Margery Rehman: a blossom that will bloom no more

This is not an obituary. Nor is it homage. It is just a personal note about a caring friend, a wonderful teacher and counsellor… and a great human being. I first heard of her in the prehistoric days when I edited a journal of opinion called Tempo, which also had a section for the literati. A publisher had sent me a copy of a book on the Thirty Years’ War in Germany with the request that he would like to have it appraised. Most of the printed matter that dropped into my lap consisted of biographies written by retired civil servants, some of whom I could have cheerfully dropped off the bridge at Native Jetty. But a book in which Christians killed Christians and not Muslims? Well, a helpful friend suggested that I should give it to a Scottish teacher with flaming red hair who taught history at the Karachi Grammar School and was highly thought of both by her fellow teachers and students.



I managed to get her residence number and gave her a call. A couple of seconds later I heard a Scottish brogue and was absolutely delighted. Well, to cut a long story short, Margery Rehman, or Marge as her friends called her, wrote an outstanding review. Her style was marked by spontaneity, directness and objectivity. I sent her a small cheque and she was tickled pink as it was the first time anybody had paid her for something she had written.

However, it wasn’t until many years later at one of the annual birthday celebrations of Her Majesty the Queen, which were held at Runnymede, that we met. Towards the end of the function after the boring speeches, I quoted from Robbie Burns. After that we became great friends. My late wife, who was also present, took an instant liking to her and when we got home said that Marge was a beautiful person, warm and sensitive without any airs and graces.

I found Marge to be a highly cultured and civilised person. She shared my love of dogs, books and Western classical music, especially opera, and often turned up at the esoteric evenings which were organised and hosted by the late Haroon Yusuf at the Sind Club. She could also be seen occasionally on Jazz evenings, which were organised by the late Ashraf Liaquat Ali Khan.

Though she taught history, Marge was also well-versed in English literature and had strong views about certain writers of fiction. I remember one evening while we were watching one of those Italian operas where the tenor wanted to make love to the soprano and was prevented from doing so by the baritone, she asked me who my favourite poet was. I said it used to be Swinburne but now it was Yeats. We often compared notes on British sitcoms, especially the comedies like Father Ted, ‘Allo ‘Allo, Yes Minister, Love Thy Neighbour, Last of the Summer Wine, Only Fools and Horses and Blackadder.

After she was widowed and had to look after her handsome son Kaleem and lovely talented daughter Sonia single-handed, Marge changed professions and became personnel director at Lever Brothers. Every now and then, she would host a dinner that was attended by the other two Margerys — Junejo and Husain. Here were three expatriate wives who had made their homes in Karachi, who had learnt Urdu, braved the heat and ignored the growing incompetence of the local utilities. At her soyem, a senior retired former Lever Brothers’ employee said there will never be another Margery Rehman. She was one in a million. To which I would like to add, Quam semper in cordibus aliorum (She will always live in the hearts of others).

Published in The Express Tribune, December 6^th, 2015.

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