Friday, April 03, 2009

WHEN I FIRST MET 'Melursus Ursinus'


My friend Ronnie Butfoy wrote this article with the aim of having it published. Unfortunately he passed away in September 2005, before publication could be arranged. Now, as a tribute to him and his memory I am including it in full. Through Denna Stephan (Ron's daughter) I was fortunate to have communicated with Ron initially via the net and then actually in person, and also his lovely wife Barbara and Denna who was on holiday in Bangalore at the time. I was touched when Ron thanked me for "giving him" a good friend in my brother Maxwell Rose who was close to Ron while he was struggling to survive in hospital. Once again he whispered his thanks to my brother and those words still echo in my brother's mind. A great loss to us for sure but at least I was fortunate to have shared his weird sense of humour which matched mine (*smile*).



My friend Ron - REST IN PEACE.



THE SLOTH BEAR - By (the late) Ronnie Butfoy

In the glorious golden days of yesteryear, music, dancing and sporting activities of one kind or another were an enjoyable part of daily life. For those of us railway folk, living in small remote stations surrounded by dense jungles, 'shikar' was an obvious pastime. Legends of our great shikaris (or hunters) such as Jim Corbett and 'Tiger' Smith, were repeated in awe and admiration at the bar of the Railway Institute.

My personal experience of shikar came through friendship with the Anderson family. Kenneth - better known as 'Jock' and his son Donald were renowned shikaris and wild life enthusiasts operating from Bangalore in the tangled jungles of South India. I remember particularly well an eventful day in the late 50's (when hunting was still permitted) and Don suggested we hunt Sloth Bear which were abundant in the surrounding jungles. I had no first hand knowledge of these animals so Don explained at length that they were extremely cunning and resourceful and that we should take the utmost caution in dealing with them.

As we trudged the granite hills of Ramnagaram about 30 miles from Bangalore in the direction of Mysore, I noticed that the region was dotted with numerous caves in which a bear might take shelter. Don's warning of cunning bears kept the adrenaline pumping, and my profuse perspiration was due not just to the heat and exertion of the hunt. It was a very tense situation on high alert ...

After what seemed like ages following the narrow track and skirting round a large rock,we were suddenly and abruptly confronted by a huge bear curled up asleep in a hollow in the track We yelled in surprise, and terror, as we scrambled to get away. Hearing our yells the bear sprang up, grunting and snorting and stared at us then, fortunately, and to our immense relief, it bounded off in the opposite direction.

Although I spent many happy hours in the jungles of South India during the years that followed, I have never forgotten my first encounter with Bhaloo. In time the story was 'picked up', embellished and retold many times - by many tellers, and is now a part of shikar folklore.



Here is Denna's tribute to her Beloved Dad.



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TIGERS KNOW THEIR RAILWAY SIGNALS

... submitted by Jeffrey Woods
(this is an excerpt from my old Bravenet Forum)


An Anglo-Indian friend and his dad were out hunting one night in one of India's famous jungle reserves. Yes, they had high powered rifles and licence to shoot man-eaters. They waited several hours to catch sight of their prey, but alas after litres of flask coffee and a few sandwiches, desperation and swear words started to fly incessantly from their gobbies.

It was almost dusk when they noticed three pairs of lights appear over yonder hill. The lights disappeared momentarily and reappeared again after a few moments. They thought that their tired eyes were playing tricks on them, so they advanced towards the lights.

When almost within a hundred yards, it immediately dawned on them that they were in fact looking down the throats of three tigers. So friend and dad immediately took aim, each picking a cub in their rifle sights and fired. The cubs dropped straight away, but they had no time to reload for another shot at mother. Mother tiger leapt into the air and charged at the two men. In the melee and the darkness, rifles were strewn into the bushes and the men had to take flight to escape the jaws of mother.

Anglo-Indians are known to be fleet-footed and since for generations they had been railway folk, instinct and superior intelligence drew their fleety legs to the railway tracks. Both men reached the tracks with mother hot on their heels. It was a single track, broad gauge, I understand, so they were able to run shoulder to shoulder, panting and striving for oxygen to fill their lungs and hoping that, just maybe, providence would this one more time come to their aid.

Yes, their prayers were answered, they were approaching a break in the tracks, in sight was the points and signal system. With great gusto and determination Dad pulled the points lever and lo and behold they took off down one track and the mother tiger was diverted down the other track.

And so my friends, they lived to tell this story of courage and they didn't have to boast about it at all.

Cjheere, long Live the Anglo-Indians!



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DJ
Logan, Queensland, Australia


I am an Anglo-Indian originally from South India, but now an Australian citizen living in Sunny Queensland (Oz) - beautiful one day, perfect the next!
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