Danny in Calcutta (Part III - and last!)
What did we do with our time ? Well, what we did not do was to embark on an orgy of vice (forget the Fry's Turkish Delight ads, it wasn't like that at all). If you wanted that sort of thing, you could find it, but in my experience very few people did. By day, there was the Calcutta Swimming Club pool, and an air-conditioned cinema (the very first that most people had ever seen) a few doors down from the Grand in Chowringhee. The Victoria Memorial and the Botanic Gardens were a taxi ride away, but well worth seeing.
And then there were the Bazaars, where you could stock up with almost anything you wanted - except razor blades! And there was always "Firpo's". By night we varied the Grand cuisine at Chinese restaurants; it was reckoned that your chances of food poisoning there were much less than in an Indian. In any case, after spending a few months out there, most people developed brass stomachs and could eat most things without fear of consequence.
A regular port of call was the Base Accountant, from whom you drew cash. His office was in (and I am not making this up) Sir Hamish Mukerjee Street. I know the Scots were very strong in Calcutta's history (notably in the jute trade), but how a Bengali (even one who had served the Raj so well as to earn a knighthood) came to have a Scottish Christian name is beyond me.
Calcutta got bombed one night in early '43. The "Calcutta Statesman" (like the "Daily Telegraph") headlined: "Calcutta takes its place among the much-bombed cities of the British Empire". It was a gross exaggeration. Jap bombers had dropped a handful of small anti-personnel bombs. They knocked a few chips out of the masonry and killed a few sleepers on the pavements, but did little damage. But the effect on the populace was enormous. Bengalis are not a martial race. Panic took hold.
It was estimated that a million and a half fled the city in the next 24 hours, on foot or on anything that moved. The hotels were denuded of staff, the guests at the Grand had to fend for themselves for days until the terror-stricken mob dribbled back. When you consider the effect that the Japs had achieved, with so little effort, in a city crammed with important military units, you would naturally expect them to keep up the good work, and try again.
So they did a few weeks later, but that night we had a remarkable bit of luck. Another flight of three Jap bombers was making for the city. So contemptuous were they of our defences (and with good reason) that they flew in formation with their navigation lights on. Foolhardiness on this scale should be rewarded, and it was.
A Flight Sergeant Pring was on patrol with his Beaufighter. He saw these lights and, curious to know who these idiots might be, went over to have a look. Identifying them, with some surpise, as Japanese, he tagged on behind, closed up stealthily into point-blank range, and opened up with his four cannon. The birds of a feather stuck together (as we were enjoined to do), so he was able to bag all three in one go. He got a well earned DFM, became the toast of Calcutta, (and was KIA some time later); the raids ended.
Google some time ago led me to some old Calcutta memoirs, and a slightly different story of the interception was offered. In this Pring was vectored onto his prey by ground radar in the same way as Fighter Command had been in 1940. This would need the same equipment, in particular an array of "Chain Home" 360 ft (?) radar masts.
As all the country around was flat as a pancake, these really ought to have been noticable, and it would have been nice to have been told about them (did we have NOTAMS then ?) But I never heard a whisper of, or ever see any such things. And the story I have recently told about the simple radar hut in Arakan suggests that we were a long way from such sophistication out there.
Later in the war, a welcome alternative to the Grand appeared in the shape of the Elgin Nursing Home. This was (as you might suppose) in Elgin Road, off Chowringhee, half a mile north of the Grand. During the war, it had become virtually an aircrew hostel. They charged the same as the Grand, but it was much quieter.
Calcutta was the source of "Carew's" Gin, the staple of bar stocks in every Mess in India. Before the war, there had been plenty of British duty-free spirits out there, but shortage of shipping space had cut these supplies off (and also things like India Pale Ale, specially brewed to stand up to the journey out there).
Very limited quantities of Scotch came out as "Welfare" items: these were eagerly competed for and hoarded. "Carew's" was a quite acceptable substitue for English gin, and there was a "Rosa" rum which was tolerable with plenty of fruit squash. After all, in a country where sugar cane is grown, it is as cheap and easy to make good rum as bad.
Vodka was unknown then; the locally produced "brandy" and "whiskey" were bought, but only as a substitute for the meths (which they closely resembled) which you needed to fire-up the incandescent mantles in the pressure paraffin lamps which were widely used. "Carew's", in its four- gallon blue jars, has been mentioned several times already. At home, during the war, I think that a tot of whiskey or gin sold for 4d, which would give the pub a mark-up of 50%.
Nobody quibbled about paying the exact equivalent (4 annas) out there, but the mark up now was nearly 200%, so the Messes could not help but make money hand over fist. (What happened to it all at the end, when they were being closed by the dozen ?). Don't know, but I harbour dark suspicions. I only hope HMG didn't get its hands on it.!
At last, back to our long farewell to the Arakan next time,
Cheers to all,
Danny42C
All's grist that comes to the mill.