Military Life on the Malabar Coast of India in WWII.
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Military Life on the Malabar Coast of India in WWII.
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:
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.
...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...
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.
Last edited by Danny42C; 10th Mar 2016 at 23:27. Reason: Addn. and Errors
Danny42C, with the greatest respect, do you think that this thread might be better in the 'Aviation History and Nostalgia' forum?
Due to the direction which the 'Military Aviation' forum sadly seems to be taking these days, perhaps you might attract more readers / contributors in the historical section?
Due to the direction which the 'Military Aviation' forum sadly seems to be taking these days, perhaps you might attract more readers / contributors in the historical section?
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Danny42C
Lovely posting, as for patented devices for sharpening razor blades, I remember my father using the inside of a wet pint beer glass, to sharpen the standard safety blade.
Lovely posting, as for patented devices for sharpening razor blades, I remember my father using the inside of a wet pint beer glass, to sharpen the standard safety blade.
Danny42C, with the greatest respect, do you think that this thread might be better in the 'Aviation History and Nostalgia' forum?
Danny, your bit about attending mass in Latin jogged a few memories. As soon as I read "Introibo ad altare Dei" I automatically responded "Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam" - something I haven't said since around 1965!
Your post also reminded me about the incident in one of Evelyn Waugh's Sword of Honour novels (I forget which) where the central character, Guy Crouchback, a Catholic serving overseas as a British Army officer goes to confession, and confesses in Latin, as it is the common language which he and the priest share.
Your post also reminded me about the incident in one of Evelyn Waugh's Sword of Honour novels (I forget which) where the central character, Guy Crouchback, a Catholic serving overseas as a British Army officer goes to confession, and confesses in Latin, as it is the common language which he and the priest share.
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Dead Languages and Razors Ancient and Modern.
BEagle, Fareastdriver and ACW418,
Beagle, I see the force of your argument, but I would prefer it to stay on the "Military Aviation" Forum (Moderators permitting). This new Thread of mine will only run to three or four more sections, then I intend (and expect) it to fade into the mists as did (for example): "Will the real EZ999 please step forward", when its work is done.
It may serve as a useful background to a larger and more ambitious story of those times that I have in mind, but that will not appear for some time (or ever !) Don't hold your breath.
And, frankly, because I like it here ("j'y suis, j'y reste !").
----------------------
ian16th,
Almost spot-on ! The device I had in mind was a small, stubby glass block, into the top of which had been ground a curve (left unpolished). The idea was exactly the same as your Dad's beer glass. Like him, you lubricated it with soap and water and slid a blunt safety blade to and fro with a finger tip to put a new edge on.
I recall that, about '60, Wilkinsons put a very clever thing on the market (I forget what they called it). Here a shallow rectangular case (perhaps 6in x 3) had a section of leather razor strop fixed into the bottom. A section of "cut-throat" razor (some 2in wide) was fitted into a handle which rode in side tracks to and fro, at exactly the right clearance for the blade to "flip-flop" on the strop..... Worked like a dream....... £2/2/0, I think.
NB: an electric razor can give you a shave to go on parade - but you need a proper shave to go out for the night !
-----------------------------
Tankertrashnav,
Bet you can't rattle off the Confiteor (and get all the case endings right !) I still can !
I was always a bit suspicious of that Waugh story. I think the only people who could actually converse in Latin were a few specialists in the Roman Curia - and they've forgotten it all by now !
Ite, Scripta mea est.
Salutations to all,
Danny.
Beagle, I see the force of your argument, but I would prefer it to stay on the "Military Aviation" Forum (Moderators permitting). This new Thread of mine will only run to three or four more sections, then I intend (and expect) it to fade into the mists as did (for example): "Will the real EZ999 please step forward", when its work is done.
It may serve as a useful background to a larger and more ambitious story of those times that I have in mind, but that will not appear for some time (or ever !) Don't hold your breath.
And, frankly, because I like it here ("j'y suis, j'y reste !").
----------------------
ian16th,
Almost spot-on ! The device I had in mind was a small, stubby glass block, into the top of which had been ground a curve (left unpolished). The idea was exactly the same as your Dad's beer glass. Like him, you lubricated it with soap and water and slid a blunt safety blade to and fro with a finger tip to put a new edge on.
I recall that, about '60, Wilkinsons put a very clever thing on the market (I forget what they called it). Here a shallow rectangular case (perhaps 6in x 3) had a section of leather razor strop fixed into the bottom. A section of "cut-throat" razor (some 2in wide) was fitted into a handle which rode in side tracks to and fro, at exactly the right clearance for the blade to "flip-flop" on the strop..... Worked like a dream....... £2/2/0, I think.
NB: an electric razor can give you a shave to go on parade - but you need a proper shave to go out for the night !
-----------------------------
Tankertrashnav,
Bet you can't rattle off the Confiteor (and get all the case endings right !) I still can !
I was always a bit suspicious of that Waugh story. I think the only people who could actually converse in Latin were a few specialists in the Roman Curia - and they've forgotten it all by now !
Ite, Scripta mea est.
Salutations to all,
Danny.
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Wartime life on the Malabar Coast.
Part II
That more or less covers the indoors entertainments. But of course, the main attractions of the Club were outdoors. They had one (or two ?) hard tennis courts on the landward side, and then there was always the Club Beach. Reached down a rather rough and dangerous flight of narrow steps cut into the rock, it gave us safe swimming (I don't remember any history of shark attacks - but then ignorance is bliss). The Club kept, in the changing rooms, a selection of surf boards for the free use of members. These were nothing like the boards you see in Hawaii or Newquay today. They were thin, strong wooden planks only four or five feet long by about fifteen inches wide , but adequate for the surfing on offer.
I'm not sure about the size of the waves, but five or six feet (top whack) would be about right (except in the monsoon, and you wouldn't be there then). If you caught your wave correctly, and it was a big one, you might be able to get into a kneeling position on the board. But usually the most you could hope for was to plane ashore lying prone. Of course, small as it was, it could still give you a hammering if you got your timing wrong and had the "washing-machine" experience (spun round inside a big wave with a very hard board for company) familiar (I suppose) to all surfers. Bruised ribs were not uncommon, but I don't remember anything worse than that. Nor jellyfish stings, now I come to think of it. It was pleasant, lying out on the sand (not sunbathing, after a couple of years out there we were mostly varying shades of mahogany anyway). Don't remember much seaweed.
It was a good idea to be on a towel, for in their burrows in the sand there were thousands of minute crabs (from memory, about ¼ in across) which would pop out and give you a tiny nip before popping down again. Really, these were just a nuisance. Back up to the Club, a fresh-water shower, and you were ready for tiffin or dinner at one of the small hotels nearby (made a change from the Mess cuisine, which was generally good). And the beauty of this sybarite life was that it cost you next to nothing.
Full board at the "Grand Hotel" in Calcutta was only Rs10 a day then: on Rs600-700 a month you could live like a king. I'd guess that the little hotels by the Club would do it for less than half that. Mess bills and Club subscriptions were peanuts. War is Hell (well, not always)
Now who were the Club Members who were the beneficiaries of all this ? I would say that there were very few Europeans permanently resident in Cannanore. A Police Officer, I suppose, maybe a Magistrate or two, a Forestry officer or a high-level railway official. All these would be ipso facto memners of the Club. And in the "cool" season (say November - February), their numbers were increased by a strange reverse of the "Hill Station" summer exodus. What about the other Europeans (Retirees, Planters, Teachers, Hoteliers, Officials etc., who lived up there all year round ?) It gets cold at 6-9,000 ft agl (Bangalore is cool at 3,000 ft) in the winter, even in India. Snow is possible, but unlikely because of the dryer air inland.
Why stay up there shivering if you don't have to ? The Sahib had to stick it out at his desk in the Nilgiris, of course, but Memsahib, Chota-Sahib(s) and Miss-Sahib(s) could relocate for a winter month or two's holiday down on the Malabar Riviera. What's not to like ? Well, the older Miss-Sahibs, for a start. Just out of pigtails, they had other fish to fry: Cannanore was (normally) full of old, (as they saw it) married men. The bright lights of Bangalore, on the other hand, twinkled; as a major garrison town, there would be plenty of dashing young subalterns to choose from. The rest of the family went on to Cannanore and would be granted Temporary Membership of the Cannanore Club during their stay.
All this was changed by the wartime arrival of the CDRE; immediately the number of Service officers (and civilians of officer status) doubled or trebled: all would be eligible for temporary membership of the Club. Curiously, not many applied. I suppose the majority were married, older and staider men, who were quite content with a comfortable life in the Mess, enjoyed the warm sunshine, and a stroll along the Moplah beach in the cool of the evening. Surfing did not appeal.
There was another community of Britons who were, in a sense, "lesser breeds without the Law", and we shall talk of them next time.
Danny42C.
My enjoyment of this thread is augmented by the fact that I have been watching the re-runs of Indian Hill Railways on BBC4, and can now picture a lot of the places you mention. Looking forward to further posts.
Nice touch! I can remember that after a long, and dare I say tedious solemn mass, when the priest intoned "Ite, Missa est" I would respond "Deo gratias" with some feeling! And you are right, I doubt if I could ever rattle off the Confiteor with any accuracy - I usually just mumbled my way through it.
Ite, Scripta mea est.
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Military Life on the Malabar Coast in India in WWII
Part III
In Part II, I spoke of: "lesser breeds without the Law" (Kipling: Recessional).
I am, of course, referring to my troops, who were "Other ranks" ("Enlisted Men" in US parlance). This quote from my Post p.128, #2545 (...Pilot'Brevet...Thread) paints the picture:
..."A Service officer would be accepted without question as a temporary member of any British Club in India. These Clubs were the hubs of all British social life, and until near the end apartheid was the rule; no Indian would be allowed in even as a visitor (except Maharajahs!) Before getting too hot under the collar about this, remember that there was nothing to stop Indians forming their own Clubs (and keeping us out), if they so wished. But then their Caste system would require an infinity of mutually exclusive Clubs.
There was a hierarchy of British Clubs, the august Bengal Club of Calcutta (think Athenaeum) granted temporary membership only to officers of the rank of full Colonel or equivalent. I got in for lunch once, with an Assistant (RC) Principal Chaplain (who rated as a Group Captain), whom I'd met on leave. The rules allowed him to bring me in as a guest, and we smuggled in my gunner, Keith Stewart-Mobsby, who was still a Warrant Officer, disguising him as a Pilot Officer with one of my caps and a pair of my old rank cuffs. This was very reprehensible, of course, and the padre would have been drummed out of the Club had it been discovered, but Keith was commissioned soon after that anyway, and we had had a good lunch into the bargain.
The status of enlisted men - British Other Ranks - BORs -was markedly lower. Again this stemmed from pre-war days, when an officer would be upper-class, relatively well educated, probably public school and Sandhurst. His troops would all be working-class lads, apart from the rare "gentleman ranker". My father (who had spent the better part of his life in the ranks of the Army) told me once that the troops of his time were quite happy with this as the "proper" state of affairs, preferring it to serving under an officer who had risen from the ranks, and whom they regarded as being "just one of us", however good he might be.
The BOR was treated as a second-class citizen. He was paid only the rupee equivalent of his UK pay. He travelled second-class on a Warrant. No profit in that. And he was barred from the Clubs. This was not pure snobbery; the numbers involved would have hopelessly swamped them; it was simply impracticable.
This meant no social life for the troops outside barrack and canteen. In the larger towns Service Clubs were set up for all ranks and did their best to entertain them, but in smaller places this was not possible. In Railway Institutes (effectively Clubs set up by the Anglo-Indian communities who ran the railways) our troops were welcome. BORs sometimes bitterly referred to themselves as "the White Wogs"; there was some truth in this; any Indian, no matter how high his caste, came below us in the pecking order"...
There was a hierarchy of British Clubs, the august Bengal Club of Calcutta (think Athenaeum) granted temporary membership only to officers of the rank of full Colonel or equivalent. I got in for lunch once, with an Assistant (RC) Principal Chaplain (who rated as a Group Captain), whom I'd met on leave. The rules allowed him to bring me in as a guest, and we smuggled in my gunner, Keith Stewart-Mobsby, who was still a Warrant Officer, disguising him as a Pilot Officer with one of my caps and a pair of my old rank cuffs. This was very reprehensible, of course, and the padre would have been drummed out of the Club had it been discovered, but Keith was commissioned soon after that anyway, and we had had a good lunch into the bargain.
The status of enlisted men - British Other Ranks - BORs -was markedly lower. Again this stemmed from pre-war days, when an officer would be upper-class, relatively well educated, probably public school and Sandhurst. His troops would all be working-class lads, apart from the rare "gentleman ranker". My father (who had spent the better part of his life in the ranks of the Army) told me once that the troops of his time were quite happy with this as the "proper" state of affairs, preferring it to serving under an officer who had risen from the ranks, and whom they regarded as being "just one of us", however good he might be.
The BOR was treated as a second-class citizen. He was paid only the rupee equivalent of his UK pay. He travelled second-class on a Warrant. No profit in that. And he was barred from the Clubs. This was not pure snobbery; the numbers involved would have hopelessly swamped them; it was simply impracticable.
This meant no social life for the troops outside barrack and canteen. In the larger towns Service Clubs were set up for all ranks and did their best to entertain them, but in smaller places this was not possible. In Railway Institutes (effectively Clubs set up by the Anglo-Indian communities who ran the railways) our troops were welcome. BORs sometimes bitterly referred to themselves as "the White Wogs"; there was some truth in this; any Indian, no matter how high his caste, came below us in the pecking order"...
My people were housed in the permanent Sergeant's Mess and in the Army barrack blocks (not in tents, as the number of "other ranks" had not increased in proportion to the number of officers and civilians of officer status). They were luckier (?) in that they had slow-turning ceiling fans, which just about stirred up the hot air without producing much cooling. The food in the Army Messes was reasonable - which did not stop the eternal grumbles, but that has always been 'par for the course'.
But what amenities could I offer my people ? Well, the Army had set up the "Clover Club" in what had originally been the Regimental Institute, but a piano, a billiard table and a couple of table tennis tables don't take you very far. The ORB records that we organised inter-service football and hockey matches on the airstrip: neither are my games (so I did not take part, but later some of my supernumeraries did). Incidentally, the "Clover Club" name carries an unfortunate connotation: the original expression was, it seems: "As happy as Pigs in Clover"- but we now know it with a slightly different ending ! Either way, it was not very complimentary to the "Pigs".
Apart from that, there was always the sea to splash about in. Off the airstrip, the beach was too narrow and rocky, the only safe beaches were the Club beach (from which they were excluded) and the Moplah Bay beach (the other side of the Fort), where there were miles of sand.
Cannanore was an attractive place, golden sands, soft breezes, whispering palms down to the high-water mark - everything a Hollywood producer would want as a location for a 'Tropical Island' film. Indeed, you'd not be surprised to meet Bob Hope and Bing Crosby strolling along. There was one noticable absentee - there was no Dorothy Lamour ! But that problem was standard in most overseas assignments. And it has never been put into song better than by the Sailors' Chorus in "South Pacific" ("There is Nothing like a Dame").
"Taking one consideration with another", it was better than being in a basha in some Godforsaken, unpronounceable hole in Burma.
That's it, folks,
Danny42C.
Danny
You're not confusing it with a Rolls Razor? I bought one of these self-sharpening razors from the "Edinburgh Castle" gift shop as I was on my way to 5FTS (RAF Thornhill) in Rhodesia in 1951 - it worked superbly well. The idea was to place a normal safety razor blade in the Rolls and it automatically re-sharpened the blade against the leather stop - this could be done dozens of times and saved a fortune in not having to buy replacement blades from Gillette or whoever.
I recall that, about '60, Wilkinsons put a very clever thing on the market (I forget what they called it). Here a shallow rectangular case (perhaps 6in x 3) had a section of leather razor strop fixed into the bottom. A section of "cut-throat" razor (some 2in wide) was fitted into a handle which rode in side tracks to and fro, at exactly the right clearance for the blade to "flip-flop" on the strop..... Worked like a dream....... £2/2/0, I think
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Rolls Razor
Never got to try it myself but my father had one before the war. In the 60s the company was taken over by a John Bloom who made twin-tub washing machines somewhere in the Balkans. There's more on Rolls Razor. Sorry about the drifting thread.
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Warmtoast and Union Jack,
Fair Cop, Guvs ! Of course it was the Rolls Razor. Apologies to all concerned.
Warmtoast,
This has me foxed. Mine came with a section of "cut-throat" blade permanently fitted, and I cannot think how a normal razor blade could be fitted in its place. Perhaps there was a different model designed for the purpose ?
binbrook,
No apology necessary, my dear Sir. This is exactly what has made "Pilot's Brevet..." great, and there is an obvious association between the Threads. There is a tale which may make this even more obvious - but its keel has only just been laid. Watch this space.
Danny.
Fair Cop, Guvs ! Of course it was the Rolls Razor. Apologies to all concerned.
Warmtoast,
..- it worked superbly well. The idea was to place a normal safety razor blade in the Rolls and it automatically re-sharpened the blade against the leather stop...
binbrook,
...somewhere in the Balkans. There's more on Rolls Razor. Sorry about the drifting thread...
Danny.
I recall my dear old Dad having a Rolls razor - nearest he ever came to having a RR! ISTR it came with a box about the size of a pencil case with a strop built in. He fitted the razor into the box and flicked razor up and down the box to sharpen the blade. I guess it was an attempt to fill the gap between a cut throat and a safety razor. He swore by it.
Union Jack's link and Wiki show I was wrong about the Rolls-razor using standard safety-razor blades. I put it down to memory after 65-years - Sorry!
But it was still a useful piece of kit that worked well and saved me pounds at the time.
But it was still a useful piece of kit that worked well and saved me pounds at the time.
Last edited by Warmtoast; 13th Mar 2016 at 17:27.
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I have a Rolls automatic razor strop as mentioned above - formerly belonging to a WWII RAAF airman.
If anybody would like it in exchange for a suitable donation to charity, PM me.
If anybody would like it in exchange for a suitable donation to charity, PM me.
This meant no social life for the troops outside barrack and canteen
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Danny a question about repatriation what factors determined priority. I ask because my Uncle must have been nearly the first demobed. I know he was not in the mob but the rules must have been much the same.
He was a junior NCO, TA in the R.A., he would have been near the upper age limited when becoming full time in 1939. He went East in the summer of '42. initialy to Ceylon. Later to Chittagong and eventually down the Chinwin and Irrawaddy via Mandalay to Rangoon. Now he was on demob leave by VJ Day and probably had been for several weeks already. So he must have got a very early boat back even if they now came via Suez.
He was a junior NCO, TA in the R.A., he would have been near the upper age limited when becoming full time in 1939. He went East in the summer of '42. initialy to Ceylon. Later to Chittagong and eventually down the Chinwin and Irrawaddy via Mandalay to Rangoon. Now he was on demob leave by VJ Day and probably had been for several weeks already. So he must have got a very early boat back even if they now came via Suez.