Valentine’s Day has just passed, and I felt that this may be an appropriate time to look back at a lost landmark of our city – a place where romance was always in the air to such an extent that it came to be known as Cupid’s Bow though it had no official name. The story of the place, and what it has become today, is an interesting thread in the fabric that is Madras history.
The British, for almost the first 150 years of their existence in the city, rarely ventured beyond Fort St George. Weekend homes, in reality garden bungalows, began coming up on the banks of the Adyar from the 1760s but during the week life revolved around the Fort. During summer, and for much else of the year, this could be stifling and one of the pastimes was to take the air in the evening. The equestrians among the residents rode and others set out in carriages. Their destination was a wide space south of the Fort, not even a kilometre away, just by where the Cooum entered the sea.
In many ways, this was the outer bound of Madras as far as the 17th century British were concerned. Beyond it lay a narrow strip of sand by the sea and this was the site of the future Marina Beach and after it was the Portuguese town of San Thome. And so, this was where they set out from the Fort, each evening, to relax, enjoy the sea breeze and make small conversation. And with it came romance. There were mild flirtations, serious relationships and the occasional bitter break up. It was no wonder that the place came to be known as Cupid’s Bow. It is very likely that Robert Clive romanced Margaret Maskylene here as did Warren Hastings with his Marian.
Cupid’s Bow was no mere roundabout. It had certain rules – you had to be in full formal dress here. Allen’s Evening Mail, April 28, 1869 is quite clear on this – full morning dress was de rigueur and the “malcontent can betake himself to the club where all sorts of coats are admissible.” It is ironic that today we associate the clubs with crusty regulations on clothes. There are no details of what women were expected to wear to Cupid’s Bow, and we can only assume that they were to be “decorously attired” as the Madras Club reminds ladies even today.
As the place became increasingly popular, amenities were provided. Ornamental lamps were put up and there were moans and groans in the administration reports of the Corporation about how they rusted rapidly owing to the salt air and had to be replaced frequently. That quintessential British feature, the bandstand, soon made its appearance and that gave rise to two road names that are now forgotten. Band Beach Road was so named as it connected Fort St George to the bandstand and Band Practice Road was the one that connected it to the Island. Today Band Beach Road is merely the southern end of Rajaji Salai and Band Practice Road is Flagstaff Road.
The Governor’s Band performed each evening at Cupid’s Bow and a letter from Lord Napier and Ettrick, Governor of Madras in the 1860s, refers to it – “The sun has just set. The world begins to breathe. I fancy that the musicians are just tuning their instruments at the bandstand. Round the bandstand there is a curved walk which is called Cupid’s Bow, but, alas! The god never draws it.” Interestingly, the roundabout was connected across the Cooum to the south by a bridge named after Napier. Its successor is still called Napier Bridge. Even more interesting, Napier’s letter was addressed to Madame Olga Novikoff, a Russian to whom he may have been linked via ties warmer than mere friendship. It was through him, in St Petersburgh in 1862, that Madame Novikoff got to understand British diplomacy. Arriving in England in 1868 she soon became so well connected that Disraeli referred to her as the MP from Russia!
But let us get back to Cupid’s Bow. As power came to the British they became more adventurous. The Portuguese were gone and by 1750, Mylapore, San Thome and what lay beyond was all Madras. The British began preferring riding over greater distances. The construction of the Cenotaph at the intersection of Teynampet village and Mount Road provided a new location and then, beginning with 1875, the beach began to widen owing to the construction of the harbour. A new promenade, namely South Beach (present Kamaraj Salai) came into existence. Cupid’s Bow was no longer considered fashionable.
The emptying of Fort St George as a residence, which began in 1799 seems to have contributed to the further decline of Cupid’s Bow. Houses came to be built in far-flung parts of the city and there were plenty of other venues and outlets for amusement and the odd dalliance. Even South Beach seems to have had only a short burst of popularity for in 1907 the Journal of the Society of Arts says that both venues were no longer hot spots, “the gentler sex finding more welcome at the Madras Club than was once accorded and having the full liberty of the Adyar Club and its grounds.”
War Memorial. Picture courtesy: The Hindu.
The First World War brought about the final transformation of Cupid’s Bow. A committee of influential citizens was formed to create what was termed a Victory Memorial. There were debates galore on a suitable site and finally, it was Cupid’s Bow that was selected. Work began quickly enough for we read of Lord Chelmsford, then Viceroy of India, laying the foundation stone on November 26, 1919. In his speech he declared that this was the first of the Victory Memorials to be erected across India. But then, work seems to have been slow thereafter.
One of the likely reasons was the plan to erect a Victory Hall on the Marina, which the Willingdons were very keen on. As Governor and First Lady, they laid the foundation stone for such a structure on March 29, 1923. It was also supposed to commemorate the (disastrous) visit of the Prince of Wales a year previously. Two other buildings, a children’s hospital on the Gosha Hospital premises and a Women’s Medical School were also planned and foundation stones for these too were laid on the same day. Of these, only the Prince of Wales Ward for Children became reality.
In the meanwhile, work on the Victory Memorial as originally planned continued desultorily. It is not clear as to who designed it but the central pillar, which was all that was originally planned, was completed in 1933. Three years later, the Committee handed over the memorial to the Corporation of Madras, together with a fund of Rs 50,000 for its maintenance. And when Second World War ended, the circular corridor of stone was added. Since then, several additions have been made to the structure, along with some modifications to the text in the dedication to reflect that India is no longer a crown colony but a republic.
War Memorial is how the place is spoken of today, which is ironic considering its origins as a place for romance. Even more ironic is the name Cupid’s Bow War Memorial as it is referred to in recent books that seem to rely more on Wikipedia.