Military Life on the Malabar Coast of India in WWII.
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At least June wasn't [technically] "soiled goods" thanks to Danny's innate gentlemanliness 
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"Interlude" by Danny: Act 2, Scene 3.
It stung a bit. "Well", I said at last, gloomily, "I can't compete on those terms ". Nor could I. I would be returning to the UK soon, and leaving the RAF. I could not keep a cat, much less a wife *,on the salary I would be going back to at home.
Note *: There was in those days a curious convention that the husband went out to work and "earned the bacon"; the wife stayed at home, did the housekeeping and looked after the children. This arrangement, which had served humanity well since the dawn of time, is of course now completely non-PR, passé, and generally regarded with derision.
And in any case I'd no intention of marrying June or anybody else. I was not in love with her - nor she with me ! Really, when I came to think of it, this was the best of all outcomes - and I was "off the hook".
I could not blame her. "Tout comprendre, c'ést tout pardonner". A girl must look to her future. Now that she had successfully "gone to ground", her next priority had to be a new husband to restore her position in British Indian society, to "make an honest woman of her". As I'd proved a non-starter, she'd had to go for Plan B. So everything went smoothly when I returned to Cannanore, we all accepted the changed situation gracefully and there were no reproaches. "This has so much against it that it will probably work", I mused to June. Gravely, she agreed.
Privately, I thought Alan a fool. Not on account of her recently displayed "form", but rather from the fact that, of all the young ladies that a man out there could bring home to Mum, a Daughter of the Raj was about the worst possible choice. These girls had never had to lift a finger for theselves in their whole lives, everything had always been done for the Miss-Sahibs. They could not boil an egg, and had no idea which end of a broom to pick up - there would always be someone who could and did. From the time they were out of their convent schools they had been besieged by ardent young men, regarded this as their natural right, and saw no reason why it should not continue. In short, they were spoiled rotten. It was not their fault, but that of the system which had made them so. Now imagine such a creature brought back to cold, grey, war-weary Britain, probably packed into a small semi with her in-laws - for housing was desperately short. It's not a pretty picture, is it ? You might as well shove a bird of paradise into a hen coop and expect it to settle down.
In any case I was far too busy to worry about my loss. My airmen and officers were vanishing, day by day, for repatriation on release, while I had to organise the disposal of the CDRE's remaining gas stocks, then was involved in a bitter altercation with 225 Group over the destruction of my remaining three Vengeance. On March 12th we flew them to Nagpur for scrapping. I would not sit in a cockpit again for nearly three years. At the end of April I was on my way home myself, after handing over to Alex Bury who would have the task of closing the unit down.
It would have been nice to know how they got on, but it is far too long ago and far away to be worth bothering about now. Nothing remains but an old man's fading memory of a few week's idyll by the shores of a tropic sea.
And the Fool ? Well, to reverse Kipling:
Note *: There was in those days a curious convention that the husband went out to work and "earned the bacon"; the wife stayed at home, did the housekeeping and looked after the children. This arrangement, which had served humanity well since the dawn of time, is of course now completely non-PR, passé, and generally regarded with derision.
And in any case I'd no intention of marrying June or anybody else. I was not in love with her - nor she with me ! Really, when I came to think of it, this was the best of all outcomes - and I was "off the hook".
I could not blame her. "Tout comprendre, c'ést tout pardonner". A girl must look to her future. Now that she had successfully "gone to ground", her next priority had to be a new husband to restore her position in British Indian society, to "make an honest woman of her". As I'd proved a non-starter, she'd had to go for Plan B. So everything went smoothly when I returned to Cannanore, we all accepted the changed situation gracefully and there were no reproaches. "This has so much against it that it will probably work", I mused to June. Gravely, she agreed.
Privately, I thought Alan a fool. Not on account of her recently displayed "form", but rather from the fact that, of all the young ladies that a man out there could bring home to Mum, a Daughter of the Raj was about the worst possible choice. These girls had never had to lift a finger for theselves in their whole lives, everything had always been done for the Miss-Sahibs. They could not boil an egg, and had no idea which end of a broom to pick up - there would always be someone who could and did. From the time they were out of their convent schools they had been besieged by ardent young men, regarded this as their natural right, and saw no reason why it should not continue. In short, they were spoiled rotten. It was not their fault, but that of the system which had made them so. Now imagine such a creature brought back to cold, grey, war-weary Britain, probably packed into a small semi with her in-laws - for housing was desperately short. It's not a pretty picture, is it ? You might as well shove a bird of paradise into a hen coop and expect it to settle down.
In any case I was far too busy to worry about my loss. My airmen and officers were vanishing, day by day, for repatriation on release, while I had to organise the disposal of the CDRE's remaining gas stocks, then was involved in a bitter altercation with 225 Group over the destruction of my remaining three Vengeance. On March 12th we flew them to Nagpur for scrapping. I would not sit in a cockpit again for nearly three years. At the end of April I was on my way home myself, after handing over to Alex Bury who would have the task of closing the unit down.
It would have been nice to know how they got on, but it is far too long ago and far away to be worth bothering about now. Nothing remains but an old man's fading memory of a few week's idyll by the shores of a tropic sea.
And the Fool ? Well, to reverse Kipling:
"Most of him lived, but some of him died"
THE END
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MPN11,
Thanks for the compliment ! But she was already "soiled goods" from the circumstances of her divorce. Her concern now was not to make her bad situation worse.
She was not a "bad" girl - merely one who had made a single terrible mistake. She had staked everything on this man - her happiness, her child, their future, her reputation and her position in British Indian society. And he had let her down.
It was impossible not to feel sorry for the girl - even though she was the author of her own misfortune.
Danny.
Thanks for the compliment ! But she was already "soiled goods" from the circumstances of her divorce. Her concern now was not to make her bad situation worse.
She was not a "bad" girl - merely one who had made a single terrible mistake. She had staked everything on this man - her happiness, her child, their future, her reputation and her position in British Indian society. And he had let her down.
It was impossible not to feel sorry for the girl - even though she was the author of her own misfortune.
Danny.
Last edited by Danny42C; 23rd Mar 2016 at 13:34. Reason: One "Danny" too many.
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The "Fishing Fleet".
Wander00 (your #34),
Have not read the book, but the "Fishing Fleet" was, pre-war, a well known part of the social life of British India. The attractions were obvious - an oversupply of eligible British bachelors with princely salaries; tales of a life in a large and luxurious bungalow amid wide lawns; no more manual work, for Indian servants would take care of every need; an immediate leap in social status almost to the top if the tree; a lovely climate for most of the year (and when it got too hot), three months up in a "Hill Station" where (unencumbered by a husband) the opportunities for a bit of infidelity were on every side. What's not to like ?
In consequence, many spinsters in their mid-twenties, who suspected that they were (or soon would be) "on the shelf", cast about until they found a member of their (or a friend's) family out there, and wheedled out of him an invitation to come and visit "for the Season" (the optimists only booked a single passage).
And if their optimism was justified (for it would have to be an unfortunate girl indeed who could not "make a killing" in those circumstances), then they wouldn't need a return passage. The remarkable thing was, however lowly a setting they left behind in Britain, how quickly they morphed into "mem-sahibs", almost indistinguishable from the "real things", the ex-Daughters of the Raj, in their assumption of natural superiority and authority.
Danny.
Have not read the book, but the "Fishing Fleet" was, pre-war, a well known part of the social life of British India. The attractions were obvious - an oversupply of eligible British bachelors with princely salaries; tales of a life in a large and luxurious bungalow amid wide lawns; no more manual work, for Indian servants would take care of every need; an immediate leap in social status almost to the top if the tree; a lovely climate for most of the year (and when it got too hot), three months up in a "Hill Station" where (unencumbered by a husband) the opportunities for a bit of infidelity were on every side. What's not to like ?
In consequence, many spinsters in their mid-twenties, who suspected that they were (or soon would be) "on the shelf", cast about until they found a member of their (or a friend's) family out there, and wheedled out of him an invitation to come and visit "for the Season" (the optimists only booked a single passage).
And if their optimism was justified (for it would have to be an unfortunate girl indeed who could not "make a killing" in those circumstances), then they wouldn't need a return passage. The remarkable thing was, however lowly a setting they left behind in Britain, how quickly they morphed into "mem-sahibs", almost indistinguishable from the "real things", the ex-Daughters of the Raj, in their assumption of natural superiority and authority.
Danny.
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"Fishing Fleet"
For a young bachelor arriving in Singapore in the early 1960s, friendly advice would be offered about the pool of young ladies that he might meet. Some were succinctly categorised as FMFE.
That would be Failed Marriage Far East.
That would be Failed Marriage Far East.
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Fareastdriver (your #48),
Yes, a good programme, wasn't it ? I would suppose, for an active retiree, that it could be a good bet. Even now, your money would go a whole lot further. Do our pensions get indexed out there, do you know ?
Except that everything looks much cleaner (and probably smells much sweeter !) than in my day.
Bit late for me, though !
Danny.
Yes, a good programme, wasn't it ? I would suppose, for an active retiree, that it could be a good bet. Even now, your money would go a whole lot further. Do our pensions get indexed out there, do you know ?
...things haven't changed a lot...
Bit late for me, though !
Danny.
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Failed Marriage Far East
rlsbutler (your #49),
He was fortunate ! The War stopped the "Fishing Fleet", as all shipping space was needed for troops. And it multiplied tenfold the number of young unmarried British males in India. The Memsahibs and the Daughters of the Raj had the field to themselves. "Pool ?" - you were damned lucky too see even one at a distance !
There were no British women's services in India (apart from QAs and our PMRAFNS). (Mountbatten had Wrens in Ceylon). The Government of India recruited local WACs (?), who wore a kit similar to the US pattern, for service in the larger cities. As these attracted a horde of Anglo-Indian girls, the DOTRs did not volunteer, as a rule.
Danny.
...the pool of young ladies...
There were no British women's services in India (apart from QAs and our PMRAFNS). (Mountbatten had Wrens in Ceylon). The Government of India recruited local WACs (?), who wore a kit similar to the US pattern, for service in the larger cities. As these attracted a horde of Anglo-Indian girls, the DOTRs did not volunteer, as a rule.
Danny.
Last edited by Danny42C; 25th Mar 2016 at 13:15. Reason: Typo.
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For a young bachelor arriving in Singapore in the early 1960s, friendly advice would be offered about the pool of young ladies that he might meet. Some were succinctly categorised as FMFE.
That would be Failed Marriage Far East.
That would be Failed Marriage Far East.
Although in today's world I suspect there would be howls of protest ... I regularly picked up my squeeze at the end of her school day in my Sprite, before heading to one of the many swimming pools!
A really good listen .....
....and possibly a good read, would be "Plain Tales from the Raj". It was a radio programme a few years ago and all these quite old Memsahibs talked about their lives in British India. Absolutely fascinating.
The Ancient Mariner
The Ancient Mariner
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Rossian,
Don't remember hearing it, but sounds like a good idea. It was a society of its own, now vanished for ever, might put in a few words about it myself some time before I pop off.
The title, of course, is borrowed from Kipling's "Plain tales from the Hills" (in the sense of the "Plains" of India). I believe it was this collection of cheap little "paper-backs" which made Kipling's name; they were supposed to be intended to while away the hours on interminable rail journies; they were for sale at all main rail stations and you would leave them in the compartment when you got off.
As I've said before, you need a good working knowledge of India (or rather of British India, which is no more) to really appreciate Kipling's genius - and in return, if you read him, you get a feeling for those days.
Danny.
Don't remember hearing it, but sounds like a good idea. It was a society of its own, now vanished for ever, might put in a few words about it myself some time before I pop off.
The title, of course, is borrowed from Kipling's "Plain tales from the Hills" (in the sense of the "Plains" of India). I believe it was this collection of cheap little "paper-backs" which made Kipling's name; they were supposed to be intended to while away the hours on interminable rail journies; they were for sale at all main rail stations and you would leave them in the compartment when you got off.
As I've said before, you need a good working knowledge of India (or rather of British India, which is no more) to really appreciate Kipling's genius - and in return, if you read him, you get a feeling for those days.
Danny.
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"Plain Tales from the Raj"
Now that was a very good series.
It came out in (as I remember) the early 1970s. Late on Sunday evenings, at fifteen minutes a time, it gave you something to think about every time.
Perhaps there were a dozen episodes, only one of which might have dealt with the fishing fleet. I do not remember any aviation topics, but lots of "other peoples' shop".
Still with me is the narrative of the marine pilot on the River Hooghley between Calcutta and the sea. The post was reached through a fiercely competitive exam. The work was exceedingly tricky because of the shifting sands, the stress of which usually meant early retirement. The pilots had a very superior life, operating out of the equivalent to a millionaire's yacht. Ashore they were aware of awful things - cholera, riots and massacres - but were safely carried out of their reach.
All in fifteen minutes.
It came out in (as I remember) the early 1970s. Late on Sunday evenings, at fifteen minutes a time, it gave you something to think about every time.
Perhaps there were a dozen episodes, only one of which might have dealt with the fishing fleet. I do not remember any aviation topics, but lots of "other peoples' shop".
Still with me is the narrative of the marine pilot on the River Hooghley between Calcutta and the sea. The post was reached through a fiercely competitive exam. The work was exceedingly tricky because of the shifting sands, the stress of which usually meant early retirement. The pilots had a very superior life, operating out of the equivalent to a millionaire's yacht. Ashore they were aware of awful things - cholera, riots and massacres - but were safely carried out of their reach.
All in fifteen minutes.
Plain Tales....
.....from the Raj. My aside remark about it being a good read was an aside - however I've just found and bought it for my kindle from you-know-where.
Will see me through the quiet hours.
The Ancient Mariner
Will see me through the quiet hours.
The Ancient Mariner
Last edited by Rossian; 26th Mar 2016 at 14:03. Reason: typo
Plain Tales
The radio series spawned a trilogy of books, 'Plain tales from The Raj' followed by 'Tales from the Dark Continent' and lastly 'Tales from the South China Seas'. The second was about Brits in Africa and the last, Brits in the colonies scattered around the South China Sea.
Then in 2000 a similar book appeared entitled 'Out in the Midday Sun', the British in Malaya 1880 - 1960, by Margaret Shennan.
All are absorbing reads if like me you are particularly interested in our forebears in the days of empire.
Then in 2000 a similar book appeared entitled 'Out in the Midday Sun', the British in Malaya 1880 - 1960, by Margaret Shennan.
All are absorbing reads if like me you are particularly interested in our forebears in the days of empire.
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rlsbutler (your #55),
They were greatly respected in the Calcutta community, and (rightly) very highly paid, I believe.
The "Plain Tale" which I can never forget is: "At Twenty-Two" (not an age, but a level in a deep coal mine). One shift at that level is trapped by rising water in the flooding mine; they are doomed to certain death; but an old, blind miner remembers from his youth that there is a place where it should be possible to break through the coal wall to reach a higher, worked out level from which it might be possible to escape.
In the total darkness, and relying only on touch, the old man finds the place; they cut their way through and manage to get back to the surface before the waters reach them.
India has vast reserves of coal; in the North there is a wide area where the land surface itself has been burning for decades; there are uncontrollable fires in the old pits below.
Danny.
...Still with me is the narrative of the marine pilot on the River Hooghley between Calcutta and the sea. The post was reached through a fiercely competitive exam...
The "Plain Tale" which I can never forget is: "At Twenty-Two" (not an age, but a level in a deep coal mine). One shift at that level is trapped by rising water in the flooding mine; they are doomed to certain death; but an old, blind miner remembers from his youth that there is a place where it should be possible to break through the coal wall to reach a higher, worked out level from which it might be possible to escape.
In the total darkness, and relying only on touch, the old man finds the place; they cut their way through and manage to get back to the surface before the waters reach them.
India has vast reserves of coal; in the North there is a wide area where the land surface itself has been burning for decades; there are uncontrollable fires in the old pits below.
Danny.
