Barefoot Hockey
Written by Lucy Sherriff
“The imagined community of millions seems more real as a team of eleven named people. The individual, even the one who only cheers, becomes a symbol of his nation himself.”
Eric Hobsbawm
Rex Norris stares down at his feet. He wiggles his toes, held hostage by the too-stiff boots and thick woolen socks, and shuffles slightly, attempting to get settled. The boots are still uncomfortable, and, like many times over the past few weeks, he wishes he were barefoot playing in a dhoti. He and his Indian Olympic teammates are more comfortable playing in the traditional loose sarong-like garment worn by Indian men, but they’ve been informed by officials that it is against protocol. Even though there is nothing in the rulebook to say you can’t wear a dhoti. Apparently, it just isn’t done. The India Olympic team doesn’t care about appearances; they are just here to play hockey.
Rex, a man of mixed English and Indian heritage (an ethnicity known as Anglo-Indian) and his 13-man field hockey team are standing on a manicured pitch in front of a crowd of thousands, all here to watch the 1928 Olympic gold medal match between Holland and India, waiting for the whistle to blow. The gravitas of this ragtag Indian team playing in Europe isn’t lost on any of the players. There has never been a non-European team playing hockey in the Olympics. It is always the same old teams – England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Germany, and France. India traveling so far to play Olympic hockey is a daring move; they are the first international opposition Europe has faced. India is an outsider challenger, and it doesn’t come without its perils.
Hockey had quickly become much more than just a sport for the Indian public, who back home were devouring the press coverage of their trailblazing Olympians. When it came to advocating for the country’s independence, the press described hockey as doing just as much to solidify India’s position among the great nations of the world as politics. Through hockey, India hoped to show her metal, to dismantle centuries of colonial attitudes that defined India as inferior to her English oppressors. The Indian team had to rise above catcalling and exotic animal references from the British press. The English Olympic team refused to face them on the pitch. Why? Was it because they were scared their Indian subjects would beat them? The very Indians fighting for independence from the British Empire?
There was certainly an uproar when the Indians beat the regional English teams during their UK tour in March. Although no one uttered the question out loud, the answer lingers in the air: perhaps Indians are just as good as the English. Maybe...they can even be better at some things. Rex is competing in a sport that is English through and through, while representing a country dominated and oppressed by the English. The ironies – and the pressure – are not lost on Rex and his teammates. They aren't just playing a game of hockey anymore. After decades of subjugation and racism, those preliminary matches against England humanize Indian nationals at a time when India is fighting for her independence.
Rex is disrupted from his reverie by the loudspeaker. He snaps back to the present: May 17, 1928. A crowd of thousands watches, holding their collective breath, as the now-infamous Indian team takes on the Netherlands. The great Indian team is on the front page of every newspaper in the Netherlands, in Europe - and even the world.
Rex’s hands are clammy as he readjusts his grip on the stick. He isn’t hot, so he must be nervous. ‘Get ready!’ the loudspeaker booms to the thousands gathered in the stadium to watch Dhyan Chand – the human eel – perform his magic tricks with the hockey stick.
Rex tenses every muscle in his body and squeezes hard, scrunching his toes, clenching his calves, thighs, and buttocks, all the way up to his forehead, which he furrows. He inhales one last long breath and sighs out, relaxing from his hairline all the way back down to his pinky toe, feeling an almost ethereal energy fill his entire body.
His unusual mixed-race team, made up of Indians and Anglo-Indians – and a couple of players who insist they are purebred British – had made it through frantic, last-minute trials in their home country, playing barefoot on rock-hard parched earth, as India scrambled to build her first-ever Olympic field hockey team just four months before the Olympics began. They held cake sales to raise the money for the weeks-long crossing and travelled across the ocean on a nauseating voyage to be here, finally, at Amsterdam’s Olympisch Stadion, where they now wear the reputation of India emblazoned on their uniforms.
Rex's 1928 Olympic hockey jacket, emblazoned with the words "All India Hockey Team" XIth Olympiad 1928". Credit: Lucy Sherriff
Nineteen years after Rex stands waiting for the whistle to blow, India will have her independence. In 1947, a hard-fought, bloody struggle led by Gandhi to liberate his people from the British Empire comes to fruition. But that win comes with a bitter loss. The Anglo-Indians, a mixed-race community trapped between the rulers and the ruled on the vast Indian subcontinent, is cast adrift. Rex and his family, along with tens of thousands of other Anglo-Indians, move to England – a land they have never lived in – and settle amongst strangers, where they are treated as mixed-race foreigners who don’t belong. But one place Rex and his fellow Anglo-Indian teammates are completely at home is on a hockey field. On the pitch – as the Indian Olympic squad – they wear one uniform and move as one entity. They have one shared goal: to win. The 1928 Olympics mark the beginning of India’s unprecedented domination of the sport. Rex goes on to carve a magnificent career as the world’s first professional hockey trainer, whipping into shape the Mexican, Italian, and Dutch teams – to name a few. But ousted from his birthplace in India and barred from belonging in his homeland of England, he – like many other Anglo-Indians – forever falls somewhere between the colonizer and the colonized.
For now, though, Rex and his teammates have a game to play – and their nation’s hopes rest on their shoulders.
Rex Norris is born on July 18, 1899, in Chickmangalore, a hill station in southwest India known for its coffee plantations, waterfalls, and lush greenery. It goes by Chikmagalur now, but back then, it is still under the control of the British colonialists, who own vast coffee holdings in the region. At that time, Indians are only allowed to own small plots of land.
Rex isn’t from a wealthy family, but as an Anglo-Indian – a colonial-era term defined as having British paternal lineage and Indian maternal lineage – he lives a fairly comfortable middle-class life. He attends school at Christ Church Boys in Jubbulpore, a pale-yellow building with a two-spired church attached that surrounds a vast, flat playing field. It is at school that Rex learns to play hockey. The sport flourishes in hill schools like Rex’s. It becomes a game of skill rather than power – a scientific game. The lower classes love football; the gentrified follow cricket. Hockey is a curious sport in between, and unlike cricket, it isn’t segregated – cricket teams are divided by ethnicity and religion. Hockey, however, is played by all.
When Rex leaves school and starts work at the Great Indian Peninsula Railway as an engineer, he joins the company’s field hockey club, eventually becoming captain. Rex takes to the game well; he is 5’ 9”, quick, and nimble on his feet. He is a utility player, able to play at center half or right back. He plays with friends, with classmates, and then with colleagues – in the evenings, at weekends. It is a pastime he loves; he never dreams it could, or would, be anything other than that. Rex leads his team to victory in Bombay’s Aga Khan Cup on four occasions. The tournaments baffle the English, who introduced hockey when they colonize India in 1757. How differently the Indians play compared to back home! Many of the Indians would play in dhotis, traditional menswear crafted from a rectangular piece of unstitched cloth wrapped around the waist and fastened between the legs.
The English are bemused at the agility of the players who sport such loose-fitting, cumbersome attire. On top of that, many of the men play barefoot. The English glimpse a flash of heels as the players sprint past on the flat, hard pitch, a far cry from the stiff leather boots worn on muddy English fields. But it is these free-flying, dhoti-wearing players who, for 32 years, remain unbeatable in the Olympics – and who produce the greatest hockey player the world has ever seen.
In 1926, the Indian Hockey Federation (IHF) is formed – by the heads of the biggest hockey teams in India, who are determined to land India a spot in the 1928 Amsterdam Olympics. British officer and hockey player Colonel Bruce Turnbull is appointed president of the IHF, and hockey enthusiast Major Burn-Murdoch named its chair. The IHF decides the Indian colors: blue shirts with white sleeves and collars, featuring the Star of India on the pocket. It is also agreed to adopt dark blue shorts, dark blue and light blue ringed socks, white sweaters, dark blue and light blue striped scarves, and dark blue blazers, with the Star of India on the pocket.
The IHF knows the 1932 Games will be in Los Angeles, and they can never afford to send a team of 15 players so far across the world. It is Amsterdam or nothing. There is another lure in Europe, too: the English catch wind of India’s Olympic dreams, and the secretary of the English Hockey Association invites this potential India team to tour England before their Olympic debut. If a team can reach England a month before Easter, they can play clubs from around the country. The tour will finish up with a festival at Folkestone, where the Indian team meets England’s best players and then sails to Amsterdam to complete their training before the Olympics.
In the summer of 1927, the Olympic committee informs India she is welcome to enter a hockey team in the Games. But it isn’t until the end of 1927 that the IHF finally accepts the Olympic – and the English – invite. The team will have to leave Bombay by March 10 – just three months away – to get to London in time to play the English teams before heading to Amsterdam for the 1928. The race is on; it is time to build India’s team.
The IHF’s officials hurriedly dispatch invitations to hockey clubs around the country, urging teams to send their best players to a five-day tournament that will be held in Calcutta on February 24.
In the spring of 1928, rumors of an Olympic hockey team being assembled reach Rex. He is captain of his railway hockey team, which has caught wind of the frantic letters sent out by the IHF. Rex’s wife, Mabel, pushes him to try out. Rex is unsure – it is almost a 30-hour train ride to Calcutta. There are rumors the team has already been picked. Wouldn’t it be a wasted trip? And, even if he makes it against the odds into the team, it is unlikely he will get the time off work. However, peer pressure from his railway teammates finally wins Rex over, and he signs up to play for the Central Provinces, one of the five teams that will be playing in Calcutta. After all, what does he have to lose? It will be a fun trip to play hockey in front of a crowd.
The trials go down a storm with the Indian public, who gather in large crowds to watch the matches. Eventually, the newspapers publish the selected team: Kher Singh, Eric Pinniger, William Goodsir-Cullen, George Marthins, Feroze Khan, Michael Rocque, Leslie Hammond, Maurice Gateley, Frederic Seaman, Jaipal Singh and S M Yusuf (both already living in England), with Richard Allen in goal.
One player, a shoo-in for the team, grips the hearts of the crowd watching the trials: Dhyan Chand, a slender young man described as a wizard with a stick. Born to an Indian soldier in the British army, Chand learned to play hockey using the branch of a date palm tree as a stick and bundled up rags for a ball. He enrolled in the military at the age of 16 and became so engrossed in hockey that he practiced under the moonlight during his off-duty hours in the army. He later changed his name from Singh to Chand – meaning moon in Hindi, an homage to the hours he spent practicing at night. To this day, some still believe Chand is the greatest field hockey player to ever play the sport.
Major Burn-Murdoch adds two utility players to the list, who will only be able to travel with the team if the budget of 40,000 rupees is reached. Shaukat Ali and Rex. It is a mixed victory for Rex, who never dreamt he might one day go to England – not to mention play for his country at the Olympics. And yet, there is so much uncertainty over whether he and Ali will be able to go. The team has yet to raise a single rupee. He promises himself he will not get excited until he is walking down the gangplank onto a ship sailing for London.
The IHF announces the team will leave India in mid-March and play matches in England before the Games. They will be away for three and a half months, with the outbound journey taking around 20 days by boat. The Civil & Military Gazette notes that the tour will “satisfy the ever-recurring question whether the standard of hockey in India surpasses that in England and on the Continent.” The team is comprised of nine Anglo-Indians who can trace their ancestry – at least their paternal side – to Europe, alongside one Afghan and three Indians.
There is still a massive funding shortfall. The individual hockey clubs have exhausted much of their finances transporting their teams to Calcutta for the trial matches – the Punjab team traveled 33 hours by road. The federation scrambles and asks anybody who is willing to help raise money. Newspaper commentators express concern that the English part of the tour might not take place; time is running out. The IHF’s chair, Major Burn-Murdoch, pleads for more funds from the public, calling hockey “India’s national game.” Cake sales are organized. India kicks into high gear.
There are now just a few days before the entire team is due to leave on a British P&O mail boat, departing on March 10. The leaving date has already been postponed by two weeks to give the team the chance to raise the extra funds, but they are still short 20,000 rupees and time is running out. The team will be able to travel, but the reserves will have to stay behind, meaning no player can afford to get injured. The IHF is concerned; ground conditions will be different in Europe, and the men may fall ill from the long trip. Already, the team is vulnerable.
“It is often held up as an ideal that India ought to win something in the international sense,” runs an opinion piece in the Gazette in a last plea to raise funds. “Hockey players and hockey supporters are not rich men, generally the reverse, but all can give something and feel that they have a stake in the great adventure.”
The India 1928 Olympic Hockey Team, Rex is seated on the far left. Credit: Unknown
On March 8, members of the team begin their journeys by rail. Rex travels on the railway he knows so well, 548 miles from his mountain home to the chaotic, crazy city of Bombay (now Mumbai). After much persuasion, he is allowed time off work – although it will be unpaid – to travel to the Olympics. Although it is still unclear whether he will actually be going to Amsterdam, he is asked to be in Bombay on standby.
The team has one final game to play on March 9 against a local team from Bombay. Before the game kicks off, Rex is approached by Mr. Rosser, the secretary of the Bengal Hockey Team, who has been appointed as the business manager of the new Olympic team and will be traveling to London. Rosser delivers the news Rex has been nervously waiting for: the Bengal Hockey Association has stepped up and sent the remainder of the money. There is enough for Rex to go to the Olympics. He is elated. He will be traveling further than he has ever been before – further than anyone he even knows has been before. All to play the game he loves so much.
The new India Olympic Hockey team is beaten by the Bombay team 3-2 in front of a large crowd in a fast and exciting game. The press dubs the team, which has yet to train together, a disaster. The comments sting Rex, who feels defensive of his new team. It is unfair to judge them so publicly when it is the first game they have ever played together.
After the game, Rex and the rest of the players retire at the Seaman’s Rest, a local hotel. They have their medical checks, and all are found to be in good health. They are ready to sail the next day to England on the RMS Kaiser i Hind – Empress of India in Hindi – a large 11,400-ton steamer ship. The vessel is decked in traditional P&O colors, a black hull with red boot topping, a white ribbon around the hull, and two tall black funnels. It has a reputation for comfort. It carries 548 passengers, boasts luxurious lounges and dining rooms, and even has electric fans in the cabins – a novelty for the time. During its later years, the ship gains a reputation for luck during the war, surviving five direct torpedo attacks.
A correspondent from the Civil and Military Gazette, which faithfully reports on the team from its inception, accompanies the players, as does Rosser, the Bengal Hockey Team secretary. There are plenty of last-minute headaches; some players do not have passports, others lack kit, and luggage has to be labeled. Letters of credit have to be arranged, and an account is opened in London to provide finances for the team abroad. It is all hands on deck. “Three weeks of work is done in just three days,” Burn-Murdoch, who travels to Bombay to wave the team off, remarks.
At last, everything is ready, and Burn-Murdoch gives a short speech to the team about their responsibilities – in more ways than one. They are ordered to make a name for themselves as the greatest hockey team in the world, and reminded they are carrying the reputation of India on their shoulders.
Rex boards the ship with his monogrammed Great Indian Peninsula Railway luggage trunk. He watches as the gangways are removed, and the ship begins creaking as it leaves punctually from the dock. His stomach lurches - it is the first time he has ever been on a boat. Chand, having traveled with the army, has experience in these matters, and advises him to head up to the top deck. The rest of the team joins, and it feels right that they should be together to mark such a momentous occasion.
Out of India's population of 400 million, the players are waved off by three lonely figures who stand at Ballard Pier shouting well wishes and good luck. At the front are Burn-Murdoch and Charles Newham, vice president of the IHF, along with a regional hockey association official. Rex squints as the figures grow smaller, eventually disappearing into the horizon. Little does he realize how different his return will be.
The players are assigned two and four-berth cabins on the second-class deck. Rex rooms with Hammond, Rocque, and Allen. It is a daunting trip, but they are minor celebrities on board – many other passengers know of their adventure. Rex has plenty of time for speculation and reflection on the Bombay defeat. He has endless conversations with his teammates, reasoning that the unfortunate result is due to many of them having long railway journeys that finish just a few hours before the match. Rex asks whether the match counts as part of the tour, and after some debate, it is decided that “a tour hardly commences until the team has sailed.”
Rex finds the journey monotonous. Each day, he wakes up for personal training at 5:30 a.m., which lasts until breakfast. He breaks up the time with deck tennis, quoits – a British game of throwing a rubber ring over a spike – and dancing to the ship's band, which plays on the second-class deck.
Soon after the voyage begins, Rex develops a fever and is confined to his cabin for three days to recover. That, coupled with seasickness, makes for a rough first few days at sea. Eventually, he recovers and begins to settle into life on the ship. To fill the time, he writes letters that he will send as soon as they reach the ship’s first port stop. The Empress of India sails across the Arabian Sea, 3,292 nautical miles, and lands at Aden, in Yemen, on March 14.
The ship passes through Aden, up the Red Sea, and squeezes through the Suez Canal to emerge on the other side at Egypt’s Port Said. Then comes the Bay of Biscay and rounding the Cape of Gibraltar, which gives the team another bout of seasickness. Having traveled overseas during his time in New Zealand with the Army, Chand keeps a vigilant eye on his teammates.
Rex and his team have some time to reflect on newspaper cuttings from Hockey World, a British publication that Burn-Murdoch had given them before the team departed. “Is it not splendid news and how wonderfully attractive they will be to people who love a novelty?” the article reads, describing Indian's upcoming hockey tour in England. “For novelty, it will surely be to see eleven of these Indians, probably turbanned and garbed in their dark blue shirts and other colored sporting wear.” Rex and his teammates find the comments hurtful, but mostly amusing. The article only hardens their determination to prove the journalists – and much of England – wrong.
Very early on the chilly, misty morning of Friday, March 30, 1928 – 20 days after setting sail from Bombay – the ship drops anchor at Tilbury Docks, an English port town on the north bank of the River Thames, 25 miles downstream of London. It is wet and cold, alien conditions for the Indian players. Rex wakes early, and they all return to the top deck to see the last few miles of the voyage up the Thames. The team is a curious sight. The men snatch up every warm piece of clothing they can lay their hands on, wrapping themselves in mufflers, sweaters, and even blankets. Only Chand has an overcoat from his army days. Their shared discomfort is the only way to tell they are a team. They are of all shapes, sizes, and colors – only one stands over 6 feet, and a few are decidedly short. Some look athletic, a few are wiry. Four are Indians, a handful are Anglo-Indians, but all have been born and raised in India.
Rex, having developed his sea legs thanks to some fortunate smooth sailing, is nonetheless extremely excited to be back on dry ground. It is the first time he – and all of his teammates – set foot on English soil, and they are eager to play their first game.
They board a train to London and on arrival, are greeted by a group that has assembled on the platform – representatives from the English, Scottish, and Welsh Hockey Associations and the Irish Hockey Union. It is a wonderful sight for Rex, who feels honored to be greeted by such a crowd, considering the meager farewell they received in Bombay. Next, the players are bundled into taxis and driven to Lenham Gardens Hotel in Earls Court – and provided with underground maps of London in case anyone gets lost.
On Saturday morning, Rex arranges to meet his team for breakfast, but they are nowhere to be seen. A couple of the other Anglo-Indians are missing too. It turns out that they are waiting patiently upstairs for chota hazri to be brought to their rooms – a pre-dawn breakfast, usually consisting of tea and cheese or fruit, traditionally served in Northern India. On learning that the culture in England is very different from what they are accustomed to in India, and no servant will be delivering chota hazri on a tray, there is a hungry stampede for the breakfast room.
The players have a long day ahead of them. Despite only arriving the day before, they have their first match against United Services Aldershot on March 31. The team arrives at London’s St. Pancras Station to catch the train to Aldershot. Unfamiliar with the dank weather, Rex and his team look a little worse for wear. They are greeted by England’s Hockey Association and presented with a sprig of white heather – to counteract any superstition, as they are a team of 13.
Jaipul Singh, their teammate who has been living in England since he was 15 and formerly played hockey at Oxford University, meets his team at the station. He is unimpressed by their "untidy dress and crude demeanor.” Singh is not one for modesty, and he informs his new teammates that he is a regular fixture in the London press for his hockey-playing talents. Rex takes an instant dislike to the arrogant man who is the team’s captain. A week before the players had arrived, Singh was at the Church Imperial Club, a London gentlemen’s club, when he was called upon by Colonel Bruce Turnbull, the IHF's president. Over drinks, Turnbull had informed Singh the Indian Olympic team would be arriving the following week and asked if Singh would like to captain. Singh accepted the offer but told him he would need to obtain a leave of absence from the India Office – he was in training to be a civil servant for the Empire. The India Office refused Singh leave, but he decided to defy his employers and face the consequences. He called Turnbull to tell him he would be thrilled to captain the Olympic team.
The train journey to Aldershot provides Rex with ample time to feel apprehensive over his team's first game. It is a daunting challenge; the Aldershot team is composed of army officials, including nine international players and one who has tried out for the England squad. It is going to be a severe test for the team. Rex, for one, hasn’t found his land legs after the long journey. It will also be the first time he and his team have worn hockey boots. They were presented with the boots by English officials when they arrived, but they are all used to either playing barefoot or in light rubber-soled tennis shoes. Rex is already dreading the thought of squeezing his feet into the uncomfortable, stiff shoes.
The game is played on the Officers’ Club ground. It can hardly be described as hockey. The rain falls heavily all morning, and Rex feels the ground is more like a jheel (Urdu for lake) than a hockey pitch. In any other circumstances, the game would be called off; instead, it is reduced to 25-minute halves instead of the usual 35 minutes. The weather does its best to handicap the visiting team, unused to these kinds of conditions. The visitors, as is reported in a write-up by The London Times, are treated to some “amusing aquatics.” The players disappear into one of the many swamps that appear on the ground and splash around in the water before they emerge again on the muddy field. But the Indian team – with Singh sporting a green turban – adapts admirably. “Their passing and stickwork very accurate...their opportunism brilliant,” The Times writes.
The English team, familiar with the cold and wet, scores first and second. India follows up with a goal, and the score remains 2-1 until the very end of the game, which sees one final attack from the India team. The sun shines through the clouds as Chand sends in one last, desperate lightning shot into the goal – which is saved by a whisker by the English goalkeeper.
The English team wins, but not without a fight. The papers gush over Chand’s skills. “Cold weather and muddy grounds will defeat the [Indian] Olympic team,” the Sportsman Diary writes. “Give them a hard, true ground and sunny weather, and they will display their true form.”
Rex and the team are quite satisfied with their result considering the disconcerting experience of playing in such deplorable conditions. They tire quickly, do not hit the ball hard enough – and it must be remembered that this is only the second time they have played together. Plus, they are playing in boots, and the hockey sticks in England are heavier than those used in India.
Rosser chats with some of the English players and officials immediately after the game to find out their views on the India team. “All are of one opinion,” he says, “that the strongest combination that the Hockey Association or the United Kingdom could put in the field would be no match for India on a hard ground.” One individual even goes so far as to tell Rosser: “India stands supreme in the hockey world.”
India's next game is on Monday, April 2, facing the London XI in Merton Abbey, a strong side with six well-known international players from England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Finally, the sun is out, and India has a chance to shine.
Rex and his team take around 15 minutes to settle in. Eventually, Rex begins to find his footing, feeling the slick energy between his teammates, the intangible chemistry and flow that binds them together. He feels fast and clever, his stickwork clean.
Rex rolls his ball along his stick, as is customary in India, rather than the usual European method of propelling the ball by a succession of gentle taps. This allows him to delay action until the last second, making it almost impossible for the English player guarding him to anticipate the moment he will pass the ball – or even the direction. Rex relishes the English team’s surprise at their tactics. When Rex reaches down to stop the ball with his hand, he hears the Englishman marking him audibly gasp. It is a move unseen in England, and it horrifies Rex's opponents. What is a stick provided for if the Indians are going to use their hand? There is an element of truth in the claim that this tactic slows down the game – but no one who watches Indian hockey can complain about the game being slow. In India, the pitches are hard and smooth – just as good as any English cricket ground. Fast ground demands a greater degree of accuracy and immediacy, and it is more effective to stop with the hand before passing than to risk a fast pass that might go astray. So, the Indians simply use their hands to stop the ball rather than their stick.
The opposition is flummoxed by India’s triangular formations. The forward line, which includes the halves as attacks, is divided into at least four triangular groups. Any time a player is tackled, the ball is passed to another player in the triangle, so the tackler is completely bewildered. The triangle can change and elaborate to meet the needs of the moment. The inside left, left half, and center half can form an alternative group, or the left half, center half, and left back, even going as far back as the goalkeeper. It is a tactic Europe will soon double down to learn.
India scores five times in the first half without allowing the London team to respond.
The game ends in 5-2. The only criticism is that the Indian halves find the slower English grounds difficult and are not pushing the ball up to the forwards hard enough. The India team feels that this will be remedied after two or three more matches.
The correspondent from Hockey World analyzes the Indian team – using several comparisons to animals. “From goal to forward, they had not a weak spot,” the reporter wrote, adding many of the members could walk into any England side with ease. “Chand is like an eel...one could liken the Indians to cats – nimble, fast-moving, like streaks of electricity. They could pass almost blindfolded to one another...I do not see any combination in this country beating them. It seems to me to be the crème de la crème of what really first-class hockey should be. The lessons which these Indians may teach us before they leave these shores should not be lost on us.”
Rex reads the newspaper reviews, beaming. They are off to a strong start. There is one problem, though. The Indians, as the correspondent notes, “hate boots and are not used to them.” They are used to playing in light tennis shoes. One player, Seaman, detests the heavy, stiff, studded boots so much that he takes them off in the second half and plays in his socks.
When they aren’t playing a match or training at Merton Abbey, Jaipal Singh does his best to entertain his fellow teammates. He invites the team to dine with him at the renowned Veeraswamy’s in Regent Street, a lavish Indian restaurant on one of London’s most exclusive streets. Rex enjoys the attention the team receives from fellow diners, who are fêted at the restaurant. Singh generously treats his team to dinner, even though it is rather expensive to feed them. “The Indian dishes are Hyderabadi, but not cheap,” he complains. He also takes them to 21 Cromwell Road, a building bought by the government to house Indian visitors to London. It is a detached corner house opposite the Natural History Museum and rented by Singh’s employer, the India Office. The team plays billiards, listens to live music, and attends lectures by the National Indian Association. Singh takes a particular liking to Chand, given his prowess on the pitch and his humbleness. Learning that Chand only has one pair of trousers, Singh promptly takes him to Austin Reed, a men’s suit shop on Regent Street. Chand is blown away by the sheer selection of trousers on display. “Can I take them upstairs and see them in the sun?” Chand asks Singh. “That finishes me,” Singh says later when he tells the story to fellow teammate Shaukat Ali. “What else do you expect of a Lance Naik?” Ali laughs in response.
Rex and the team are getting to grips with London, although they are still at sea with its fast-moving traffic and network of underground lines. “So far, we have not yet managed to lose anyone,” writes the Civil & Military Gazette correspondent in his weekly dispatch back to his editors in India. “Through the kindness of the Polytechnic [cinema] in Regent Street, we all saw that wonderful jungle film Chang, which thrills us all to the marrow.”
Throughout the England tour, there are numerous culture clashes – aside from the barefoot incident – which arise. During their first three practice matches, the players can be heard calling for maalis, an Indian term for hired help, to take their sports kit on the field. But when they see their opposing team members, even the most experienced of players, carrying their own kit, they realize their error. It is a lesson nobody from the India side would forget.
Soon, it was time to play the much-anticipated Easter Festival, a five-day tournament held in Folkestone, beginning on April 5. France, Belgium, England, and various regional English clubs compete. Rex couldn't help but wonder why the English team is called “England” when playing against France on Saturday, but changes its name to the “Hockey Association XI” (the name for an 11-player team) when playing against the Indian team – especially given the English teams are practically the same on both occasions. He's disappointed – he had been looking forward to facing an “official” England team. But the Hockey Board of Great Britain had not thought it proper to play an official international fixture against the Indians, pitting the English against the Indian team, hence the name change. By now, it is public knowledge that England will not be entering a hockey team for the Olympics. The official line is that England withdrew in protest against members of the International Football Association being allowed to participate in the Games. Still, there are other rumors – that England is scared of losing to India (the two hockey teams will not meet at the Olympics until 1948).
The Indian team arrives in Folkestone by train, and Rex is deeply impressed by the beautiful Kent countryside – gently rolling, deep-green hills and quaint walled gardens. He takes early morning walks on the Leas, the clifftop promenade in Folkestone, and even catches a glimpse of the white cliffs of France during his evening strolls. He breathes in every last moment of the experience. There will be a lot to write home about.
Rex's trunk, which was gifted to him by his employer, and which travelled with him on his 1928 Olympic hockey tour. Credit: Lucy Sherriff
The first few matches the team plays at the festival are a breeze. Out of the five games played, they lose none, win four, and draw one.
Finally, it's the morning of their much-anticipated match against the Hockey Association XI (essentially, the England team), and Rex feels nervous.
Bets are made by spectators before the game: 6-4 on India. The English team contains four international England players, with a further four who have all made it to the final trials of the English squad. Rex finds the bets reassuring. If the spectators think India can do it, then they will. The game is attended by a large crowd – over 3,000-strong – including several retired Indian Army officers and a number of Indian students.
But the first half of the game is tough. Chand misses a goal, thanks to the brilliant English goalkeeper. The forwards pass well but finish weakly - Chand is unwell and is marked well by the English back, while Rocque and Rex leave large gaps on the field. A bad off-side call goes against the Indian team. When half-time rolls around, it is just 1-0 to India - Feroze scores in the 20th minute. The players return to the pitch for the second half. By now, it is raining steadily. Those who are wearing tennis shoes - Chand, Feroze, and Pinniger - are slipping badly. Rex opts for boots, believing that the pinching and blisters are a better trade-off than sliding on the mud. The game becomes slow and sticky. Pinniger slips on the wet grass and is badly winded. Gateley is laid out with a bad blow to the kneecap.
Despite the rain, the team pulls through. Within five minutes of the second half, they score twice, and during the last 20 minutes of the game, they finally dominate the field. They are at last moving as the team they know they can be. Despite the ups and downs, the struggles to get here, and the long journey, they hit their stride, playing as a seamless, fluid unit – a 22-armed octopus, their reach stretching into every corner of the pitch. They move as one entity across the field, dribbling and passing as if they are telepathically connected. There is nothing the English team can do.
The whistle blows. Rex cheers and whoops. The score is 4-0 to India.
The Indian press reports the festival with glee, with many taking the opportunity to politicize the tour and further the campaign for India’s independence. The Indian Daily Mail adds that “given the opportunity, in almost any realm of activity, the Indian youth will more than prove the white man’s equal.”
The team is garnering international interest. The French newspaper Auto publishes rankings of the 10 Olympic hockey teams, and India comes out on top. “Agile as cats, and adroit as jugglers, Jaipal Singh’s men literally play with their adversaries,” the paper gushes, “and give an ideal demonstration of the most perfect hockey that could be imagined, and there is no need to be a prophet to forecast here and now their victory at Amsterdam.”
After the festival, Rex and his team are elated but exhausted and are finally rewarded with a period of rest and recuperation before they set sail for Amsterdam. They conclude their English visit with a reception at the Indian Social Club, attended by many distinguished guests, including the Indian High Commissioner. Team members are each presented with a pale blue turban. Singh makes a speech, thanking the Indian Hockey Federation for sending a team to Europe despite the many hurdles it faces and adding that the team teaches British hockey players new skills. The commissioner notes that the visit of such sports teams is the best method for bringing about international understanding, and that the success of the hockey team enhances India’s prestige.
The team will leave for Holland the next day, April 22 – at last on their way to the Olympic Games. Rex is beside himself with excitement.
Rex and his teammates cross the English Channel and arrive in Amsterdam on April 24. They are set to play a number of practice matches against European teams in the lead-up to the Games, and they feel confident in their Olympic chances. They stay at Hotel Zomerzorg in Bloemendaal, around half an hour from Amsterdam, and are joined by Colonel Bruce Turnbull. The Indians win their games with ease and enjoy their time exploring Amsterdam. They are well received by locals; the team’s traveling correspondent reports that when they visit the Stock Exchange, fully decked out in their safas (colorful turbans), “money-making stops dead, and we are given a jolly good cheer”. Feroze is popular with the local schoolkids, who gleefully try to teach their foreign visitor Dutch. Mornings are spent playing cricket; evenings are spent dining in restaurants, attending organ recitals (which Rex finds rather long), and cabaret shows. After one dinner, the native Indian members of the team perform a representation of a nautch – a popular court dance performed by girls in India – which is much applauded. They even try to see Kaiser Wilhelm II, the last German emperor, who spends his last days in exile at a manor near Amsterdam. “We want very much to have a glimpse of this old man,” Chand writes in a diary, “who is reputedly responsible for World War I....We are, however, advised to desist, and it is a disappointment to us all.”
Most of India’s European practice games are won without a hitch, bar their game against a Berlin XI, whose tactics Chand describes as “burly...lots of physical force and flogging.” It is a rough game, and the Indians are booed. Several players are bruised and battered, and Seaman is left needing two stitches in his upper lip.
The team plays 18 games in the run-up to the Olympics, losing only one. They finally return to Amsterdam after their European tour on May 14 and rest for three days before their first Olympic match against Austria. An issue that has dogged the team throughout, and kept Rosser up at night, is the lack of finances. They are still 19,714 rupees short, even more so than previously thought. An emergency meeting is called by the Indian Hockey Federation to consider what to do if the money runs out - a possibility that is perilously close. The team will have to be recalled if they don’t have the funding to stay on in Antwerp - and their Olympic dreams will be crushed.
Newspapers in India announce that a special benefit performance of the Grand Bahadur Circus in Lahore will be held to raise money for the players. The 50th birthday of Milly the elephant is also celebrated - which the circus believes will pull in a large crowd and raise 1,000 rupees. The woeful contribution from the Indian public is lamented by the Civil & Military Gazette. “If India does not quickly subscribe the [money] still wanted, the brunt will fall upon the small band of Englishmen who have given guarantees. And if that happens, India’s pride will no longer be justified.” Rosser has no choice but to pray for a miracle.
The Olympic games are played in the Oude Stadion (Old Stadium), a venue that holds 29,000 spectators. There are two divisions: India, Belgium, Denmark, Austria, and Switzerland in Division A, and Germany, Holland, France, and Spain in B. When all teams play each other, the competition moves to a knockout tournament. The winners meet for the title of hockey champions. The favorites are India and Germany. The Games are opened by HRH Prince Henry of the Netherlands, although Rex thinks there is a disappointingly little tamasha celebration.
The team is excited. “All these years, our country looks forward to an opportunity to demonstrate to the world her prowess,” Chand writes in his diary. Rex feels his team is finally acclimated to the continental conditions, and the weather seems to be less unpredictable in the Low Countries than in England. He does wonder, however, why the turf is not kept properly trimmed. “The long grass proves a handicap to us as the progress of the ball is slowed,” Chand writes. “However, we do not bother ourselves much on this score as we are always at least half a dozen goals superior to any other team.”
In the run-up to their first game, the team lie low in their Amsterdam hotel. They have four matches in five days, with only 13 players to draw from. They are under strict instructions not to get injured. There has been some internal conflict between the players, particularly Singh and Pinniger. There are rumors that other members of the team - the players that identify strongly with being white Europeans - have made racist remarks towards Singh, although Rex hasn’t heard anything firsthand. Singh is eventually ousted as captain, and Pinniger takes over. The abrupt change leaves the team feeling unsettled.
Nevertheless, on May 17, 1928, Rex marches confidently into the stadium to make his Olympic debut. He and his teammates have traveled thousands of miles for this moment. He is well aware his countrymen back home have doubts about India's participation in the Games, and the team has had their own misgivings. But on this day, none of them have any doubts whatsoever. They are highly strung, ready for action, and determined to show the world that in this game, India is supreme.
India’s first Olympic performance against Austria ends 6-0 to India. The ground is bumpy, and the Austrian team plays a rough and ragged game. The Austrians field an “absurd” formation – three backs and four halves – focusing on defense to keep the score down so they have a chance at winning second place. Rex thinks it a shameful tactic.
With one victory under their belts, the team flies through the division, reaching the finals with ease, despite Feroze slipping on the wet ground and breaking his collarbone, leaving India to play with 10 men in their game against Belgium. Feroze is out for three weeks, and Gateley is injured too, having twisted his ankle. Rex worries about Allen, the team’s only goalkeeper. If he were to get injured, where would that leave the team?
Due to a last-minute change, there are no semi-finals, so India bypasses the semis. Holland’s 1-1 draw with Spain means they meet India in the final, not Germany, as many had expected.
It's the moment the team have been waiting for, although there is still uncertainty about how they will travel home as funds have still not been raised. A bitter irony considering the 40,000 spectators who show up to watch the final, the biggest crowd Holland has ever seen for a hockey game. Every ticket sells out. The weather is glorious.
But the team is crumbling. Chand is running a high temperature. Feroze is absent, and Singh has injured his knee. Pinniger had accidentally run a nail into his right hand the day before and can now barely hold his stick. Shaukat Ali is out due to a nasty bout of influenza. Rosser gives his flagging team a pep talk before they take to the field, coining a simple slogan: “Do or die.”
Chand decides he will “die playing.” He is a soldier by profession, and when the country’s honor is at stake, there is “no alternative but to march boldly into the battlefield.” He rallies the rest of his team – this is their time to shine.
The players march out to thunderous applause from the crowd. The stands are full. The skeleton team undergoes a last-minute reshuffle. As a result, they take some time to settle down. The Dutch defense is excellent, and by halftime, the Indians have only scored one goal, thanks to a brilliant dash along the outside line by Gateley, who passes to Chand to shoot. The crowd gets excited, and in response, the backs on both teams hit a little wildly. The Dutch almost score twice in the last five minutes, but Rocque makes a brilliant block, and Allen saves another shot. The whistle blows for half-time. The Dutch retire for a cup of coffee, and the Indians suck lemons on the field.
Rex's passport, after he left India and relocated to England. Credit: Lucy Sherriff
The second half is more successful. An adrenaline-pumping rush from the whole of the Indian forward line helps Chand score a second goal within minutes, and Marthins soon secures a third. Hammond twists his knee and has to pull out for 10 minutes while Chand runs into the goalpost and cuts his eyebrow. Rex is well-aware luck is not on their side.
When the whistle blows, Rex feels a rush of relief flood his body. The final result is India 3-Holland 0. They've come all this way – from playing barefoot using date palms as sticks – to win India's first ever gold in Olympic hockey. They scored 29 goals – without letting a single goal into their net. Rex and his teammates hug and whoop with joy and disbelief.
The team, who played so hard to prove their country’s worth, gathers in the center of the field, facing the scoreboard, with the Dutch on their right and Germans on their left. The country’s three flags are hoisted. Rex, with a hand over his heart, gazes up at his national flag, the Star of India: a 24-foot Union Jack, with a star in the middle and a crown sitting atop. God Save the King plays as the flags are pulled up the poles.
The team’s success at the Games changes the course of hockey in India forever. The India Hockey Federation becomes the first hockey organization in the British Empire to join the International Hockey Federation, which controls the Olympic championship. The federation gives India a seat on its Council. Preparations get underway to enter a team into the next Olympic Games in 1928 in Los Angeles, and this time, the country has ample time to hold trials. Chand, as predicted, makes his mark on the international stage – hailed as the greatest forward of all time.
That first Olympic team never had the chance to play a recognized international match against the English squad, something that stung the players and the Indian newspapers for many years. But still, in 1928, India is at the top of the world. In all the games they played, through all the mud, rain, and injuries, the humble team of 15 that sailed halfway across the world only lost one match – 2-1 to Aldershot. It was the day after they docked in England following a grueling trip, and the first time they had ever played in hockey boots. The team embarks on a short celebratory tour in Europe, where they make a lasting impression – the European teams are frantically remodeling their game along Indian lines. “I can never forget the welcome on our tour of Europe,” Chand later writes, “Naturally, after our triumph, we all feel that we have done something for our country. Something which perhaps even the politicians cannot achieve or do is gained for our country.”
Rex's Olympic medal, which his daughter Wendy keeps. Credit: Lucy Sherriff
After a few days' rest in London – where they are all but ignored by the English after being fêted in Europe – the team boards the British ocean liner RMS Maloja, destined for Bombay. As Bombay nears into sight on June 22, 1928, the team takes to the deck of RMS Maloja. They have few expectations of a homecoming crowd but want to see India come into view after such a long journey. But instead of the handful of officials who waved them off on their trip, a sea of people congregates to welcome home their gold medalists.
"As we near the shores of our mother country, we are puzzled and bewildered,” Chand writes of the return home. “There is a sea of heads cheering wildly. It is a brave and happy team that faces a battery of cameras on this day.”
Bombay organizes a welcome worthy of the world’s champions. When the team trots ashore, Chand and Pinniger are carried shoulder-high through the crowd, and everybody has a flower garland hung around their necks. There is such a mêlée that the team is relieved to scurry back aboard the ship to pack up their things and escape the crowds. Rex carries his beloved monogrammed trunk safely off the liner. The city organizes two official receptions. A purse of 19,000 rupees is presented to make up for the deficit that still remains. A game is organized for the India team to play against Bombay – the same side that defeated the Olympians all those weeks before. More than 9,000 spectators watch the Olympians win 6-1. “Not in my wildest dreams do I imagine that on our return home, Bombay would accord us a civic reception,” manager Rosser says. The governor of Bombay sends a congratulatory message to the team, as does the Viceroy and the Secretary of State.
The team returns changed men. Kehr Singh had shaved his beard. When asked why he had removed it, he explains that with so much hair, he felt uncomfortable in wet weather. The rest of the team laughs at his story, which hides Singh’s secret. When the bearded Sikh had arrived in England wearing a turban, he became the butt of children’s jokes, who called him The Queen of Sheba. And so, the Sikh shaved his face to escape embarrassment. Chand, too, is different. He is clad in smart Western clothes, and his hair is brushed back. He looks more like a doctor than an Indian soldier.
The Civil & Military Gazette correspondent, who faithfully followed the team to England and throughout Europe, publishes his final dispatch on July 2, including the statistics from the tour. The team had scored 164 goals and conceded 24. Chand scored 74 of them. Other Indian newspapers make political comparisons. “One political moral is urged, and it is that if India is given a chance, we shall soon see what she can do,” the Sportsman’s Diary writes. In late September, the team’s success is featured in the international Hockey World publication. Chand is held up as the “darling” of the hockey gods, the “greatest of all great centers the game has yet seen.”
One prominent English hockey player pens a feature for the magazine, reflecting on the lessons his country learns. “We have a shock, and undoubtedly, our prestige suffers,” the Englishman writes. “Looking back on it all, what lessons shall we learn from their tour? We owe the Indian tourists a very deep debt of gratitude for shocking our insular attitudes.”
India also becomes the first colonized nation to enter the Olympics, and by winning gold, they send a clear message around the world.
“For more years than one can remember,” Rosser writes in a guest article for Hockey World, “there is acute controversy among hockey fans as to whether hockey, as played in India, is of a higher standard than that played in England.” That is no longer the case. Even in his wildest dreams, Rosser could not have imagined what was to come for Indian hockey. “The doings of India’s Olympic Hockey Team will soon fade into oblivion and their meritorious achievement will be but a memory.”
How wrong he was.
India’s victory was the first Olympic gold medal won by an Asian country in the modern Olympics. The hockey team went on to win Olympic gold in 1932 in Los Angeles. They won gold in 1936 in Berlin and made headlines for being one of only two teams who refused to salute Hitler. In 1948, in London, they finally, officially defeated the English squad 4-0 – and won their first gold as an independent India, free of their colonial oppressors. And for the first time, the team stood under the saffron, white, and green tricolor of their own flag – not a Union Jack.
India won gold again in 1952 in Helsinki, and 1956 in Melbourne. They were finally beaten in Rome in 1960, when Pakistan took gold, although they regained their place on top of the world in 1964 in Tokyo. The India and Pakistan teams’ eight gold medal streak in the Games is a period of world dominance by a single region that remains unprecedented in team sports. It took the rest of the world 44 years to catch up to India’s prowess.
EPILOGUE:
On August 15, 1947, Rex’s life – and the lives of millions of Indians – changed forever. The country won independence from Britain following decades of painful struggle. That year saw a mass exodus of Anglo-Indians like Rex, who were no longer welcome in the country they knew. Rex and his family were unwitting players in a ruthless social engineering plan by the British Empire to encourage and subsidize families of mixed European and Indian heritage in hopes that Anglo-Indians would be an endemic base of support for the colonizing regime. But after liberation, the nearly one million Anglo-Indians in India were treated as outsiders. They were ostracized – seen as remnants of a brutal regime of oppression – and many emigrated to the UK or elsewhere in the British Commonwealth, hoping to make a new life and find acceptance. The Anglo-Indian culture began to die out over the 20th Century. In the UK, they lost their “Indianness,” and those who stayed in India lost their “Angloness.”
Rex and his wife Mabel moved their family to England in 1959, following other relatives who had already made the heartbreaking trip. Like many who moved to England, they hoped for a warm welcome, but instead, they found racism and prejudice. Most – like Rex – were darker than their English-born neighbors and were treated as foreigners. They didn't have a place in India anymore, and they weren't welcome in their home country either. Many – like Rex’s family – tried to blend in as Europeans and hide their Indian ancestry.
Rex – known as “Uncle” to many of his students – left an impressive legacy in Europe: he coached the Dutch field hockey team from 1954 to 1956, the Italian team in 1960, and the Mexican team in the run-up to the 1968 Olympics. He even met the Pope. He had two mottos: “God First” and “bodily conditioning with physical fitness.” The latter, a more holistic approach to training, was very forward-thinking for the time. In 1957, the International Hockey Federation officially made him the world’s first and only professional hockey trainer. “No one has done more to spread the gospel of scientific Indian hockey than Rex Norris,” writes one author in Story of the Olympics, a sports book about life behind the Games.
Rex’s daughter, Wendy, looks at old photos. Credit: Lucy Sherriff
He found success everywhere he went – except for in India, a country he forever viewed as his home and which repeatedly refused his offers to coach the Indian team. It remained a painful loss for the rest of Rex’s life. He never quite felt at home in England – he and his family experienced the racism that was rife in the country at the time and still exists today. In fact, to this day, some of his children deny having any Indian heritage. They’re English through and through.
Rex and his family were part of an enduring history that still binds these two nations. Indians continue to find triumph in sports introduced by the British. In modern times, their communities flourish on the British Isles, bringing culture, food, and talent to a country that once treated them as second-class citizens. In 2024, Rishi Sunak made history when he became the UK’s first prime minister of Indian heritage.
And while Rex never got to coach in his beloved India, three of his eight children represented India in the Olympics – two of them played hockey. Rex’s hockey-playing daughter Wendy still keeps her father’s hockey memorabilia in his old monogrammed Great Western Railway trunk. It’s packed with unbelievably old things, including Rex’s Olympic jacket, beautifully embroidered with the Star of India and “All-India Hockey Team, IXth Olympiad 1928” stitched onto the breast pocket.
His blue and white striped hockey socks are 94 years old and in near-perfect condition, bar one small hole on the right ankle.
One yellowing scrap of paper contains an asterisked message written in Rex’s looping handwriting in green pen: “Do not show your opponent by your stick or by your body which side you are going to pass the ball, for if you do, you will be sending him a telegram, where to expect the ball, and he will be ready there to interpret the pass.”
Rex died at the age of 79. His pension had not been properly paid out for several months, and he struggled to survive on his meager income, so he visited his local social services in Southall, the London borough dubbed “Little India” thanks to its large Indian population. While walking downstairs from the third-floor office, he fell, hitting his head. He later passed away in the hospital.
Shortly before his death, he handed over his entire coaching manual, including specific notes on training international women’s hockey, to a friend and fellow coach who was heading back to India after an English visit. As women’s hockey spread throughout the world to become almost as popular as the men’s game, an obituary column asked: “Did he have a premonition of what is to come?”
Perhaps he did.
With thanks to The Hockey Museum and its researcher Ian Smith for providing invaluable material.
Lucy Sherriff is a British journalist based in Los Angeles. She primarily works for the BBC covering climate issues, but is also the host and producer of Pushkin/iHeartRadio's true crime podcast 'Where's Dia?', as well as occasionally dipping a toe in the documentary world.
