A 1900 cycle without 'brakes or mudguards'.
Saturday 29 August 2009
Friday 6 February 2009
Delhi to Cawnpore, 1897. A cycle ride.
This is my grandfather’s diary. He was born in London in 1867 and emigrated to India in about 1890. He wrote the diary during a short cycling holiday in north India.
When he uses terms which might confuse a modern reader (e.g. dak bungalow) I offer some explanation, and I hope those more familiar with villages on his route will excuse my interpretation of his handwriting.
He was a product of his time, and sometimes the attitudes he displays are disquieting. He grew up believing that the natural way of things was that the English ruled the world; hopefully by now we know better.
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Sunday Oct 3rd
I arrived by the mail train at Delhi from Calcutta. As it was not yet daylight I had a sleep in the waiting room, then after a bath and breakfast started for a ride about the city. The roads in Delhi are vile and full of great holes. I asked the way to Kootab and was directed to pass through the Ajmur Gate. I believe that is its name. It is very old-looking and paved beneath with large flat stones with the joints 2 or 3 inches apart, and I had to go very gingerly to prevent either wheel dropping into the cracks.
Once clear of the gateway and the country is before one, with roads leading in all directions. Straight on I went over very rough roads for 8 miles. On either side of the road are large earthmounds and ruins of old buildings, gateways and mosques. At 3 miles from Kootab, the road gets suddenly better, in fact it is perfect, and on the rise enough to let one feel there is something to push at. It is like riding through a tunnel now, the trees are so thick on either side, with the branches meeting overhead which makes it very cool.
A sudden turn of the road to the right and I was in the midst of the ruins of Kootab and dismounted between 2 dak bungalows [a ‘dak’ or mail bungalow often provided light meals and accommodation for British travellers and Indian officials]. Ordering something to eat, I went for a stroll and was very soon joined by a man who pointed out to me the chief sights of the place. An old tomb, the famous iron pillar which is all in one piece and 24 feet high and has been there I don’t know how many hundreds of years. Then the tower or Kootab Minar as it is called, the tallest minaret or pillar in the world being 240 feet high. My guide asked me to go the top and I did so, but it took more out of me than the 11 miles ride from Delhi had.
There are 379 steps in that tower. I was glad that I went up though, as the breeze at the top is so beautifully cool and the view very extensive, if nothing else. I reached the bottom safely and then admired the outside, beautifully sculptured pillars and heavy stone fretworked out, so that standing at a short distance off one could with a very slight stretch of imagination fancy the building covered with lace.
After refreshing myself, I lit my pipe and was about to start when a man brought me a beautiful bunch of flowers and I may as well state here how much I was struck when coming along by the civility of everyone on the road. Bullocks, donkeys, camels, carts were cleared out of my way at the first sound of my bell and almost every native salaamed. What a difference to Calcutta and suburbs.
I took it very easy back to Delhi and entered by a different gateway to the one I had come out by. It led into a very narrow lane but with a good surface into the famous Chandy Choke [‘perhaps the broadest street in any city in the East’] with its ancient-looking shops. I turned into the Queen’s Gardens – the paths there are grand and I spent some time there. After tiffin [tiffin: a meal, brought and served by a bearer] at the railway station I went for another ride about the city and then being anxious to get on the Grand Trunk Road I decided to make a start and leave the sights within the fort for some future occasion.
Bumping along past the Eye & Ear Infirmary I soon came to the bridge over the Jumna. I had to pay 2 annas toll for which I received 8 tickets, whatever for I do not know neither could the babu tell me. The road up to the bridge is very bad, not only rough but full of holes and then large cobbles up to the toll gate. The bridge road is paved with wood and is not bad. Its length is 2640 feet, with the railway overhead.
I had a close shave getting past a bullock cart as the road is very little wider than that. A train happened to pass over while I was crossing and it made me feel anything but comfortable. At the other end I gave up the 8 tickets to one man. I had been expecting to meet a man every now and then who would take a ticket, but one man, as I have said, took the lot.
Another bump over big cobbles and I was on the Grand Trunk Road. It was a treat, surface like a racing track, and I let the machine go. The road is undulating and not very shady right away to Ghaziabad which according to the milestones is 11 from Delhi and 380 from Allahabad. I did not go into Ghaziabad – it is surrounded by a mixture of walls and houses, and entered by a large gateway, to get to which you have to turn off the road to the left.
I looked through the archway as I passed, and getting a glimpse of the ordinary native bazaar, I kept straight on until I came to a road on my right leading to the railway station, down which I turned, and after riding about a mile came to it and Killner’s Refreshment Rooms where I had dinner and passed the night.
I could have stopped at the P.W.D. [Public Works Department – like the dak bungalows, food and rest facilities were available] bungalow which is on the left just before you come to the Ghaziabad Gateway, but I made up my mind before starting to get my meals at the railway stations where possible.
Monday Oct 4th.
The sun had not risen when I started at 1/4 to 6 so it was nice and cool. There was also a pretty stiff wind blowing against me. I saw nothing for miles but squirrels and peacocks. The road has still the same splendid surface and if anything it is slightly on the rise.
At half-past 6 I entered the village of Dadri and seeing a Bungalow on the left I went there. The babu in charge took me for the district magistrate but I soon undeceived him and asked if I could get any tea, which after waiting one hour I did. I took the precaution before starting to fill my flash with tea which came in very handy during the day. I reached Sikandarabad 12 miles further on about 9 o’clock. It is a rambling old place, with a bit of a bazaar and has four rather tall minarets to two of the mosques. I rode right through but dismounted at the end of the town as the road forked, so I had to ask my way as there is no signpost. I was directed to the left-hand road by some natives. I cannot help mentioning it again, the civility of the natives is extraordinary, at least it is to me, even the ikka drivers and their passengers salaamed.
After riding another couple of miles and seeing some running water by the side of the road in a nice shady spot, I bathed my feet and legs and had a smoke. Then on to Bulandshar. The road is gradually on the rise until the 41 stone from Delhi where I crossed the Ganges Canal by a rather large bridge. It is slightly downhill from there to the P.W.D. bungalow which is on the left at the 42 milestone just past the crossroads. The road to Aligarh is straight on by the bungalow. It being now half past ten, I decided to have a rest, so went into the bungalow and had a bath. I enjoyed that immensely; the water was so nice and cold from the well. Then getting into my sleeping suit I had a good rest in a long chair, while the man in charge got me what he could to eat. He had to go a mile and a half to find a fowl, but I in the meantime had some tea and chappaties. No milk or sugar could be got here. It was past 2 before the curry and rice was ready, and almost 3 before I started again for Aligarh, 40 miles away.
I found Bulandshar was 2 miles away from the bungalow along a well-shaded road. I passed a church on my right, then a post office and almost opposite that the district jail. There is a turning to the right, opposite the jail, which I ought to have taken but seeing the town ahead and the road going straight on, I naturally went that way and had a 3-mile (at the least) extra ride, for I had to come back after getting clear of the town in the wrong direction.
Bulandshar is rather a large place, and the high street has quite a downhill about it to the centre of the town when it turns to the left and goes up again and so on under an old arched gateway, horribly paved like the one in Delhi. To anybody who may ride through this town they must beware of the drains which run right across the roadway and are fully 6 inches deep and 2 feet wide.
When I got back to the jail I turned down the road opposite it. The surface was grand, just like a billiard table, downhill and shady. I soon came to a bridge crossing the Ganges Canal and turned down the first road over the bridge to my left. The milestones now have Allahabad and Meerut on them instead of Delhi, and I began to fear I had taken another wrong road, but seeing the distance to Meerut increase, I guessed it was all right. The milestones are not many with Meerut on them and they return to the original inscription Allahabad and Delhi. The road is perfect and without a turning for miles; when it does fork keep to the left. I should have liked to have gone down the right hand road, for as far as I could see the trees met overhead, but an ikka driver told me to keep to the left.
The country is very open and the road is rough, but even then better than Calcutta roads. I stopped now and again to get a drink of water and have a smoke. Passed a bungalow near the 60th mile from Delhi, crossed the railway lines just past the 71st stone, and about 1/2 mile further on, on my right, saw another bungalow. I meant to get to Aligarh that night so did not stop. The sun had now gone down and I was glad to put my jacket on as a rather cool breeze was blowing towards me. There was a bit of a moon up and the road being straight and smooth I was able to hurry along. I felt precious lonely though and the country is very thick with trees and grass about there, but I saw nothing more than a rabbit or two, and heard the music of the jackals.
At the 81st stone there is a signpost pointing to the bazaar and to the civil station towards which I rode, and a mile further on turned to the left across the railway lines and into Aligarh station, where a neat peg of whisky soon put a glow into me. There is a dak bungalow close to the station so I put up there, and after a bath, change and dinner was soon asleep.
Tuesday Oct 5th.
I was up at 6 o’clock and took a walk round but beyond a very handsome clocktower surrounded by a fine garden, I saw nothing of interest. After breakfast I oiled-up the bike and at 12 o’clock started for Agra, which according to the milestones is 50 miles away. Crossing the lines, I went up the road at right angles to the station, leaving the Grand Trunk Road to Cawnpore on my left. The road I took led straight through the town and was very rough. The houses in the town have a tumbledown look about them, everything is very dirty and the streets were crowded with natives. After about a mile of it, I turned to the right by a police station and a little further on at crossroads turned to the left. Just after I had turned down that road and on my left, I noticed a tomb with a cross above it and an inscription, but being comfortably settled in the saddle I did not stop to see what is was all about.
The road is perfect and shady. Monkeys swarm hereabouts. I dismounted in the village of Sassnee, 13 miles out, and stayed one hour at the police station. After leaving Sassnee the road got very rough, and the country more open. At the 19th mile from Aligarh I passed a P.W.D. bungalow on the right. A little further on the roads fork and taking the left-hand road I soon after crossed a narrow gauge railway line at Hatras. I went to the station and had some water then rode on towards Agra.
Hatras is a very dirty place, purely native, and the road through the town in a fearful condition. I walked it, followed by hundreds of natives. Crossing the railway lines at the end of the town I mounted and found the road splendid but I had to be very careful as for 10 miles it was nothing less than a procession of ikkas, bullock carts and people in holiday attire going out to some fair. One little boy did knock against my front wheel and came down, but no damage was done either to the wheel or to him.
About 4 o’clock at 32 miles from Aligarh and 18 to Agra, I got my first and only puncture – a thorn stuck into the front tyre. Luckily for me, a P.W.D. bungalow was close at hand on my right and while the attendant made some tea and the inevitable chappaty, I repaired the tyre.
At 5 o’clock I made another start, passing a field close by in which was set up an idol fully 15 feet high made of bamboo and paper. A most infernal din the natives were making with their horns and tom-toms. I was glad when I got past them as the road was now clear and beyond getting nearly mixed up with some donkeys, got safely into Agra. It does not seem fair to the other roads to say it, but I reckon that 18 miles the best bit of road I have ever been on. Perfectly smooth and straight, with a slight downhill, it was grand going and I did it in 1 hour and 5 minutes, the last 3 miles being all down hill. I passed several deer on the road and rabbits.
My first impressions of Agra were not up to much. I got into the bazaar and could not find any place to put up at until at last I got directed to go a mile or so further and over the bridge to the fort station. I had to pay 2 annas toll before crossing the bridge. On my enquiring for the dak bungalow or hotel, the stationmaster advised me to use the waiting room, which I did and found it a lot better than most dak bungalows. There is a large caned couch, a bathroom with water laid on, a large bath, in fact every convenience, with first-class refreshment rooms just across the line. So I was soon all right.
Wednesday October 6th.
After breakfast, I rode into the imposing fort of Akbar’s, the walls of which are 70 feet high and nearly 2 miles in extent, of a kind of red stone. Dismounting outside the Moti Masjid or Pearl Mosque, I was soon admiring the beautiful work and listening to the description of it as told by a mussulman in charge. It is truly wonderful and all pure white marble; even the gratings in the drains are of fretworked marble. I noticed fretwork marble screens fully 3 inches thick, and every curve and line as true as possible. I then went on to the palace where there is the same kind of beautiful work. I could not help thinking that in those days there were no contracts for work. 250 years have these things been built and they look like lasting to the end of time.
Leaving the fort I rode on for about 2 miles to the wonderful and famous Taj Mahal with its beautiful domes and gardens. This ‘dream in marble’ was erected by Shah Jehan in 1648 as the tomb of his wife - he also was buried there. It is built of the purest Jaipur marble and beneath the dome and within an enclosure of the most delicately carved marble fretwork are the tombs of the princess and her husband.
I felt I could gaze for days at such wonderful work – even the entrance gates are masterpieces of art. Near those gates I bought a small model in marble of the Taj, and some brooches of various coloured stones. I then rode through the city, past the Jama Musjid or great mosque, back to the railway station for tiffin, after which I crossed over the bridge, the roadway of which is in a shocking state. After crossing the river, the first road to the right leads to Jundla and I was soon comfortably bowling along at a 12 mile and hour gait. The road is rougher than usual and undulating. About 13 miles from Agra, I cross the narrow gauge railway lines, and just on my left saw a P.W.D. bungalow. I did not stop.
Riding on a mile further a signpost on my right directed to Jundla Junction, 1 mile 3 fur. to which I rode and refreshed myself at Kellner’s. After a rest and a wash, I started again at half past 3, and rode back the way I had come to the main road again, and then to Firozabad, which looks as if it had once been a pretty big town, but it is now like the usual native town, in a tumbledown condition.
It is about a mile through and then just before the 26 stone from Agra is a P.W.D. bungalow on the left at which I put up for the night. I could only get tea, milk and chappaties.
Thursday Oct 7th
I was off in the morning at 20 past 6 and ten miles further on came to a bungalow on my right at the entrance to Shikohabad. Here the railway police with their officer turned out of the guardroom to salute me, and for the fun of the thing I dismounted and inspected them. Telling the officer they were first-class and that he could dismiss them, I rode on and took the second road to the left, which goes to Mainpuri.
The direct road to Itawa, straight on, is a cutcha[?] one and rarely used. The road I was on is first-class and shady. At the 41st stone from Agra or 15 from where I had slept, I stopped at a bungalow on my left but finding nobody there, I pushed on to Araun outpost 5 miles further. I got some water there and then on again past the military camping ground till I came to the 52 stone where I crossed two bridges at right angles to each other over the canal, and stopped at a bungalow close by this further bridge. Girode is the name of the place.
I could only get milk and sweetmeats there, and as I had done 26 miles in 2-1/2 hours I had a bath and a rest. At 10.30 I started again and passed another bungalow on my left 3 miles further on, and soon after again crossed the canal, near the bridge of which was another bungalow. Plenty of them, but nothing to eat or drink.
The country here is very open and like a desert, but the road is all right. I got to Mainpuri just before 12 o’clock, 66 miles from Agra and 40 from where I had started in the morning, Firozabad. Mainpuri is a large place and is 2 miles through it. I noticed a public garden. I stopped at the Post Office to get some change and then made for the dak bungalow. Before getting to it I had to cross another bridge of the canal and there the road branches into three. I kept to the right and then took a turning to the left, which led to the bungalow. I could not find anybody there, so had to go back to the main road and on to Bhogan, 10 miles off, at the entrance to which I stopped at the police station and sent for some milk and sweets, all I could get. However it filled me up a bit.
Getting through the town I came out upon the Grand Trunk Road (that I had left at Aligarh at the 82nd stone from Delhi) to find I was 161 from Delhi. So, by going to Agra, I had made an increase of 50 miles on the main road distance. As Agra is 50 from Aligarh and 78 to Bhojana = 128 and direct from Aligarh to Bhojana is 79. Seven miles further and I came to Bhujo and seeing a bungalow on the left, went in and found the district magistrate, a mahommadan gentleman staying there. He very kindly had some tea made for me, and asked if I would stay the night, but as it was only 3 o’clock I declined. He then gave me a chit to his servant at his own bungalow, 14 miles further on, telling him to put me up for the night and to get me what I should want.
I then went on and passing the Bhujo camping ground saw a tomb and went and inspected it. I found it was the grave of Driver Algar R.H.A. who was assassinated while on sentry duty in 1869 under a large tree close at hand, the trunk of which is covered with memorial plates (I counted up to 40) placed there by almost every regiment that had camped there since. I noticed one as recent of January of this year.
6 miles further on I passed through Nabijunge. There is a high-walled government serai[?] and a bungalow. The road now runs for miles between very high grass. Here I met an elephant whose head and face was beautifully marked in various coloured designs, painted on I suppose. He took no notice of the bicycle. Camels do. They invariable give a loud grunt and shy. I passed a dead one on the road and at a little after five reached the district magistrate’s bungalow, handed over the chit, and had a good bath. I could only get a dish of rice and some tea. The rice I had to eat with a leaf sewn into a scoop as there was not a spoon in the place.
Friday Oct 8th.
I was off again at 6.15, rode through the village which is a good size. The road is slightly undulating, though more downhill than up, and the country hereabouts is well-wooded. After riding a little more than an hour, I passed a bungalow on my left at the entrance to a village, at the other end of which I crossed the narrow gauge railway lines which now run beside the road which improves considerably, so that I was able to get over the next 30 miles in just over 2 hours. I called at a bungalow on my left, 15 miles from where the line was crossed, but could get nothing more than milk, which I took and then rode on. At 36 miles from Cawnpore, the road and rails cross over a bridge that is very narrow and badly planked, and a mile further on, seeing a bungalow on my right on the other side of the lines at the entrance to Bilhour. I went there and had a bath and rest. I managed to get some milk and chappaties there and stopped at a shop in the village and got some oil for the bike, which badly needed it, seeing I had not oiled-up since leaving Agra.
The road now has a decided downhill about it and the going is a treat. Just as I was nice and comfortable, a goods train caught me up and I was obliged to back-pedal and let it get on ahead, and I was being smothered and blinded with blacks from the engine. I passed it again though, later on. That line is not a very busy one, for all day only 2 goods passed and one passenger train met me. At about 12 miles to Cawnpore, I again crossed some lines which joined those on my right and a mile further on I could see across country the smoke from the Cawnpore chimneys.
The downhill is more pronounced and I had only to sit back, pedal fast, and keep my wits about me in steering, for the road is crowded with bullock carts who do their best they can to get out of my way. At 3 miles to go, I entered a wayside station, changed my breeches for knickers, and generally brushed myself up a bit. Then on past the waterworks, it looked like, on my right, then over the worst roads it has ever been my lot to ride on, great holes filled with dust and where there are no holes, the dirt and dust is inches thick. I struggled through it until I came to a sort of midden, where a janiwallah directed me to a turning on my right which led on to the station, over a canal.
If the other roads were bad, this was worse, and I was jolly glad to see the station, and opposite it the Junction Hotel, where I stopped after a good day’s ride of 80 miles.
My machine is one of Townend Bros Coventry, a road racer, 28lb geared 72, with no brake or mud guards, and with 1-1/2 inch road-racing tropical Dunlop tyres. It never gave the slightest trouble and has not been tightened up anywhere since I started.
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My grandfather was born in London in 1867, where he was winning medals for cycle races in 1888. In 1891 he got married in Calcutta, after emigrating to India.
Although in his diary he writes “Sunday Oct 3rd”, he doesn’t mention a year. The only two possible years are 1897 or 1909, and as there is no mention of motor vehicles (which would surely have been noteworthy sights on the streets of India), I think it more likely that it was the earlier date.
I have no photographs of Charles Ives or his bicycle, but I have included his line-drawing map of his route, together with pictures of some of his medals. Apparently, cycle racing in London in the 1880s was organised on similar lines to today's horseracing - the rich owned the cycles (which were SO expensive), and hired fit young men such as my grandfather to ride them. Plus ça change. There is also a photo of his wife from the early 1930s after she had returned as a widow from India to live in Essex.
When he uses terms which might confuse a modern reader (e.g. dak bungalow) I offer some explanation, and I hope those more familiar with villages on his route will excuse my interpretation of his handwriting.
He was a product of his time, and sometimes the attitudes he displays are disquieting. He grew up believing that the natural way of things was that the English ruled the world; hopefully by now we know better.
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Sunday Oct 3rd
I arrived by the mail train at Delhi from Calcutta. As it was not yet daylight I had a sleep in the waiting room, then after a bath and breakfast started for a ride about the city. The roads in Delhi are vile and full of great holes. I asked the way to Kootab and was directed to pass through the Ajmur Gate. I believe that is its name. It is very old-looking and paved beneath with large flat stones with the joints 2 or 3 inches apart, and I had to go very gingerly to prevent either wheel dropping into the cracks.
Once clear of the gateway and the country is before one, with roads leading in all directions. Straight on I went over very rough roads for 8 miles. On either side of the road are large earthmounds and ruins of old buildings, gateways and mosques. At 3 miles from Kootab, the road gets suddenly better, in fact it is perfect, and on the rise enough to let one feel there is something to push at. It is like riding through a tunnel now, the trees are so thick on either side, with the branches meeting overhead which makes it very cool.
A sudden turn of the road to the right and I was in the midst of the ruins of Kootab and dismounted between 2 dak bungalows [a ‘dak’ or mail bungalow often provided light meals and accommodation for British travellers and Indian officials]. Ordering something to eat, I went for a stroll and was very soon joined by a man who pointed out to me the chief sights of the place. An old tomb, the famous iron pillar which is all in one piece and 24 feet high and has been there I don’t know how many hundreds of years. Then the tower or Kootab Minar as it is called, the tallest minaret or pillar in the world being 240 feet high. My guide asked me to go the top and I did so, but it took more out of me than the 11 miles ride from Delhi had.
There are 379 steps in that tower. I was glad that I went up though, as the breeze at the top is so beautifully cool and the view very extensive, if nothing else. I reached the bottom safely and then admired the outside, beautifully sculptured pillars and heavy stone fretworked out, so that standing at a short distance off one could with a very slight stretch of imagination fancy the building covered with lace.
After refreshing myself, I lit my pipe and was about to start when a man brought me a beautiful bunch of flowers and I may as well state here how much I was struck when coming along by the civility of everyone on the road. Bullocks, donkeys, camels, carts were cleared out of my way at the first sound of my bell and almost every native salaamed. What a difference to Calcutta and suburbs.
I took it very easy back to Delhi and entered by a different gateway to the one I had come out by. It led into a very narrow lane but with a good surface into the famous Chandy Choke [‘perhaps the broadest street in any city in the East’] with its ancient-looking shops. I turned into the Queen’s Gardens – the paths there are grand and I spent some time there. After tiffin [tiffin: a meal, brought and served by a bearer] at the railway station I went for another ride about the city and then being anxious to get on the Grand Trunk Road I decided to make a start and leave the sights within the fort for some future occasion.
Bumping along past the Eye & Ear Infirmary I soon came to the bridge over the Jumna. I had to pay 2 annas toll for which I received 8 tickets, whatever for I do not know neither could the babu tell me. The road up to the bridge is very bad, not only rough but full of holes and then large cobbles up to the toll gate. The bridge road is paved with wood and is not bad. Its length is 2640 feet, with the railway overhead.
I had a close shave getting past a bullock cart as the road is very little wider than that. A train happened to pass over while I was crossing and it made me feel anything but comfortable. At the other end I gave up the 8 tickets to one man. I had been expecting to meet a man every now and then who would take a ticket, but one man, as I have said, took the lot.
Another bump over big cobbles and I was on the Grand Trunk Road. It was a treat, surface like a racing track, and I let the machine go. The road is undulating and not very shady right away to Ghaziabad which according to the milestones is 11 from Delhi and 380 from Allahabad. I did not go into Ghaziabad – it is surrounded by a mixture of walls and houses, and entered by a large gateway, to get to which you have to turn off the road to the left.
I looked through the archway as I passed, and getting a glimpse of the ordinary native bazaar, I kept straight on until I came to a road on my right leading to the railway station, down which I turned, and after riding about a mile came to it and Killner’s Refreshment Rooms where I had dinner and passed the night.
I could have stopped at the P.W.D. [Public Works Department – like the dak bungalows, food and rest facilities were available] bungalow which is on the left just before you come to the Ghaziabad Gateway, but I made up my mind before starting to get my meals at the railway stations where possible.
Monday Oct 4th.
The sun had not risen when I started at 1/4 to 6 so it was nice and cool. There was also a pretty stiff wind blowing against me. I saw nothing for miles but squirrels and peacocks. The road has still the same splendid surface and if anything it is slightly on the rise.
At half-past 6 I entered the village of Dadri and seeing a Bungalow on the left I went there. The babu in charge took me for the district magistrate but I soon undeceived him and asked if I could get any tea, which after waiting one hour I did. I took the precaution before starting to fill my flash with tea which came in very handy during the day. I reached Sikandarabad 12 miles further on about 9 o’clock. It is a rambling old place, with a bit of a bazaar and has four rather tall minarets to two of the mosques. I rode right through but dismounted at the end of the town as the road forked, so I had to ask my way as there is no signpost. I was directed to the left-hand road by some natives. I cannot help mentioning it again, the civility of the natives is extraordinary, at least it is to me, even the ikka drivers and their passengers salaamed.
After riding another couple of miles and seeing some running water by the side of the road in a nice shady spot, I bathed my feet and legs and had a smoke. Then on to Bulandshar. The road is gradually on the rise until the 41 stone from Delhi where I crossed the Ganges Canal by a rather large bridge. It is slightly downhill from there to the P.W.D. bungalow which is on the left at the 42 milestone just past the crossroads. The road to Aligarh is straight on by the bungalow. It being now half past ten, I decided to have a rest, so went into the bungalow and had a bath. I enjoyed that immensely; the water was so nice and cold from the well. Then getting into my sleeping suit I had a good rest in a long chair, while the man in charge got me what he could to eat. He had to go a mile and a half to find a fowl, but I in the meantime had some tea and chappaties. No milk or sugar could be got here. It was past 2 before the curry and rice was ready, and almost 3 before I started again for Aligarh, 40 miles away.
I found Bulandshar was 2 miles away from the bungalow along a well-shaded road. I passed a church on my right, then a post office and almost opposite that the district jail. There is a turning to the right, opposite the jail, which I ought to have taken but seeing the town ahead and the road going straight on, I naturally went that way and had a 3-mile (at the least) extra ride, for I had to come back after getting clear of the town in the wrong direction.
Bulandshar is rather a large place, and the high street has quite a downhill about it to the centre of the town when it turns to the left and goes up again and so on under an old arched gateway, horribly paved like the one in Delhi. To anybody who may ride through this town they must beware of the drains which run right across the roadway and are fully 6 inches deep and 2 feet wide.
When I got back to the jail I turned down the road opposite it. The surface was grand, just like a billiard table, downhill and shady. I soon came to a bridge crossing the Ganges Canal and turned down the first road over the bridge to my left. The milestones now have Allahabad and Meerut on them instead of Delhi, and I began to fear I had taken another wrong road, but seeing the distance to Meerut increase, I guessed it was all right. The milestones are not many with Meerut on them and they return to the original inscription Allahabad and Delhi. The road is perfect and without a turning for miles; when it does fork keep to the left. I should have liked to have gone down the right hand road, for as far as I could see the trees met overhead, but an ikka driver told me to keep to the left.
The country is very open and the road is rough, but even then better than Calcutta roads. I stopped now and again to get a drink of water and have a smoke. Passed a bungalow near the 60th mile from Delhi, crossed the railway lines just past the 71st stone, and about 1/2 mile further on, on my right, saw another bungalow. I meant to get to Aligarh that night so did not stop. The sun had now gone down and I was glad to put my jacket on as a rather cool breeze was blowing towards me. There was a bit of a moon up and the road being straight and smooth I was able to hurry along. I felt precious lonely though and the country is very thick with trees and grass about there, but I saw nothing more than a rabbit or two, and heard the music of the jackals.
At the 81st stone there is a signpost pointing to the bazaar and to the civil station towards which I rode, and a mile further on turned to the left across the railway lines and into Aligarh station, where a neat peg of whisky soon put a glow into me. There is a dak bungalow close to the station so I put up there, and after a bath, change and dinner was soon asleep.
Tuesday Oct 5th.
I was up at 6 o’clock and took a walk round but beyond a very handsome clocktower surrounded by a fine garden, I saw nothing of interest. After breakfast I oiled-up the bike and at 12 o’clock started for Agra, which according to the milestones is 50 miles away. Crossing the lines, I went up the road at right angles to the station, leaving the Grand Trunk Road to Cawnpore on my left. The road I took led straight through the town and was very rough. The houses in the town have a tumbledown look about them, everything is very dirty and the streets were crowded with natives. After about a mile of it, I turned to the right by a police station and a little further on at crossroads turned to the left. Just after I had turned down that road and on my left, I noticed a tomb with a cross above it and an inscription, but being comfortably settled in the saddle I did not stop to see what is was all about.
The road is perfect and shady. Monkeys swarm hereabouts. I dismounted in the village of Sassnee, 13 miles out, and stayed one hour at the police station. After leaving Sassnee the road got very rough, and the country more open. At the 19th mile from Aligarh I passed a P.W.D. bungalow on the right. A little further on the roads fork and taking the left-hand road I soon after crossed a narrow gauge railway line at Hatras. I went to the station and had some water then rode on towards Agra.
Hatras is a very dirty place, purely native, and the road through the town in a fearful condition. I walked it, followed by hundreds of natives. Crossing the railway lines at the end of the town I mounted and found the road splendid but I had to be very careful as for 10 miles it was nothing less than a procession of ikkas, bullock carts and people in holiday attire going out to some fair. One little boy did knock against my front wheel and came down, but no damage was done either to the wheel or to him.
About 4 o’clock at 32 miles from Aligarh and 18 to Agra, I got my first and only puncture – a thorn stuck into the front tyre. Luckily for me, a P.W.D. bungalow was close at hand on my right and while the attendant made some tea and the inevitable chappaty, I repaired the tyre.
At 5 o’clock I made another start, passing a field close by in which was set up an idol fully 15 feet high made of bamboo and paper. A most infernal din the natives were making with their horns and tom-toms. I was glad when I got past them as the road was now clear and beyond getting nearly mixed up with some donkeys, got safely into Agra. It does not seem fair to the other roads to say it, but I reckon that 18 miles the best bit of road I have ever been on. Perfectly smooth and straight, with a slight downhill, it was grand going and I did it in 1 hour and 5 minutes, the last 3 miles being all down hill. I passed several deer on the road and rabbits.
My first impressions of Agra were not up to much. I got into the bazaar and could not find any place to put up at until at last I got directed to go a mile or so further and over the bridge to the fort station. I had to pay 2 annas toll before crossing the bridge. On my enquiring for the dak bungalow or hotel, the stationmaster advised me to use the waiting room, which I did and found it a lot better than most dak bungalows. There is a large caned couch, a bathroom with water laid on, a large bath, in fact every convenience, with first-class refreshment rooms just across the line. So I was soon all right.
Wednesday October 6th.
After breakfast, I rode into the imposing fort of Akbar’s, the walls of which are 70 feet high and nearly 2 miles in extent, of a kind of red stone. Dismounting outside the Moti Masjid or Pearl Mosque, I was soon admiring the beautiful work and listening to the description of it as told by a mussulman in charge. It is truly wonderful and all pure white marble; even the gratings in the drains are of fretworked marble. I noticed fretwork marble screens fully 3 inches thick, and every curve and line as true as possible. I then went on to the palace where there is the same kind of beautiful work. I could not help thinking that in those days there were no contracts for work. 250 years have these things been built and they look like lasting to the end of time.
Leaving the fort I rode on for about 2 miles to the wonderful and famous Taj Mahal with its beautiful domes and gardens. This ‘dream in marble’ was erected by Shah Jehan in 1648 as the tomb of his wife - he also was buried there. It is built of the purest Jaipur marble and beneath the dome and within an enclosure of the most delicately carved marble fretwork are the tombs of the princess and her husband.
I felt I could gaze for days at such wonderful work – even the entrance gates are masterpieces of art. Near those gates I bought a small model in marble of the Taj, and some brooches of various coloured stones. I then rode through the city, past the Jama Musjid or great mosque, back to the railway station for tiffin, after which I crossed over the bridge, the roadway of which is in a shocking state. After crossing the river, the first road to the right leads to Jundla and I was soon comfortably bowling along at a 12 mile and hour gait. The road is rougher than usual and undulating. About 13 miles from Agra, I cross the narrow gauge railway lines, and just on my left saw a P.W.D. bungalow. I did not stop.
Riding on a mile further a signpost on my right directed to Jundla Junction, 1 mile 3 fur. to which I rode and refreshed myself at Kellner’s. After a rest and a wash, I started again at half past 3, and rode back the way I had come to the main road again, and then to Firozabad, which looks as if it had once been a pretty big town, but it is now like the usual native town, in a tumbledown condition.
It is about a mile through and then just before the 26 stone from Agra is a P.W.D. bungalow on the left at which I put up for the night. I could only get tea, milk and chappaties.
Thursday Oct 7th
I was off in the morning at 20 past 6 and ten miles further on came to a bungalow on my right at the entrance to Shikohabad. Here the railway police with their officer turned out of the guardroom to salute me, and for the fun of the thing I dismounted and inspected them. Telling the officer they were first-class and that he could dismiss them, I rode on and took the second road to the left, which goes to Mainpuri.
The direct road to Itawa, straight on, is a cutcha[?] one and rarely used. The road I was on is first-class and shady. At the 41st stone from Agra or 15 from where I had slept, I stopped at a bungalow on my left but finding nobody there, I pushed on to Araun outpost 5 miles further. I got some water there and then on again past the military camping ground till I came to the 52 stone where I crossed two bridges at right angles to each other over the canal, and stopped at a bungalow close by this further bridge. Girode is the name of the place.
I could only get milk and sweetmeats there, and as I had done 26 miles in 2-1/2 hours I had a bath and a rest. At 10.30 I started again and passed another bungalow on my left 3 miles further on, and soon after again crossed the canal, near the bridge of which was another bungalow. Plenty of them, but nothing to eat or drink.
The country here is very open and like a desert, but the road is all right. I got to Mainpuri just before 12 o’clock, 66 miles from Agra and 40 from where I had started in the morning, Firozabad. Mainpuri is a large place and is 2 miles through it. I noticed a public garden. I stopped at the Post Office to get some change and then made for the dak bungalow. Before getting to it I had to cross another bridge of the canal and there the road branches into three. I kept to the right and then took a turning to the left, which led to the bungalow. I could not find anybody there, so had to go back to the main road and on to Bhogan, 10 miles off, at the entrance to which I stopped at the police station and sent for some milk and sweets, all I could get. However it filled me up a bit.
Getting through the town I came out upon the Grand Trunk Road (that I had left at Aligarh at the 82nd stone from Delhi) to find I was 161 from Delhi. So, by going to Agra, I had made an increase of 50 miles on the main road distance. As Agra is 50 from Aligarh and 78 to Bhojana = 128 and direct from Aligarh to Bhojana is 79. Seven miles further and I came to Bhujo and seeing a bungalow on the left, went in and found the district magistrate, a mahommadan gentleman staying there. He very kindly had some tea made for me, and asked if I would stay the night, but as it was only 3 o’clock I declined. He then gave me a chit to his servant at his own bungalow, 14 miles further on, telling him to put me up for the night and to get me what I should want.
I then went on and passing the Bhujo camping ground saw a tomb and went and inspected it. I found it was the grave of Driver Algar R.H.A. who was assassinated while on sentry duty in 1869 under a large tree close at hand, the trunk of which is covered with memorial plates (I counted up to 40) placed there by almost every regiment that had camped there since. I noticed one as recent of January of this year.
6 miles further on I passed through Nabijunge. There is a high-walled government serai[?] and a bungalow. The road now runs for miles between very high grass. Here I met an elephant whose head and face was beautifully marked in various coloured designs, painted on I suppose. He took no notice of the bicycle. Camels do. They invariable give a loud grunt and shy. I passed a dead one on the road and at a little after five reached the district magistrate’s bungalow, handed over the chit, and had a good bath. I could only get a dish of rice and some tea. The rice I had to eat with a leaf sewn into a scoop as there was not a spoon in the place.
Friday Oct 8th.
I was off again at 6.15, rode through the village which is a good size. The road is slightly undulating, though more downhill than up, and the country hereabouts is well-wooded. After riding a little more than an hour, I passed a bungalow on my left at the entrance to a village, at the other end of which I crossed the narrow gauge railway lines which now run beside the road which improves considerably, so that I was able to get over the next 30 miles in just over 2 hours. I called at a bungalow on my left, 15 miles from where the line was crossed, but could get nothing more than milk, which I took and then rode on. At 36 miles from Cawnpore, the road and rails cross over a bridge that is very narrow and badly planked, and a mile further on, seeing a bungalow on my right on the other side of the lines at the entrance to Bilhour. I went there and had a bath and rest. I managed to get some milk and chappaties there and stopped at a shop in the village and got some oil for the bike, which badly needed it, seeing I had not oiled-up since leaving Agra.
The road now has a decided downhill about it and the going is a treat. Just as I was nice and comfortable, a goods train caught me up and I was obliged to back-pedal and let it get on ahead, and I was being smothered and blinded with blacks from the engine. I passed it again though, later on. That line is not a very busy one, for all day only 2 goods passed and one passenger train met me. At about 12 miles to Cawnpore, I again crossed some lines which joined those on my right and a mile further on I could see across country the smoke from the Cawnpore chimneys.
The downhill is more pronounced and I had only to sit back, pedal fast, and keep my wits about me in steering, for the road is crowded with bullock carts who do their best they can to get out of my way. At 3 miles to go, I entered a wayside station, changed my breeches for knickers, and generally brushed myself up a bit. Then on past the waterworks, it looked like, on my right, then over the worst roads it has ever been my lot to ride on, great holes filled with dust and where there are no holes, the dirt and dust is inches thick. I struggled through it until I came to a sort of midden, where a janiwallah directed me to a turning on my right which led on to the station, over a canal.
If the other roads were bad, this was worse, and I was jolly glad to see the station, and opposite it the Junction Hotel, where I stopped after a good day’s ride of 80 miles.
My machine is one of Townend Bros Coventry, a road racer, 28lb geared 72, with no brake or mud guards, and with 1-1/2 inch road-racing tropical Dunlop tyres. It never gave the slightest trouble and has not been tightened up anywhere since I started.
- Distances
- Oct 3rd 34 miles
- Delhi to Kootab 11
- Kootab to Delhi 11
- Delhi to Ghaziabad Stn 12
- Oct 4th 75 miles
- Ghaziabad Stn to Dadri 12
- Dadri to Sikandarabad 12
- Sikandarabad to Bulandshar 8
- Bungalow to Bulandshar 2
- Through the town by mistake 3
- Bulandshar to Aligarh 38
- Oct 5th 52 miles
- Aligarh to Sassnee 13
- Sassnee to Saldahabad 19
- Saldahabad to Agra fort 20
- Oct 6th 32 miles
- Agra Taj and back 4
- Agra to Tundla Stn 14
- Tundla Stn to Firozabad 14
- Oct 7th 75 miles
- Firozabad to Girode 26
- Girode to Mainpuri 18
- Mainpuri to Bhogan 10
- Bhogan to Bhejo 7
- Bhejo to Chibramo 14
- Oct 8th 80 miles
- Chibramo to Bilhour 42
- Bilhour to Cawnpore 38
----------------
My grandfather was born in London in 1867, where he was winning medals for cycle races in 1888. In 1891 he got married in Calcutta, after emigrating to India.
Although in his diary he writes “Sunday Oct 3rd”, he doesn’t mention a year. The only two possible years are 1897 or 1909, and as there is no mention of motor vehicles (which would surely have been noteworthy sights on the streets of India), I think it more likely that it was the earlier date.
I have no photographs of Charles Ives or his bicycle, but I have included his line-drawing map of his route, together with pictures of some of his medals. Apparently, cycle racing in London in the 1880s was organised on similar lines to today's horseracing - the rich owned the cycles (which were SO expensive), and hired fit young men such as my grandfather to ride them. Plus ça change. There is also a photo of his wife from the early 1930s after she had returned as a widow from India to live in Essex.
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