Khwaja Zakiuddin, our eldest brother, was with Grindlays Bank Limited, posted in Peshawar. He and our sister-in-law, Binoo, were at the Peshawar Railway Station to meet parents and us, and followed us to the Peshawar Government House.
Their daughters Yasmeen and Almas also joined us.
All of us were present, along with a large number of distinguished guests who were invited to witness the swearing-in ceremony, when Father took the oath of office as Governor of North Western Frontier Province (N.W.F.P.).
He served as Governor of N.W.F.P. for four years during which time he learnt Pushto well enough to address the people of tribal areas in their own language. We were fortunate that I was on holiday which gave us the opportunity to spend time with parents as well as Bhaijan (Zakiuddin) and his family in Peshawar. Ayesha and I also spent a week with Chachajan (Uncle Nazimuddin) who was Governor General of Pakistan at that time, and family in Nathiagali.
It so happened that, on a day when father was out of Peshawar on official business, I received a telegram from Naval Headquarters, Karachi, offering me a commission as a Lieutenant in the Special Branch of the Royal Pakistan Navy and directing me to report to Naval Headquarters by 1st January 1952.
I did not wait for father to return from his official tour, and replied to Naval Headquarters by telegram, the same day, accepting their offer. When I gave father this news on his return to Peshawar, he was most upset, because I had a very good job with a British Company, with a four-figure salary and various perquisites, whereas, as a Lieutenant I would get a salary of Rs.450/-.from which Income tax and house rent would be deducted.
He said, I should have thought that I had a wife and a daughter to support. However, he realized that there was nothing that could be done and, as he always supported his children in doing what they wanted, he accepted my decision with faith and fortitude.
On 1st January 1952, I joined the Royal Pakistan Navy (the prefix ‘Royal’ ended when Pakistan became a Republic in 1956) with 452 as my personal number, and was sent to the shore Establishment H.M.P.S. Himalaya for a month’s training. I was then appointed Divisional Sea Transport Officer (Pakistan) – D.S.T.O. (P) – and directed to take over from Lt. Jafri at the Embarkation Headquarters in Keamari.
I had to report direct to Rear Admiral J. W. Jefford, the Commander-in-Chief, Royal Pakistan Navy, in his capacity as Directot of Sea Transport. As D.S.T.O. (P) I was responsible for the movement of all Naval personnel by sea, land and air, and for Army and Air Force personnel, by sea only. In addition, arrangements for traveling by air of all officers – military and civilian – attending conferences, meetings, etc., in connection with SEATO (South East Asia Treaty Organisation) and CENTO (Central Treaty Organisation) were my responsibility.
To assist me there was Himayet Ali Khan, a civilian officer as Assistant Sea Transport Officer, and two Naval ratings, a Master-at Arms and a Petty Officer. The two persons I remember were Zaman and Abdul Karim respectively. Himayet Ali Khan, who hailed from Hyderabad, Deccan, was with me for over three years and then joined PICIC. His place was taken over by Lt. Ahmed Irfan who was later replaced by Lt. Askari who took over from me when I left in April 1957.
At that time there were a large number of British officers and men who had opted to serve with the Defence Services of Pakistan, and as their terms of service came to an end, I received list of names and other details from the Ministry of Defence to arrange passages for them. The majority of them were sent by sea in Anchor Line vessels – Caledonia, Celicia or Circassia – on their return voyage from Bombay (Mumbai) to Southampton every month.
In addition, there was the Polish Ocean Lines vessel Batory which was also available once a month, and ships of the Italian line Lloyd Triestino – Victoria and Asia – plied regularly between Naples and Hong Kong via Mumbai and Karachi. Ships of the famous British India Steam Navigation Company (B.I.) – the company which I joined as a cadet in 1942 – serving the Gulf and East Africa also called at the Karachi port.
Then there was the Aronda of B.I. Company, plying regularly between Karachi and Chittagong. I was allotted space on this ship by the Controller of Shipping – first Mr. Ashraf Saeed then Commander Ghaffar Muraj – every month for transporting officers and men of the Pakistan Army.
On various occasions we had to charter a ship of Pan Islamic Steam Navigation Company for the movement of large contingent of troops between Karachi and Chittagong. Thus, the port of Karachi was full of life and movement of passengers throughout the year, and that kept us on our toes in the Sea Transport Organization.
Karachi Airport was another spot where we spent hours and hours. There was a continuous movement of groups of Naval cadets proceeding to the U.K. for training at the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth. We had to take care of all their traveling documents, and I made it a point, along with the two Naval ratings, to see them off at all odd hours. A Naval jeep, with a driver, was allotted to me for official duties. I also made it my duty at the Airport to see off and receive the Commander-in-Chief and senior officers.
Admiral Jefford was short statured, a bit on the heavy side, and a cheerful person. He was most kind and considerate and had the confidence in me to give me a free hand to do my duty without any interference. I never bothered him unnecessarily and went to see him when I required his approval to do something, or when he sent for me.
On one occasion, when Mr. Mohammad Ali (Bogra) was the Prime Minister, a very close friend of his, who had a Travel Agency, wanted to be appointed the Travel Agent to handle bookings of Defence service officers and men. Admiral Jefford asked me for comments. I prepared a detailed note for the Admiral giving reasons why this proposal should not be accepted.
The Admiral supported me and that was the end of something which would have been damaging for the Defence services. Whenever I went to see the Admiral, while waiting to be called in, I sat with Commander Irfan Ahmed, Secretary to the C-in-C, who was well read, highly intelligent, thorough in his work and had a great sense of humour. He came from Bengal and had married Khursheed, sister of Iqbal Akhund, from a well-known Sindhi family and a successful Pakistani diplomat. After he retired from service, Commander Iran Ahmed was sent to Tunisia as our Ambassador, where he passed away, many years ago.
There were very few members of our family living in Karachi then. Apart from Uncle and Aunty Nazimuddin and their children, Zafar, Mohiuddin and Saifuddin, Mumtaz Chacha and family, Uncle and Aunty Nooruddin with Sharmin, Shahnaz, Sherin and Shahrukh and my sister Bilquiss, with her daughter, Naheed, whose husband, Musa Bhai (A.M.S. Ahmad), a Police Officer, was posted in the Intelligence Bureau. Karachi.
Towards the end of 1952, Zaki Bhaijan was transferred from Peshawar to Karachi to the Dundass Street Branch of Grindlays Bank Ltd. He arrived with Binoo Bhabi, Yasmeen and Almas. All of us spent some happy times meeting one another, having meals together and keeping in touch by telephone conversation as often as possible.
Ayesha and I also kept in touch with some of our friends in Karachi. The home we visited quite often was that of Mehrangese – sister of my friend Sadri Ispahani – and her husband Mohammad Hassan Shirazee. One day, when we went to see them, Mehrangese introduced us to Mahmood Mirza and Nurjehan, who were also visiting the Shirazees.
Mahmood was a very senior executive with PIA, having served with its predecessor, Orient Airways. He came from Bangalore. His parents died when he was a kid so he was brought up by his Uncle, Sir Mirza Ismail, who was known as the architect of Mysore. Nurjehan was the eldest child of Major General and Begum Iskander Mirza.
We discovered that the Mirzas were living in Laher Chambers in a flat which was directly opposite to our flat in Ilaco House on Victoria Road (Abdullah Haroon Road). They lived across the road from us. That first meeting with the Mirzas was the beginning of a very close and friendly relationship between our two families.
Their children, Zain and Shahla used to have regular conversations with Nazli, our daughter, across Victoria road. Later they had two more kids, Mehreen and Abbas. We began spending a lot of time together and Mahmood became one of my five closest friends, the one and only friend I had in Karachi until he passed away on 8th August 2003. .
It was a coincident that, when I was sent to England to do a course in Sea Transportation with the Ministry of Transport and the Admiralty, in August 1954, Pakistan International Airlines (PIA) posted Mahmood to London as Station Manager. Our respective wives, and in our case, our daughter Nazli, were with us. Our two families spent a lot of time together, visiting places and going to the Theatre.
While Mahmood and I were at work, Nurjehan and Ayesha painted the city of London red, white and blue. One day the two landed up at a cinema to see a movie and, to their horror, they did not have enough money. Both of them emptied their hand bags and were still short by a shilling to buy two tickets.
The door-man noticing their predicament helped them with a shilling. With tickets for the lowest tier in the cinema hall, they found themselves seated in the first row near the screen. But, that was the spirit of having a great time and enjoying themselves in so many small and simple ways.
Mahmood Mirza, then a senior director, was one of the victims of the ‘break up’ of Pakistan. In order to meet the situation caused by the loss of the Eastern wing of the country, PIA took steps to retire some of their officials, prematurely. Mahmood was one of them, though, in his case it was suspected to be a case of victimization.
However, he did not have to wait too long as Kuwait Airways took him on as Director Planning. He worked for them for eight years and, on completion of his contract with Kuwait Airways, he retired and returned to Karachi towards the end of September 1980. Little did he know that shortly after their return to Karachi, Nurjehan would fall ill and within a few days pass away on 21st October 1980.
That was a big shock for him, and he never got over it, even though, after 20 years of her death, he married an elderly Suraiya, who was also a widow. They lived together for a few years until Mahmood passed away. May the souls of Mahmood and Nurjehan rest in eternal heavenly peace.
On 23rd March 1956 when Pakistan became a Republic, the Royal Pakistan Navy became Pakistan Navy and the prefix “HMPS” (Her Majesty’s Pakistan Ship) was changed to “PNS” (Pakistan Navy Ship). At that time the Commander-in-Chief was Admiral Haji Mohammad Siddiq (H.M.S.) Choudhri.
He was the Senior most Indian officer in the Executive Branch of the Royal Indian Navy, and now, the first Pakistani to take over command of the Navy from Rear Admiral J.W. Jefford in February 1953. It was a pleasure also, to work with him, and he gave his whole hearted support with trust and confidence for me to do my duty without any interference from him.
He was very kind and thoughtful to have me posted temporarily to a Pakistani Destroyer P.N.S. Taimur, as an observer, when, in October 1955 four ships of the Royal Pakistan Navy – H.M.P.S. Sind, HMPS Tippu Sultan, HMPS Tughril and HMPS Taimur went on the Far Eastern cruise under his command. The four ships sailed from the port of Chittagong, to visit Penang, Djakarta, Singapore and Bangkok. I had expressed my impressions in an article dealing with the beginning of the cruise which I am adding below in its original form.
Far Eastern Cruise 1955
“Roll along covered wagons roll along . . ……”
This is not a covered wagon, although its passage over the uneven surface brings back memories of one of the popular tunes of the Second World War.
“Come along to Abbysinia
Won’t you come,
Bring along your ammunition
And your gun.
Mussolini will be there
Shooting bullets in the air,
Come along to Abbysinia
Won’t you come”. . .
The vehicle which is negotiating the bumps and dips of a neglected road is a jeep. Its paintwork and markings bear witness to the fact, that great pains have been taken to make it spic and span for the inspection of naval units in Chittagong by the Commander-in-Chief.
At this moment it is over loaded with six persons including the driver, and as if that is not enough, it is towing a trailer loaded with boxes and bags. Seated over the gear in the trailer is a person in overalls who can be seen bobbing up and down with the rise and fall in the road.
Occupying the rear seat is the supply officer of H.M.P.S. Bakhtiyar, Lt. S.O. Ahmad a plump and cheerful officer, who due to his size takes up more room than the two ratings who are accompanying him. He has with him cash and papers for the ships at the naval moorings. Lt. Abedin and I are sharing the front seat next to the driver. We are bound for “Tippu Sultan” and “Taimur” respectively, having been appointed to these ships for the Commander-in-Chief’s Far Eastern Cruise.
I glance at the watch. It is nearly half past ten. The ships are due to sail at 12 o’clock and I ask the supply officer if we are not too late. “Do not worry, sir,” he assures me, “There is plenty of time and we will get there in ten minutes”.
The jeep follows its course along the road, which, passes by the Government Secretariat. As we come to the turning, which leads to the Secretariat, Ahmad, directs the driver to turn right. “Mr. Qureshi, Judge Advocate of the fleet, will be waiting for us down the road in a car and would follow us to the ships”, he says, “it wont’ be long”.
Sure enough there is a car parked on the side of the road in front of a flat. We stop next to it and hoot on the electric horn. The judge acknowledges our call and we move ahead to turn the jeep.
The car, a standard wagon, belongs to the Judges’s friend with whom he had been staying for the last two days. They both come out and the Judge’s gear is loaded in the booth of the Vanguard. We exchange greetings and then the Judge asks me to transfer myself to his car.
Once again we are on our way. The jeep is following us and in spite of its good springs the car is jolting quite a lot. The Judge is anxious to buy some bananas and we stop at a roadside shop.
“I wonder where the jeep has gone to,” I remark, “it is not to be seen anywhere”.
“Don’t worry, Shahab”, the Judge replies, “she must have stopped at the Navy office to collect some papers”.
The Judge gets out of the car and along with his friend goes to choose the bananas.
I look back and see the jeep coming along. It parks ahead of us and Ahmad suggests that I should join them once again. I collect my brief case from the car and join Lt. Abedin on the front seat.
This portion of the road is in good condition. We pass the jetties and turn left over a railway crossing and follow the road running along the river bank. The jeep comes to a halt near the “Tughril”, which is the first of the four ships as one approaches the moorings from the city. Ahmad, Abedin and the two ratings get off here. I shake hands with Ahmad thanking him for his help and hospitality and he in turn wishes me “bon voyage’. He looks as cool and calm as ever and his smile shows up a lovely row of white teeth. Abedin is coming on the cruise and we part assuring each other that we would meet again at the next port.
Ahmad directs the driver to drive me to “Taimur’, which is about half a mile down the river. I wave out as the jeep moves along and looking back through the opening in the rear, I can see Ahmad and Abedin walking down the road to go to “Tippu Sultan” and then to “Sind’.
There on my left is “Tippu Sultan, throbbing with life and getting ready to slip. A Chevrolet overtakes us on the right. I notice the Flag Lieutenant in the front seat and looking through the rear glass I can also recognize Begum Choudri, along with a couple of ladies. It has stopped near “Sind’ and the Begum Sahib has alighted from the car to board the “Sind’. She and her son Rishad are also accompanying the Admiral on this cruise.
Having driven past ‘Sind’ I am now looking out for a glimpse of “Taimur’, the latest addition to the R.P.N., which I have not seen yet, although I have been associated with her from the very beginning.
Many months before the ‘Taimur’ was commissioned, it became necessary to arrange for the transportation of officers and men who were to man her. Naval Headquarters invited me to attend one of the first meetings to plan the movement of personnel by air to England. Thereafter, I started dispatching small batches of technical ratings who were to do courses before joining this ship. By and by the number of officers and men dispatched by each aircraft kept increasing and on one occasion, I remember, having dispatched over forty men with cooking utensils and some stores. Thus, it fell upon me to dispatch every single officer and rating, for this ship. Including the commanding officer, Capt. C.S. Ahmad. . . . .
It is, therefore, natural that I now look forward with unconcealed excitement to become part of the complement of this ship. And, as the jeep stops by the roadside near a heap of boulders, I alight and look for the pathway down to the edge of the bank. I can see a ‘sampan’ shoving off from Taimur’s gangway and I ask the driver to get a hand to carry my box, while I collect my briefcase, typewriter, burbury and a small bag, and carry them in my hands, down the slope and board the ‘sampan’ which is now alongside the bank. My box is brought down, and there being no more passengers we shove off.
There right in front of me is ‘Taimur’, now lying singled up on her fore and aft wires. I scan her from top to bottom, and bow to stern. She looks magnificent and I can see men in spotless white uniform moving about on the decks. Each person is busy with his own duties in getting her ready to sail.
We are now alongside her. I collect my briefcase and typewriter and walk up the gangway to salute the Quarter Deck. The O.O.D. replies my salute and greets me. And what do I see now? A familiar figure with a broad grin striding towards me. Of course, it is Lt. Cdr. Ismail, the Chief Engineer officer on board. He shakes me by the hand and introduces me to a couple of other officers and leads me to the wardroom.
Unlike other Destroyers, the wardroom of ‘Taimur’ is on the upper deck, and in addition to a number of portholes it has a watertight door, which opens onto the deck. As it is well above the water line, there is plenty of light and fresh air.
As I enter, my eyes are attracted by a strikingly large photograph of the Quiad-e-Azam, over the fireplace across the room. And immediately below him, seated on the settee is an army Major to whom I am now introduced by Ismail. “Here is another Uddin”, and then turning to me, “meet Major Salahuddin who is accompanying us on the cruise”. We shake hands and settle down on the settee, and our conversation follows the usual course of first aquaintance. I learn that Salahuddin actually lives across the road from me in Karachi and he works at the I.S.I. Directorate. He is well built and possesses a good height. From the very outset he impresses me as being an intelligent and well informed person.
While Ismail tells us about the impeding cruise, other officers drop in for a while and soon excuse themselves to go and attend to their duties. And now, the First Lieutenant has come in and I get up to shake him by the hand. Lt. Cdr. Sharif Khan, from the Frontier, is tough and has an imposing personality. He tells me that he is happy to have me on the ship. He is the busiest officer on board and at this moment he has a hundred and one things to attend to, so he leaves us in the wardroom to continue our conversation.
I find Salahuddin and I are left alone in the wardroom as Ismail has also gone to see if everything is in order in his domain. Shortly, however, we are joined by Lt. Juianandham, the electrical officer, who suggests that it would be better for us to go up to the bridge. This is the nerve center of the ship and is full of switches, levers, telephones and various other instruments used for navigating and fighting a battle at sea.
It is so situated; that a clear view may be obtained all around the ship, and the captain can handle her properly. There are numerous telephones which keep the bridge in constant touch with every part of the ship. Then there are voice pipes which lead down to the wheel house, W/T room and so on.
The forward portion of the bridge is slightly elevated, accommodating two compasses – the gyro and the magnetic. On either side are the W/T and the visual signaling apparatus and right in front under cover, is a desk where the chart is laid for plotting the ships position and setting courses from time to time.
At the moment the bridge is full of life, The yeomen of signals is supervising the various communication ratings, each one of whom have a particular job to do. Flags are being hauled up to the yard and lowered as signals are being exchanged between the flagship and the three destroyers accompanying her. At the same time the signal projector is being handled by one of the ratings who is receiving signals from the flagship by means of morse-code
Above the hustle and bustle caused by the swift movings of the ratings, the First Lieutenant, microphone in hand, leans over the side of the bridge and shouts out orders to the men on deck below who are being lined up to salute the C-in-C, as his ship is due to pass by shortly.
The navigator, a young sub-lieutenant stoops over the chart of the Karnaphuli river to ensure that he has the various track marks and buoys on his fingertips so that his ship may safely negotiate the various curves and bends of the river. Sub-Lt, Saeed, as his name is, is a happy-go-lucky young officer.
In spite of his youth he appears calm and confident, as if, he had been up and down the Karnaphuli a hundred times or more and it is mere child’s play for him to pilot his ship out of the river. He now tells the midshipman to take a few bearings, and the orders are carried out by Midshipman Afzal, a short alert looking officer, who has recently completed his training in the U.K., and is now doing further sea training aboard this ship.
There is a little stir on the bridge; the officers come to attention and salute, as the tall figure of the Captain emerges out of the companionway. Commander. R.U. Bajwa, wears a small black beard and the grey hairs on his head are small and straight. He is now in possession of a pair of binoculars through which he is viewing the ‘Sind’, over two miles away in the stern. He has a word with the navigator and then gives orders to let go the fore and aft manila
He has observed ‘Sind’ being under way and now the First Lieutenant is getting the men to standby on the port side of the ship. Salahuddin and I stand in one corner of the bridge, out of the way of everyone who are doing something or the other.
‘Sind’ flying the flag of the Admiral is now approaching us from the stern. The Bugler sounds ‘still’ calling the ship’s company to attention. The pipers pipe as ‘Sind’ passes us with the R.P.N. Band playing a martial tune. The Captain and the First Lieutenant salute, their palms turned inwards, fingers touching the side of the black peak. The rest of us remain standing to attention, and we see the Admiral on the bridge of ‘Sind’, tall and erect, returning our salute.
The flagship is now on her way down the river, her backwash slapping our bows and beyond us, causing the little ‘sampans’ to toss up and down. She is followed by ‘Tippu Sultan’ with the Compak (Commodore Pakistan) on-board, who is given the mark of respect as he passes by.
Cdr. Bajwa is now ready to slip, but, he has to wait till ‘Tughril’ goes past, as being the junior most ship we are to bring up the rear. He keeps looking through his binoculars over the stern of the ship and remarks that “Tughril” is coming down quite fast, As she approaches us, he gives orders to let go both wires which were holding us so far and keeps “Taimur” in position by the use of the wheel and engines. “Tugril” passes by very close to us.
“Slow ahead, starboard, port ten degrees,” the Captain orders. Shortly afterwards, “Port twenty, slow ahead both engines. Midships stop both engines. And then as the ship is clear of the bank, “Slow ahead port twenty.: “Slow ahead, port twenty, sir,” replies the Quarter Master from the wheel house.
Down in the engine room, the chief E.R.A. obeys the orders and as he turns the valve which opens up steam, the propellers of “Taimur” churn the water and the movement of her engines causes her slowly, but surely to make headway.
“Half ahead both engines, port twenty” comes the order and the hand in the engine room opens up the valve a little more to give “Taimur” a little more speed.
Thus, four ships of the R.P.N. – “Tippu Sultan”, Tughril” and “Taimur” led by “Sind”, flying the flag of the C-in-C, – are sailing down the Karnaphuli river, down to the sea.
On our right now, are the oil installations of the Burma Oil company (B.O.C)., and as we pass by them we notice the neatly arranged houses for their officers.
A Naval jeep come tearing down the road, and as it stops, three Naval officers jump out and stand on the bank to wave us goodbye. We are quite far from the bank and my naked eyes cannot recognize them clearly. They wave their caps as we leave them astern and the four ships now turn the last bend of the river. I can see a couple of Naval ratings of the shore battery standing in front of the heavy gun waving out to their more fortunate colleagues who are proceeding on this cruise.
A couple of merchant ships are at anchor, waiting for a berth to proceed in to Chittagong. The shores of Chittagong, with all its greenery now look like a thick line bordering the vast ocean as we leave it far behind us and set course Southwards.
At last, I am at sea once again, after nearly fourteen years, and for the first time in my life, aboard a Man-of-War. It had been my childhood’s dream to make the Navy my career, but, God had willed it otherwise. My sea career came to an abrupt end in March 1942, when the British Merchant Ship “Chilka” of the British India Steam Navigation Company (B. I.), aboard which I was serving as a Cadet, was sunk by a Japanese Submarine and I spent almost four years in Japanese captivity.
The sea is calm and not a speck of cloud is to be seen anywhere in the blue sky above us. The glittering sun of a hot October after-noon, smiles upon us, causing the brass work on all the four ships to reflect their brightness, as they move up and down with the motion of the ship.
It is long past the hour when “Taimur” officers sit down to lunch. And now, one by one, they troop into the wardroom as “leaving harbour” stations has been secured, and the responsibility of keeping stations now rests with the officer on watch.
The wardroom is now alive with activity. In one corner a number of officers are listening to the radio commentary on the first Test match being played at Karachi between New Zealand and Pakistan. Most excited among them is Mr. Omar, a short curly haired officer from Malabar. He puffs away a cigarette and his bright eyes light up each time Pakistan’s score goes up. There are others who are playing ‘bridge’ while the rest have sat down to lunch.
The dining table can only accommodate thirteen officers where as there are as may as eighteen officers at the moment. The stewards pass round the dishes containing meat curry and daal, and there are chapaties in a couple of dishes on the table. The stock is being replenished continually by fresh warm chapaties.
Those who finish their lunch leave the table and have coffee on the settee by the fireplace. Vacant chairs are soon occupied by others who have been waiting for their turn. The small group of four, playing ‘bridge’, do not seem to bother much about eating as they appear to be more concerned with their score cards, which show how each one of them is faring. It is by no means a serious game. There is plenty of shouting and teasing, and they forget their homes and worries in the company of shipmates. This is their home and it is in the wardroom that the officers spend most of their spare time.
The radio commentary of the Test match has now stopped and its place has been take by recorded film music. It is time for most of the officers to return to duty, while those who are free retire to their cabins to have a little rest.
Teatime at 4 o’clock brings them all back to the wardroom. No time is wasted here. The first four to get together start a game of cards while others read magazines and periodicals. Stewards pass round tea and give out tins of cigarettes to those who ask for them. In one corner of the wardroom some officers discus certain technical points regarding the exercises that were held earlier. Each one of them putting forward his views, which gives them an opportunity to learn their mistakes and shortcomings.
The dress at sea is most informal. Although it is dark now and table is being laid for dinner. The officers in the wardroom are clad in their shorts and
chappals without stockings or socks. This is a life one has to live to understand.
It has its shortcomings, no doubt, but nowhere else is there so much understanding between man and man as there is between shipmates who sail through the seven seas and live through rain and sunshine, war and peace, happiness and sorrow side by side with only one object in view. That is, fearless devotion to duty in the name of God and country.
My Five-year Short Service Commission ended at the end of December 1956, but I continued to serve for the next four months, and eventually left the Navy on 30th April 1957 to proceed to Dhaka to join the Narayanganj Chamber of Commerce and Industry on 1st May 1957.
While we were in Karachi, Nazli went to Mrs. Jennings School, and coming to Dhaka she joined Mrs. Coventry’s school.