Ancestor Hunting in Rawalpindi

Since I seemed to have carelessly misplaced all the people I knew in Pakistan, I thought I'd better try to find some relatives. All the living ones had left the country, so I went looking for the dead ones. :-)


First, I went to Christ Church, Rawalpindi, where my great-grandparents Job & Sarah Harman worshipped, and where at least one of their children was baptised. I showed up at the gate and was was told by the gatekeeper that the church was closed, I would have to come back on Sunday. I explained that I wouldn't be in Pakistan on Sunday, could I please come and have a look around. I offered to donate money to the church. He said that he couldn't let me in unless I had an ID card. "How about a passport?" I asked. He agreed and said that if I went back to the hotel and brought my passport, he'd let me in. So I made the round trip with my very helpful driver Jamil, and came back 15 minutes later. I showed him my passport and he then announced that it was against the law to let me in. I then asked if I could speak to the pastor. I have never had so much trouble getting into a church in my life!

Eventually Suleman, the assistant pastor, came over. He ignored the passport and asked me to come back tomorrow. I explained that I was leaving the country the next day, and could I please just have a look around. He made several phone calls and Jamil made an impassioned speech on my behalf, explaining that my ancestors had been part of the the congregation here. It seemed to work. After about 30 minutes Suleman asked me to come back at 5pm.

When I eventually came back, Suleman explained that the church was opposite the Pakistani Army GHQ, and that they had been forbidden from allowing anyone to visit the church. However, I was 'special' so he opened the church for me. There was certainly no shortage of heavily-armed soldiers just outside the gate, and I really appreciated the risk he had taken in letting me in.

It was definitely worth the struggle, and the three trips. The church was absolutely beautiful. Built mainly like a 19th century English church (it was constructed in 1852) but with enormous glass casement windows down every side, to allow the breeze in, and overhead fans. It was a delight to be able to set foot in the place in which my great-grandparents baptised their infant, and then sadly farewelled him a few months later. Thank you to Suleman and Christ Church for the experience.


Between my 2nd and 3rd visits to the church, I visited Gora Qabristain (Foreigners' Cemetery) in Harley Street, to see where my grandmother's brother was buried. I already knew that there was no gravestone, as the British Association for Cemeteries in South Asia (BACSA) had transcribed all the existing stones decades ago. Still, it was a moving experience to wander about the rows and rows of infant graves, and think about all the hopes of mothers that had been dashed. I don't know exactly where my great-uncle lies buried, but he has a lot of company.