Echoes of 1926, When Madras Counted Its Rupees, the Riffs Rose in Morocco, and Churchill Counted His Surplus
A Glimpse Into a World of Floods, Revolts, and Budgetary Calculus—And What It Tells Us About Ourselves
There is something strangely comforting about reading newspapers from a century ago. The names are different, the technologies are obsolete, the empires that seemed eternal have crumbled into dust. But the concerns—floods and cyclones, budget deficits and surpluses, unrest in distant lands, and the perpetual struggle to balance competing priorities—these remain recognisable. They remind us that our ancestors grappled with the same kinds of challenges we do, and that the human condition, for all its technological transformation, retains a fundamental continuity.
The news from March 1926, preserved in the pages of an old newspaper, offers three vignettes from a world in transition. Madras, reeling from floods and cyclones, counting its rupees and hoping for surplus. Morocco, simmering with unrest as Riffian forces prepared to challenge French colonial authority. And Winston Churchill, Chancellor of the Exchequer, announcing a modest budget surplus while lamenting the failure to reduce the national debt by the full fifty million pounds the Treasury had targeted.
Each of these stories carries echoes that resonate into our own time.
The Madras Accounts: Floods, Finance, and the Persistence of Fiscal Anxiety
“Madras has been through bad times of late with floods and cyclones, and the accounts for 1924-25 included a large sum for repairing the damage. That was a deficit year, but the year now closing is expected to show a surplus of Rs. 619 lakhs.”
The numbers tell a story of recovery and resilience. A deficit transformed into a surplus of over six crore rupees—real money in 1926, when a lakh could go a long way. Sir Basil Blackett’s remission of Rs. 57 lakhs and various debt operations contributed to this happy result. But the report also notes a sobering trend: “The province has to face a steady and permanent reduction of revenue.” The figures are stark: Rs. 1,834 lakhs in 1923-24, falling to Rs. 1,641 lakhs in 1925-26, with an estimate of Rs. 1,634 lakhs for the next financial year.
This is the eternal dilemma of public finance: revenues rarely grow as fast as needs, and the gap between what is required and what is available is a constant source of anxiety. The Finance Minister of Madras, despite the downward trend, budgeted for a surplus on the grounds that abnormal expenditure might disappear and that the remission of provincial contributions would be repeated. Hope, in public finance as in life, springs eternal.
The report adds a curious observation: “One sentence in the summary cabled from Madras suggests that the collection of reduced revenues demands special expenditure on organization. It sounds absurd but may well be true.” This is the paradox of efficient revenue collection: it costs money to collect money. Systems must be maintained, staff must be paid, infrastructure must be built. In the short term, spending to collect can seem counterintuitive, especially when revenues are falling. But in the long term, underinvestment in collection infrastructure is a false economy—a lesson that remains relevant a century later.
Bengal’s Jealous Eye
The report notes, with a touch of wry observation: “Bengal, having achieved its desire in this, will wish Madras the fulfilment of its hopes, but will cast a slightly jealous eye on its revenues. What could not Bengal do with a few crores added annually to its scanty resources?”
This inter-provincial jealousy is another eternal theme. Every region believes it deserves more than it receives. Every finance minister looks at neighbouring treasuries with envy. The competition for scarce resources, the sense that others are favoured while one’s own needs are neglected—these sentiments fuel political conflict in every federal system, then as now.
Bengal’s question—what could it not do with a few crores added annually to its scanty resources—is asked in every state assembly, every parliament, every budget session across the world. The answer is always the same: much could be done, but the resources are never sufficient, and the allocation is never fair.
The Riffian Resistance: Colonialism’s Unfinished Business
Turn the page, and the scene shifts to Morocco. “A message from Rabat states that the unrest already observed in Morocco is increasing. The Riffs apparently intend to take the initiative of opening offensive operations. The district chosen was recently subdued.”
The Riffian resistance, led by Abd el-Krim, was one of the most significant anti-colonial movements of the 1920s. For years, the Berber tribes of the Rif mountains had fought Spanish and French colonial forces, inflicting humiliating defeats and demonstrating that colonial conquest was not as inevitable as European powers liked to believe. The Battle of Annual in 1921, when Riffian forces crushed a Spanish army, killing thousands, sent shockwaves through Europe.
By 1926, the tide was turning. French and Spanish forces had combined to suppress the rebellion, using overwhelming force—including chemical weapons—to break Riffian resistance. But the report from March 1926 suggests that the fight was not yet over. “At present two Riff columns are endeavouring to obtain a footing in the territory of Mitous, the natives of which are supported by French troops. The air force is vigorously resisting the Riffs.”
The language is clinical, bureaucratic. “The air force is vigorously resisting.” Behind those words lies the reality of colonial warfare: bombs falling on mountain villages, civilians killed alongside combatants, a way of life being systematically destroyed. The Riffs were fighting for their land, their autonomy, their existence. From the colonial perspective, they were “unrest” to be “subdued.”
The Rif War would end later in 1926, with Abd el-Krim surrendering to French forces. But the spirit of resistance did not die. Morocco would eventually gain independence in 1956, and the memory of the Riffian struggle would become part of the national narrative. The echoes of that conflict still resonate in debates about Berber identity, colonial legacies, and the meaning of sovereignty.
Churchill’s Surplus: The Art of Budgetary Optimism
Finally, the news from Britain: Winston Churchill, Chancellor of the Exchequer, addressing Queen’s University in Belfast, where he was receiving an honorary degree. His message was one of cautious optimism.
“Notwithstanding the gloomy forecasts, he had every expectation that the surplus of a little more than one million pounds which he had budgeted for would be realised. That, however, was apart from the coal subsidy, which must be met out of temporary borrowing.”
A million-pound surplus—modest by any measure, especially given the scale of the British economy and the national debt accumulated during the Great War. But in the context of the times, it was enough to claim success. Churchill was disappointed, however, that he had not succeeded in reducing the National Debt by the full fifty million pounds the Treasury had set as its target.
He then articulated a dilemma that remains central to public finance: “However much the country desired economy, it did not desire to see the fighting forces reduced to impotence or to see the social life of the people suddenly lowered.” This is the perpetual tension between fiscal responsibility and public investment. Cut too much, and you weaken defence and social welfare. Spend too much, and you accumulate debt that burdens future generations.
Churchill expressed hope that the trend of large and continuous reductions in taxation could continue. “Nothing would be more beneficial to trade.” But he also promised to get through the year “without any unsound financial expenditure, and without having to reimpose taxation which would cripple trade.”
The language is reassuring, the tone confident. “The financial position of Great Britain was strong and sound.” Yet within a few years, the Great Depression would shatter that confidence, exposing the fragility of even the strongest economies.
The Lessons of 1926
What can we learn from these fragments of news from a century ago? Several lessons suggest themselves.
First, the challenges of public finance are eternal. Madras in 1926 faced falling revenues and rising needs, just as Indian states do today. Churchill balanced the desire for tax cuts against the need for debt reduction, just as finance ministers do now. The numbers change, but the arithmetic remains the same.
Second, colonial conflicts leave wounds that do not heal. The Riffian resistance was crushed, but the memory of that struggle persists. The same could be said of countless anti-colonial movements across Africa and Asia. The empires that seemed permanent in 1926 were, in fact, living on borrowed time.
Third, human beings in every era seek reassurance about the future. The Finance Minister of Madras hoped for surplus. Churchill promised sound finance. The residents of Rabat, caught between Riffian columns and French troops, hoped for peace. These hopes were not always realised, but they sustained people through difficult times.
Finally, the past is not as distant as we imagine. The concerns of 1926—floods and cyclones, budget deficits, colonial unrest, the tension between spending and saving—are our concerns too. The technologies have changed, the political structures have transformed, but the underlying human realities remain remarkably constant.
The Continuity of Concern
The newspaper from March 1926 offers a window into a world that is both foreign and familiar. The names—Madras, Bengal, the Riffs, Churchill—evoke a different era. The numbers—lakhs of rupees, millions of pounds—reflect a different scale. The assumptions—that empires are permanent, that colonial rule is legitimate—are alien to modern sensibilities.
Yet beneath these surface differences lies a deeper continuity. People worried about money. They worried about security. They worried about the future. They hoped for surpluses and feared deficits. They watched distant conflicts with anxiety, wondering whether they would spread. They looked to leaders for reassurance and sometimes received it.
In reading these old news items, we are reminded that our own anxieties are not unique. The human condition, for all its technological transformation, retains a fundamental stability. We worry about the same things our great-grandparents worried about. We hope for the same outcomes. We are disappointed by the same failures.
Perhaps this is the deepest lesson of all: that history does not solve problems but merely presents them in new forms. The challenges of 1926 are not behind us; they are with us still, wearing different clothes, speaking different languages, but recognisably the same.
Q&A: Unpacking the News of 1926
Q1: What was the financial situation in Madras in 1926, and what challenges did it face?
A: Madras had experienced floods and cyclones that required large sums for repair, resulting in a deficit year in 1924-25. However, 1925-26 was expected to show a surplus of Rs. 619 lakhs, helped by Sir Basil Blackett’s remission of Rs. 57 lakhs and debt operations. Despite this short-term improvement, the province faced a steady and permanent reduction in revenue, falling from Rs. 1,834 lakhs in 1923-24 to an estimated Rs. 1,634 lakhs for the coming year. The Finance Minister budgeted for a surplus on hopes that abnormal expenditure would disappear and that remission of provincial contributions would be repeated.
Q2: What was happening in Morocco in March 1926?
A: Unrest was increasing in Morocco, with Riffian forces preparing to take the offensive. Their objective was believed to be the Adsahela Valley, from which they hoped to advance southward. Two Riff columns were attempting to gain a foothold in the territory of Mitous, where the native population was supported by French troops. The French air force was vigorously resisting the Riffs. This was part of the wider Rif War (1921-1926), in which Berber tribes led by Abd el-Krim fought against Spanish and French colonial forces.
Q3: What did Winston Churchill say about the British budget in March 1926?
A: Churchill, then Chancellor of the Exchequer, announced that despite gloomy forecasts, he expected a surplus of just over one million pounds to be realised (apart from the coal subsidy, which would be met through temporary borrowing). He expressed disappointment at not reducing the National Debt by the full fifty million pounds targeted by the Treasury. He noted that the previous four budgets had seen large and continuous tax reductions, which he hoped would continue as beneficial to trade. He declared Britain’s financial position “strong and sound.”
Q4: What was the “absurd but may well be true” observation about revenue collection in Madras?
A: The report noted that “the collection of reduced revenues demands special expenditure on organization.” This seemed paradoxical—spending more money to collect less money—but reflected the reality that efficient revenue collection requires investment in systems, staff, and infrastructure. Underinvesting in collection capacity, even when revenues are falling, can be a false economy that leads to even greater revenue losses over time. This insight remains relevant to public finance today.
Q5: What broader lessons can contemporary readers draw from these 1926 news items?
A: Several lessons emerge: first, the challenges of public finance—balancing deficits and surpluses, investing in collection infrastructure, managing competing priorities—are eternal. Second, colonial conflicts leave lasting wounds, and the empires that seemed permanent in 1926 were living on borrowed time. Third, human beings in every era seek reassurance about the future, whether through budget forecasts or hopes for peace. Finally, despite technological and political changes, underlying human concerns about money, security, and the future remain remarkably constant. The past is not as distant as we imagine.
