There have been powerful echoes from the Raj – particularly the Victorian era this past week. A few days ago, Channel 4 aired a documentary focusing on the relationship between Queen Victoria and Abdul Karim, her ‘munshi’ or teacher. For the last 14 years of her life, this obscure Indian from Agra was at her side, ostensibly teaching her Urdu (or ‘Hindustani’), but also becoming a trusted friend and companion.

In a sense, he became an adopted son to the Empress who doted on him, and elevated him to the post of ‘Indian Clerk to the Queen’, showering him with honours and gifts. All this affection infuriated the palace staff, and caused them to hate this upstart. The munshi contributed to this rancour by getting too big for his boots. Totally against protocol, he sent a Christmas card to the Viceroy, infuriating that high representative of the queen in India. He made inquiries about Abdul Karim, and discovered that far from being the son of a highly-respected army surgeon as he had claimed, he was actually the son of a hakim at the Agra prison.

But this information, gleefully spread by Karim’s many enemies at court, did nothing to lessen Victoria’s affection for her protégé. On the contrary, she voiced her admiration for his ability to rise above his humble origins. It was only when she decided to knight Karim in 1897 at her Diamond Jubilee that she was thwarted. The Royal Physician threatened to declare her mentally incompetent if she insisted on her course of action, sending her into a towering rage. But ultimately, even this headstrong monarch was forced to give in to the powerful British establishment.

Documents showing her skilfully written Urdu script indicate that the munshi had been a good teacher. When she died in 1901, her son ordered that all the personal letters and photographs in Karim’s possession be destroyed. Years ago, Zia Mohiuddin portrayed the munshi in a BBC docu-drama that showed him putting his beloved trove of the marks of Victoria’s affection to the torch, and recalling his days of glory. It seems the reality was more brutal, with the palace staff descending on Karim’s house the day after Victoria’s death, and demanding that he hand over all his personal papers. A heart-broken man, he returned to India where he died a few years later.

The other bit of Raj memorabilia that struck me was at Stirling Castle in Scotland where a monument stands to honour the 75th Stirlingshire Regiment for its role in raising the siege of Delhi in 1857, as well as for action in Agra and Lucknow. The castle itself is one of the finest in Scotland, and has been restored after years of painstaking work. The Great Hall is an immense, stately room, decorated with the royal standards. Built by James V in mid-16th century on a rocky hill that dominates the surrounding moors and marshes, the castle lost its importance when the English and Scottish crowns were united in early seventeenth century. It housed local regiments for decades, and much of it fell into disuse and dilapidation.

Near Stirling we stayed with friends who have a deer and sheep farm, and were at the end of the lambing season. For weeks they had worked at a brutal pace to make sure as many lambs as possible would survive. Despite their busy schedule, Damaris and Jamie were wonderful, welcoming hosts. But seeing how hard they have to work, I won’t complain about the high price of lamb when I next go to our butcher’s.

I’m writing this in the library of Clandeboye, the family seat of Lord Dufferin, Viceroy and Governor General of India from 1884 to 1888. Invited here by the present Lady Dufferin, I was curious about the place as my niece Leila was born at the Lady Dufferin Hospital in Karachi. Lord Dufferin had a long and illustrious career, being appointed ambassador to France and the Ottoman court, apart from being Governor General in Burma, Canada and India. As can be imagined, the house is full of wonderful objects from across the world. And as the present Lady Dufferin is a painter, and her late husband was an art collector, there are some superb paintings, together with numerous portraits of long-dead ancestors. There are also portraits of Indian grandees in the form of old sepia and tinted black-and-white photographs. The gardens, spread over 350 acres, have trees and shrubs from many countries. There’s also a large lake, and I’m told it contains lots of fish. Puffin, our Jack Russell terrier, is having the time of his life, chasing rabbits and squirrels to his little heart’s content.

The library is full of leather-bound volumes I would love to read, had there been time. Lady Dufferin has promised to show me the family archive of documents and letters, as well as the vast collection of photographs. I can guess there is treasure trove of material for researchers here.

Among other guests invited to stay this weekend is a TV producer who made a BBC documentary series about the stately homes of Great Britain, with one film being devoted exclusively to Clandeboye. There is a writer, an academic and an architect as well, making for lively conversation at mealtimes. The food is excellent, and the table impeccably laid. I have been asked to cook a desi dish tomorrow to teach the staff, and I am hoping they won’t be able to find the ingredients locally, so I’ll have an excuse to sample more of their excellent cooking.

Getting to Northern Ireland by fast ferry from Scotland was efficient and comfortable, even though Puffin had to stay in the car for the two-hour crossing. Although we had to leave our friends’ farm very early in the morning to make the ferry, it was well worth it, especially when sitting before a roaring log fire in the library.

Whenever I complain about our hectic travel schedule, my old friend Azhar Karim says: “Tumharay dukh nahin dekhay jatay.” (“I can’t stand to see your suffering”.)