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A
walk through Ranji’s castle
How
did this most English of Indian princes end up purchasing property
in Ireland?
It
is quite remarkable how Martin O’Holloran’s eyes light up at the
mention of the Great Ranji. At 95, he is the only survivor from
the staff of over 50 managers, chefs, secretaries, drivers, housekeepers,
governesses (for Ranji’s nieces) who looked after Ballynahinch Castle,
in the heart of Connemara, whenever the the Prince of Cricketers
was in residence on the exquisite property he had purchased in 1924.
Ranjitsinghji,
the Jam Sahib of Nawanagar, would have been saddened by Martin’s
plight. He lives in an old people’s home in Clifden. His chiselled
face makes him look like John Mills. Until five years ago he was
full of stories about ‘‘His Highness’’. But now that he is approaching
his own century, Martin’s memory has failed him. But the stories
he has already told are the staple of all conversation at Ballynahinch
Castle. And his stories carry credibility for a simple reason: like
his master, Martin remained a bachelor and, like him, was passionate
about sport — in this case salmon fishing. Martin was employed as
a groundsman, but his knowledge of the Ballynahinch river (‘‘several
kilometres of the river on either side of the castle are known as
Ranji’s stretch’’) and the bends where salmon were aplenty gave
him proximity to the master which no one else on the estate was
privileged to have.
This
proximity gave him access to gossip, even about Mrs Williams! And
thereby hangs a tale Bollywood might like to take a look at. I know
Shyam Benegal and Saeed Mirza are avid cricket enthusiasts. Sumedh
Shah, who along with Sunil Gavaskar, runs the Professional Management
Group in Bombay has taken a preliminary look in Ireland at the cinematic
possibilities of the Ranji story. It is clearly not a one-dimensional
cricketing story: it is the story of a multifaceted prince who lived
life on a spectacular scale. It is a story about an Indian prince,
of course, but also about the evolution of cricket, Lord Macaulay’s
earliest creature, colonialism. About an inspiring uncle to Duleepsinghji
and his nieces, a wonderful friend to W.G. Grace and C.B. Fry (both
came to spend vacations with him at Ballynahinch, in fact, Fry became
his secretary). In brief, a perfectly integrated personality — an
Englishman, a proud Indian prince and a man so popular in Ireland
(particularly Connemara) that he could have won elections.
How
did this most English of Indian princes end up purchasing property
in Ireland — particularly when Dublin was in the grip of such strong
nationalism with a sharp anti-English edge?
He
blazed a trail of glory on the cricket fields of England from 1893
right up to 1920, playing for Cambridge, Sussex and England, scoring
over 25,000 runs in about 300 first class matches, which included
a memorable 175 against Australia at Sydney in 1897. You have to
read Neville Cardus to get a full measure of the ‘‘majesty’’ of
his batting.
After
he put aside his cricket bat, he took to hunting in a big way and
the literature on Ballynahinch Castle shows him with the leopards
he had shot. A grouse hunting accident in Scotland resulted in the
loss of an eye. When the loss of an eye made hunting difficult,
Ranji took to fishing in his usual competitive style. Hence the
purchase of Ballynahinch, the premier fishing spot in the world.
But the question persists: why in Ireland?
In
1923 Ranji was invited to represent British India at a conference
in Geneva. At the conference he met all the important Irish leaders
who later became his friends. Even though Ranji was an ‘‘Englishman’’,
in a manner of speaking (‘‘Duleep and I are English players’’),
his Indian antecedents accorded him a certain emotional bond with
the Irish, a sort of shared history from the other side of the picket
line. He was with the colonisers, indeed part of the British ruling
class. And yet a part of him probably empathised with colonialism’s
very antithesis. More likely, these considerations were not central
to his personality. He was a man of his era and he savoured every
side of it positively, with aplomb and an elegance, even grandeur.
He
brought his two nieces to Ballynahinch but soon arranged to send
them to the famous Kylmore Abbey nearby run by Benedictine nuns.
The nuns agreed to Ranji’s terms: at the convent his nieces would
wear saris and not participate in religious service. Every year
Ranji left behind his cars (six of them) to the local vicar, priest,
the abbey, local doctor and others who needed cars. Next year he
would buy new cars which were carted to Ballynahinch by the special
train which has since been discontinued.
Only
after the nieces went to the convent did Mrs Williams acquire the
profile Bollywood would find useful for its script.
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