In my Post: p.409 #8179 on the "Gaining a R.A.F. Pilot's Brevet in WWII" Thread ("Ah yes - I remember it well"), I wrote:
...Through the good offices of our mutual friend Petet, who is well known on this Thread, I've been able to gain sight of copies of the whole wartime F.540 (Operational Record Book) for No. 1340 (Special Duty) Flight, Cannanore...
It occurs to me that, for all the Posts I put in here describing the twelve months of my tenure, I've given only scant details of the day-to-day life we led there. Memory jogged by the F.540 (in my own fair hand), I'm going to remedy the deficiency insofar as I can.
Where the officers were concerned, we had it good ! The Mess was the old Army Mess, properly built in the '20s on the assumption that the Empire would last for ever. But there were very few officer's quarters (amply sufficient for those days, I suppose), and now the Chemical Defence Research Establishment had to accommodate not only their own Army medical, veterinery and administrative officers, but a whole gaggle of civilian experts ("Scientific Officers") as well. The RAF contingent was small: (Wing Commander Edmondes, a Squadron Leader Austin (of whom I have not the slightest recollection), myself and one or two others (on my unit) plus (after VJ day) a varying number of RAF supernumeraries (billeted on us until they reached their turn for repatriation to the UK - from which they might just as well never have been sent out in the first place - but who knew our war was going to end so suddenly ?).
The military solution was - as always - the tent. You can forget the tiny, flimsy, uncomfortable litle apologies for tents in which hardy souls brave the elements in this country (but not this child !). Ours were rectangular mini-marqees with much more floor space than in a junior officer's room in an "Expansion Pattern" RAF Mess. The floor was covered with sand, with two or three Afghan rugs this was comfort indeed. It was furnished on a lavish Indian Army scale: a "Cot Newar" in place of the bedbug-infested charpoys which had served us for the last three years, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers with mirror, and a table and chair. What more could we want ? (an individual "
punkah" ? - no, that would have been too much to ask).
In any case we were only 100 yds or so from the cliff edge; the tent wall was rolled back in the middle of each (long) side to provide a doorway with a hanging rattan screen which allowed the gentle sea breeze to pass through while excluding most of the insects, inquisitive rats, goats and s/hawks). Permanent ablutions were over the road in the Army camp, but you would tell your "bearer" (when he brought you your morning tea) to bring you a bowl of hot water to shave.
There were communal showers over there too, which the service people always used (but the older, more diffident civilians preferred the privacy of a "camp kit" [folding canvas] bath in their tents). Sanitation was by "thunderbox" - there were no Deep Trench Latrines. No electricity or running water in the tent lines, of course but the permanent camp had both.
Cannanore town did not offer much in the way of attractions, but there were the usual bazaars where there would be tailors, shoemakers, barbers and most necesities of life on sale - but not razor blades (or gramophone needles) ! These were like gold (shortage of high quality steel), and many and various were the 'Patent' devices to re-sharpen safety razor blades (some of them worked - after a fashion !)
What the town did have was a Portuguese RC Church. I cannot remember its name then (and now there seems to be a Holy Trinity Cathedral [for a Diocese of Kannur has been created], probably on the same spot. But in my time, there was just a Church with a Portuguese priest; he could speak only Portuguese and Malayalam (which was all that was needed for his flock). But we could attend Mass there on Sundays, for of course it was still the old (Latin) Tridentine Mass, then the absolute standard throughout the world, and as soon as he swung onto the altar, handed his
biretta (not
beretta !) to the server and intoned the "
Introibo ad altare Dei", we were off, and might as well have been in our family church back home. (Wiki tells me that: "
In 1505, the Portuguese Viceroy, Francis de Almeida, established the famous fort of St. Angelos and built the church of St. James there", and a good deal more).
Now, in British India, when two or three Englishmen were gathered together anywhere, the first thing they always did was to build a Club. Cannanore was no exception. At the top end of the (then) town, a wide laterite bluff overlooked a tiny, secluded beach to the north. If today, you look up "Cannanore (Kannur) beaches", you'll find a "Baby Beach". I am fairly certain that this was the Club Beach. It was something like a mile north of Fort St.Angelo. Above it, on the top of the bluff, were two or three small hotels and the Cannanore Club.
This was a spacious bungaloid construction with a large horseshoe shaped bar; there must have been a main lounge and several smaller rooms. Certainly there would have been a billiard room (for what Club worthy of the name would be without one), a Music Room and a Card room, though curiously I never remember these. The Club was too small to cater; and had no bedrooms, but that did not matter: both were available at the nearby "decent hotels" - (ie places at which a European would stay).
EDIT: When I last looked at the Google satellite pictures of the area, the whole space looked to be bare brown surface; there was no sign of any building remaining on the site. But as the place now houses an important and extensive military establishment, this may now be (?) a small arms range.
There was a skittle-alley (I think nine-pins). The skittles were re-erected by a little Indian boy, perhaps 10-12 years old (it's not easy to tell). His limbs were terribly deformed by some disease (and there was always a grim possibility, that his family had distorted them deliberately in childhood, so that he could serve as an adjunct to their begging business). Effectively, his limbs were useless below the knee and ankle joints, so that all he could do was to scuttle around (with surprising agility) on these four points. He went by the name of "Coochie"; we assumed that was his name, or a nickname, and it was only at the very end, as I was leaving, that I was told that in Malayalam it was a word of contempt and disgust (as being the name of a common beetle, whose movements his resembled). That weighed on my conscience for quite some time.
On the other hand, the two or three annas we threw to him after each game would amount to a respectable sum at the end of the day/night (he seemed to be around the Club all hours). He was probably the breadwinner for his large family.
This account has grown, (like Topsy), too big for one Post. I'll stop now. More in a day or two.
Greetings to my new readers (if any)
Danny42C.