On a sultry August night, Bangalore slept fitfully. Four thousand miles East it was bright morning as Colonel Paul Tibbets settled his B-29 into a bombing run on the hitherto unremarkable Japanese town of Hiroshima.
Three long years of Churchill's "
blood, toil, tears and sweat" had passed since Air Marshal Harris had declared:
"People say that aerial bombing alone will never win a war......I would say that it has not been tried yet, and we shall see". Now we saw
.
The war was over. All bets were off. The Hindustan Aircraft project folded. Our Lothario hightailed it back to the States. June waited eagerly for the call to join him.
"Il y a toujours l'un qui baise,
Et l'autre qui ne soulève que la joue"
(Proverb)
As the French so charmingly put it: in every pair of lovers, one
loves, one
is loved. June, it seemed, was on the wrong side of this equation. The call would never come. She was left high and dry in Bangalore. She would not be alone in her misery, for now was heartbreak time. In the weeks and months to come, and in every former theatre of war, versions of
"Madame Butterfly" were being played out.
"One Fine Day" would be sung in many tongues. Many a
Cho-Cho-San would weep for a faithless Lieutenant.
Worse was to come, for now she had really blotted her copybook. She had betrayed her gallant soldier for a
civilian, and a
foreigner at that, had got herself
divorced and had now been
dumped. She was the Scarlet Woman
du jour. I will not say "of the Year", as there were too many contenders for the title. All round the world (not least in Britain), "Discretion Statements" were being hastily penned against the return of a vengeful warrior (himself virtuous from lack of opporunity). Tearful confession would be the order of the day, for his mother would surely "shop" you even if no one else did.
In Bangalore the knives were out. Tongues wagged viciously. The First Stone Brigade were out in force: they had their Woman Taken in Adultery. Life grew increasingly unpleasant: she was defenceless.
"Why not get out of town until this blows over ?", suggested her few remaining friends.
It was good advice and June took it. As a companion, she chose another grass widow of her own age, whose husband was (I suppose) stuck half way round the globe, waiting for a ship. Now the pair had to decide: "where to ?" Ootacamund, the popular Hill Station, would be no good. "Ooty" was Bangalore-on-the-Hill; good news travels fast; she would be every bit as ostracised there. But way over on the coast there was a little place with a few decent hotels and a British Club with its own bathing cove.
Just what the doctor ordered.
********%*******
*