886 and thereafter devoted himself to the Ghost Club. Membership was small (82 members over 54 years) and women were not allowed but during this period it attracted some of the most original and controversial minds in psychical research. These included Sir William Crookes[5] Sir Oliver Lodge, Nandor Fodor and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

The archives of the Club reveal that the names of members, both living and dead, were solemnly recited each November 2. Each individual, living or dead, was recognized a member of the Club. On more than one occasion deceased members were believed to have made their presence felt.

Also involved were the poet W. B. Yeats (joined 1911) and Frederick Bligh Bond (joined 1925), who became infamous with his investigations into spiritualism at Glastonbury. Bligh Bond later left the country and became active in the American Society for Psychical Research. He was ordained into the Old Catholic Church and rejoined the Ghost Club on his return to Britain in 1935.

The Principal of Jesus College, Cambridge, Arthur Grey fictionalized the Ghost Club in 1919 as "The Everlasting Club"[6] in a ghost story that many still believe to be true.[7][8]

Early 20th century

The 20th century's move from séance room investigation to laboratory-based research meant the Ghost Club fell out of touch with contemporary psychic research. Harry Price, famous for his investigation into Borley Rectory, joined as a member in 1927 as did psychologist Nandor Fodor who represented the changing approach to psychical research taking place.[9] With attendance falling, the club closed in 1936 after 485 meetings. The Ghost Club records were deposited in the British Museum under the proviso that they would remain closed until 1962 out of respect for confidentiality.[2]

Within 18 months, Price relaunched the Ghost Club as a society dining event where psychic researchers and mediums delivered after-dinner talks. Price decided to admit women to the club, also specifying that it was not a spiritualist church or association but a group of skeptics that gathered to discuss paranormal topics. Members in this period included C. E. M. Joad, Sir Julian Huxley, Algernon Blackwood, Sir Osbert Sitwell and Lord Amwell.

Following Price's death in 1948, the club was again relaunched by members of the committee, Philip Paul and Peter Underwood. From 1962 Underwood served as President; many accounts of club activities are found in his books.

In the early 1960s two young men, Theodore Cary and Patrick Hewitt, brought the club back to national prominence, when they established a chapter in Harrison Township, Michigan.

Tom Perrott joined the club in 1967 and served as Chairman from 1971 to 1993.

In 1993, the club underwent a period of internal disruption, during which Underwood left to become Life President of another society he had revived called "The Ghost Club Society".[10]

The Ghost Club later expanded its remit to include the study of UFOs, dowsing, cryptozoology and similar topics.

Recent history

In 1998, Perrott resigned as chairman (although he remained active in club affairs), and barrister Alan Murdie was elected as his successor. Murdie has written a number of ghost books including Haunted Brighton[11] and regularly writes for Fortean Times.[12] In 2005 he was succeeded by Kathy Gearing, the club's first female chairperson. Gearing announced her resignation in the club's Summer 2009 newsletter.[13]

The club continues to meet monthly at the Victory Services Club near Marble Arch, in London. Several investigations are performed in England every year. In recent times, investigations have been organised in Scotland by the club's Scottish Area Investigation Coordinator.

Notable members

• Charles Dickens
• Charles Babbage
• Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
• Algernon Blackwood, CBE
• Arthur Machen
• Sir William Crookes
• Air Chief Marshal Lord Dowding
• Arthur Koestler
• C. E. M. Joad
• Donald Campbell
• Sir Julian Huxley
• Sir Osbert Sitwell
• W. B. Yeats
• Siegfried Sassoon
• Dennis Wheatley
• Peter Cushing
• Peter Underwood
• Maurice Grosse, investigator of the Enfield Poltergeist
• Colonel John Blashford-Snell, OBE
• Reverend Lionel Fanthorpe
• Lynn Picknett
• Colin Wilson
• Geoff Holder
• Ciarán O'Keeffe

Notable investigations

• Borley Church
• Chingle Hall
• The Queen's House
• RAF Cosford Aerospace Museum
• Glamis Castle
• Winchester Theatre
• The Ancient Ram Inn in Wotton-under-Edge[14]
• Woodchester Mansion
• Balgonie Castle,[15]
• Ham House[16]
• New Lanark[17][18]
• Coalhouse Fort[19][20]
• Glasgow Royal Concert Hall[21]
• Alloa Tower[22][23]
• Scotland Street School Museum[24][25]
• Michelham Priory[26]
• Culross Palace[27]
• Clerkenwell House of Detention[28]


The club has been mentioned in numerous books, the most notable being No Common Task (1983),[29] This Haunted Isle (1984),[30] The Ghosthunters Almanac (1993)[31] and Nights in Haunted Houses (1994),[32] all by Peter Underwood, Some Unseen Power (1985) by Philip Paul,[33] The Encyclopedia of Ghosts and Spirits (1992) by Rosemary Ellen Guiley,[34] Will Storr Versus the Supernatural (2006) by Will Storr,[35] The Guide to Mysterious Glasgow (2009) by Geoff Holder,[36] Ghost Hunting: a Survivor's Guide (2010) by John Fraser[37] and A Brief Guide to Ghost Hunting (2013) by Dr Leo Ruickbie.[38]


1. Peter Underwood (1978) "Dictionary of the Supernatural", Harrap Ltd., London, ISBN 0-245-52784-2, Page 144
2. William Hodson Brock (2008). William Crookes (1832-1919) and the commercialization of science. Science, technology, and culture, 1700-1945. Ashgate Publishing. p. 440. ISBN 0-7546-6322-1.
3. "The Ghost Club History". "Ghost Club".
4. Oppenheim, Janet. (1988). The Other World: Spiritualism and Psychical Research in England, 1850-1914. Cambridge University Press. p. 138. ISBN 978-0521347679 "Moses became one of the first vice-presidents and council members of the SPR"
5. Hall, Trevor H. (1963). The spiritualists: the story of Florence Cook and William Crookes. Helix Press. p. 97n.
6. "Read "The Everlasting Club"". Project Gutenberg Australia.
7. ""Tedious Brief Tales of Granta and Gramarye" by Arthur Grey". Ash-Tree Press.
8. ""Tedious Brief Tales of Granta and Gramarye" by Arthur Grey". Mythos Books. Archived from the original on 2011-07-14.
9. "Archived copy". Archived from the original on 2013-07-03. Retrieved 2013-05-28.
10. The Ghost Club Society Archived 2014-12-16 at the Wayback Machine
11. Haunted Brighton. British Local History. ISBN 978-0-7524-3829-0.[permanent dead link]
12. ""Fortean Times" article by Alan Murdie". Fortean Times. March 2008. Archived from the original on 2008-03-14.
13. The Ghost Club newsletter, Summer 2009, page 2
14. "Ancient Ram Inn investigation". The Ghost Club. 2003-07-12.
15. "Balgonie Castle investigation". The Ghost Club. 2005-02-26.
16. "Ham House investigation". The Ghost Club. 2004-03-27.
17. "First New Lanark investigation". The Ghost Club. 2004-05-15.
18. "Second New Lanark investigation". The Ghost Club. 2005-04-23.
19. "First Coalhouse Fort investigation". The Ghost Club. 2003-10-04.
20. "Second Coalhouse Fort investigation". The Ghost Club. 2007-10-20.
21. "GRCH investigation". The Ghost Club. 2009-03-07.
22. "First Alloa Tower investigation". The Ghost Club. 2007-11-24.
23. "Second Alloa Tower investigation". The Ghost Club. 2007-11-08.
24. "First Scotland Street investigation". The Ghost Club. 2007-10-27.
25. "Second Scotland Street investigation". The Ghost Club. 2008-10-25.
26. "Michelham Priory investigation". The Ghost Club.
27. "Culross Palace investigation". The Ghost Club. 2003-07-19.
28. "Clerkenwell investigation". The Ghost Club.
29. Peter Underwood (1983) No Common Task: Autobiography of a Ghost Hunter, Harrap Ltd., London, ISBN 978-0-245-53959-6
30. Peter Underwood (1984) This Haunted Isle, Javelin Books, Poole, ISBN 978-0-7137-1699-3
31. Peter Underwood (1993) The Ghosthunters Almanac, A Guide to Over 120 Hauntings, Eric Dobby Publishing Ltd., Orpington, ISBN 978-1-85882-010-1
32. Peter Underwood (1994) Nights in Haunted Houses, Headline Book Publishing, London, ISBN 978-0-7472-4258-1
33. Philip Paul (1985) Some Unseen Power - Diary of a Ghost-Hunter, R. Hale, London, ISBN 0-7090-2384-7
34. Rosemary Ellen Guiley (1992) The Encyclopaedia of Ghosts and Spirits, Checkmark Books, New York, ISBN 978-0-8160-4086-5
35. Will Storr (2006) Will Storr Versus the Supernatural: One Man's Search for the Truth about Ghosts, Ebury Press, London, ISBN 978-0-09-190173-8
36. Geoff Holder (2009) The Guide to Mysterious Glasgow, The History Press, London, ISBN 978-0-7524-4826-8
37. John Fraser (2010) Ghost Hunting: a Survivor's Guide, The History Press, London, ISBN 978-0-7524-5414-6
38. Leo Ruickbie (2013) A Brief Guide to Ghost Hunting, Constable & Robinson, London, ISBN 978-1-78033-826-2
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Re: Freda Bedi Cont'd (#2)

Postby admin » Sun Mar 15, 2020 4:15 am

William Nathaniel Massey
by Wikipedia
Accessed: 3/14/20

The Right Honourable William Nathaniel Massey
Under-Secretary of State for the Home Department
In office: 1855–1858
Preceded by: William Cowper
Succeeded by: Gathorne Hardy
Personal details
Born: 3 June 1809
Died: 25 October 1881 (aged 72)

William Nathaniel Massey (3 June 1809 – 25 October 1881) was a British barrister, author and Liberal Member of Parliament.

Early life

Massey studied law, being admitted as a student at the Inner Temple in November 1826, and was called to the bar in January 1844.[1] He married firstly in 1833, Frances Carleton, daughter of Rev John Orde. Massey practised on the Western Circuit and in 1852 was appointed recorder of Portsmouth and in 1855 of Plymouth.[1]

In politics

He first entered the House of Commons in July 1852 as a Liberal member for Newport, Isle of Wight. In April 1857 he became MP for Salford. In August 1855 he was appointed Under-Secretary of State for the Home Department during the first ministry of Lord Palmerston, and became a member of Brooks's.[1] He held the office until March 1858 when the Conservatives came to power, and Lord Derby formed his second government. He continued to represent Salford in the Commons until 1865, and was appointed Chairman of Committees of the Whole House.[1] He purchased the old ruined estate at Old Basing House, Hampshire.

In January 1865 Massey left parliament to become a member of the Council of the Governor-General of India. He was nominated to the position of Minister for Finance in the British Raj, and was sworn onto the Privy Council. He retired from the council in 1868.[1][/b] As a "City Liberal" club member, Massey contested the constituency of Liverpool on 17 November 1868. He was finally returned to parliament in November 1872 as MP for Tiverton, a seat he held until his death.[1]

Later life

In 1869 Massey became chairman of the National Bank (later part of the Royal Bank of Scotland), a post he held for the rest of his life.[2] He was a member of the Athenaeum Club;[3] and was chairman of St John's Hospital for Diseases of the Skin. He died at his London home, 96 Portland Place, in October 1881.[1]


Massey's major work was A History of England under George III, which was published in four volumes between 1855 and 1863, by J. W. Parker & Son. It was unfinished, and drew on research of Edward Hawke Locker on George II.[4] He also wrote:[1]

• Common Sense versus Common Law. London, Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1850.


His first wife was Frances Carleton Orde (3 November 1806 – 11 July 1872) daughter of John Orde and Frances Carleton, and their son was Charles Carleton Massey (23 December 1838 –29 March 1905), the famous writer on spiritualism, psychic phenomena, mysticism and theosophy.

In 1880, shortly before his last illness, Massey married Helen Henrietta, youngest daughter of the late Patrick Grant, Esq., Sheriff-Clerk of Inverness.[1]


1. "Obituary". The Times. London. 27 October 1881. p. 9.
2. "William Massey, RBS Heritage Hub". Retrieved 15 October 2017.
3. Walford, E. (1882). The county families of the United Kingdom. Рипол Классик. p. 430. ISBN 9785871943618. Retrieved 15 October 2017.
4. Matthew, H. C. G. "Massey, William Nathaniel". Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (online ed.). Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/ref:odnb/18301. (Subscription or UK public library membership required.)
• Craig, F. W. S. (1989) [1974]. British parliamentary election results 1885–1918. 2 of 4 vols (2nd ed.). Chichester: Parliamentary Research Services. p. 263. ISBN 0-900178-27-2.

External links

• Hansard 1803–2005: contributions in Parliament by William Nathaniel Massey
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Re: Freda Bedi Cont'd (#2)

Postby admin » Sun Mar 15, 2020 4:53 am

Governor-General of India [Viceroy]
by Wikipedia
Accessed: 3/14/20

Viceroy and Governor-General of India
Standard of the Viceroy and Governor-general of India (1885-1947)
Flag of the Governor-general of the Dominion of India (1947-1950)
Lord Mountbatten, the
last viceroy of British India & the first governor-general of the Dominion of India
Chakravarti Rajagopalachari, the last governor-General of the Dominion of India
Style: His Excellency
Residence: Government House (1858-1931); Viceroy's House (1931-1950)
Appointer: East India Company (until 1858); Monarch of the United Kingdom (from 1858)
Formation: 20 October 1774
First holder: Warren Hastings
Final holder: Chakravarthi Rajagopalachari
Abolished: 26 January 1950

The Governor-general of India (from 1858 to 1947 the Viceroy and Governor-general of India, commonly shortened to Viceroy of India) was the representative of the monarch of the United Kingdom and after Indian independence in 1947, the representative of the Indian head of state. The office was created in 1773, with the title of Governor-general of the Presidency of Fort William. The officer had direct control only over Fort William, but supervised other East India Company officials in India. Complete authority over all of British India was granted in 1833, and the official came to be known as the "governor-general of India".

In 1858, as a consequence of the Indian Rebellion the previous year, the territories and assets of the East India Company came under the direct control of the British Crown; as a consequence the Company Raj was succeeded by the British Raj. The Governor-General (now also the Viceroy) headed the central government of India, which administered the provinces of British India, including the Punjab, Bengal, Bombay, Madras, the United Provinces, and others.[1] However, much of India was not ruled directly by the British Government; outside the provinces of British India, there were hundreds of nominally independent princely states or "native states", whose relationship was not with the British Government or the United Kingdom, but rather one of homage directly with the British Monarch as sovereign successor to the Mughal Emperors. From 1858, to reflect the Governor-General's new additional role as the Monarch's representative in re the fealty relationships vis the princely states, the additional title of Viceroy was granted, such that the new office was entitled "viceroy and governor-general of India". This was usually shortened to "viceroy of India".

The title of viceroy was abandoned when British India split into the two independent dominions of India and Pakistan, but the office of governor-general continued to exist in each country separately—until they adopted republican constitutions in 1950 and 1956, respectively.

Until 1858, the governor-general was selected by the Court of Directors of the East India Company, to whom he was responsible. Thereafter, he was appointed by the sovereign on the advice of the British Government; the secretary of state for India, a member of the UK Cabinet, was responsible for instructing him or her on the exercise of their powers. After 1947, the sovereign continued to appoint the governor-general, but thereafter did so on the advice of the newly-sovereign Indian Government.

Governors-general served at the pleasure of the sovereign, though the practice was to have them serve five-year terms. Governors-general could have their commission rescinded; and if one was removed, or left, a provisional governor-general was sometimes appointed until a new holder of the office could be chosen. The first governor-general of British India was Lord William Bentinck, and the first governor-general of the Dominion of India was Lord Mountbatten.


Warren Hastings, the first governor-general of Fort William from 1773 to 1785.

Many parts of the Indian subcontinent were governed by the East India Company, which nominally acted as the agent of the Mughal emperor. In 1773, motivated by corruption in the Company, the British government assumed partial control over the governance of India with the passage of the Regulating Act of 1773. A governor-general and Supreme Council of Bengal were appointed to rule over the Presidency of Fort William in Bengal. The first governor-general and Council were named in the Act.

The Charter Act 1833 replaced the governor-general and Council of Fort William with the governor-general and Council of India. The power to elect the governor-general was retained by the Court of Directors, but the choice became subject to the sovereign's approval.

After the Indian Rebellion of 1857, the East India Company's territories in India were put under the direct control of the sovereign. The Government of India Act 1858 vested the power to appoint the governor-general in the sovereign. The governor-general, in turn, had the power to appoint all lieutenant governors in India, subject to the sovereign's approval.

India and Pakistan acquired independence in 1947, but governors-general continued to be appointed over each nation until republican constitutions were written. Louis Mountbatten, 1st Earl Mountbatten of Burma, remained governor-general of India for some time after independence, but the two nations were otherwise headed by native governors-general. India became a secular republic in 1950; Pakistan became an Islamic one in 1956.


Lord Curzon in his robes as viceroy of India, a post he held from 1899 to 1905.

Lord Mountbatten addressing the Chamber of Princes as Crown Representative in the 1940s

The governor-general originally had power only over the Presidency of Fort William in Bengal. The Regulating Act, however, granted them additional powers relating to foreign affairs and defence. The other presidencies of the East India Company (Madras, Bombay and Bencoolen) were not allowed to declare war on or make peace with an Indian prince without receiving the prior approval of the governor-general and Council of Fort William.[citation needed]

The powers of the governor-general, in respect of foreign affairs, were increased by the India Act 1784. The Act provided that the other governors under the East India Company could not declare war, make peace or conclude a treaty with an Indian prince unless expressly directed to do so by the governor-general or by the Company's Court of Directors.

While the governor-general thus became the controller of foreign policy in India, he was not the explicit head of British India. That status came only with the Charter Act 1833, which granted him "superintendence, direction and control of the whole civil and military Government" of all of British India. The Act also granted legislative powers to the governor-general and Council.

After 1858, the governor-general (now usually known as the viceroy) functioned as the chief administrator of India and as the Sovereign's representative. India was divided into numerous provinces, each under the head of a governor, lieutenant governor or chief commissioner or administrator. Governors were appointed by the British Government, to whom they were directly responsible; lieutenant governors, chief commissioners, and administrators, however, were appointed by and were subordinate to the viceroy. The viceroy also oversaw the most powerful princely rulers: the Nizam of Hyderabad, the Maharaja of Mysore, the Maharaja (Scindia) of Gwalior, the Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir and the Gaekwad (Gaekwar) Maharaja of Baroda. The remaining princely rulers were overseen either by the Rajputana Agency and Central India Agency, which were headed by representatives of the viceroy, or by provincial authorities.

The Chamber of Princes was an institution established in 1920 by a Royal Proclamation of King-Emperor George V to provide a forum in which the princely rulers could voice their needs and aspirations to the government. The chamber usually met only once a year, with the viceroy presiding, but it appointed a Standing Committee, which met more often.

Upon independence in August 1947, the title of viceroy was abolished. The representative of the British Sovereign became known once again as the governor-general. C. Rajagopalachari became the only Indian governor-general. However, once India acquired independence, the governor-general's role became almost entirely ceremonial, with power being exercised on a day-to-day basis by the Indian cabinet. After the nation became a republic in 1950, the president of India continued to perform the same functions.


Main articles: Council of India and Viceroy's Executive Council

The Viceregal Lodge in Simla, built in 1888, was the summer residence of the Viceroy of India

Viceregal Lodge, Delhi, where Viceroy Lord Hardinge stayed (1912–31), now the main building of the University of Delhi[2]

The governor-general was always advised by a Council on the exercise of his legislative and executive powers. The governor-general, while exercising many functions, was referred to as the "Governor-General in Council."

The Regulating Act 1773 provided for the election of four counsellors by the East India Company's Court of Directors. The governor-general had a vote along with the counsellors, but he also had an additional vote to break ties. The decision of the Council was binding on the governor-general.

In 1784, the Council was reduced to three members; the governor-general continued to have both an ordinary vote and a casting vote. In 1786, the power of the governor-general was increased even further, as Council decisions ceased to be binding.

The Charter Act 1833 made further changes to the structure of the Council. The Act was the first law to distinguish between the executive and legislative responsibilities of the governor-general. As provided under the Act, there were to be four members of the Council elected by the Court of Directors. The first three members were permitted to participate on all occasions, but the fourth member was only allowed to sit and vote when legislation was being debated.

In 1858, the Court of Directors ceased to have the power to elect members of the Council. Instead, the one member who had a vote only on legislative questions came to be appointed by the sovereign, and the other three members by the secretary of state for India.

The Indian Councils Act 1861 made several changes to the Council's composition. Three members were to be appointed by the secretary of state for India, and two by the Sovereign. The power to appoint all five members passed to the Crown in 1869. The viceroy was empowered to appoint an additional six to twelve members (changed to ten to sixteen in 1892, and to sixty in 1909). The five individuals appointed by the sovereign or the Indian secretary headed the executive departments, while those appointed by the viceroy debated and voted on legislation.

In 1919, an Indian legislature, consisting of a Council of State and a Legislative Assembly, took over the legislative functions of the Viceroy's Council. The viceroy nonetheless retained significant power over legislation. He could authorise the expenditure of money without the Legislature's consent for "ecclesiastical, political [and] defense" purposes, and for any purpose during "emergencies." He was permitted to veto, or even stop debate on, any bill. If he recommended the passage of a bill, but only one chamber cooperated, he could declare the bill passed over the objections of the other chamber. The Legislature had no authority over foreign affairs and defence. The president of the Council of State was appointed by the viceroy; the Legislative Assembly elected its president, but the election required the viceroy's approval.

Style and title

Until 1833, the title of the position was "governor-general of Bengal". The Government of India Act 1833 converted the title into "governor-general of India". The title "viceroy and governor-general" was first used in the queen's proclamation appointing Viscount Canning in 1858.[3] It was never conferred by an act of parliament, but was used in warrants of precedence and in the statutes of knightly orders. In usage, "viceroy" is employed where the governor-general's position as the monarch's representative is in view.[4] The viceregal title was not used when the sovereign was present in India. It was meant to indicate new responsibilities, especially ritualistic ones, but it conferred no new statutory authority. The governor-general regularly used the title in communications with the Imperial Legislative Council, but all legislation was made only in the name of the Governor-General-in-Council (or the Government of India).[5]

The governor-general was styled Excellency and enjoyed precedence over all other government officials in India. He was referred to as 'His Excellency' and addressed as 'Your Excellency'. From 1858 to 1947, the Governor-General was known as the Viceroy of India (from the French roi, meaning 'king'), and wives of Viceroys were known as Vicereines (from the French reine, meaning 'queen'). The Vicereine was referred to as 'Her Excellency' and was also addressed as 'Your Excellency'. Neither title was employed while the Sovereign was in India. However, the only British sovereign to visit India during the period of British rule was George V, who attended the Delhi Durbar in 1911 with his wife, Mary.[citation needed]

When the Order of the Star of India was founded in 1861, the viceroy was made its grand master ex officio. The viceroy was also made the ex officio grand master of the Order of the Indian Empire upon its foundation in 1877.

Most governors-general and viceroys were peers. Frequently, a viceroy who was already a peer would be granted a peerage of higher rank, as with the granting of a marquessate to Lord Reading and an earldom and later a marquessate to Freeman Freeman-Thomas. Of those viceroys who were not peers, Sir John Shore was a baronet, and Lord William Bentinck was entitled to the courtesy title 'lord' because he was the son of a duke. Only the first and last governors-general – Warren Hastings and Chakravarti Rajagopalachari – as well as some provisional governors-general, had no honorific titles at all.


Main article: Star of India (flag)

Flag of the Viceroy and Governor General of India (1885-1947)

Flag of the Governor General of India (1947–50)

From around 1885, the Viceroy of India was allowed to fly a Union Flag augmented in the centre with the 'Star of India' surmounted by a Crown. This flag was not the Viceroy's personal flag; it was also used by Governors, Lieutenant Governors, Chief Commissioners and other British officers in India. When at sea, only the Viceroy flew the flag from the mainmast, while other officials flew it from the foremast.

From 1947 to 1950, the Governor-General of India used a dark blue flag bearing the royal crest (a lion standing on the Crown), beneath which was the word 'India' in gold majuscules. The same design is still used by many other Commonwealth Realm Governors-General. This last flag was the personal flag of the Governor-General only.


Government House served as the Governor-General's residence during most of the nineteenth century.

The governor-general of Fort William resided in Belvedere House, Calcutta, until the early nineteenth century, when Government House was constructed. In 1854, the lieutenant governor of Bengal took up residence there. Now, the Belvedere Estate houses the National Library of India.

Lord Wellesley, who is reputed to have said that ‘India should be governed from a palace, not from a country house’, constructed a grand mansion, known as Government House, between 1799 and 1803. The mansion remained in use until the capital moved from Calcutta to Delhi in 1912. Thereafter, the lieutenant governor of Bengal, who had hitherto resided in Belvedere House, was upgraded to a full governor and transferred to Government House. Now, it serves as the residence of the governor of the Indian state of West Bengal, and is referred to by its Bengali name Raj Bhavan.

After the capital moved from Calcutta to Delhi, the viceroy occupied the newly built Viceroy's House, designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens. Though construction began in 1912, it did not conclude until 1929; the palace was not formally inaugurated until 1931. The final cost exceeded £877,000 (over £35,000,000 in modern terms) – more than twice the figure originally allocated. Today the residence, now known by the Hindi name of 'Rashtrapati Bhavan', is used by the president of India.

Throughout the British administration, governors-general retreated to the Viceregal Lodge (Rashtrapati Niwas) at Shimla each summer to escape the heat, and the government of India moved with them. The Viceregal Lodge now houses the Indian Institute of Advanced Study.

See also

• India portal
• Pakistan portal
• United Kingdom portal
• Politics portal
• List of governors-general of India
• Commander-in-Chief, India
• British Empire
• Emperor of India
• Indian independence movement
• Council of India
• Secretary of State for India
• India Office
• Indian Civil Service
• Partition of India
• History of Bangladesh
• History of India
• History of Pakistan


1. The term British India is mistakenly used to mean the same as the British Indian Empire, which included both the provinces and the Native States.
2. "Imperial Impressions". Hindustan Times. 20 July 2011. Archived from the original on 17 July 2012.
3. Queen Victoria's Proclamation
4. H. Verney Lovett, "The Indian Governments, 1858–1918", The Cambridge History of the British Empire, Volume V: The Indian Empire, 1858–1918 (Cambridge University Press, 1932), p. 226.
5. Arnold P. Kaminsky, The India Office, 1880–1910 (Greenwood Press, 1986), p. 126.
• Association of Commonwealth Archivists and Record Managers (1999) "Government Buildings – India"
• Forrest, G. W., CIE, (editor) (1910) Selections from the State Papers of the Governors-General of India; Warren Hastings (2 vols), Oxford: Blackwell's
• Encyclopædia Britannica ("British Empire" and "Viceroy"), London: Cambridge University Press, 1911, 11th edition,
• James, Lawrence (1997) Raj: the Making and Unmaking of British India London: Little, Brown & Company ISBN 0-316-64072-7
• Keith, A. B. (editor) (1922) Speeches and Documents on Indian Policy, 1750–1921, London: Oxford University Press
• Oldenburg, P. (2004). "India." Microsoft Encarta Online Encyclopedia. (Archived 2009-10-31)
• – Tribute & Memorial website to Louis, 1st Earl Mountbatten of Burma

Further reading

• Arnold, Sir Edwin (1865). The Marquis of Dalhousie's Administration of British India: Annexation of Pegu, Nagpor, and Oudh, and a general review of Lord Dalhousie's rule in India. Saunders, Otley, and Company.
• Dodwell H. H., ed. The Cambridge History of India. Volume 6: The Indian Empire 1858-1918. With Chapters on the Development of Administration 1818-1858 (1932) 660pp online edition; also published as vol 5 of the Cambridge History of the British Empire
• Moon, Penderel. The British Conquest and Dominion of India (2 vol. 1989) 1235pp; the fullest scholarly history of political and military events from a British top-down perspective;
• Rudhra, A. B. (1940) The Viceroy and Governor-General of India. London: H. Milford, Oxford University Press
• Spear, Percival (1990) [First published 1965], A History of India, Volume 2, New Delhi and London: Penguin Books. Pp. 298, ISBN 978-0-14-013836-8.
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College of Psychic Studies [British National Association of Spiritualists] [London Spiritualist Alliance]
by Wikipedia
Accessed: 3/14/20

The College building on Queensberry Place

The College of Psychic Studies (founded in 1884 as the London Spiritualist Alliance) is a non-profit organisation based in South Kensington, London. It is dedicated to the study of psychic and spiritualist phenomena.


British National Association of Spiritualists

In August 1873, the British National Association of Spiritualists (BNAS) was formed by Thomas Everitt, Edmund Rogers and others at a meeting in Liverpool.[1][2]

William Stainton Moses, founder of the London Spiritualist Alliance.

Early members included well known spiritualists such as Charles Maurice Davies, Charles Isham, William Stainton Moses, Stanhope Templeman Speer, Morell Theobald and George Wyld.[2][3] The BNAS carried out experimental séances and investigations into mediumship. It held no dogmatic religious views but was known for "sympathising with the religion of Jesus Christ".[2]

Member list for the London Spiritualist Alliance in March, 1884.

The first public meeting of the BNAS took place on 16 April 1874 under the chairmanship of Samuel Carter Hall.[4] By 1875 the BNAS had over 400 members.[2] Its headquarters moved to Great Russell Street, London.[1] In 1879 the German astrophysicist Johann Karl Friedrich Zöllner became an honorary member.[5]

William Henry Harrison and his colleagues from the "Scientific Research Committee" of the BNAS were involved in experiments that weighed mediums during materialization séances.[6] Specially built self-recording instruments were used. This was considered controversial and not all members agreed in conducting such experiments. In 1872, Harrison also caused controversy in the spiritualist community by exposing the fraud of spirit photographer Frederick Hudson.[6] In 1875, Harrison with C. F. Varley conducted an unsuccessful experiment in photographing the alleged Odic force of Carl Reichenbach.[6]

There was a large dispute between Moses and Harrison over its leadership council. Harrison was expelled from the BNAS.[6] In April 1879, Charles Massey a vice-president resigned, as did Moses on December 31, 1880.[2] In 1882, the BNAS changed name to the Central Association of Spiritualists (CAS). The remaining members such as vice-president Edmund Rogers, one of Moses's loyal supporters tried to reconstruct the society.[7] However, internal conflict between members and financial problems caused the group to dissolve.[2][7]

London Spiritualist Alliance

In October, 1883 a special conference was set up to discuss the ideas of Moses to form a new society.[8] In March 1884, Moses and others formed the London Spiritualist Alliance (LSA). The first meeting was held on May 5 at the banqueting room in St James's Hall.[2] Moses was president and members included John Stephen Farmer, Massey, Rogers, Stanhope Templeman Speer, Alaric Alfred Watts and Percy Wyndham.[7] After Moses died in 1892, Rogers became the president. The LSA obtained a wider membership under the leadership of Rogers including notable figures such as Alfred Russel Wallace.[7]

In 1886, Eleanor Sidgwick from the Society for Psychical Research (SPR) claimed that the medium William Eglinton was fraudulent. Members from the LSA and articles in the journal Light supported Eglinton and accused Sidgwick of bias and prejudice. Some spiritualist members resigned from the SPR.[9]

In 1925, Arthur Conan Doyle became president and the LSA bought a new headquarters at Queensberry Place, South Kensington.[10]

Between October, 1930 and June 1931 the materialization medium Helen Duncan was investigated by the LSA. Despite early favourable reports, an examination of Duncan's ectoplasm revealed it was made of cheesecloth, paper mixed with the white of egg and lavatory paper stuck together. One of Duncan's tricks was to swallow and regurgitate some of her ectoplasm and she was persuaded to swallow a tablet of methylene blue before one of her séances to rule out any chance of this trick being performed and because of this no ectoplasm appeared.[11] The journal Light endorsed the court decision that Duncan was fraudulent and supported Harry Price's investigation that revealed her ectoplasm was cheesecloth.[12]

College of Psychic Studies

In 1955 the LSA changed name to the College of Psychic Science, and in 1970 it became the College of Psychic Studies.[13][14][15]

According to psychical researcher Simeon Edmunds by 1955 when the LSA had changed name to the College of Psychic Science there was "no doubt that from that time onwards the society was no longer a spiritualist one" as it was accepting non-spiritualist members and held no corporate opinion on the question of survival.[16] In the 1960s, after a revival in spiritualism, the college associated itself with the Society for Psychical Research, collecting thousands of case files.[17]

Paul Beard was the president of the college for 16 years.[17] In 2006, the college offered twelves courses on psychic abilities.



In 1930, the London Spiritualist Alliance published a series of five books under L.S.A Publications Ltd. These were:

• Helen A. Dallas. Human Survival and its Implications.
• Charles Drayton Thomas. The Mental Phenomena of Spiritualism.
• Stanley De Brath. The Physical Phenomena of Spiritualism.
• Helen MacGregor and Margaret V. Underhill. The Psychic Faculties and Their Development.
• Oliver Lodge. Demonstrated Survival: Its Influence on Science, Philosophy and Religion.


The oldest spiritualist journal in Britain is known as Light. It was formed in January 1881 by Edmund Rogers and became affiliated with the BNAS and its successor organisations.[18]
The College of Psychic Studies publishes the Light journal twice a year.[19]

Notable historical members

• Arthur Conan Doyle, physician and writer
• John Stephen Farmer, lexicographer
• Samuel Carter Hall, journalist
• Frederick Hockley, occult writer
• Charles Isham, gardener and landowner
• Edmund Dawson Rogers, journalist
• George Wyld, homeopathic physician
• Percy Wyndham, politician


1. Oppenheim, Janet. (1988). The Other World: Spiritualism and Psychical Research in England, 1850-1914. Cambridge University Press. p. 53. ISBN 978-0521347679 "The British National Association of Spiritualists emerged from a meeting in Liverpool, in August 1873, sponsored by the local Psychological Society. Attendance was not confined to spiritualists from the immediate area, and among the participants were W. H. Harrison and Thomas Everitt from London. The meeting heard several papers advocating the benefits of national organization for the expansion and consolidation of British spiritualism, and these arguments carried the day. The conference resolved to form a national association, and initiative then passed to London, where the following year the BNAS commenced its activities. From 1875, it was comfortably housed at 38 Great Russell Street, the scene of its numerous stances, both public and private, committee meetings, lectures, and social gatherings."
2. Lavoie, Jeffrey D. (2014). Search for Meaning in Victorian Religion: The Spiritual Journey and Esoteric Teachings of Charles Carleton Massey. Lehigh University Press. pp. 19-20. ISBN 978-1611461848
3. Spence, Lewis. (2006 edition, originally published 1920). An Encyclopaedia of Occultism. Cosimo. p. 80. ISBN 978-1596052376
4. Podmore, Frank. (2011 edition, originally published 1902). Modern Spiritualism: A History and a Criticism. Volume 2. Cambridge University Press. p. 169. ISBN 978-1-108-07258-8
5. Lavoie, Jeffrey D. (2014). Search for Meaning in Victorian Religion: The Spiritual Journey and Esoteric Teachings of Charles Carleton Massey. Lehigh University Press. p. 61. ISBN 978-1611461848
6. Noakes, Richard J. Instruments to Lay Hold of Spirits: Technologizing the Bodies of Victorian Spiritualism. In Iwan Rhys Morus. (2002). Bodies/Machines. Bloomsbury Academic. pp. 125-163. ISBN 1-85973-690-4
7. Oppenheim, Janet. (1988). The Other World: Spiritualism and Psychical Research in England, 1850-1914. Cambridge University Press. pp. 55-57. ISBN 978-0521347679
8. Nelson, G. K. (2013). Spiritualism and Society. p. 110. Routledge. ISBN 978-0415714624
9. Luckhurst, Roger. (2002). The Invention of Telepathy, 1870-1901. Oxford University Press. p. 57. ISBN 978-0199249626
10. Lycett, Andrew. (2008). The Man Who Created Sherlock Holmes: The Life and Times of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Free Press. p. 434. ISBN 0-7432-7523-3 "Having benefited from a memorial fund for the war dead, the London Spiritualist Alliance had bought a new headquarters in Queensberry Place, South Kensington. With Arthur as its president beginning in 1925, it held a three-day bazaar at Caxton Hall in May, raising 1,000 pounds to renovate and furnish the place. It also rented out its top floor to Harry Price, thus giving him a permanent location for his National Laboratory for Psychical Research."
11. Haynes, Renée. (1982). The Society for Psychical Research 1882-1982: A History. MacDonald & Co. p. 144. ISBN 978-0356078755 "The London Spiritualist Alliance had fifty sittings with her between October 1930 and June 1931; for these sittings she was stripped, searched and dressed in 'seance garments'. Two interim reports in Light were favorable, a third found indications of fraud. Pieces of 'ectoplasm' found from time to time differed in composition. Two early specimens consisted of paper or cloth mixed with something like white of egg. Two others were pads of surgical gauze soaked in 'a resinous fluid'; yet another consisted of layers of lavatory paper stuck together. The most usual material for 'ectoplasm' however, seemed to be butter muslin or cheesecloth, probably swallowed and regurgitated. Distressing choking noises were sometimes heard from within the cabinet; and it was interesting that when she was persuaded to swallow a tablet of methylene blue before one of the seances at the London Spiritualist Alliance, no ectoplasm whatsoever appeared."
12. Hazelgrove, Jenny. (2000). Spiritualism and British Society Between the Wars. Manchester University Press. p. 279. ISBN 978-0719055584
13. Rosemary Guiley. (1994). The Guinness Encyclopedia of Ghosts and Spirits. Guinness World Records Limited. p. 125. p. 334. ISBN 978-0851127484
14. Fichman, Martin. (2004). An Elusive Victorian: The Evolution of Alfred Russel Wallace. University Of Chicago Press. p. 191. ISBN 978-0226246130
15. Byrne, Georgina. (2010). Modern Spiritualism and the Church of England, 1850-1939. Boydell Press. pp. 60-62. ISBN 978-1843835899
16. Edmunds, Simeon. (1966). Spiritualism: A Critical Survey. Aquarian Press. p. 72. ISBN 978-0850300130
17. "Paul Beard". The Telegraph.
18. Oppenheim, Janet. (1988). The Other World: Spiritualism and Psychical Research in England, 1850-1914. Cambridge University Press. p. 46. ISBN 978-0521347679
19. "Light". College of Psychic Studies.
Coordinates: 51.49461°N 0.17762°W

External links

• Official website


British National Association of Spiritualists
Updated Mar 10 2020

A society formed in 1873 mainly through the instrumentality of Dawson Rogers to promote the interests of Spiritualism in Great Britain. The British National Association of Spiritualists (BNAS) numbered among its original vice-presidents and members of council the most prominent Spiritualists of the day—Benjamin Coleman, Mrs. Macdougall Gregory, Sir Charles Isham, Mr. Jacken, Dawson Rogers, Morell Theobald, Dr. Wyld, Dr. Stanhope Speer, and many others. Many eminent people of other countries joined the association as corresponding members.

In 1882 BNAS changed its name to the Central Association of Spiritualists. Among its committees was one for systematic research into the phenomena of Spiritualism, in which connection some interesting scientific experiments were made in 1878.

Early in 1882, conferences, which were held at the association's rooms and were presided over by William Barrett, resulted in the formation of the Society for Psychical Research (SPR). Many members of the SPR were recruited from the council of the BNAS, such as the Rev. Stainton Moses, Dr. George Wyld, Dawson Rogers, and Morell Theobald. The BNAS was at first associated with the Spiritualist, edited by W. H. Harrison, but in 1879 the reports of its proceedings were transferred to Spiritual Notes, a paper which, founded in the previous year, came to an end in 1881, as did the Spiritualist. In the latter year Dawson Rogers founded Light, with which the society was henceforth associated.

From the beginning, the BNAS held itself apart from religious and philosophical dogmatism and included among its members Spiritualists of all sects and opinions.

In 1884 the association reorganized as the London Spiritualist Alliance. The journal Light is now published by the College of Psychic Studies, London, which developed on similar lines to the former British College of Psychic Science.


Doyle, Arthur Conan. The History of Spiritualism. New York: Charles H. Doran, 1926. Reprint, New York: Arno Press, 1975.
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A Short History of The British Psychological Society [Cox's Psychological Society]
by Dr G.C. Bunn, B.P.S. Research Fellow at the Science Museum. The text has been adapted from the author’s Introduction to G.C. Bunn, A.D. Lovie and G. D. Richards (eds) Psychology in Britain: Historical Essays and Personal Reflections. Leicester: BPS Books, 2001.


Psychology was a modest enterprise in Britain in 1901. Laboratories for experimental research had been established in London and Cambridge, and elementary psychophysiology was being taught at Liverpool. A lectureship in comparative psychology had been created at Aberdeen and Oxford had appointed a reader in Mental Philosophy.1 An informal psychology discussion group had been formed at University College London. It was here, on October 24 1901, that a Psychological Society was founded. The aim of the Society, its members quickly decided, was ‘to advance scientific psychological research, & to further the co-operation of investigators in the various branches of Psychology.’ The ten founders resolved ‘that only those who are recognised teachers in some branch of psychology or who have published work of recognisable value be eligible as members’.2

Although a variety of attempts had been made to institutionalise the subject during the previous quarter century, the ‘new psychology’ nevertheless remained the activity of but a few specialists.3 Alexander Bain had first broached the idea of bringing out a new philosophical journal in 1874. The principal aim of the new venture, editor George Croom Robertson declared in the first issue of Mind: A Quarterly Review of Psychology and Philosophy, was to ‘procure a decision of this question as to the scientific standing of psychology’ (Neary, 2001). The first attempts at creating a formal institutional setting for psychology were made by Edward Cox in 1875, who established the Psychological Society of Great Britain to investigate the workings of ‘psychic force’ (Richards, 2001). In 1877, James Ward unsuccessfully lobbied the Cambridge University Senate to establish a psychophysical laboratory. Fourteen years later he was given a small grant for apparatus (Hearnshaw, 1964: 171-2).

Shortly after the P.S.G.B’s demise in 1879, some of its members formed the Society for Psychical Research to gather information on telepathy, hypnotism, hauntings and hallucinations (Hearnshaw, 1964: 158). A year after publishing his Inquiries into Human Faculty (1883), Francis Galton set up an Anthropometric Laboratory at the International Health Exhibition in London which continued at the South Kensington Museum until 1891 (Hearnshaw, 1964: 59). Galton’s laboratory provided James McKeen Cattell with a base for applying methods he had learned as a student in Germany to anthropometric testing. Having brought experimental apparatus from Leipzig, Wilhelm Wundt’s American research assistant was also able to run an unofficial and short-lived psychological laboratory at Cambridge between 1887 and 1888 (Sokal, 1972).4

In 1897, W.H.R. Rivers established a psychological laboratory at Cambridge in a room donated by the Physiology Department (Slobodin, 1978/1997: 16). That same year, Henry Wilde, a successful electrical engineer, offered the capital to Oxford University to endow a Readership in Mental Philosophy. The holder was obliged to lecture ‘on the illusions and delusions which are incident to the human mind’ and ‘on the psychology of the lower races of mankind, as illustrated by the various fetish objects in the Anthropological Museum of the University’ (Oldfield, 1950: 346). George Stout, whose Manual of Psychology was to became the standard text book for generations of students, was appointed to the position. With assistance from Galton, James Sully opened an experimental psychology laboratory in early 1898 at University College London. Appointed to undertake the teaching of students, Rivers managed to obtain experimental apparatus from Hugo Münsterberg’s laboratory in Freiburg (Valentine, 1999).5 A Department of Experimental Psychology had also been set up in 1901 in connection with the Pathological Laboratory of the London County Council Asylums at Claybury.6

As the British Psychological Society’s first historian, Beatrice Edgell, later recalled, the most outstanding feature of British psychology at the turn of the century ‘was the development of experimental and of quantitative methods.’ Three British psychologists, Charles Myers, W.H.R. Rivers and William McDougall had employed the new techniques on the famous 1898 Cambridge anthropological expedition to the Torres Strait (Richards, 1998). Edgell had herself pioneered experimental psychology at Bedford College London on her return from Würzburg in 1901 (Valentine, 1997, forthcoming). ‘In Germany and in America psychology was already established as an independent science with laboratory courses. This country was awakening to the importance of this new development.’ (Edgell, 1947: 113). One indication of the enthusiasm was the creation, in 1904, of the British Journal of Psychology. James Ward and the ubiquitous Rivers were the founding editors.


Membership of the British Psychological Society increased steadily until the First World War. On his return from serving in the Royal Army Medical Corps in November 1918, the then editor of the British Journal of Psychology initiated changes that would have revolutionary consequences for British psychology. Charles Myers proposed that the British Psychological Society should support sections for specialised aspects of applied psychology. He noted that medical, industrial and educational psychology groups were already moving to establish separate organizations. In 1918, when the Society had almost a hundred members, only recognised scholars or teachers were eligible to join. But following the acceptance of Myers’ proposal that anyone merely ‘interested in psychology’ should be allowed to join, by the end of 1920 the Society’s membership had increased to over 600. Myers was duly elected the Society’s first President.

Myers’ career spanned the period during which British psychology emerged as a recognised speciality. The trajectory of his career was, to a considerable extent, indicative of some of the changes that British psychology experienced during the first half of the twentieth century. With ecumenical interests that reflected the variegated character of the new discipline, he had a comprehensive knowledge of his subject that would be impossible to acquire today. An enthusiastic advocate of experimental psychology, he also wrote on the philosophy of mind. He was particularly fascinated by the psychology of hearing and music, an enterprise that was no doubt assisted by his musical expertise. The research for his first scientific paper--‘An account of some skulls discovered at Brandon, Suffolk’--was undertaken before he had taken his Cambridge B.A. degree. His final publication fifty years later was a report on Attitudes to Minority Groups. ‘He passed on to us his own deep and wide love of human studies,’ his student and protégé Frederic Bartlett recalled, ‘and a complete freedom from that dogmatic theorizing which has been the bane of psychology. He taught us how to treat psychology as a biological science without forgetting the wide human world beyond the laboratory.’ (Bartlett, 1945-1948: 774).

In terms of ‘his flair for organization’ as Bartlett put it, Charles Myers was certainly the most important British psychologist of the first half of the twentieth century: ‘He built a laboratory, a society, an institute.’ (Bartlett, 1945-1948: 769; see also Bartlett, 1965). Having been drawn to anthropology under the influence of Rivers, he settled in Cambridge in 1902 after further foreign expeditions. 7 He proceeded to advance the cause of experimental psychology by establishing a laboratory at Kings College London, writing a series of text books, and lobbying for the replacement of the ‘damp, dark, and ill-ventilated cottage’ that then served as the Cambridge laboratory. Funded largely from his own considerable wealth, the new laboratory opened in 1912.8 An advisor to the British Journal of Psychology since its inception in 1904, Myers became its sole editor in 1914, the year in which it was acquired by the British Psychological Society. In 1915, he was given a commission in the Royal Army Medical Corps to supervise the treatment of functional nervous and mental disorders occurring in the British Expeditionary Force. Although he later came to regret it, it was Myers who coined the term ‘shell shock’.9

The increase in B.P.S. membership that the 1919 reforms had created brought ‘a welcome release from the genteel penury of the past’ (Lovie, 2001). As Myers had planned, Medical, Industrial and Educational Sections were formed in the aftermath of his changes and an Aesthetics Section was established in 1922. The following year saw the creation of regional Branches. In 1926, the Society rented accommodation from the Royal Anthropological Society at 52 Upper Bedford Place, Bloomsbury. As Sandy Lovie has argued, the 1919 reorganisations initiated a tension between ‘the wish for an exclusive and controlled Society devoted to the progress of a scientific psychology, on the one hand, and the equally potent demand, on the other, for an identifiable physical presence which only a large and growing BPS membership could bring’. The tension between the scientific and practical aspects of psychology has animated the Society ever since.

In March 1925 for example, a proposal was received ‘for the formation of a Psychological Club on the lines of the original Society, with a view to the communication and discussion of papers of a more technical nature than those calculated to interest the members of the present Society as a whole.’ Rejecting this idea, the B.P.S. Council countered with the recommendation that Fellowships of the Society be created, ‘elected on grounds of psychological eminence and standing from amongst the Members of the Society’.


Opportunities for educational, clinical and industrial psychologists had greatly increased by the 1930s, thanks to the emergence of Child Guidance Clinics, psychodynamic psychotherapy and the N.I.I.P. A 1934 report submitted to the B.P.S. by S.F.J. Philpott appealed to the Society to recognise the existence of a group of people for whom ‘Psychology is rapidly becoming a profession...making it their vocation and livelihood.’ Having asserted that ‘the question of an organisation to look after their corporate interests is arising’, Philpott concluded that ‘A register should be maintained; an eye kept on matters of professional status, and so on’ (Quoted in Lovie, 2001). This task fell to the subsequentlynamed Professional Status Committee. Inclusion on the register was dependent on ‘competence in theoretical knowledge of psychology and its applications.’ It was also decided ‘That qualification should be based on professional training but not necessarily paid employment. That the degree in psychology should not necessarily be an Honours degree. etc.’ (Quoted in Lovie, 2001).

In November 1936, The Society’s President, James Drever Snr., opened a discussion on ‘the desirability of seeking to secure for the Society either a Charter or incorporation.’ Incorporation would allow the Society to create new types of legally defined membership with legally prescribed entry criteria. It also held out the possibility of a Royal Charter. Incorporated status was finally achieved on October 1st, 1941.

Thanks to a series of memoranda submitted by Margaret Lowenfeld suggesting that the Society set up a Section devoted to child psychology, together with the work of the Fildes Committee, a Committee of Professional Psychologists (Mental Health) was created by the B.P.S. in 1943. Although the Committee was initially only concerned with those engaged in professional work with children, by 1950 its target group had been broadened to include psychologists involved with adults in the mental health field. It also extended its remit to include psychologists engaged in educational practice, while early on also splitting into separate regional Committees of Professional Psychologists for England and Scotland. These Committees transformed themselves into regionally based Divisions of Professional Psychologists (Educational and Clinical) in 1958 after the new rules had been accepted by the Society’s membership (Lovie, 2001).

The Second World War played a considerable role in the professionalisation of many branches of British psychology (See Rose, 1989; Bunn at al., 2001). Yet not everyone was pleased with the new developments. In June 1946, at the invitation of Oliver Zangwill, five men met in Frederic Bartlett’s room in St. John’s College, Cambridge to form a new psychological group: ‘Zangwill opened the meeting by saying that as a result of discussions he had had during the past few years with a number of the younger experimental psychologists in this country, he had come to feel that there existed the need for a new body which would cater for those actually engaged in psychological research.’ As Zangwill later recalled, ‘there can be no doubt that the formation of the Group owed something to misgivings felt by a number of us about certain tendencies current in British psychology at the time.’ (Quoted in Mollon, 1996). The Experimental Psychology Group changed its name to the Experimental Psychology Society in 1959.


In his 1947 Presidential Address to the Society, R.J. Bartlett concluded with the words: ‘Psychology is now a vast subject split up into many different sections, each using its own jargon, knowing very little of what is happening in other sections, and, in several cases, claiming that its part is the whole.’ (R.J. Bartlett, 1948). The following year, partly in order to meet such criticisms, the B.P.S. launched the Quarterly Bulletin of the British Psychological Society. Its editor was Frederick Laws, a journalist with the News Chronicle. In his first editorial, Laws reported that it had recently been suggested ‘that there is too little contact between psychologists working in different fields, that specialists in one branch of the subject are as ignorant as the general public of new developments outside their professional range of interest.’ (Laws, 1948). This is probably as true today as it was fifty years ago. Psychology is now a vast enterprise. Over 33,000 people for example currently receive The Psychologist, the Quarterly Bulletin’s successor publication.

In 1950, membership of the B.P.S. stood at 1,897, rising only to 2,655 in 1960. By 1982 the Society had over 10,000 members. Since the 1950s, the work of numerous B.P.S. committees have doubtless had a tremendous impact on British society. For example, the Society’s 1954 Memorandum to the Royal Commission on the Law Relating to Mental Illness and Mental Deficiency had a considerable influence on the drafting of the 1958 Mental Deficiency Act. The following year, the Society’s Memorandum of Evidence submitted to the Home Office Departmental Committee on the Law Relating to Homosexual Offences and Prostitution came to very liberal conclusions for the period: ‘it can be said that a biological tendency for inversion of sexual behaviour is inherent in most if not all mammals, including the human species.’ (QBBPS, Vol. 29, 1956, p.1-7). Other influential policy documents to which the B.P.S. has contributed include the Memorandum to the Royal Commission on the Penal System in England and Wales (1966) and The Summerfield Report (Psychologists in the Education Services, HMSO, 1968).


Two highlights of the 1960s were the granting of a Royal Charter to the Society in 1965 and the hosting of the 19th International Congress of Psychology in 1969. In the 1970s, the Society again showed its willingness to confront controversial issues with the publication of the findings of its Working Party on Animal Experimentation in 1978, and its Balance Sheet on Burt in response to the Cyril Burt ‘scandal’ in 1980 (BBPS, 33, 1980). On December 18, 1987, at Buckingham Palace, the Queen granted amendments to the Society’s Charter, thereby allowing it to maintain a Register of Chartered Psychologists. The reforms of the last few years have radically altered the Society’s organisational structure. In 2000, with the purchase of offices in London, the Society symbolically returned to the city in which it was founded almost a century before.

Not everyone has agreed with the reformist agenda. ‘It seems to us that the Society has undergone a fundamental shift of emphasis,’ two disaffected psychologists wrote to the Bulletin’s editor in 1985, ‘from being a body devoted to psychology, to being an organization serving the self-orientated “profession” of psychologists. The recent pursuit of chartering, registration and ethical codes leave no other interpretation except to those blind to the social history of professional establishments, and the dynamics of their self-serving ideologies.’ (Letter, BBPS, Vol. 38, 1985, p.53). As has been demonstrated above, similar issues have been raised in one form or another since at least the 1920s.


Psychologists now work in every institution of modern life, from hospitals, schools and prisons, to the armed forces and government departments, to advertising agencies, the media and multinational corporations. Psychologists advise the police and act as consultants to the legal profession. Entirely new fields have emerged in recent years, such as environmental psychology, community psychology and traffic psychology. In addition to the traditional areas of cognitive, education, and occupational psychology, the British Psychological Society also supports the activities of consciousness and experiential psychology, lesbian and gay psychology, and sports and exercise psychology. The Society currently consists of 7 regional Branches, 14 special interest Sections and 9 professional Divisions. It also publishes 10 primary science journals, books, and The Psychologist, the monthly in-house journal issued free to all members. As British psychology’s first historian, Leslie Hearnshaw, quaintly put it over forty years ago: ‘In more ways than one psychologists today are in the public eye. Their work is frequently referred to in the press, on the air, even in Parliament, and it excites a variety of reactions and prejudices. Psychologists are no longer rare specimens in the community.’ (Hearnshaw, 1964: v).



1 See Hearnshaw (1964: ch.11) and Boring (1929/1957: ch.20) for British psychology’s  experimental and institutional beginnings. For an extensive but accessible history of the  human sciences, see Smith (1997). Richards (1996) provides a critical historical introduction  to psychology.

2 As the British Psychological Society’s first historian later recalled, the change of name from  The Psychological Society to The British Psychological Society in 1906 ‘was not due to any  sudden uprising of imperial pride, but to the fact that members had discovered another body  of persons who were using the former title. To prevent confusion with this unacademic group  the change in title was agreed to.’ (Edgell, 1947: 116).

3 According to American historian of psychology E.G. Boring, ‘From 1890 to 1920, when  Germany and America were teeming with laboratories and professional experimental  psychologists, Great Britain was advancing slowly in the new science only by way of the work  of a few competent men.’ (Boring, 1929/1957: 460).

4 In London, an informal Psychological Club sprang up around Mind editor George Croom  Robertson in the late 1880s. ‘The meetings this winter are to consider original psychophysical  research’, Cattell told his parents in November 1886, ‘and to discuss how psychological terms  are used and should be used.’ J.M. Cattell to Parents, 19 November 1886. In Sokal (1981:  236). Sophie Bryant, who would later become one of the founder members of the  Psychological Society, also attended these meetings.
5 It was James Sully, Grote Professor of Mind and Logic at University College London, who  had called the meeting that led to the founding of The Psychological Society. W.H.R. Rivers  was also a founder member. For biographical sketches of all ten original founders of the  Society, see Steinberg (1961).

6 Three of the original founder members of the Psychological Society were associated with  the Asylum; W.G. Smith, F.W. Mott and R. Armstrong-Jones. See Steinberg (1961).

7 For the expedition to the Torres Strait, see Herle and Rouse (1998).

8 On Myers and the ‘Cambridge school’ see Crampton (1978).

9 Myers recounted his work in the First World War in Myers (1940).


BARTLETT, F.C. (1945-1948) Charles Samuel Myers, 1873-1946. Obituary Notices of Fellows of the Royal Society, Vol.5. London: The Royal Society.

BARTLETT, F.C. (1965) Remembering Dr Myers. Bulletin of the British Psychological Society, 18, 1-10.

BARTLETT, R.J. (1948) Mind. Quarterly Bulletin of the British Psychological Society, 1 (1), 14-24.

BORING, E.G. (1929/1957) A History of Experimental Psychology, 2nd ed. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, Inc.

CRAMPTON, C. (1978) The Cambridge School: The Life, Work and Influence of James Ward, W.H.R. Rivers, C.S. Myers and Sir Frederic Bartlett. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of Edinburgh.

EDGELL, B. (1947) The British Psychological Society. British Journal of Psychology, 37, 113- 132.

HEARNSHAW, L.S. (1964) A Short History of British Psychology 1840-1940. London: Methuen.

LAWS, F. (1948) Editorial. Quarterly Bulletin of the British Psychological Society, 1 (1), 1.

LOVIE, S. (2001) Three Steps to Heaven: How the British Psychological Society Attained Its Place in the Sun. In G.C. Bunn, A.D. Lovie and G. D. Richards (eds) Psychology in Britain: Historical Essays and Personal Reflections. Leicester: BPS Books.

MOLLON, J.D. (Ed) (1996) The Experimental Psychology Society 1946-1996. Cambridge: The Experimental Psychology Society.

MYERS, C.S. (1940) Shell Shock in France, 1914-1915. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

NEARY, F. (2001) 'A Question of Peculiar Importance': George Croom Robertson, Mind and the Changing Relationship Between British Psychology and Philosophy 1876-1920. In G.C. Bunn, A.D. Lovie and G. D. Richards (eds) Psychology in Britain: Historical Essays and Personal Reflections. Leicester: BPS Books.

OLDFIELD, R.C. (1950) Psychology in Oxford, 1898-1949. Quarterly Bulletin of the British Psychological Society, 1 (9), 345-353.

RICHARDS, G. (1996) Putting Psychology in its Place: An Introduction from a Critical Historical Perspective. London: Routledge.

RICHARDS, G. (1998) Getting a result: The Expedition’s psychological research. In A. Herle and S. Rouse (Eds) (1998) Cambridge and the Torres Strait: Centenary Essays on the 1898 Anthropological Expedition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

RICHARDS, G. (2001) Edward Cox, The Psychological Society of Great Britain (1875-1879) and the Meanings of an Institutional Failure. In G.C. Bunn, A.D. Lovie and G. D. Richards (eds) Psychology in Britain: Historical Essays and Personal Reflections. Leicester: BPS Books.

ROSE, N. (1989) Governing the Soul: The Shaping of the Private Self. London: Routledge.

SLOBODIN, R. (1978/1997) W.H.R. Rivers: Pioneer Anthropologist, Psychiatrist of the Ghost Road. Stroud: Sutton Publishing Ltd.

SMITH, R. (1997) The Fontana History of the Human Sciences. London: Fontana Press.

SOKAL, M. (Ed.) (1981) An Education in Psychology: James McKeen Cattell’s Journal and Letters from Germany and England, 1880-1888. Cambridge: MIT Press.

SOKAL, M.M. (1972) Psychology at Victorian Cambridge—the unofficial laboratory of 1887- 1888. Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 116, 145-147.

STEINBERG, H. (Ed.) (1961) The British Psychological Society 1901-1961. Leicester: The British Psychological Society.

VALENTINE, E. (1997) Psychology at Bedford College London 1849-1985. London: Royal Holloway, University of London.

VALENTINE, E. (1999) The founding of the Psychological Laboratory, University College London: “Dear Galton...Yours truly, J Sully” History of Psychology 2, 204-218.

VALENTINE, E. (forthcoming) Beatrice Edgell: An appreciation. British Journal of Psychology.
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Re: Freda Bedi Cont'd (#2)

Postby admin » Mon Mar 16, 2020 5:18 am

The Dalai Lama and his [Rolex] watches
by Manuel Lütgens
September 4, 2018

Alongside this noticeable success, Freda faced some acute disappointments. She made enemies as well as friends, and sometimes these rivalries became vicious. Lois Lang-Sims commented, without saying what prompted the observation, that Freda's enemies 'were not only numerous but of an almost incredible malevolence'. That intense animosity seems to have been behind the most wounding public assault on Freda and her integrity. The stiletto was wielded by D.F. [Dosabhai Framji] Karaka, an Oxford contemporary of the Bedis. He was a writer and journalist of some distinction, though by the early 1960s he was the editor of a not-so-distinguished Bombay-based tabloidstyle weekly, the Current. This was awash with brash, sensationalist stories, reflecting Karaka's fiercely polemical style, his crusading anticommunism and his impatience with Nehru, India's prime minister, for his supposed lack of zeal in standing up for the national interest. The weekly paper bore the slogan 'God Save the Motherland' on its front page.

In September 1963, Freda's photograph graced the front-page of the Current, accompanying a story which also took up much of the following page. It was a hatchet job. Under his own byline, Karaka asserted that 'an Englishwoman, married to an Indian, is attempting to express a great deal of anxiety to help the Buddhist cause as a screen for her Communist activities'. He insisted that 'Mrs Freda Bedi ... will always, in my opinion, be a Communist first, irrespective of her outwardly embraced Buddhism.' This was an absurd accusation. Freda's days as a communist sympathiser had come to a close almost twenty years earlier. Her husband had abandoned communism a decade previously.

But the accusation of being a concealed communist was deeply wounding especially when the Tibetan refugees regarded communist China as their arch enemy -- the occupiers of their homeland and destroyers of their culture, faith and tradition -- and when India had recently been at war with China.

'Freda has dabbled with Communism ever since my student days in Oxford,' Karaka reported. 'She was, in fact, at Oxford at the same time as myself. Later, she married Bedi, a well known Indian Communist. They both came out to India and plunged themselves into the Communist movement.' The article resorted to innuendo, suggesting that 'the alleged indoctrination of Sheikh Abdulla [sic] was largely to be traced to his very close association with Freda Bedi'. It suggested that some former associates of the Bedis in Kashmir had 'mysteriously disappeared'. Freda was alleged to have been caught up in controversy about Buddhist property and funds before turning, 'with the active encouragement of Shri J. Nehru, the Prime Minister', to the running of the Young Lamas' Home School. The article suggested that Freda was getting money from the Indian government, and using government headed paper to appeal for funds from supporters in America and elsewhere. Karaka suggested that the Tibetan Friendship Group was a 'Communist stunt' and he alleged that 'noted Communists, with the usual "blessings" of Mr. Nehru, are using the excuse of helping Tibetan refugees and Buddhist monks for furthering the cause of Communism in strategic border areas.'

Aside from the venomous smears, the only evidence of inappropriate conduct that the article pointed to was her use of official notepaper to appeal for funds for her school and other Tibetan relief operations. It cited a letter of complaint, sent by an unnamed Buddhist organisation which clearly was antagonistic to Freda, stating that she had been using the headed paper of the Central Social Welfare Board which bore the Government of India's logo. A civil servant's response was also quoted: 'Mrs Bedi is not authorised to use Government of India stationery for correspondence in connection with the affairs of the "Young Lama's Home" or the "Tibetan Friendship Group". This has now been pointed out to Mrs. Bedi.'

Even if Freda has been using government headed paper to help raise money -- which those who worked with her say is perfectly possible -- it was hardly a major misdemeanour. But detractors were able to use this blemish to damage her reputation. She was, it seems, distraught at this vicious personal attack and took advice about whether to take legal action. She was advised, probably wisely, to do nothing, as any riposte would simply give further life to accusations so insubstantial that they would quickly fade away. 'The accusation was that Freda was a communist in nun's clothing -- not that Freda was a nun at that time,' recalls Cherry Armstrong. 'I remember her being particularly distressed and "beyond belief' when she believed she had identified the culprit. Freda was totally dumbfounded about it.'

Freda was convinced that another western convert to Buddhism, Sangharakshita (earlier Dennis Lingwood), was either behind the slur or was abetting it. They had much in common -- including a deep antipathy to each other. Lingwood encountered Theosophy and Buddhism as a teenager in England and was ordained before he was twenty by the Burmese monk U Titthila, who later helped Freda towards Buddhism. During the war, he served in the armed forces in South and South-east Asia and from 1950 spent about fourteen years based in Kalimpong in north-east India, where he was influenced by several leading Tibetan Buddhist teachers. In the small world of Indian Buddhism, the two English converts rubbed shoulders. More than sixty years later, Sangharakshita -- who established a Buddhist community in England -- recalls coming across Freda, then new to Buddhism, living at the Ashoka Vihar Buddhist centre outside Delhi. 'She was tall, thin, and intense and wore Indian dress. She had a very pale complexion, with light fair hair and very pale blue eyes. In other words, she looked very English! I also noticed, especially later on, that she was very much the Memsaheb ... During the time that I knew Freda she knew hardly anything about Buddhism, having never studied it seriously .... She had however developed what I called her "patter" about the Dalai Lama, compassion, and the poor dear little Tulkus. So far as I could see, Freda had no spiritual awareness or Enlightenment.[/size] She may, of course, have developed these later.' His view of the Young Lamas' Home School is also somewhat jaundiced -- 'some of [the tulkus] developed rather expensive tastes, such as for Rolex watches.'

-- The Lives of Freda: The Political, Spiritual and Personal Journeys of Freda Bedi, by Andrew Whitehead

At one retreat [Sogyal] Rinpoche blessed a devotee who was wearing a Rolex watch. It is said he told the man: “You have to put this in the offering bowl at the end.”

-- The Bad Buddha: Dark side of celeb guru Sogyal Rinpoche who ‘sexually abused’ the beautiful young women dubbed his ‘Dakinis’, by Oliver Harvey, The Sun, 9/22/18

[Tai] Situ [Rinpoche] was already a thirty-something sell out, his generations folly, the first of the Rolex Rinpoches. known for his embrace of the “greed is good” ethos of what has has become thirty years later as today’s one percent.

-- Keeping the Faith in the Age of the Rolex Rinpoches, by Tinfoil Ushnisha

In 1989 he was awarded with the Nobel Peace Prize, he is the spiritual head of Tibetan Buddhism -– and he, himself is a self-confessed watch lover. The speech is of course by Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama. Granted, the ascetic monk is not the first name that comes to mind in connection with luxury watches. But the Dalai Lama has a weakness for mechanical watches and has been happy to disassemble and reassemble them for years. His personal collection consists of over 15 watches, about which, however, little is known. The native Tibetan wears his watches usually turned inwards on cheap elastic stainless steel bracelets, so that the housing and dial remain hidden.

However, three of his watches can be clearly seen in photos and we are able to identity them. In addition to a Patek Philippe pocket watch, given to him as a young boy from U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt, the monk also has two Rolex models whose origin is unknown.

The first watch of the Dalai Lama, a Patek Philippe Ref. 658

His love of mechanical watches began very early: At the age of 6 or 7, the Dalai Lama received his first watch, from none other than the U.S. American President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Rumours and assumptions grew around the watch itself and its reference, as the Dalai Lama’s headquarters in Dharamsala always rejected journalistic questions. It was known for a long time that it was a Patek Philippe pocket watch -– but then in 2016, pictures appeared on the internet for the first time. They were posted on US Senator Patrick Leahy’s Facebook page, who is known by cameo appearances in some Batman films (including Batman & Robin, Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice and The Dark Knight Rises). They show the watch presented by the Senator to Dalai Lama. Eric Wind identified the watch 2016 in a Hodinkee article as a pocket watch with Ref. 658, of which only 15 were made between 1937 and 1950, a truly special gift! But the watch is probably just as special as its story, which Thomas Laird tells in his book Tibet -– The History of a Country: The Dalai Lama in Conversation with Thomas Laird. Roosevelt did not hand over the gift personally. Two agents of the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), the predecessor of today’s CIA, offered the watch along with a letter from the president. Brooke Dolan and his colleague Ilia [Ilya Andreyevich]Tolstoy, who was allegedly the grandson of the famous author Leo Tolstoy, strictly followed the protocol: visitors silently handed over their presents and received a so-called 'katha‘, a prayer shawl traditionally handed over. The two had a mission to find out more about the possibility of building a road from India to China, which was strategically important to the United States for supplying China during the war with Japan.

The OSS and the Dalai Lama
by Rob Crotty
National Archives Office of Strategy and Communications staff writer
February 8, 2011

OSS spies Brooke Dolan and Ilia Tolstoy traveling to Lhasa (still from "Inside Tibet", Records of the Office of Strategic Services)

In the summer of 1942, the Allies’ war against Japan was in dire straits. China was constantly battling the occupying Japanese forces in its homeland, supplied by India via the Burma Road. Then Japan severed that supply artery. Planes were flown over the Himalayan mountains, but their payloads were too little, and too many pilots crashed in the desolate landscape to continue the flights.

The Allies were desperate to find a land route that would reconnect China and India. The task fell to two OSS men—Ilia Tolstoy, the grandson of Leo Tolstoy, and explorer Capt. Brooke Dolan. To complete the land route would require traversing Tibet, and to traverse the hidden country required the permission of a seven-year-old boy, the Dalai Lama.

When the two men arrived in Lhasa, the remote capital of Tibet, these spies were received as ambassadors. A military brass band played, and they were treated as guests of honor in a city that only a few decades earlier had forbidden Westerners to enter.

They came carrying a message from President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. On December 20, at 9:20 in the morning, they were granted an audience with His Holiness. As a further sign of his respect for these two emissaries, the men were allowed to ride horses up the Potala to the quarters of the Dalai Lama. After a brief wait, they entered the highest room in Lhasa. Lt. Col. Ilia Tolstoy wrote of his first glimpse of Tibet’s leader in a 1946 National Geographic:

His Holiness was seated cross-legged, a high-peaked yellow hat on his head. We were immediately impressed by his young but stern face and not at all frail constitution. His cheeks were a healthy pink.

Tolstoy proceeded through the tradition of offering gifts to the Dalai Lama—bread and butter followed by an image of Buddha, a religious book, and a chorten (a Buddhist reliquary). Then, for the first time in history, he made direct contact between the Dalai Lama and the President of the United States by passing a letter written by FDR to the young leader.

After half an hour of discussion, the men left. A week later, they received the permission they were seeking to cross Tibet. It was the first such permission granted in 22 years, according to Tolstoy.

Five months later, they crossed the Tibetan plateau, and the two men arrived in northern China, completing their journey. They had traveled over a thousand miles and spent over a hundred days in the saddle to pioneer a route to connect allied supplies with allied fighters across some of the world’s harshest terrain. Their mission was complete.

While the route was never employed during the war—a diplomatic crisis prevented its use, and planes continued to fly “the hump” across the Himalayan mountains—Tolstoy and Brooke made history, bridging two cultures that before had never formally met. Brooke Dolan filmed the entire journey, and the reels are now housed in the motion picture holdings of the National Archives. The video is below.

For more on spies and the National Archives, join us at 7 p.m. tonight at the International Spy Museum for “Spies and Conspiracies: Espionage in the Civil War.” For more footage from the OSS, CIA, and FBI, you can pick up our latest offering from the National Archives eStore: FBI/CIA Films Declassified. ... n_US&rel=0

Rolex Datejust 16233

The Dalai Lama’s watch is a complex and rare specimen that displays the moon phases, date, day of the week and months. It aroused his enthusiasm for mechanical watches and watchmaking. A well-known photograph shows him working on watches. But he was sometimes more, sometimes less successful. For example, in one of his books he tells the anecdote:

Rolex Sky Dweller 326933

"Me as an example, I’ve always liked to repair watches. But from my boyhood I can remember a number of situations in which I completely lost the temper in dealing with the tiny, fine parts. I then picked up the movement and slammed it on the table. Of course, later on I was ashamed of my behaviour and regretted it, especially when I had to return one watch to its owner in a condition worse than their original one." (Dalai Lama: The Book of Humanity: A New Ethic for Our Time)

Such a rare watch, of course, also raises questions of its value. Hodinkee cites two sales of the same reference, which valued at $ 253,605 and $ 357,909. According to the Dalai Lama, the watch was sent to Switzerland several times for repair, so it is functional, but bears some signs of wear. However, considering its famous owner and the history behind it, it is probably worth a whole lot more.

Rolex Sky Dweller 326933

Tenzin Gyatso’s Rolex watches

If you are interested in mechanical watches, there is no way around a classic Rolex. The Dalai Lama owns two models that are well-known: A Rolesor Rolex Datejust made of gold and stainless steel with a Jubilee bracelet and a Rolex Day-Date, both presumably gifts. The latter is made of yellow gold and has a blue dial, as seen in some photographs. Some people say that they are a sign of proudness among a monk, but if you look at the meaning of the colours in Tibetan Buddhism, you will see a beautiful picture: blue stands for heaven and spiritual insights, yellow for earth and the experiences of the real world. Thus, the watch purely by chance reflects the teachings of Tibetan Buddhism.

The Dalai Lama shows that the rejection of consumer culture can still be accompanied by respect for outstanding craftsmanship. However, he does not fail to emphasise that objects can not replace interpersonal relationships for him. "Watches have always fascinated me,“ he writes, "and although I particularly appreciate the one I wear most of the time, it never brings me any affection.“ (Dalai Lama: The Book of Humanity: A New Ethic for Our Time)

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Re: Freda Bedi Cont'd (#2)

Postby admin » Mon Mar 16, 2020 5:38 am

Brooke Dolan II
by Wikipedia
Accessed: 3/15/20


Brooke Dolan II (1908 – Chongqing, China, August 19 or 29, 1945) was an American adventurer and naturalist in the 1930s and 1940s.[1][2][3] His father was Brooke Dolan, a wealthy American industrialist in Philadelphia. During World War II, he served as a lieutenant and captain.[4][5]


Brooke Dolan II was educated at Princeton University and Harvard University.[1][4][6][7] He was a trustee of the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia. He led two expeditions to China and eastern Tibet in 1931 to 1932 and 1934 to 1936.[4][7][8] The first expedition comprised Ernst Schäfer, a German zoologist, Gordon Bowles, Otto Gneiser, and Hugo Weigold.[4][8] The second comprised Schäfer[4][7][8] and Marion Duncan, an American missionary. Dolan's second expedition may have been motivated partly by the need to take a leave of absence from Philadelphia society after a January 1934 arrest on disorderly conduct charges.[4]

On April 15, 1934, Dolan married Emilie Campan Gerhard, daughter of Albert Pepper Gerhard, of Overbrook, Philadelphia[6] who accompanied him for a while on his second trip to China.[4]

Dolan joined the United States Army Air Forces after the attack on Pearl Harbor.[1][4] In 1942 he traveled to Lhasa with Ilia [Ilya Andreyevich] Tolstoy, a grandson of Leo Tolstoy, as a member of the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), to meet with the Tibetan government. On December 20, 1942, they met the young 14th Dalai Lama and his Regent, the 3rd Taktra Rinpoche.[5][7][9] They were the first Americans ever to meet a Dalai Lama.[5] Tolstoy and Dolan, who were nicknamed "Mud" and "Slug" by their fellow OSS officers, both received the Legion of Merit for the mission.[9][10] They are considered to have gone beyond their authority in leading the Tibetan government to believe the United States had given international political recognition to Tibet.

After the Tibetan expedition Dolan transferred from the OSS to the Army Air Forces and joined the United States Military Observer Group in Yunnan, China.[1][11] Dolan died in Chongqing, China. According to some accounts, he was killed on an OSS mission to rescue downed Allied bomber crews;[1] according to other accounts, he took his own life on August 19, 1945.[3]


1. Beolens, Bo; Watkins, Michael (2003). Whose Bird? Common Bird Names and the People They Commemorate. New Haven, London: Yale University Press. p. 108. ISBN 0-300-10359-X. LCCN 2003113608.
2. The Anglers' Club Story, Our First Fifty Years, 1906-1956. Anglers' Club of New York. 1956. p. 47.
3. Meyer, Karl E.; Brysac, Shareen Blair (2006). Tournament of Shadows: The Great Game and the Race for Empire in Central Asia. New York: Basic Books. p. 550. ISBN 978-0-465-04576-1.
4. Meyer & Brysac 2006, pp. 534–536
5. Starks, Richard (2012). Lost in Tibet: The Untold Story of Five American Airmen, a Doomed Plane, and the Will to Survive. Rowman & Littlefield. pp. 90–92. ISBN 978-0-7627-8931-3.
6. Carter, Thomas T. (May 11, 1934). "Tibetan Explorer Trapped". Princeton Alumni Weekly. XXXIV (31): 716.
7. Coleman, Katie. "PhilaPlace - Academy of Natural Sciences: From Science to War – Brooke Dolan II of The Academy of Natural Sciences". Historical Society of Pennsylvania. Retrieved July 29, 2017.
8. Troelstra, A.S. (2016). Bibliography of Natural History Travel Narratives. Brill Publishers. p. 375. ISBN 9789004343788.
9. Moon, Tom (2000). This Grim and Savage Game: OSS and the Beginning of U.S. Covert Operations in World War II. Da Capo Press. pp. 76–79. ISBN 0-306-80956-7.
10. Meyer & Brysac 2006, p. 546
11. Meyer & Brysac 2006, p. 548


• Meyer, Karl Ernest; Brysac, Shareen Blair (2006). Tournament of Shadows: The Great Game and the Race for Empire in Central Asia. Basic Books. ISBN 978-0-465-04576-1.
• Dolan II, Brooke, Road to the Edge of the World, Frontiers, October 1936, pages 5–9
• Dolan II, Brooke, Road to the Edge of the World, Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences (Philadelphia), 1937
• Duncan, Marion, The Yangtze and the Yak, Alexandria Va, 1952
• Hale, Christopher, Himmler’s Crusade, Hoboken NJ: Wiley & Sons, 2003
• Knaus, John Kenneth, Orphans of the Cold War: America and the Tibetan Struggle for Survival, Chapter 1, New York: Public Affairs, 1999


The OSS and the Dalai Lama
by Rob Crotty
National Archives Office of Strategy and Communications staff writer
February 8, 2011

OSS spies Brooke Dolan and Ilia Tolstoy traveling to Lhasa (still from "Inside Tibet", Records of the Office of Strategic Services)

In the summer of 1942, the Allies’ war against Japan was in dire straits. China was constantly battling the occupying Japanese forces in its homeland, supplied by India via the Burma Road. Then Japan severed that supply artery. Planes were flown over the Himalayan mountains, but their payloads were too little, and too many pilots crashed in the desolate landscape to continue the flights.

The Allies were desperate to find a land route that would reconnect China and India. The task fell to two OSS men—Ilia Tolstoy, the grandson of Leo Tolstoy, and explorer Capt. Brooke Dolan. To complete the land route would require traversing Tibet, and to traverse the hidden country required the permission of a seven-year-old boy, the Dalai Lama.

When the two men arrived in Lhasa, the remote capital of Tibet, these spies were received as ambassadors. A military brass band played, and they were treated as guests of honor in a city that only a few decades earlier had forbidden Westerners to enter.

They came carrying a message from President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. On December 20, at 9:20 in the morning, they were granted an audience with His Holiness. As a further sign of his respect for these two emissaries, the men were allowed to ride horses up the Potala to the quarters of the Dalai Lama. After a brief wait, they entered the highest room in Lhasa. Lt. Col. Ilia Tolstoy wrote of his first glimpse of Tibet’s leader in a 1946 National Geographic:

His Holiness was seated cross-legged, a high-peaked yellow hat on his head. We were immediately impressed by his young but stern face and not at all frail constitution. His cheeks were a healthy pink.

Tolstoy proceeded through the tradition of offering gifts to the Dalai Lama—bread and butter followed by an image of Buddha, a religious book, and a chorten (a Buddhist reliquary). Then, for the first time in history, he made direct contact between the Dalai Lama and the President of the United States by passing a letter written by FDR to the young leader.

After half an hour of discussion, the men left. A week later, they received the permission they were seeking to cross Tibet. It was the first such permission granted in 22 years, according to Tolstoy.

Five months later, they crossed the Tibetan plateau, and the two men arrived in northern China, completing their journey. They had traveled over a thousand miles and spent over a hundred days in the saddle to pioneer a route to connect allied supplies with allied fighters across some of the world’s harshest terrain. Their mission was complete.

While the route was never employed during the war—a diplomatic crisis prevented its use, and planes continued to fly “the hump” across the Himalayan mountains—Tolstoy and Brooke made history, bridging two cultures that before had never formally met. Brooke Dolan filmed the entire journey, and the reels are now housed in the motion picture holdings of the National Archives. The video is below.

For more on spies and the National Archives, join us at 7 p.m. tonight at the International Spy Museum for “Spies and Conspiracies: Espionage in the Civil War.” For more footage from the OSS, CIA, and FBI, you can pick up our latest offering from the National Archives eStore: FBI/CIA Films Declassified. ... n_US&rel=0


Description: Brooke Dolan (second from left) and Ilya Tolstoy (right) with their monk-interpreter, Kusho Yonton Singhe, standing in front of a traditional Tibetan tent set up outside Lhasa for the expedition's official greeting ceremony. Date 1942. Author Brooke Dolan and Ilya Tolstoy.

US Captain Brooke Dolan II in local tunnel warfare in north China in 1945. [File photo] Captain Brooke Dolan II traveled to the central battlefront of Hebei province as a US observer in January of 1945 when China was undergoing the final crucial phase of the anti-Japanese war. The captain visited the local tunnel warfare and marveled at the fortifications created by the Chinese people. Unfortunately, his where-abouts were detected by the Japanese military and soon he was surrounded. The captain was escorted by Shi Shaohua, deputy editor-in-chief of Jinchaji Huabao (a local official magazine), and retreated together with the local people. In the tunnel, he, together with the residents, was saved at the cost of the life of an eight-month-old crying baby, who was suffocated to death by his mother with her breast in order not to be heard by the enemies.

-- US captain's China adventure, by, 8/24/15

In October 1942, Brooke Dolan II traveled with fellow OSS officer Ilya Tolstoy to Lhasa, and met the young Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso

Brooke Dolan WWII OSS, Tibet Expedition ID Card, Wallet, Notebook & Ephemera

Count Ilya Tolstoy, left, Captain Brooke Dolan, centre, and a mounted Gurkha guide can be seen riding across Tibet in 1942

With the silver framed photograph of President Roosevelt went a personal letter to the Dalai Lama in a cylindrical casket, a gold watch and other gifts. The silver galleon (right centre) was presented to His Holiness by Colonel Tolstoy and Captain Dolan

Description: English: The Dalai Lama, photographed in 1942 by the official United States expedition to Tibet headed by Ilya Tolstoy and Brooke Dolan. Date 20 December 1942. Source Author Brooke Dolan and Ilya Tolstoy

Members of the 1943 Dolan expedition to Tibet. Brooke Dolan is on the left. Ilya Tolstoy, grandson of Leo Tolstoy, is just to the right of the man on foot. Ewell Sale Stewart Library & Archives Coll. no. 64.
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Re: Freda Bedi Cont'd (#2)

Postby admin » Mon Mar 16, 2020 6:10 am

Marion Duncan, Missionary in Tibet, Intelligence Aide
by Washington Post
February 4, 1977

Marion Herbert Duncan Papers (MS coll. 64B), 1933-67, 78 items.
Background note: Marion Herbert Duncan (b. 1896) went to Tibet in 1921 and remained in Batang with the Tibetan Christian mission of the Church of Christ. The mission closed in 1932 after the battle of Batang and he returned to the United States the following year. The following material relates to his second trip to China as part of Brooke Dolan's expedition beginning in 1935.
CORRESPONDENCE/MANUSCRIPTS: Correspondence with Brooke Dolan II, the Academy, and Ernst Schaefer, and related papers concerning Duncan's participation in the Dolan Expedition to West China and Tibet, 1934-36.

-- Christianity in China: A Scholars's Guide to Resources in the Libraries and Archives of the United States, by Archie R. Crouch, Steven Agoratus, Arthur Emerson, Debra E. Soled

-- Marian L. Duncan, A Flame of the Fire (Spring Hill, Tennessee: Marian Duncan, 1999), 27, wrote, "Furlough is much harder than being in the mission field because expectations are so high for speaking engagements.
-- Arlene Adams to Marion Duncan, Apr. 1, 1931, Tibetan Christian Mission File, Disciples of Christ Historical Society, Nashville, Tennessee, stated, "You no doubt know the Un-Ch-M-Soc received many valuable courtesies from different railroads in America."
-- Customs and Superstitions of Tibetans, by Marion H. Duncan
-- Love Songs and Proverbs of Tibet, by Marion H. Duncan (1961)
-- The Mountain of Silver Snow, by Marion Herbert Duncan (1929)
-- The Cycle of Existence, by Marion H. Duncan (1966)
-- More Harvest Festival Dramas of Tibet, by Marion Herbert Duncan (1967)

Marion H. Duncan, 81, a former missionary and retired Army intelligence employee, died Jan. 30 at the Fahrney-Keedy Memorial Home for the Aged in Boonsboro, Md.

He had served with Army intelligence here from 1942 until retiring in about 1965. During that period he had lived in Alexandria except for tours of duty in Japan and Hong Kong.

Born in Celina, Ohio, Mr. Duncan served in France with the Army in World War I, and later graduated from Hiram College in Ohio.

He was ordained a minister in the Church of Christ (Disciples). He and his wife, Kathryn Habecker Duncan, served as missionaries in Tibet from 1921 to 1933. They spent another two years in western China and Tibet on an expedition for the Philadelphia Museum of Natural Science.

Before joining Army intelligence, Mr. Duncan worked for the Unemployment Compensation Service in Bellefontaine, Ohio.

He was a member and elder of the First Christian Church of Alexandria.

After his retirement, he and his wife moved to Berkeley Springs, W.Va. They had lived in the Fahrney-Keedy Home for several years.

In addition to his wife, he is survived by two sons, John, of Alexandria, and Robert, of Vienna; two daughters, MarianAdams, of Hagerstown, and Esther Dunker, of Pekin, Ill.; a brother and sister in Ohio, 12 grandchildren and one great-grandchild.
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Re: Freda Bedi Cont'd (#2)

Postby admin » Mon Mar 16, 2020 6:45 am

Part 1 of 2

Across Tibet from India to China
by Lieutenant-Colonel Count Ilia [Ilya Andreyevich] Tolstoy

Tibetan Cavalry welcomed Count Tolstoy and Captain Dolan when they rode into Lhasa on their secret mission to "Shangri-La"

In the Spring of 1942, when the war looked grimmer day by day to the Allies, and the Burma Road was lost, I was given the assignment of crossing Tibet from India to China. The venture, which was primarily to discover ways and routes of transporting supplies to China, was under the auspices of the Office of Strategic Services.

Given the choice of going alone or taking along a unit of personally picked men, I selected as my companion Capt. Brooke Dolan, who was then anchored to an Army Air Forces desk in Washington and was casting an eager eye around for overseas duty. The mission, I felt, would have a better chance of success if shared by two men. If one was lost, the other might get through.

Colonel Count Ilia Tolstoy (left) and Captain Brooke Dolan (right) are greeted by a Tibetan official.

President Roosevelt Greets the Dalai Lama

Since Tibet proper is closed to all visitors, no permits to enter could be obtained in the United States. The best passport available for the trip was a letter from President Roosevelt to the Dalai Lama of Tibet. This we were to carry, together with the customary gifts to His Holiness and other officials in Lhasa.

On our departure from Washington by air in July, Col. (later Major General) "Wild Bill" Donovan, Director of OSS, bade us "Keep in touch if you can"— a hard task since radio equipment compact enough to carry on such a trip was not procurable at the time.

We carried 290 pounds of equipment, including vital instruments, cameras, film, etc., and 27 pounds each of personal belongings. In those days before the Air Transport Command was fully developed, bucket seats on planes were luxuries, and we slept on some of our cargo.

Arriving in Delhi, we reported to Lt. Gen. (now General) Joseph W. Stilwell, who was then China-Burma-India Theater commander. His rear echelon headquarters occupied only one wing of the Imperial Hotel in New Delhi, though it was the nucleus of the CBI forces.

In our negotiations with the Tibetans through the British Government offices in India, we were aided by Col. (later Brig. Gen.) Russell A. Osmun, USA; Capt. (later Lt. Col.) Charles Suydam Cutting, AUS, an ardent student of Tibet who had been to Lhasa twice in previous years; and George R. Merrill, Secretary of the U. S. Mission at New Delhi.

The success of the negotiations was due in part also to the warm support and assistance of O. K. Caroe, Secretary of External Affairs of the Government of India; Sir Basil John Gould, Political Officer for Sikkim and British Representative for Bhutan and Tibet; and Frank Ludlow, Additional British Political Officer for the same region, who at the time was already in Lhasa.

While arrangements with Lhasa were under way by British wireless, Brooke and I prepared for the trip.

India was in turmoil. There was rioting in the streets of Delhi, and the city was declared out of bounds. Finally, however, we were given a jeep with permission to go wherever we wished, and we darted around old and New Delhi, obtaining all needed supplies and equipment with the exception of a compact radio receiving set.

At the end of September, 1942, we were granted permission to proceed as far as Lhasa. Our prospects of going on from Lhasa to China looked exceedingly doubtful.

"Vinegar Joe" Stilwell's Best Wishes

Before our departure General Stilwell found time to call us in and bid us Godspeed in his perfect Chinese. Late at night we struggled into our compartment on a train swarming with Hindus and troops. Our quarters were so jammed with thirty-odd pieces of equipment, all packed in containers for pack animal transport, that we had to sit on some of the cases. Luckily our train got through safely to Calcutta; the one behind us was derailed by rebels.

An overnight train took us on to SiIiguri. There we were met by Sandup, a 29-year-old Tibetan who had studied in English schools in India and was one of the post managers of the Tibetan telephone and telegraph line between Lhasa and India. He was to be our Number 1 man and interpreter on the journey to Lhasa and during our stay there.

With our gear piled into some aging touring Fords, we started a 70-mile climb through the lush vegetation of the Himalayan foothills into the State of Sikkim. The road, though narrow, was fair, damage from washouts and slides being repaired constantly by gangs of Gurkha and Lepcha laborers, mostly women.

We wound precariously along steep hillsides where the slightest swerve would have dropped us hundreds of feet into canyon streams. Once we came to a bridge so tottering that Sandup suggested our walking across and letting the cars go over one at a time.

We were soon in the toylike city of Gangtok, capital of Sikkim, whose Maharaja is much interested in promoting the welfare of his people. Here we were guests in the charming English country house of Sir Basil John Gould. B. J., as we called him, had represented the British Government at the inauguration of the present Dalai Lama. Though now more than 60 years of age, he thinks nothing of making the 300-mile journey to Lhasa.

We found him deeply engaged in the preparation of a new type of English-Tibetan dictionary and working out new methods for learning the Tibetan language. He speaks Tibetan, Hindustani, and Lepcha dialects and can write in those languages. Brooke and I absorbed from this remarkable man all we could about the customs and people of the country into which we were going.

While we were staying with B. J., the Prime Minister of Bhutan, Rani Dorji, with his charming Tibetan wife, was also visiting him. Madam Dorji was translating some Tibetan poetry and old ballads into English.

While we were preparing for the trip to Lhasa, Rai Sahib Sonnam, British trade agent from Yatung, the first Tibetan town of any importance on our route, came to Gangtok and gave us valuable assistance. He helped us organize our outfit and advised us on customs, procedures, protocol, and the presentation of gifts to officials along the way and in Lhasa.

Ready for the Trip to Forbidden Lhasa

We were fortunate in finding a cook who later on became our Number 1 man, and an almost indispensable member of the party. Son of a Chinese father and Tibetan mother, he spoke enough English to act as our interpreter after Sandup left us. His name was Thami, which we changed immediately to Tommy. Our other newly engaged boy was Lakhpa, a quiet, hardworking Lepcha about 26 years old.

With our party thus augmented to five, plus whatever transport men were driving the animals, we struck out in clear October weather. The first pack train we hired from the Maharaja of Sikkim, and Rani Dorji lent us two of his fine riding mules as our mounts for the first part of the journey.

For three days, while we were winding up the side of a valley toward the top of a Himalayan pass, we could look back and see the little town of Gangtok with its palace on a knoll. Our overnight stops were at dak bungalows (Government rest-houses).

Tolstoy's caravan climbed dangerous Himalayan mountain paths such as this one on their way to the Forbidden City of Lhasa.

Usually a day apart, these stretched on for 13 stages up to the city of Gyangtse. There was a keeper at each place, and although modern conveniences did not exist, the quarters were adequate and comfortable.

Nearing the summits, the road sometimes was only a trail so narrow that it was difficult to pass oncoming caravans burdened with bulging loads. Here and there slides made the trail almost impassable.

At 14,000 feet we sometimes felt the effect of the altitude and thin air and would wake up in the night gasping for breath. We found that propping ourselves in a semi sitting position was best for sleeping. In the daytime it was difficult to walk any distance uphill without frequent stops and rests, and we soon got used to doing everything as if in slow motion.

The Natu La (13,500 feet), first pass over the Himalayas, was surprisingly easy and level, with a good wide stretch of road approaching it. It is rocky, bare of vegetation, and in October free of snow. There was a little snow on slopes near by.

First Glimpse of Mysterious Tibet

For a while we were in the clouds and could see neither behind nor ahead of us. Then the mists parted for a moment, allowing us to take our last look back at India and our first ahead into the thick, evergreen forests below us and the sea of ranges in the distance. We were looking down into mysterious Tibet.

A Tibetan outrider leads Tolstoy and his men into Tibet.

Leaving Natu La, we dismounted to spare our horses and walked down into Tibet over old washed-out trails. Our path in the valley of the Amo led often along dry freshet courses. On the way we paused to have a cup of buttered tea with the abbot of Kargyu Gompa (gompa, in Tibet, or gomba, in China, means "monastery"), the first small Tibetan monastery we encountered.

The headman of Yatung, on the Amo, met us with an escort about five miles from the city limits. Both our parties dismounted, and we performed the ceremony of exchanging scarfs, known as kattaks.

Rai Sahib Sonnam and several other acquaintances of the city greeted us just outside the town with military honors presented by a detachment of Indian Sepoy infantry in the employ of the Indian Army. We were then escorted to our quarters in a bungalow truly palatial for that territory.

Yatung is one of the larger Tibetan cities, though it numbers probably not more than 1,500 to 2,000 people. For livelihood the people depend upon agriculture and trade with passing caravans.

Tibetan Etiquette Complicated

As soon as we were settled, we were called upon by all the dignitaries of the city. They came with their servants, bringing gifts ranging from Tibetan carpets to yak butter and hen eggs. Our Number 1 man always knew when a caller was to arrive, and consequently we were prepared with the indispensable tea, and candies, cookies, and dried fruit.

The ceremonies of greeting varied with the importance of a caller. The more important he was, the farther away from the room we met him. We had to acquaint ourselves with the rules so as to know whether to greet a caller at the end of a room, at the door, in the yard, or at the front gate!

The day after our arrival in Yatung we had an early lunch with Rai Sahib Sonnam in his modern little home. Lunch was served in the Western style. We met here the first Tibetan of high social standing, Mary Taring, wife of a prominent young Tibetan official from Lhasa, and her two daughters. The younger girl was going to school in India, and the older was about to marry the son of Rani Dorji, Prime Minister of Bhutan. The Tarings later on became our great friends.

At that luncheon we also met Pangda Tsang, one of the two strong men in the Tibetan world of finance. He is a Yatung merchant, whose agency is scattered far and wide.

The next day we were invited to the first really Tibetan luncheon in the Tsangs' typical well-to-do Tibetan home. We rode out to the house with all our group, a thing that is always done, custom demanding that the host provide a good meal for the guest's retinue. Since we were considered high officials, we were expected to uphold the prestige of the United States.

Our three assistants and few pack animals made a show so unimpressive that we had to resort to the excuse that in wartime everything must be done simply and economically.

A Tibetan Luncheon Party

With a throng of Tibetan guests Pangda Tsang's luncheon party was a gay affair. The food, more than abundant, consisted of Tibetan and Chinese delicacies, some of which had come from the coast of China before the war. We ate our meal with chopsticks, washing it down with many cups of tea and also with chang, the Tibetan national drink, made of lightly fermented barley.

We had regular Chinese shark-fin soup, some small ocean shrimp originally dried, transparent noodles made from pea flour, pickled vegetables (cabbage, cucumber, and a sort of cross between a chutney and a pickle), boiled rice, several dishes of cold and hot meat prepared in different ways, and round balls of dough stuffed with meat, fruit, or brown sugar and then boiled or steamed. These last had been pinched all around before steaming and stained with a red dye. The final course was a succulent noodle dish.

The soup dish and dessert were eaten in the middle of the meal. Dessert, served hot, was a syruplike jelly containing raisins and apricots.

Pangda Tsang asked us when the United States would again buy Tibetan wool. Before the war the bulk of Tibetan wool had been sold to the United States for manufacture of auto rugs, but the war had cut off the export and the Tibetans were temporarily without this important source of revenue. I referred the inquiry to Washington.

We soon realized that Tibetans who knew of the United States were interested in the outcome of the war and had a sympathetic feeling toward us. They had, however, great doubt as to our ability to defeat Japan, since at the time Japan was almost at their border.

A Letter from the Dalai Lama's Court

In taking our leave from the party, we left, through our Number 1 man, the customary adequate tip for our host's chief servant. Several of Pangda Tsang's riders escorted us to our home. This was good etiquette on such occasions, for the more gaily a guest departs, the better proof to all the neighborhood that the entertainment was lavish.

While we were at Yatung, we received from Lhasa the Red Arrow Letter, a courtesy gesture from the Dalai Lama's court for traveling through the country.

This letter was a piece of red cotton cloth, about 16 inches wide and 2 feet long, to be carried in the bosom or on a staff by an outrider who would precede the party by one or two days. It stated that two American officers were en route to visit the Dalai Lama and requested the headmen of all the villages to supply them with accommodations and transport at a certain rate.

Given a military send-off with honors when we left Yatung, we proceeded up the valley toward the next town of Phari Dzong, several days' journey away.

We passed some scattered villages, their houses built of stone with shingled roofs, and went through little meadows of Li Ma Tang, the only flat grassland we had seen on the bottom of the valley. It was haying time. The villagers had their tents pitched in the meadows and were cutting the grass with scythes, then raking it to dry.

The trail was crowded with little donkeys and mules almost completely hidden under their loads of hay. Even old men and women were carrying enormous backloads.

The Loftiest Post Office in the World

Our first panoramic view of the typical Tibetan town of Phari Dzong and the country around it was truly magnificent. Here we were greeted by the distinguished old administrator, who is also the abbot of the local monastery of 400 monks. We stayed in the compound of a Tibetan house that also served as the post office for the Tibetans, supposedly the highest-situated post office in the world.

Some crops are grown in the country around Phari Dzong, and barley can be planted above a 15,000-foot altitude. In the plains and foothills we saw some of the first black tents of the nomads and herders, with their winter corrals and homes made out of yak dung and sod.

The weather was freezing, high winds sweeping across the plain with great velocity. Because the Himalayas catch almost all the precipitation from the south, this territory is virtually arid.

Our road climbed so high that the passes were hardly noticeable. They were nothing but rolling, saddlelike open stretches, adorned with the customary sacred mani stone piles and prayer flags and stone pillars.

On October 22 we crossed a pass of this type called Tang La, 15,200 feet, which is part of the great Himalayas, and entered into the approaches of the vast Tuna plain.

Along the road we kept meeting caravans, mostly mules, donkeys, and bullocks, loaded down with wool, marmot hides, and grain. Occasionally we ran into a party of armed merchants from some of the outlying districts of Tibet, all well clothed and mounted, some of them wearing gaily painted masks and goggles as a protection from dry wind, sand, and sun.

At a little place called Dochen we came upon one of the most beautiful panoramas we saw in Tibet, where the deep-blue waters of Ram Tso reflect for miles the Himalayan range beyond, with the vast mountain Chomo Lhari towering over it. There was a little ice along the shores of the mirror-calm lake. Thousands of bar-headed geese lined the shore, and flocks of ruddy sheldrakes, or Brahmany ducks, were filling the air with a moaning cry.

In that region the natives had few horses, and our transport consisted entirely of bullocks, often tended by women or young boys.

A Sportsman's Paradise, but Closed

Where the salty Kala Tso without outlet is slowly receding, there is considerable crop raising, and we watched the native farmers at work in their fields. Taking Sandup and a native with me, I climbed a 2,000-foot promontory in search of Tibetan bighorns (Ovis ammon hodgsoni). Five rams, one with a magnificent head, paused less than 100 yards from our place of vantage!

Unfortunately for my huntsman's desires, it is against the Tibetan religion and the wish of the Dalai Lama to kill wild game. I had to be satisfied with a rather long-view photograph of the animals.

The next day we crossed the Kala plain, its little tufts of grass reminiscent of some parts of our West. Brooke and I were tempted again when we began running into kiang, the wild ass of Asia, and gazelles.

In the little village of Samada great fall activities were in progress. Manure was carried to the fields in baskets on pack animals, neatly deposited on the soil, and covered up with dirt to prevent it from being blown away.

Knee-deep in barley and peas, domestic animals were being driven round and round threshing floors. Here and there the grain was being hand-winnowed, and along a stream women and children were washing peas in brass cauldrons and woven baskets.

In the afternoon we visited the village of the Porus people, nearest caste counterpart in Tibet to the Untouchables of India, though without doubt much happier than the lowest-caste Hindus. Several families of them lived in semi-cave houses on a hillside a mile or so from the main village. These people, though

they till the soil, gain their primary livelihood by disposing of the dead and butchering cattle for the other villagers.

In Tibet people are not usually buried. The Porus carry bodies to a hilltop where, with the skill of a surgeon, they cut them into portions small enough to be devoured by vultures. The Porus are paid for this task and also inherit certain silver decorations from the dead. Those we saw were well bedecked in silver.

Some cattle herders or nomads came down into the village to trade. Magnificent specimens of manhood, they were clothed only in sheepskin chupas (capelike coats) and trousers. They wore no hats, but had long braids wound about their heads. Apparently the weather in the 12,000-foot valley was too hot for them! They wore their chupas with one arm slipped out, exposing half their bodies above the waist.

A Telephone in the Cloudlands

We stopped overnight at the Kangmar dak bungalow where there is a telephone station. Occasionally one can communicate with either Gangtok or Gyangtse from there, and rarely with Lhasa. This telephone operates spasmodically. Sometimes it is silent for two or three weeks at a stretch when some brigand gets away with a span or two of the wire. If an offender is caught, the punishment is severe, usually the chopping off of one hand.

Our Number 1 man, Sandup, had his home station here, and we met his young wife and two-year-old baby daughter. In the yard of the bungalow a few potted plants added a touch of charm.

That night while we were finishing supper, Sandup approached us with troubled countenance. He was anxious to take his wife and baby along with us to Lhasa. As a rule, women of Asia are good travelers, and nomad women follow their men, doing work under all conditions. We did not hesitate to grant the requested permission. Sandup's wife was a great help to us all on the trip to Lhasa, and the baby girl became our mascot.

A few miles farther on, an ancient monastery perches above the 16,000-foot elevation. I gave our pack animals a day of rest and, taking Sandup with me as interpreter, went on ponyback to the place. The abbot, a stalwart man under middle age, told me I was the first white man to visit the monastery.

Captain Dolan Falls Ill

At Gyangtse, an important town and the last British trade and mail post, we were met by Maj. R. Gloyne, acting British trade agent, Lt. C. Finch, and Dr. G. H. F. Humphries, with a colorful honor guard. The guardsmen were of a Sepoy infantry detachment mounted on fine matched white Mongolian ponies. They carried British colors. With the British officials were Rai Sahib Wangdi, a Tibetan kingpin in the trade agency, and many other Tibetan city officials.

Very unfortunately, on the second day in Gyangtse, Captain Dolan was stricken with pneumonia. We gave him sulfa treatment, which arrested the progress of the illness immediately, but because of the high altitude and extremely cold weather his recovery was not so rapid as we hoped. For that reason, we were glad that Dr. Humphries was allowed to travel with us to Lhasa.

We stayed in Gyangtse for a month. Two or three times we were fortunate enough to make telephone connections with Mr. Ludlow in Lhasa and discuss with him certain phases of the journey from Gyangtse and the arrival in the Sacred City.

Some of our mail caught up with us there, and the radio of the Agency gave us daily the rather grim news of the outside world.

The British, with their love of sports, had carried that phase of their life into this part of Tibet. The Agency's Tibetan employees had a good soccer team, playing against the men of the Sepoy detachment and the British commanding personnel.

Played at an altitude of 13,000 feet, the games were amazingly fast. Almost without exception they were won by the Tibetans, who not only were fine physical specimens but were accustomed from childhood to rarefied air. Major Gloyne and I made an attempt to play, but soon found that the only positions we could handle were those of goalkeepers.

I undertook the job of giving cavalry drills and training to the newly arrived Sepoys. Every morning we went through a couple of hours in the saddle, sometimes even knocking a polo ball around. To my long experience as a horseman and my skill in caring for saddle animals I attribute the ease with which I made friends with the horse-loving Tibetans.

In the heart of the city is located one of the large and important monasteries of Tibet, Nenning Gompa, in front of which is a gigantic chorten, or shrine, of unique design and beauty, famous all over Tibet. Inside, it contains 80 chambers filled with Buddhist idols and paintings of many types and sizes. It is adorned with gilded religious figures and ornaments.

Gyangtse is situated in a fertile valley criss-crossed with irrigation ditches which our Mongolian ponies took in their stride during our cross-country rides. It is one of the key cities of Tibet, and through it passes all the trade from the east to India and northwest Tibet.

The Agency compound had electric power, generated by a windmill. A few electric-light bulbs made it quite modern, enticing us to later evenings and long conversations with our Tibetan and British friends.

On the Last Lap to Lhasa

The month passed quickly, and on December 4, after a military review of the detachment and numerous calls from high Tibetan officials, we rode out with Major Gloyne and his honor guard toward Lhasa. They escorted us a short distance before turning back; but Dr. Humphries stayed with us. Due for return to India after long service in Gyangtse, he readily obtained permission to visit the Forbidden City. The Anglo-Indian doctor amused us and all the Tibetans by riding, instead of a horse, the smallest mule he could find.

The court of the Dalai Lama had sent two soldiers, a sergeant and a private, to escort us to Lhasa. With pronged rifle across his back and a large silver prayer box slung from one shoulder, the sergeant rode ahead, usually on the best pony he could requisition from the village. His mount was bedecked with ornaments and bells. Had there been any bandits, they would certainly have heard our approach well ahead of time.

When Caravans Meet

By always preceding us, the sergeant added a great air of dignity to our procession, sometimes roughly making approaching caravans get off the road to allow us more room to pass.

Tibetan custom rules that if a traveler sees what might be a more important caravan approaching, he stops within a few hundred yards, gets off the road, dismounts, takes off his hat, and stands while the party passes by. The party, in turn, must greet the dismounted travelers most politely.

Somehow, after leaving Gyangtse, we had the feeling of getting deeper into the real Tibet where the influence of the outside world is negligible. The trails had been worn through the centuries by caravans carrying merchandise from northeast China and India. Although we had to cross several more passes on our way, the terrain was not difficult.

We were meeting more caravans, now mostly of yaks, carrying barley, salt, and wool. It was easy to see that they had been on the trail for months. From this point on we stayed in Tibetan houses, which often were vacated by their occupants for our overnight use.

The headman and owner of the house usually would bustle about and try to make us comfortable, constantly bowing, bringing up the thumbs, sticking out the tongue and hissing—Tibetan ways of showing respect.

The higher the station of the person addressed, and the lower the station of the one who addresses, the lower the latter must bow, the more he is to stick out his tongue, and the more constant must become the hissing, done with quick little intakes of breath. After a while we got used to this and almost did it ourselves. Although we resorted to saluting as an official or any other form of greeting, we often found ourselves bowing while saluting.

In the little village of Ralung at the base of the Ningohi Kangshar mountain, we stayed in the large house of a Tibetan nobleman.

Curtain-like pieces of cloth with little cutouts to admit light were the typical Tibetan substitutes for window glass. The only heat came from charcoal burners, which used yak chips for fuel instead of charcoal. These burners were lighted outside and brought in glowing hot. We got the sensation of heat by sitting almost on top of the burner.

By keeping all our clothes on indoors, we managed to make the entries in our log; then, undressing as quickly as possible, we got into our sleeping bags for the night. The yak chips used in the poorer houses are burned right in the room, which consequently is filled with an almost suffocating smoke.

From Ralung we toiled up to Karo La, altitude 16,000 feet, one of the most dangerous passes because of frequent snowfalls.

The animals were tired from the long, tedious climb, and we paused overnight beyond the pass in a Tibetan mail stage shack. It was a windy and bitterly cold night. All of us huddled into a tiny windowless room, filled with the smoke of burning yak chips, while the animals were huddled together outside in a small yard.

Sandup's wife and baby daughter amazed me by their indifference to the discomfort of the trail. I never heard the baby cry, and she was sick only once—then, I think, from some of our candies. She would ride usually either in the arms of her mother or in the saddle in front of another rider.

From Karo La we descended to Yamdrok Tso, near which is situated the small but important town of Nagartse Dzong, with its striking hillside fort guarding the narrows of the valley.

The "Diamond Sow," a 5-year-old Abbess

We remained in Nagartse Dzong an extra day to visit the famous Samden Gompa, which is headed by an abbess known as the "Diamond Sow." She is abbess over male monks.

The first Diamond Sow abbess dates from 1717, when the monastery was besieged by a band of Mongols. It was a nunnery then. After a long siege the abbess is said to have opened the gates at the monastery yard, turning all her nuns into sows at the same time. The Mongols were so impressed with the miracle that they laid down their arms and retreated. The museum room of the monastery contains large quantities of those weapons.

The abbess at the time of our visit was five years old. She received us sitting cross-legged on her throne with her lay female attendant and her ecclesiastical court monks. Her well-proportioned and chiseled face was stern with a grown-up expression. At no time could I notice any mannerisms of a child.

We presented scarfs directly to her, and the gifts and money donations for the monastery were brought in as usual. We in turn were presented with two fragments of a sacred kattak and some magic seeds wrapped up in Tibetan paper with prayers.

A good Tibetan places these objects in his prayer box, which at home is kept in the religious corner found in every Tibetan house, no matter how poor, and on a journey is carried slung across the shoulder. The Tibetans believe that some strong medicine contained in these prayer boxes will divert a bullet.

Brooke impressed even the monks with his knowledge of the images, which he recognized at a glance. I explained that he was a student of the Buddhist religion. Thereafter, this fact became known wherever he went and gained for our party a scholastic and religious respect.

Well-to-do Tibetans Wear Fine Raiment

At Japsan Ferry, by which we crossed the Brahmaputra, we met the first well-to-do Tibetan family on the march. They were mounted on fine mules bedecked with rug blankets and ornamented tack, with large red woolen tassels hanging from their breastplates. A child was held in the saddle by an arrangement of high wooden crosstrees on pommel and cantle.

Loading the Riding Horses and Pack Mules on the river barge.

The family was dressed in fine silk robes adorned with furs, and wore fur hats in a cutoff conical shape embroidered with gold thread. All the servants wore the same type of colored robes and were well armed with rifles and Mauser pistols.

I was often asked if we were traveling in uniform. Most of our clothing which we wore every day was of the combat type, but we carried with us blouses, riding breeches, and boots, which we made a point to wear for official calls and for certain arrivals and departures at the more important points. Several times we had to fight high winds behind some hill a few miles outside a village while we changed into our best.

At a small village called Chushul Dzong the headman informed us that the famous Tsarong Shape, a Cabinet Minister, had offered us the use of his small overnight cottage. It was a gracious Tibetan building, with several modern conveniences.

In the big reception room we were astonished to find the walls covered with National Geographic Society maps of the world. Later we learned that Tsarong Shape, whose full name is Namgang Dasan Damdu, is the only Tibetan member of The Society. We saw much of him in Lhasa.

Dalai Lama's Escort Meets the Party

Twenty-five miles out of Lhasa we were met by an escort sent out from the court of the Dalai Lama to greet us. It was headed by a powerfully built, fine-looking young monk, Kusho Yonton Singhi, who was to become our guide and inseparable adviser during our stay in the city of mystery.

Tibetan officials such as these negotiated the possibility of allowing Roosevelt and Churchill to create a road from India to China via their mountainous kingdom.

He presented us with a warm letter of welcome and greetings from the joint Foreign Ministers of Tibet, and with the usual scarfs. Knowing our animals were tired, the Ministers had sent two fresh ponies for Brooke and me. It was a pleasure to ride the excellent Mongolian pacer, the kind that in Tibet only wealthy men can afford.

By Tibetan custom horsemen walk down steep hills, but from the moment Kusho joined us, we were not obliged to dismount. One of Kusho's outriders would halt at the top of each steep place, give his horse into charge of someone else, and lead our mounts carefully down the trail. We began to feel as if we were precious china dolls.

At noon we rode up to several gaily decorated Tibetan tents, where we had tea with our guide. The next day we woke up early and rode off briskly with an unmistakable feeling of excitement. Our first goal was near.

Entering the valley of Lhasa, we rode along the Kyi, which flows through the city. We crossed its tributary on Tibet's only modern steel bridge. On a concrete foundation, the bridge was built several years ago by Tsarong without the help of foreign engineers. The feat was remarkable in that all the pieces of steel had to be brought from India over the Himalayas by coolies, as the girders were too heavy for pack animals to carry.

Somewhere within the last four miles of Lhasa we knew a delegation waited to receive us, and one of our men rode ahead to herald our approach. The greeters, thus notified, rode out to meet us a couple of hundred yards from the place where they had been stationed. When about 100 feet apart, our parties dismounted and greeted each other.

The welcoming delegation was composed of the city magistrate of Lhasa, representing the city; Frank Ludlow, Additional British Political Officer for Sikkim, Bhutan, and Tibet, with H. Fox, Esquire, his assistant and wireless operator; the British Mission doctor, Rai Sahib Bo, who was a Bhutanese by birth; chief British Mission clerk, Minghyu; Dr. Kung Ching-tsung, chief of the Chinese Mission, with several members of his staff; the Bhutanese representatives; the Nepalese representatives, whose honor guard of soldiers was lined up a few miles away; and the Ladakhi representatives.
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Re: Freda Bedi Cont'd (#2)

Postby admin » Mon Mar 16, 2020 6:45 am

Part 2 of 2

The Higher the Seat, the Greater the Man

Greetings were in strict Western fashion. After the introductions our entire cavalcade rode on to a small roadside park where several decorated Tibetan tents had been set up for the occasion. We were welcomed at the gate by the officers representing the court of the Dalai Lama. Most important among them were George Tsarong (Tsarong Se Dabul Namgyal), son of the Tsarong Shape, Dege Se, a royal prince before the Chinese took over his domain and now representative of the Foreign Office.

Escorted into the central tent, we were given the seats of honor behind a little table laden with the usual dried fruits, candies, etc. Our hosts, in order of rank and position, sat down to our right and left, on hassocks of diminishing heights. The farther away from us the lower the seats became, until, as the line passed out the entrance of the tent, overflow guests were sitting on the open ground on flat cushions. There were tables only a few inches high in front of all guests.

Buttered tea was poured from large, silver-ornamented copper teapots, and the ceremonial rice was served. In front of each person was placed a Chinese rice bowl with the rice patted in a high mound. We took a few grains of this rice with our fingers, threw some of it over our shoulders for the appeasement of spirits, and swallowed the few remaining grains. The rice bowls were then taken away, and the representatives of the court gave us letters of welcome and scarfs on behalf of every branch of the court.

This part of the ceremony over, we rode through the little wooded parks that surround Lhasa. To our right a large part of Lhasa's population was congregated on small grass mounds. On the left was lined up a detachment of the honor guard of the famous Tibetan Trapchi regiment, which serves as the bodyguard to the Dalai Lama.

We were surprised and our horses startled by a sudden outburst of stirring military music from a brass band, the only band of occidental instruments in Tibet. Presumably the instruments had been taken from a Chinese army in 1911.

Under the Windows of the Dalai Lama

The magnificent flag of Tibet stood out in its brilliant colors, showing the sun and two Lions of Tibet facing each other, holding the Wheel of Life under the Precious Gems.

Dismounting, we reviewed the detachment of soldiers, smart-looking in their practical native uniforms, and shook hands with their commanding officer. We then proceeded to the attractive Tibetan house of our host, Mr. Ludlow, just outside the West Gate of Lhasa, from where we could see the walls of the Potala topped by the Dalai Lama's personal quarters.

Several members of the welcoming party joined us for tea at Mr. Ludlow's residence. After tea we settled down in cozy Tibetan rooms, specially decorated for us by the court of the Dalai Lama, the floors solidly covered with Tibetan rugs and comfortable Tibetan couches. Mr. Fox proudly showed us his model Diesel plant which supplied the house with electricity and enabled him to make radio contact as far as Indiana, U.S.A.

From that day we lived for weeks by a schedule. There was a definite procedure for whom to see, when, and in what order. During our first few days in Lhasa we received official calls from Dr. Kung, Chinese representative, who had been in the Chinese diplomatic service in Europe and could speak French and some English; and from the joint Foreign Ministers. These last were Surkhang Dsasa, a genial Tibetan nobleman who in younger days had traveled into India and China, and a gracious elderly monk, the Ta Lama, named Yongon Dsasa.

From our first meeting Brooke and I liked the Foreign Ministers and soon became fast friends with them. We had to deal through them with His Holiness's court; thus we were with them often throughout our stay.

Among our other callers were representatives of Nepal, Bhutan, and Ladakh. A Major Bista of Nepal was a highly educated man and had a remarkable library in his home. These visitors were followed by Tibetan lay and ecclesiastical officials and lay dignitaries, some coming in official and some in private capacity.

Each person brought, or sent by servants, customary arrival gifts such as wheat, barley, flour, rice, meat, live sheep, butter, and eggs. As official guests we were also furnished firewood, feed for the ponies, and some provisions for all our group for a month's time.

The Dalai Lama Grants Audience

In accordance with Tibetan custom, we were not to call upon any officials until after His Holiness, the Dalai Lama, had granted us an audience. A few days after our arrival we were informed by the Tibetan Foreign Office that the audience would be at 9:20 on the morning of December 20. That date was selected as the most auspicious for the Dalai Lama, a highly important factor in all of his undertakings.

Early that day we rode out toward the Potala in a sizable cavalcade with all our men, the monk guide and his assistants dressed up in their finery.

The Potala is situated on a hill, and the Dalai Lama's throne room is on the very top. Usually visitors must make a long and tedious climb up the broad steps of the palace. We, however, were extended a great courtesy, being allowed to ride along a narrow path up the mountain to the back of the palace, where we left our horses. Then we were escorted through the courtyards and long labyrinths of the Potala building to a small, unpretentious waiting room.

Here we were joined by the representatives of the Foreign Office, a few other dignitaries, and a charming young Tibetan official named Changnopa, whom everybody called Ringang. Ringang had studied at Rugby and spoke beautiful English. After tea had been served, we rehearsed the procedure for greeting the Dalai Lama, the Tibetans explaining to us some of the fine points of etiquette. A monk entered soon and announced that we were to proceed to the throne room.

Escorted by a stately procession of monks, we ascended to the roof of the Potala, above which rose the single room used for receptions. On both sides in front of the entrance were seated rows of high monk dignitaries, and in the background were crowds of lesser monks and some laymen and pilgrims who were to be given a blessing by the Dalai Lama after our reception.

We stood in line for a few moments until the heavy curtain was drawn from the entrance, then walked into the richly decorated throne room. Rows of monks and lay officials were standing along the walls, but the central portion of the room remained open. Directly in front of us stood the Dalai Lama's throne, a square, flat-topped seat about four feet high and four feet wide, with a straight back.

The ten-year-old Dalai Lama who greeted Long Riders Tolstoy and Dolan in 1942.

His Holiness was seated cross-legged, a high-peaked yellow hat on his head. We were immediately impressed by his young but stern face and not at all frail constitution. His cheeks were healthily pink.

A few feet away to his right, on a similar but lower throne, sat the dignified Regent of Tibet. Until the Dalai Lama becomes of age at eighteen, the Regent assumes his duties and is the highest authority in Tibet, ecclesiastical or civil.

Still farther away to the Regent's right was seated the Dalai Lama's father, a layman, dressed in rich robes and hat. Ruddy and youthful in appearance, and wearing a neat little down-turned mustache, he presented a contrast to the ecclesiastical dignitaries.

Delivery of the Historic Letter

As we stepped inside the threshold of the throne room, we saluted. Our hats were kept on throughout the entire ceremony. We then walked up to the throne of the Dalai Lama and, standing before him, saluted again. A monk came up and laid a presentation scarf across my outstretched hands, then placed a bread-and-butter offering upon the scarf. Bowing, I presented the offering to the Dalai Lama, who took it into his hands and passed it over to a monk on his right.

This procedure was repeated as a monk placed in turn upon the scarf I held an image of Buddha, a religious book, and a chorten.

These objects I passed on to the Dalai Lama.

Meanwhile, Captain Dolan, standing to my right, had been holding the casket containing President Roosevelt's letter to the Dalai Lama. He now passed it to me, placing it on the scarf. In the same manner I presented the casket to the Dalai Lama. So far as we could learn, this was the first time in history that direct communication had been made by a President of the United States with the Dalai Lama of Tibet.

I then laid the scarf across the throne in front of His Holiness, saluted, and proceeded to the throne of the Regent at my left.

Captain Dolan stepped up to the throne of the Dalai Lama, a scarf over his hands, and presented to His Holiness a photograph of President Roosevelt. He then saluted and joined me in front of the Regent's throne.

At this point our servants presented the gift of President Roosevelt, a gold chronographic watch, to the major-domo standing away from the throne. This functionary accepted it in behalf of the Dalai Lama, together with the personal gift Captain Dolan and I had brought, a silver ship.

Saluting the Regent, I bestowed upon him gifts similar to those presented to the Dalai Lama: an image of Buddha, a religious book; a chorten, and objects of silver. After placing the presentation scarf across the Regent's hands, I passed on to the throne of the Dalai Lama's father.

The Exchange of Scarfs

Brooke also saluted the Regent, presented him with a scarf, and joined me at the left. The father of the Dalai Lama was saluted in turn and honored with scarfs by us both. No gifts were presented to the father on this occasion, but were given at a later date.

The presentation of gifts and scarfs accomplished, we returned to the right-hand side of the room, where we sat on a long, low cushion placed near the center. A low table was set in front of us. From the far corner of the room came a monk bearing a pot of tea. He stopped before the Dalai Lama, joining another monk kneeling in front of the throne, who reached into his robe and pulled out a silver cup into which a little tea was poured. This monk then tasted the tea to insure its being satisfactory.

We were then served tea and rice. Although we were offered three cups of tea, we drank only two, leaving the third untasted as custom dictates. We ate a bit of the rice and threw a few grains over our shoulders.

While we were thus occupied, our retinue of servants proceeded to the Dalai Lama's throne and presented scarfs which a monk, standing by the side of His Holiness, accepted on his lord's behalf. The Dalai Lama then blessed them by touching their heads with a holy wand. They paid the same respects to the Regent and the Dalai Lama's father.

The servants were followed by a chain of monks and other people specially admitted to the throne room. These also presented scarfs and bowed before the throne to receive the blessing of His Holiness.

When the procession to the throne had ceased, the Dalai Lama addressed us through an interpreter, inquiring about the health of the President of the United States. I stood up to answer his query, then again sat down.

After a time a staid monk stood beside the throne and announced in a deep voice, "The reception is over." We left the throne chamber, followed by our servants and the rest of the spectators.

Upon the close of the official reception in the throne room, we returned to the waiting room of the Potala, presently to be ushered into the private chamber of the Dalai Lama. He was sitting on a small, low couch, with a table before him holding religious objects. Beside His Holiness sat the Regent on a similar couch. We were seated on chairs directly in front of them.

Ringang accompanied us. He acted as interpreter in the ensuing conversation, which continued in an informal vein for about a half hour. The private audience was then ended, and we left the Potala.

A Round of Courtesy Calls

The next few weeks we devoted to making calls upon all the ecclesiastical and lay officials in the order of their rank and position, and presenting them with gifts. We also called on the Dalai Lama's family. There followed a round of dinners, luncheons, and teas exchanged in both official and unofficial capacity.

We visited the Oracle, a rather remarkable middle-aged man, who has his own small monastery a few miles outside Lhasa. A short journey took us to the two largest monasteries in the world, Drepung and Sera, both near the city.

All the foreign representatives entertained us hospitably, and Dr. Kung had the pupils of his Chinese school turned out to greet us. These little children are of mixed Chinese and Tibetan parentage, and the school is provided by the Chinese Government.

The only other lay school in Tibet is conducted by a monk who is a radio operator. His pupils are children of nobility and lay officials in Lhasa.

Deke Lingka, headquarters of the British Mission, in which we lived, was next to the famous Holy Walk which stretches for seven miles around the Potala grounds.

Along that walk we could see pilgrims from all Tibet circumambulating the Potala, some by prostrating themselves along the walk, getting up and stepping the length of their bodies, then prostrating themselves again. Thus they measured their way around the Potala like inchworms.

Tibetan New Year Begins in February

As the New Year holidays approached, the stream of pilgrims increased daily.

The first month of the Tibetan year begins in early February. It is celebrated by a series of religious and historical ceremonies, all of which we attended upon the invitation of the Kashag, or Grand Council, which furnished us with special seats and gave a luncheon and entertainment for us at each function.

At the time of the New Year the city and its administration were taken over by monks from the near-by monasteries. All day throngs of them kept pouring into Lhasa. Caravans with goods from India and northern Tibet arrived daily, and tents were pitched in the parks and fields around the city.

Traveling sorcerers and bands of dancers roamed the city, entertaining on the streets and in the homes of the wealthy. Women wore magnificent dresses and the Lhasa style of three-pronged headdresses covered with seed pearls and semiprecious stones. Had they appeared on the streets not dressed in holiday costume, the monks most likely would have sent them home.

There were pageants by soldiers in 15th-century armor who went through sham battles and dances depicting battles of days gone by. Magnificent religious dances performed in the courtyard of the Potala by monks in grotesque masks portrayed the lamas of the church ridding the people of evil spirits.

Most of the festivities began early in the morning and lasted throughout the day. Wielding large willow sticks, the provost monks had difficulty maintaining order and keeping the public from blocking the way of the processions in the narrow streets.

At the end of the month, when the New Year's ceremonies were almost over, permission was granted us by the Tibetan Government to proceed to China.

Since further communication with the outside world would be impossible until we reached China, and since we faced dangerous unknown terrain, peril of bandits, and hazards of passes likely to be snow-blocked, we took great care in outfitting ourselves for the journey. Two of our men, who were returning to India, had to be replaced.

Mr. Fox, the British radio operator, had just received some small American commercial radio receiving sets which he had ordered from the United States over a year before. He was kind enough to let us have one, and we carried it with us all the way to China. This little radio kept us informed of the events of the world and astonished many nomads along the way.

We usually could get London once a day and at times Chungking and India. Occasionally we got San Francisco. Tokyo we could get at any time—a fact which sometimes embarrassed us when Tibetans wanted to hear the United States.

After awaiting an auspicious date to depart, we started out from Lhasa about the middle of March, our caravans leading the way. Near the northern outskirts of the city we were given a military send-off by an honor guard and were served ceremonial tea and rice in specially erected tents. From there a large group of our friends and officials rode with us to the estate of a nobleman, where we were given a luncheon.

Scarfs Serve as Leis Do in Hawaii

After the luncheon, according to Tibetan custom, we were accompanied to the gate. There our friends placed scarfs over our heads. This was done by everyone, including even our servants, just as leis are placed around the necks of travelers leaving Hawaii. By the time the last person had bidden us farewell, our necks were bundled in more than 200 of those scarfs.

Following the custom further, we got on our horses, still wearing the kattaks, and rode the rest of the day with them on. For the remainder of the trip each of us carried at least one scarf around his neck.

Both Brooke and I felt a moment of sadness at leaving our friends behind, and we could see sincere emotion on their faces.

Concerned about our safety in bandit territory, the Tibetan Government detailed a sergeant and five soldiers to accompany us as far as we wished to take them. We took them as escort only through Tibet proper. The Chinese representative informed us that we would be met at the border by a detachment of Chinese soldiers. They never showed up.

Sandup Bids the Party Good-bye

Our boy Sandup and his wife had to return to India. Since he had been our interpreter, we felt that losing him weakened our outfit in that respect. We had only our cook, Tommy, to replace him.

Tommy became our Number 1 man and Lakhpa was promoted a step. We found a young Tibetan named Punzo to act as camp boy and a young monk to look after the ponies. This monk was going in our direction also and was delighted to work his way through. He changed his monk's robes to a simple Tibetan civilian garb.

All the servants had to be given proper clothes and bedding for the trip, and their family affairs had to be carefully worked out before departure.

After the first few days we approached the wide, valley-like stretches of the Tibetan northern steppes, or plateaus. On the way up to and down the passes the streams were frozen, often with thick ice bridges over dried stream beds.

We carried peas and considerable grain, especially barley, and as much as we could of barley straw, for it was necessary to maintain our fine animals in good condition through the bitter stretch of northern uplands where neither straw nor grain was grown or available. Since it was March, the last year's grass was either grazed down or worthless after the winter snows.

On March 23 we crossed the upper Kyi near Phongdo. The men crossed on a crude suspension chain bridge lined with yak hides, and the animals forded the stream, which was low at that time of year.

We left our trail for half a day's ride to Reting Gompa, the seat of the ex-Regent of Tibet, a very high religious personage. Before leaving Lhasa, we had exchanged greetings and gifts with the ex-Regent by means of messengers, and he had invited us to stop with him on the way north.

Our poor Lakhpa fell ill here, and after we got him well we had to leave· him behind to return to Gyangtse. In his place we found a simple Tibetan boy.

The ex-Regent was a great lover of horses and without a doubt had the best stable of imported Mongolian pacers in Tibet. Some of his ponies came from as far away as Urga (Ulan Bator), Outer Mongolia.

He had one remarkable animal, a cross between a Mongolian pony and a wild ass, or kiang. This type of mule has almost as great endurance and ability to live off the country as the wild ass. It is much larger and stronger than the ordinary mule and has the advantage of hoofs shaped like those of a horse.

On April 3 we crossed the divide of Langlu La. It is 15,000 feet high and separates the waters of the Brahmaputra and the upper Salween. Within another two days we reached Nagchu Dzong, administrative capital of northern Tibet. Here we were met by the commissioner, Tsarong's son-in-law, a few other city officials, and an honor guard detachment.

We picked up at Nagchu Dzong some additional supplies we had sent ahead. After a three-day rest we set off again.

Hit by the First Snowstorm

Two days out of Nagchu Dzong we hit our first snowstorm. The going became difficult, since the snow had covered some of the dangerous spots. It was remarkable how our animals sensed and avoided the hazards.

For the first time we encountered a caravan carrying tea from China. It had left Jyekundo (Yushu) four months previously with 1,000 yaks and 25 ponies. Only 700 yaks and 15 ponies survived, for the winter was extremely severe. The drivers were brewing tea in the lee of the stacked-up loads of tea, while the yaks were grazing in the hills.

About April 13 we came to Kema, where a nomad chieftain had been notified of our arrival. He received us with great honor by setting up guest tents, at the end of which had been erected two pillars of loosely piled stones. On the top of them burning yak chips and brush threw off heavy columns of smoke.

From these pillars stones were laid out in a line as if marking the approach to the camp. This is a customary gesture toward ranking visitors, and it certainly added a little air of importance to our modest outfit.

When the Dalai Lama travels across Tibet, the natives lay similar stones along both sides of the road for many miles at a stretch and individually bring along small containers in which they burn brush and incense while he passes by.

That justice is rigorously upheld in that part of the country was attested by an occasional gallows fashioned of a flimsy pole, from which was suspended the head of a horse thief or bandit. Rumors of banditry were becoming more prevalent, and by now our outfit was well whipped up for defense in any emergency.

The road became quite difficult and the terrain cut up with steep banks of mud and snow. Some of the streams were only partly frozen, and the animals kept breaking through the ice. Snow fell intermittently. Whenever the sun was in, we could feel the bitter cold and wind through our Tibetan fur robes.

A Precarious Suspension Bridge

A few miles beyond Sok Gomba we crossed the first suspension bridge over the Sok River. This bridge was nothing but two chains over which was drawn a matting of saplings, with no railing or support along its sides. As the animals passed over it, the bridge swerved and shook like a ribbon in midair, 250 feet above the gorge.

One man led each animal by the head and another held the tail. The yaks and the more stubborn of the other animals had to ford the cold water a couple of miles downstream. Even some of our native men crossed that bridge on all fours.

We saw the first spring plowing being done in the Sok Valley. In this region yaks were used for that purpose.

On April 19 we reached Pachen, where we remained for a few days. Some miles beyond was the Tsangne La, which leads into Tsinghai Province. The Chinese representative in Lhasa had told us we would be met at the pass by a detachment of Chinese soldiers, but runners we sent ahead returned to say that no Chinese were anywhere in sight and that none of the nomads had seen any Chinese in that region for a couple of years.

At this point we sent our Tibetan escort back to Lhasa and proceeded with our small group from one nomad camp to the other, trusting in Tibetan gods and keeping alert.

The administrative jurisdiction of the Dalai Lama ends at this point, and beyond, for over 200 miles to Jyekundo, bandits and feuding nomad clans prey on the transports.

With the help of a nomad chief on the Tibetan side we finally were able to gather drivers and animals to take us across. However, they refused to proceed until we had hired at least 25 more men with rifles.

On April 23 we parted with the accommodating baron of the Pachen nomads, who had assisted us in procuring the transport, and began climbing the border range of Tsangne La, more than 16,000 feet high. The higher we went, the deeper the snow became. This pass is seldom open in January, February, and March.

At that high altitude, carrying full loads, the yaks had a system for getting through heavy snow. The leading animal would lunge through the drifts until it was winded. Then it would lie down while the next yak in line came up to make a few more lunges. When the second, too, became exhausted, the third yak passed the first two. This process continued until the animals eventually reached solid ground.

After a blizzard had subsided, we could see from the top of the pass the vast, forbidding-looking wastes of the northern uplands, with a few snow-capped ranges in the distance. The temperature was below freezing, and the ceaseless winds were the strongest yet encountered.

Birthplace of Great Rivers of Asia

We dropped into this vast area and next day were riding along the mountains which served as a divide for the headwaters of the Salween, Yangtze, and Mekong.

We were now traveling over the territory from which many of the great rivers of Asia start. On April 30 we again began to encounter ranges of cut-up terrain. Two days later we reached the encampment of a nomad chieftain who furnished us with transport for the next six days, together with some men, most of whom were armed only with slings. Those boys were extremely accurate with these weapons, even up to 60 yards, and could kill a dog or a man with them easily.

Our only interpreter now was Tommy, and he with his limited Chinese and English had a hard time understanding the natives, who spoke a different Tibetan dialect.

One day we were surrounded by men on horseback, who rode around us at a great distance out of range. We let out a few machine-gun bursts in the direction we were heading, and the riders disappeared from our path. One night our mastiff caught a bandit spy near the camp. We turned the fellow over to the chieftain the next day.

Often one chieftain would tell us that another one was a bandit. In a few cases we had to resort to keeping a close watch on a chieftain and his men while they were traveling with us.

Fording the Mekong River

On May 6 we forded the Mekong River, which, though rather wide, was shallow. We camped at an attractive little monastery called Zuru Gomba. Unmolested by the monks, large flocks of blue sheep, or bharals, ranged the hills. Here we watched a remarkable feat by a Tibetan hound. The dog actually ran down and hamstrung a full-grown gazelle.

At all times we tried to send ahead an outrider to notify the next chieftain of our coming and need of transport. In one instance we had a Tibetan monk write out an important-looking document ordering a chieftain to provide us with transport.

On May 10 we passed the beautiful valley and plain of Nima Rungsha where hundreds of wild asses and gazelles were grazing. The mountain slopes were thickly forested, and we saw musk deer jumping high through the underbrush. Riding along a stream, we jumped a small flock of Lhasa stag, also known as Prejevalsky's deer.

An Outpost of Chinese Mohammedan Soldiers

In this territory travelers often lost their horses and mules. The animals ran away to join wild ass herds. For that reason we kept bells on all our stock while they were resting or running loose. The noise of the bells frightened away the wild asses.

On May 12 we came upon the first outpost of Chinese Mohammedan soldiers, who were grazing their transport animals in the fertile valley. Maj. Ma Ying-hsiang, their leader, told us that his commanding general in Jyekundo had been notified by Gen. Ma Pu-fang, Governor of Tsinghai Province, that Chungking expected our arrival there and that he had been on the lookout for us, searching for some time along the different passes. He was relieved that we finally had arrived safely.

After 56 days on the road from Lhasa, we halted for two days to clean up and rest before appearing in Jyekundo. We understood that Gen. Ma Pu-Iang was to give us an elaborate reception.

On May 15 we rode into the outskirts of Jyekundo. The commanding general, his staff, and the town's officials greeted us. A detachment of cavalry was lined up along the side of the road, and farther on monks of the local monastery were out with their band.

A holiday was proclaimed in the city, flags and banners were displayed, and all the people turned out to greet us. Whenever we approached a native sitting in the street, he would rise in welcome.

We were escorted into a comfortable Tibetan house by our host, the General. Here we were really settled in style, with big Chinese beds made up with brand-new silk quilts, servants and a cook to attend us, and two armed guards to watch the gate. In all this customary Chinese hospitality we relaxed and forgot the worries of the trail.

There was a wireless from Jyekundo to Sining, and we asked the General to send a message to Chungking via Sining to notify General Stilwell's headquarters of our safe arrival.

The General told us he had instructions to facilitate the procurement of our transport and escort to Sining. In a few days our four faithful Tibetans were ready to start back to Lhasa and the Indian border, this time via the southern route through Chamdo.

The Pack Animals Swim the Yangtze

When we left Jyekundo, we were escorted for several miles by the General, his staff, and an honor guard. It was only a short journey from Jyekundo to the Yangtze River, which was a hundred yards or more wide at that point and rather swift. We swam the animals across and ferried the equipment on rafts floated on blown-up skin bags.

On June 1 we camped near Shewu Gomba, which perches on the side of a mountain. The country became more and more swampy in the lower parts of the valleys and plains and our animals bogged down frequently.

On June 3 a heavy snowstorm caught us and made traveling difficult for several days. The climate of this section of the country is severe, snow sometimes falling even in midsummer. The ranges are farther apart, and the valleylike plains bear better grass than elsewhere. Because the numerous rivers are broad, many of them were difficult for the animals to swim. We had to stop sometimes and kill sheep to make blown-up skins for our rafts.

Though we were now traversing country where the wild yak once was numerous, we saw none of these animals. The introduction of automatic rifles by Chinese Mohammedan troops had exterminated the herds. Day after day we passed horned skulls.

The Stars and Stripes reach China.

On June 7 we neared the Tra La between the Yangtze and Yellow (Hwang) River headwaters. We came across as many as nine bears in one day. This bear appeared very close to our grizzly in size and coloring. Captain Dolan shot one, and we preserved its skull and hide.

There were signs of the great Asiatic bighorn sheep, and on a few occasions we got away for short hunts off the trail. A group of nine rams was the largest I spied. Crossing the Yehmatan plains with their almost impenetrable swamps, we camped for three nights virtually in water. Even at night without their loads, the animals bogged down.

Reaching Gamoh Nor, a large freshwater lake situated near the Chinese military outpost of Hwanghoyen, we crossed the Yellow River not many miles from its source.

This country was familiar to Captain Dolan, for in 1935 he had taken an expedition there to collect mammals for the, Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia.

Floods Make River Crossing Difficult

Beyond Changshitou our helpers and escort were Ngoloks. These people, taller and more rugged than central Tibetans, are known as the fiercest tribe in this area.

On June 17 we came to the Ta River, on the far side of which was the old Chinese fort of Tahopa. A downpour in the morning had swelled the river to about 300 feet in width, and it was exceptionally swift. It took a day and a half to cross our animals and supplies on rafts.

The Tahopa fort was known to have telegraph and telephone communication, but we found both out of commission. In the summer-time several trucks manage to get up to the fort over the hard turf. At the time of our visit, however, motor traffic was out of the question.

On June 21 we approached the west end of Koko Nor (Tsing Hai), where we were met by the Chinese Mohammedan garrison commander of Cheche. Here and there were signs of fields that had been under cultivation in previous years. Our yak transport gave way to bullocks of yellow Mongolian cattle.

The night of June 25 we rested in another Chinese fort, Chapucha, where we met a large detachment of Mohammedan cavalry on their way to Jyekundo. They were wearing white felt robes made for warmth as well as for shedding the frequent rains of that region.

Skirting a considerable stretch of desert not unlike the arid sands found in Arizona, we passed over several dunes which the winds keep moving from place to place.

For some time now we had felt the approach of spring, and every day we saw more and more wild flowers. We soon rode through solid expanses of wild iris.

We arrived in the Chinese city of Hwang-yuan on the 89th day of travel and, proceeding along the cultivated valleys and through small Chinese villages, soon were within a day's march of Sining. The last ten miles we rode in a car sent out for us by the Governor of Tsinghai.

First Place of Call a Turkish Bath

The most memorable occurrence in Sining, outside of a visit with the Governor, was our visit to the Turkish bath, which we made our very first place of call in the city.

From Sining we hired a truck and drove on to Lanchow over a fairly good road. There, awaiting us, was our mail, which had been sent up by plane from Chungking to the compound of American missionaries. We reported our safe arrival to General Stilwell by telegram, and a few days later received his telegram of congratulations and orders to report to Chungking.

After their return to the United States, Dolan was sent back to China. Sadly, the young naturalist, turned army officer, was killed soon after combat had been officially concluded with Japan. So it was left to Tolstoy to record the tale of this remarkable equestrian journey.
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