Growing up in a small city in western Punjab in the sixties was fun, and life was simple. Five out of our six siblings were born in the sixties and spent our early years in accommodation specially built for the accountant of the Crescent factories, who happened to be my father. The Crescent factories of Chichawatni, supposedly the first Banaspati Ghee Mills of Asia, were situated in the suburbs and the residential estate was surrounded by farms on the south east, a missionary towards the north, and the mills and owners’ accommodation on the west side. The house we lived in was the first house in the residential estate; an alley separated the back of the house from the boundary wall of the missionary compound.
We spent most of our time outside, as free as the butterflies we chased. We loved catching jugnoo (fireflies or lightening bugs) and fishing from the stream; we had no kind of fishing net so we used baskets, tumblers, pans and anything else we were allowed to take out. Any child who managed to catch a fish was the envy of all of us. We would all take turns touching it and watching it swim around the pan before releasing it back into the stream.
Monsoon was our favorite time and we loved bathing in the rain; the warm rainwater of Punjab. Playing in the rain was enormous fun; we slid, slipped and got all muddy without anybody caring. The earth smelled divine after all the thunder, lightening and rain; and the air so crisp and fresh. We used to rush up to the huge mound of earth beyond the fields looking for red velvet mites soon after the rain stopped. We would look desperately for a moving red dot before we’d see it, bright red velvet that will curl up into a tiny ball when we touched it. Sometimes I wonder if fireflies and rain bugs still exist in Punjab!
Most of the children of the sixties played nearly the same games; a traditional game of tag called oonch neech, adda khadda (a variation of hopscotch) four squares, marbles, kite flying, gulli danda (similar to Tip-cat), hide and seek, lutto (spinning top) and catch me if you can (the chasing game in the fields). Life was simple and it was an innocent time; even little things made us happy, though something special happened where we lived. Sally and Franky came to Chichawatni every year!
Although my mother never worked, like all middle class families, we had domestic helpers (we never called them maids or servants), the younger ones of which were more like our playmates. They cared for us like they would have for younger siblings or cousins and we never bossed them around. One of our playmates was a teenager herself when she looked after us and had been with the family for ten years; somehow she was the first person to know whenever Sally and Franky had arrived.
Sally and Franky stayed in the handsome house within the missionary compound that was bounded by a six feet high wall; younger boys were practically encouraged to play gulli danda near the wall. The teenage girls, along with our playmate, would eagerly wait for the gulli to land inside the missionary compound to have an excuse to knock on the door or even jump over the wall to retrieve it. At times Franky would appear when the door was opened by one of the local Christian residents, and would make the girl’s day. My memories of Franky and Sally are quite limited, as I was rather young myself. Franky was a tall, slim teenager with light brown hair who wore Khaki shorts with black braces and checked shirts. Sally was younger, probably 12 and had blond hair. She used to wear knee length plaid dress with white peter pan collars and a big bow in the back. She wore white knee socks with black shoes and stood quietly next to her brother; I was absolutely fascinated by her.
Once our playmate jumped over the wall with an excuse to look for the gulli that had gone over, when the dog started barking, and we all stood outside worried that she would now be caught unallowed inside the missionary compound. We all moved near the door and tried to eavesdrop to find out what was happening inside. The door suddenly opened and we nearly fell inside. She was standing there with a grin on her face and her hands full of oranges from the orange tree in the missionary garden, Franky was standing behind her with their dog at his side. We all stared at him; he could hardly open his eyes in the bright Pakistani sun, and he had a lovely smile on his face.
In 1969 my parents married our teen playmate off and we moved house soon after that. From the new house to boarding schools and then medical college, I hardly stayed in Chichawatni anymore. When I moved to the UK and began working as a doctor in the NHS I was reminded of those two siblings by any female patient with the name Sally. I would unknowingly always check her date of birth to see if it happened to be the late fifties; I somehow hardly ever came across gentleman with the name Franklin.
Going back to Nishtar Medical College two years ago for our Silver Jubilee reunion gave me an opportunity to reminisce with my siblings; it was then that my older sister asked me if I “remembered Sally and Franky”. She amazingly also remembered the children having a grandfather, and his name being White. Back home in England, sitting in bed with my MacBook, without any hope or intention I googled “ Whites in Chichawatni”. One particular search result popped up, the “History of the White family”, and it was indeed the family of Sally and Franky.
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I had always thought the two children were British, for no particular reason, but it turned out that they were an American Family. Rev. Bonner Dale White with his wife Janet Wallace Ballantyne White took up work as missionary in Chichawatni in 1923. They had two daughters and two sons; and I suppose Sally and Franky were two grandchildren out of many. I was shocked to be able to find out even this much about the two fascinating children I remembered from my childhood. Only on a young child could two strangers make such a strong impression, but I wonder if these American children ever realised how memorable their yearly visits were to the children of that small town in western Punjab.
