Tea And The Opium Wars

My research for The Tea Planter’s Daughter into the Victorian / Edwardian tea trade eventually took me back to the murky world of early British capitalism. This was the time of the British East India Company prising land off rulers in the North of India to grow opium crops.

These were used in the Opium Wars: with the loss of its trade monopoly, the East India Company needed to gain access to China’s lucrative, protected markets, and one of the main products they wanted to buy on an open market was tea. The trade in opium through intermediaries and Chinese smugglers weakened the Chinese economy by simultaneously draining it of silver while creating increasing numbers of addicts.

At it’s peak, it is estimated that ninety percent of all chinese males under forty in the coastal regions were addicted to opium.

Almost by chance, the opium growers discovered that something else grew naturally on the hot, humid slopes and rich soils of Assam – the evergreen camallia. The tea bush was growing wild, right under their noses!

So they switched to tea growing, sending out eager young men (often Scots) to chance their luck as tea planters. Judging from the cemetery records, many died young of malaria, fever and dysentery. Their isolation and misery was more than matched by the dire conditions of their bonded workforce. Lured by the chance of work from the drought-stricken areas of India, they were heded like cattle onto ferries up the Brahmaputra River, and often died of cholera or smallpox before even reaching the tea gardens.

What these early pioneers succeeded in doing though was to change the palette of the British. They were weaned off the delicate, smoky China teas, and onto the stronger, earthier varieties grown in India and Ceylon.

I found a colonial report into the industry that sums it up nicely:

“It is a remarkable fact, in the British Empire that though British tea-drinking proclivities were nourished on China teas, the taste has gradually changed until Indian and Ceylon teas are now predominant. A great part of the credit for this development is due to the blenders for careful blinding in the early days of the industry, the public having been led on by gentle steps to appreciate a good ‘body’ in its tea.

The British people, wherever domiciled, are the world’s greatest drinkers of tea, and their preference is for afine, full-flavoured tea with stimulating properties… China teas are not popular in any part of the Empire, and while it may be too much to say that China tea-drinking in this country is merely a fashionable fad, that expression does approach somewhere near the truth.“

By the end of the 19th century, the tea industry in India was big business. the gardens were run like factory farms and the processing – the withering, rolling, fermenting and drying of the leaves – was all highly mechanised. And those machines? They bore names like Britannia and Victoria, and were made in the industrial heartlands of the the Empire’s mother country.

Like so many products of the age, they were built to last, and some are still in use today:

INTO AFGHANISTAN WITH BOB DYLAN, 1976

DIARY OF AN 18 YEAR-OLD: THE FIRST IN A SELECTION OF POSTS FROM MY OVERLAND ADVENTURE TO KATHMANDU IN 1976 – TAKEN FROM MY DIARY

[This day saw our arrival in Afghanistan via the high Khojak Pass at Chaman - an age-old trading, smuggling and invading route.  My first impression of Afghanistan was of the starkly beautiful landscape and evening skies.  I remember entering Kandahar after nightfall and being entranced by the rows of open-fronted shops lit up by oil lamps; horses eating and snorting contentedly in the chill evening air.  We stayed at a cheap, hotel with groovy music where the friendly staff lent us heavy black woollen blankets - I've never come across such warm ones again.  Over the years I've watched the news of Kandahar being bombed, captured and reduced in parts to rubble, and grieved for this place and the people who were kind to us.  I still hold onto my memory of a magical winter evening there - my first night in Afghanistan]

SATURDAY 20TH NOVEMBER, 1976

“Left Quetta early, headed for Afghan border.  Had breakfast on outskirts of small village.  Shirley was shown round the prison!  Climbed to Spin Boldak – stark hills covered in shale.
3 checks on Pakistani side of border and 2 on Afghan side – had to fill in loads of forms, while officials scribbled what we’d declared into our passports.

A real character of a moneychanger – very bossy but rather friendly and open – was in charge of stamping forms and made a mess rather like a big thumb print (must be stuck for things to say in mine!)

Afghan scenery – flat plains surrounded by dark barren mountains – really impressive in the evening sun – dramatic clouds with bright yellow sky behind grey-purple hills.  Then a fantastic crimson sunset across the plain.
Reached Kandahar – six of us dossed in a room (a floor same as camping rates).  At the moment am sitting in the eating room of hotel listening to Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits and writing this (obviously!)  Room decorated with streamers and pop posters – quite a few young Europeans etc eating here.  Neva and I had a chat with 2 American girls – next to them were some Dutch blokes.  Chatted with an Irishman, Italian and Frenchman!
Super warm night on floor of hotel room.”

Where Did This Tea Fixation Come From?

For me it started in 2006 – I was struggling with the bones of a story about itinerant travellers in late Victorian times. It was to be set in the North East, or maybe the borders, but I just couldn’t get to grips with it. For some reason I just couldn’t find the story to tell.

Then one evening I had a life-changing experience when I went to speak to the Mens’ Fellowship at the Methodist Chapel in Stakeford. My husband, Graeme got chatting to the grandfather of one of our son’s friends. It turned out that he’d started his working life as a driver for Ringtons tea company. Not just any driver though – he drove the company’s last horse and cart van around Blyth.

Tea, I thought. I like tea. I buy it in boxes from supermarket shelves now. But where did it come from a hundred years ago? Was it the same as we drink now, or different? What about the supply chain and logistics – both things that we take for granted now, but surely at the turn of the 19th century things were a little different? I had fuzzy images of tea clippers and refined tea rooms, and the feeling that there was a story to be told.

I needed to look into this tea business! So as usual, I started my research deep in the bowels of Newcastle’s Lit & Phil. Society Library to see what the archives could tell me.

I discovered a world of Victorian tea rooms such as Miss Cranston’s of Glasgow (as in, the famous Art Nouveau Willow Tea Rooms): glamorous places of potted palms and aspidistras, starched linen and waitress service that offered an alternative to the pub and dazzling gin palace. Certainly, Catherine Cranston herself was a firm supporter of the Temperance movement.

Then there were the tea merchants: the Star Tea Company, the London and Newcastle, Andrew Melrose of Leith (whose original salesforce all boarded together). In London there was Mincing Lane, where huge amounts of tea were auctioned. It was a world of brokers and bonded warehouses, of agents and lead-sealed chests, of tea tasters and spittoons. I poured over Edwardian government reports into the tea industry, and was astonished at its scale – 4,264 plantations producing over 345 million lbs  weight in exports a year. And I found myself pouring increasing numbers of cups of tea to aid my digestion of this huge storehouse of information.

Britain, it appeared, had gone bonkers for tea in the late 1800s and early 1900s. We simply couldn’t drink enough of it.

Whereas it had once been the preserve of the upper classes, who drank China tea that was so expensive they kept it under lock and key, now tea was being bought and drunk by everyone.

How was this possible, and where was all this tea coming from?

Initial Skirmishes Of The Falkands War

21st April 1982 marked the beginning of the actual conflict to retake the Falklands. On this day, the SAS made an aborted attempt to land on South Georgia.

HMS Conqueror (the hunter-killer submarine which would later sink the ARA General Belgrano) was just off the coast when a Wessex helicopter from HMS Antrim landed a small party from the SBS near the Fortuna Glacier. Their aim was to attack the small Argentine force at Grytviken (some 25-30 miles away) from an unexpected direction.

However, it was not to be – the South Atlantic autumn was setting in, and the party were caught in heavy snow. When they were rescued on 22nd April, two helicopters were lost when they crashed in the thick fog.

A few days later though, a force of around 75 men from M Company, 42 Commando returned along with SAS and SBS, and after a demonstration bombardment from the supporting ships, re-took the island when the Argentine garrison surrendered.

The event was marked by two of the most memorable quotes from the war. Firstly, British Landing Forces’ commander Major Guy Sheridan RM’s message after the surrender at Grytviken:

Be pleased to inform Her Majesty that the White Ensign flies alongside the Union Jack in South Georgia. God save the Queen.

When this was announced back in Britain, the Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher’s response was:

Just rejoice at that news and congratulate our forces and the Marines.

This initial skirmish in the war wasn’t quite completed without a shot being fired (the Argentine submarine Santa Fe was attacked when trying to leave just before the final assault). But it was still seen at the time as a sign of how the main Falkland Islands might be re-taken with minimal bloodshed.

The main task force was still almost 2,000 miles from the Falklands, and I know that like many of us, my fictional character Jo Elliot would have been listening to every news bulletin, reading every headline and watching the TV news every night. Her older brother Colin was an army bandsman aboard the requisitioned QE2, and close friend Mark Duggan was aboard the (also fictional) HMS Gateshead – a Type 21 Frigate just like ill-fated HMS Antelope and HMS Ardent.

2,000 miles was just over a week’s sailing time – you can read how Jo coped with the events in the South Atlantic in my book, For Love and Glory – currently just £1.91 on Amazon.

FROM PONTELAND TO PORT STANLEY – FALKLANDS WAR 30 YEARS ON

John wearing his Falklands medal by the River Tyne

30 years ago, Geordie matlot John Mew was heading south on HMS Coventry as part of the British Task Force. He didn’t know then that his ship would be bombed and he plucked from the South Atlantic during the Falklands War. We knew him from his involvement with Ponteland Rugby Club in Northumberland where my husband Graeme played in the 1980s and 90s. When he was home on leave John would lead them in vigorous training and fitness sessions – with exacting Royal Navy standards!

After the Falklands conflict, John was generous in talking about his experiences and knowledge of the Navy when I was researching my novel, FOR LOVE & GLORY.

Amy, myself and John by the River Tyne

It is set in Wallsend on the River Tyne from where my husband’s family come. I have them to thank for much of the background information on this vibrant community where many of the world’s greatest ships were built. The Falklands material was inspired by veterans I’d read about – ordinary people who’d shown extraordinary courage – long after the short war was over and out of the news. But in particular, I’m indebted to our brave friend, John.

We met up recently to launch a new version of the novel. It’s now available as ebook for the first time. My daughter Amy is the model for the new cover!

These days it is John’s sons who are playing rugby for Ponteland – but I’m sure he can still teach them a thing or two about fitness!

FOR LOVE & GLORY ebook

Diary of an Overlander

On the road with Swagman Overland, Asian Greyhound

How many people out there went on the overland trail to India – from London to Kathmandu or beyond – in the heydey of the 1960s and 70s?  I was one of them!  The summer of ’76 was known for its heatwave and water shortage; I had just left school and was singing School’s Out For Ever along with Alice Cooper.  I was off to India – the place where my mother had spent her early childhood and my grandparents had worked and lived in the ’20s and ’30s.  I had flared jeans, a rucksack, new sleeping bag from Blacks Outdoor Shop, an instamatic camera, a bright orange cagoule with the flexibility of chainmail and a bottle of Kaolin & Morphine to ward off the squits.
Nobody seems to remember that the autumn of ’76 was one of the wettest.  My family waved me off from a rain-splashed Durham station.  The next day – a drizzly, cold early Sunday morning in late September – I embarked on a three month camping adventure across Asia with a group of total strangers.  The coach was an old Bristol bus; I sat in a seat facing backwards.  The company, Asian Greyhound: Swagman Overland Tours, was run by an Australian known as Uncle Norm.  Looking back, I’m amazed my parents let me go.  My Dad said he prayed a lot.

With over 30 years of gestation, the experience has moulded itself into a novel; a travel mystery called THE VANISHING OF RUTH.  

It’s a vanished world – a privileged one for Westerners who could travel at will, strike up transient friendships and drink in all the amazing sites en route (or in some cases just drink).  I never stopped being amazed at the generosity of strangers or the persistence of kids.

I’ll be sharing some of the diary entries and photos in my posts, and showing how these were influential in writing the novel. Travel back in time with me …

The Falklands War of 1982

This week marks the 30th anniversary of the start of the Falklands war, which is being commemorated at the National Memorial Arboretum with the lighting of a single flame. This will burn for the length of the conflict – 74 days:

Several of the hundred ships that sailed for the South Atlantic less than a week after the invasion were built on the Tyne - HMS Bristol, HMS Glasgow, HMS Exeter, HMS Glamorgan, HMS Argonaut, HMS Penelope, HMS Cordella, RFA Omleda, RFA Stromness, SS Atlantic Conveyor and SS Atlantic Causeway.

It was through discussion with my husband’s family who lived in Wallsend, and a meeting with John Mew who served on HMS Coventry that I came to write For Love and Glory.

Over the next ten weeks, I (along with the rest of the British media!), will be covering the events in the Falklands from thirty years ago. Later THIS month, a new edition of For Love and Glory will be published – initially for Kindle, but the paperback version will be ready soon after.

Balochistan And The Vanishing of Ruth

Much of the inspiration for The Vanishing of Ruth came from the overland trip I made from the UK to Kathmandu in 1976. I kept a diary, and wrote letters home, using aerogramme stationery. You wrote on the special, lightweight paper, which you then folded up to make the envelope – like this one I sent from Kabul in Afghanistan:

As you can see, I had a LOT to tell the folks back home!

When I came to write The Vanishing of Ruth, I had plenty of source material, but still needed to do the things that every author has to settle down to sooner or later – mapping out the overall plot and characters, in this case with a mind map:

I also needed to fill in a whole bunch of gaps – I’d travelled just one route through Afghanistan and Pakistan, and for certain key events in the book a LOT more detail was needed. I spent many hours hidden away in Newcastle’s Lit. & Phil. Society library, poring over Stamford’s Compendium to get the details right on Balochistan (it’s the south west corner of Pakistan, where some critical twists in the plot take place):

I’m not entirely sure that my handwriting’s improved over the years!

A Jolly Nice Cup Of Tea

You’d never know it, but thanks to the wonders of modern technology, when I was writing last week’s post about Ringtons Tea, I was actually sitting in a salon de thé in Antibes. We were over there taking a few days well-earned R&R.

Tea shops suddenly seem to be quite the thing in France - très chic in fact. Trendy boutiques sell everything you could need to make a really good cuppa – I bought one of these little tea infusers, which now that we’re home, I’ve been using to make endless cups of green tea:

The only thing you can’t buy is a tea cosy – maybe with the warmer weather in the South of France, they don’t think they’re necessary

In the salons de thé, things are obviously quite different from a British tea room like one run by Clarissa Belhaven Tyneside. There’s none of the ritual that we have – when you order a cup of tea, you get a tea cup full of hot water, with a tea bag on the saucer brought to the table. Once, the waiter even forgot to put the tea bag on the saucer – much to his embarrassment!

Maybe they could all do with learning the secret of how to make a brew – as shown in this film from 1941:

International Women’s Day – It Didn’t End With “The Vote”

As today is International Women’s Day, I’m going to post a couple of photos of my relations from the Suffragette movement:

Great granny Janet Gorrie – around the 1870′s / 1880′s

Great granny Janet Gorrie in later life as a voting woman!

Granny Janet’s daughter, Mary Gorrie went on to run the Scottish Female Domestic Service Association, which cared for the latter years of domestic servants. Before the coming of the Welfare State, old age could be hard and grim for those who’d spent all their lives in service. The kindly paternalism shown in the likes of Downton Abbey was far rarer than the rose-tinted glasses of TV producers would have us think: