Wg Cdr Arthur Gill, OBE, DFC
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NigG (#297),
Well Churchill did say: "The heaviest Cross he had to bear during the war was the Cross of Lorraine !" But generally they were on our side, (but a bit miffed over Oran).
Danny
...Pity... I rather liked the idea of that aircraft belonging to the opposition. (Free French would have been not far behind )...
Danny
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Danny
Regarding 'conduct unbecoming of a Sahib' during your time in India when it was still part of the Empire, there was still some vestiges of the 'old order' when I spent time there in the 1980s. I recall stopping for the night in a mountain village, when doing a multi-day hike. I was in a hut, surrounded by a good many local people, all interested to see this 'Britisher'. There were no seats to hand so I joined everyone else on the floor. There was an immediate murmur from my audience and quickly a seat materialised. Happy to be treated no better than anyone else, I declined to use it, until it was pointed out to me that it was unthinkable that I should sit on the floor, and must, as befitted me, make use of it. Later, at a Hill Station, I commissioned a local craftsman to make me a wood-carving knife to my own specification. This chap, whose father had been a servant for one of the British families in the old days, insisted on calling me 'Master'... 'yes Master, but what is the purpose of this knife?' I was quite shocked to be called as much, as it sounded far too subservient, as if we were living in Victorian times. But of course it was a 'master and servant' relationship to this man, and he was only showing me respect, as his father might have done.
My mother recalls the use of Tongas: horse-drawn, two wheeled carriages, with a canopy over the top. She took many such taxis with my father. At Quetta in 1942, she was 19 and not so long out of school. She recalled that the horses were very prone to 'backfire', and being young and innocent, absolutely didn't know where to look, as she sat opposite my father!
Regarding 'conduct unbecoming of a Sahib' during your time in India when it was still part of the Empire, there was still some vestiges of the 'old order' when I spent time there in the 1980s. I recall stopping for the night in a mountain village, when doing a multi-day hike. I was in a hut, surrounded by a good many local people, all interested to see this 'Britisher'. There were no seats to hand so I joined everyone else on the floor. There was an immediate murmur from my audience and quickly a seat materialised. Happy to be treated no better than anyone else, I declined to use it, until it was pointed out to me that it was unthinkable that I should sit on the floor, and must, as befitted me, make use of it. Later, at a Hill Station, I commissioned a local craftsman to make me a wood-carving knife to my own specification. This chap, whose father had been a servant for one of the British families in the old days, insisted on calling me 'Master'... 'yes Master, but what is the purpose of this knife?' I was quite shocked to be called as much, as it sounded far too subservient, as if we were living in Victorian times. But of course it was a 'master and servant' relationship to this man, and he was only showing me respect, as his father might have done.
My mother recalls the use of Tongas: horse-drawn, two wheeled carriages, with a canopy over the top. She took many such taxis with my father. At Quetta in 1942, she was 19 and not so long out of school. She recalled that the horses were very prone to 'backfire', and being young and innocent, absolutely didn't know where to look, as she sat opposite my father!
At several of the commemorations we attend in France there is a Porte Drapeur (the guys who carry the branch banners for ex-service organisations) who wears a cap with the tally "Mers el Kebir", where we sank a number of French ships and caused many casualties. He still talks to us
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Rule, Britannia !
NigG (#302),
Your Post absolutely bristles with points which ring bells with me, and which will have to be taken up. Will try to deal with them in order. To begin with:
This would be forty years after Independence, and only the older generation would have fading memories of the Raj. I never saw India again after leaving in early 1946, but my old friend from 20 Squadron, Flt Lt Niel (sic) Ratan Ker, went back several times; on the last occasion, accompanied by his extended family, to return to Bangalore with his wife's ashes for a memorial service for her at the Garrison church (where they had been married at the war's end), and then to scatter her ashes on the church garden. He died the following year, some four years ago.
He said that it was not uncommon to hear: "I wish the British would come back !" This was not out of politeness to a former Sahib (an Anglo-Indian born there, he was as brown as they were, and Hindi would have been his mother tongue). It was sincere.
Never heard of that '42-'46. Always "Sahib" and "Memsahib". Where was your "mountain village" ?
It was true that we were the "Masters" there (and had been for two hundred years), first under royal charter as the East India Company ("John Company") and then, after the 1857 Mutiny, effectively "nationalised" by the British government until Independence 90 years later. But it was not a "Master" and "Slave" relationship, there was genuine respect (and even affection) on both sides. 'Democracy' was a concept unknown to them, whose time had not yet come. They had always had "Masters" of one kind or another, the Raj was as good as any - and better than most !
As you say, it was not servility but respect to use the word. (On retiring from the RAF, I joined H.M.Customs & Excise. From sheer force of habit, I always addressed my line managers ["Surveyors" in Customs parlance] as "Sir" [no Ma'ams in my time] All ex-servicemen, they accepted it without comment).
Every European was a "Master" by virtue of the colour of his skin, and knew he was out there to rule. Rule kindly if you can, rule harshly if you must - but always rule. We were not alone - the Dutch, Danes, French and Portugese had each had a share of the cake before we eased them out (not always gently, I'm afraid).
It is one of the great paradoxes of history that the British, who were not noticably good at ruling themselves (our story is one long bloody catalogue of civil and external wars, cruelty and treachery, since the Romans took 400 years to lick us into some sort of shape), should prove so remarkably successful in ruling other peoples.
More in next Post.
Danny.
Your Post absolutely bristles with points which ring bells with me, and which will have to be taken up. Will try to deal with them in order. To begin with:
...there was still some vestiges of the 'old order' when I spent time there in the 1980s...
He said that it was not uncommon to hear: "I wish the British would come back !" This was not out of politeness to a former Sahib (an Anglo-Indian born there, he was as brown as they were, and Hindi would have been his mother tongue). It was sincere.
...insisted on calling me 'Master'...
It was true that we were the "Masters" there (and had been for two hundred years), first under royal charter as the East India Company ("John Company") and then, after the 1857 Mutiny, effectively "nationalised" by the British government until Independence 90 years later. But it was not a "Master" and "Slave" relationship, there was genuine respect (and even affection) on both sides. 'Democracy' was a concept unknown to them, whose time had not yet come. They had always had "Masters" of one kind or another, the Raj was as good as any - and better than most !
As you say, it was not servility but respect to use the word. (On retiring from the RAF, I joined H.M.Customs & Excise. From sheer force of habit, I always addressed my line managers ["Surveyors" in Customs parlance] as "Sir" [no Ma'ams in my time] All ex-servicemen, they accepted it without comment).
Every European was a "Master" by virtue of the colour of his skin, and knew he was out there to rule. Rule kindly if you can, rule harshly if you must - but always rule. We were not alone - the Dutch, Danes, French and Portugese had each had a share of the cake before we eased them out (not always gently, I'm afraid).
It is one of the great paradoxes of history that the British, who were not noticably good at ruling themselves (our story is one long bloody catalogue of civil and external wars, cruelty and treachery, since the Romans took 400 years to lick us into some sort of shape), should prove so remarkably successful in ruling other peoples.
More in next Post.
Danny.
...there was still some vestiges of the 'old order' when I spent time there in the 1980s...
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Danny,
"He said that it was not uncommon to hear: "I wish the British would come back !" This was not out of politeness to a former Sahib (an Anglo-Indian born there, he was as brown as they were, and Hindi would have been his mother tongue). It was sincere."
I spent a few years in the Merchant Navy in the late '60's, early 70's. About 50% of the company ships were Indian crew. This started during WW2 when crews were in short supply, and it carried on into the late 70's.
I heard the same many times from some of the older crew members. I remember in particular one old fireman/greaser who used to say quite often, "British Raj good"
I always got on well with most of them, but I wish I'd tried harder to learn more Hindi. I picked up a few words, most of which I've forgot in the last 40 years.
Jim (One time Battysahib)
"He said that it was not uncommon to hear: "I wish the British would come back !" This was not out of politeness to a former Sahib (an Anglo-Indian born there, he was as brown as they were, and Hindi would have been his mother tongue). It was sincere."
I spent a few years in the Merchant Navy in the late '60's, early 70's. About 50% of the company ships were Indian crew. This started during WW2 when crews were in short supply, and it carried on into the late 70's.
I heard the same many times from some of the older crew members. I remember in particular one old fireman/greaser who used to say quite often, "British Raj good"
I always got on well with most of them, but I wish I'd tried harder to learn more Hindi. I picked up a few words, most of which I've forgot in the last 40 years.
Jim (One time Battysahib)
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... Interesting comments. On the topic of India, I've just lost my, almost completed, hour's worth of key boarding! But it's probably just as well, as it outlined Indian corruption; the thing that many regret about the country since the British left. Also how the reputation of the Britsh Raj has been trashed by the movie industry in Bollywood. But it's probably better to focus on the things that bond our two countries, not least the remarkable contribution that India made in both world wars. The Indian Army formed the bulk of General Slim's 14th Army, that retook Burma. The photo below is of Sikh troops taking part in Operation 'Crusader', which Arthur supported as a squadron pilot, when 84 was in the Western Desert.
Danny, I'm not sure where I was addressed as 'Master'. Most likely at Ooty Hill Station. But it happened to me only once.
Danny, I'm not sure where I was addressed as 'Master'. Most likely at Ooty Hill Station. But it happened to me only once.
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AH! I haven't lost my post!...
Interesting that others have encountered instances of approval for British rule in India. I recall talking to a very old gentleman out there who had been a government clerk in the days of the Brits. I asked him if he thought times were better then, and he said he thought as much.
As I understand it, corruption is the thing that frustrates people most about modern India. A Nepalese chap told be about his experience when he went over the border to India to learn how to drive a bus. At the training school he noticed that a fellow student was getting the bulk of the training time with the instructor, while he would get just a couple of minutes here and there. He asked the student why he was getting preferential treatment. The student explained that if you want to get proper training, you have to pay baksheesh... that is, pay the instructor a suitable 'tip'. He did so and thereafter he had no problems. No problems, that is, until after he qualified. One day he was out driving his bus full of passengers when, by mistake, he ran over an old woman and killed her. His colleagues told him he'd better scarper back to Nepal, and thus his driving career came to a sudden close. Mind you, there have been cases of families pushing an elderly relative in front of a passing bus, in order to claim damages from the bus company.
India's a chaotic place that somehow just about works! That's something you learn pretty quickly if you travel out there, independently. I might add, that nostalgia for the Brits vanished by the late-eighties. I recall going to see Attenborough's film 'Ghandi' in Bombay. The intermission was called immediately after the sequence showing the Amritsar Massacre. I had the doubtful pleasure of having countless eyes, bulging with indignation, leveled at me as people filed out to buy their sodas and popcorn. Since then, there have been countless Bollywood movies featuring the British Raj. They all portray the Brits as having been corrupt and shifty double-dealers. But then, that's the values of modern India for you.
(Call me 'jaundiced', but I did spend the equivalent of a year travelling around the place. There are many amazing and delightful things to see and experience in India too, I should add.)
Interesting that others have encountered instances of approval for British rule in India. I recall talking to a very old gentleman out there who had been a government clerk in the days of the Brits. I asked him if he thought times were better then, and he said he thought as much.
As I understand it, corruption is the thing that frustrates people most about modern India. A Nepalese chap told be about his experience when he went over the border to India to learn how to drive a bus. At the training school he noticed that a fellow student was getting the bulk of the training time with the instructor, while he would get just a couple of minutes here and there. He asked the student why he was getting preferential treatment. The student explained that if you want to get proper training, you have to pay baksheesh... that is, pay the instructor a suitable 'tip'. He did so and thereafter he had no problems. No problems, that is, until after he qualified. One day he was out driving his bus full of passengers when, by mistake, he ran over an old woman and killed her. His colleagues told him he'd better scarper back to Nepal, and thus his driving career came to a sudden close. Mind you, there have been cases of families pushing an elderly relative in front of a passing bus, in order to claim damages from the bus company.
India's a chaotic place that somehow just about works! That's something you learn pretty quickly if you travel out there, independently. I might add, that nostalgia for the Brits vanished by the late-eighties. I recall going to see Attenborough's film 'Ghandi' in Bombay. The intermission was called immediately after the sequence showing the Amritsar Massacre. I had the doubtful pleasure of having countless eyes, bulging with indignation, leveled at me as people filed out to buy their sodas and popcorn. Since then, there have been countless Bollywood movies featuring the British Raj. They all portray the Brits as having been corrupt and shifty double-dealers. But then, that's the values of modern India for you.
(Call me 'jaundiced', but I did spend the equivalent of a year travelling around the place. There are many amazing and delightful things to see and experience in India too, I should add.)
Last edited by NigG; 10th Aug 2016 at 19:54.
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"Horsey, horsey, don't you stop ! Just let your shoes go clipitty-clop"
NigG (continuing commentary on your #302),
What a charming picture ! And how clever of the photographer - to use the "Bombay Bowler"; as a frame in that imaginative way ! Now, you say this is of your Mother in Quetta in 1942. I only got there in summer 1944, but alas - she would have gone to the altar with some lucky dashing subaltern (or the like) long before. Some people have all the luck !
Wildly guessing now, as you do not give your age on PPRuNe (nor do you need to, tho' I've always thought it should be mandatory - it enables the rest of us to put you in the correct time frame). But am I getting warm ?
To our Miss-Sahib: she is a Corporal in the WACS (Women's Auxiliary Corps). I knew of their existence, but never met any. They were to be found only in large cities (Calcutta - Delhi - Bombay), and raised by local recruitment. They wore a KD uniform similar to the US equivalent.
Wiki knows about them:
This ties in with what I know of the Calcutta ones. The young Anglo-Indian girls (and they rank among the most beautiful on earth - but it doesn't last) were extensively employed as clerks, typists and secretaries in the big business houses. But no matter how good and how attractive she might be, the bachelor Sahib who employed her would never ask her out to dinner - that was out of the question !
Their dearest wish was to marry an Englishman, they would then have British nationality and at one bound be free from the no-man's land into which the Raj (which had created them) now condemned them. (It was said: "God made the Indian, the British Tommy made the Anglo-Indian".
For these, the WACs were a heaven-sent opportunity, and they flocked to it. Now the chances of catching a lonely British soldier (or - dare they even hope ? - a British Officer) were immensely improved: and not a few were successful.
For that reason, a "Miss-Sahib" would rarely join the Corps (when her own social circle offered so much more scope). A Corporal ! - would the Club even let her in ? Perhaps in Quetta, up on the Frontier, there were few Anglo-Indians and the taboo was relaxed. Did they have officers ? - with pips on her shoulders, that would be perfectly all right, of course !
As to the uniform, looks like a very wide band over her left shoulder (a sash ?)- but what is that thing (much narrower, with three holes) on her right (I'm completely foxed).
Now for tongas, I learn from Wiki that they come in all shapes and sizes, and in some types illustrated, she could well have been sitting opposite her father. All tongas have only two wheels, and in the Calcutta version I knew best, the driver sat in front, and (up to two) passengers in the back facing the rear. In all cases, it was vital not to be too far out of balance. For if too tail heavy (say a trunk in the rear), the shafts could pick the pony up off the ground !
Stowed somewhere was the pony's fodder, usually green grasses of some sort. You could follow a pony around by the trail of green offerings ! Flatulent ponies would be a common enough occurence, I'm surprised that they embarrassed even a Miss-Sahib.
We did not use them much in Calcutta, most of the spots we would want to reach from the "Grand" were in rickshaw reach, and places further out (say the Victoria Memorial) were taxi jobs. In flat cities like central Calcutta, the tongas were one horse, in more hilly places like Hill Stations, two-pony tongas were necessary. Look up Rudyard Kipling: "As the Bell Clinks", for one such in Simla (not Shimla !)
Danny.
PS: If you want an unusual tale of Old India try:
"On Military Aviation", click on " Search this Forum" for "Military Life on the Malabar Coast of India in WWII". From the list of "Search Results", select the Thread of that name. Scroll down to my (Page 2 of the Thread, #25). The story is on that and following Posts.
D.
What a charming picture ! And how clever of the photographer - to use the "Bombay Bowler"; as a frame in that imaginative way ! Now, you say this is of your Mother in Quetta in 1942. I only got there in summer 1944, but alas - she would have gone to the altar with some lucky dashing subaltern (or the like) long before. Some people have all the luck !
Wildly guessing now, as you do not give your age on PPRuNe (nor do you need to, tho' I've always thought it should be mandatory - it enables the rest of us to put you in the correct time frame). But am I getting warm ?
To our Miss-Sahib: she is a Corporal in the WACS (Women's Auxiliary Corps). I knew of their existence, but never met any. They were to be found only in large cities (Calcutta - Delhi - Bombay), and raised by local recruitment. They wore a KD uniform similar to the US equivalent.
Wiki knows about them:
...a large part of the corps was formed from the Anglo–Asian community...
Their dearest wish was to marry an Englishman, they would then have British nationality and at one bound be free from the no-man's land into which the Raj (which had created them) now condemned them. (It was said: "God made the Indian, the British Tommy made the Anglo-Indian".
For these, the WACs were a heaven-sent opportunity, and they flocked to it. Now the chances of catching a lonely British soldier (or - dare they even hope ? - a British Officer) were immensely improved: and not a few were successful.
For that reason, a "Miss-Sahib" would rarely join the Corps (when her own social circle offered so much more scope). A Corporal ! - would the Club even let her in ? Perhaps in Quetta, up on the Frontier, there were few Anglo-Indians and the taboo was relaxed. Did they have officers ? - with pips on her shoulders, that would be perfectly all right, of course !
As to the uniform, looks like a very wide band over her left shoulder (a sash ?)- but what is that thing (much narrower, with three holes) on her right (I'm completely foxed).
Now for tongas, I learn from Wiki that they come in all shapes and sizes, and in some types illustrated, she could well have been sitting opposite her father. All tongas have only two wheels, and in the Calcutta version I knew best, the driver sat in front, and (up to two) passengers in the back facing the rear. In all cases, it was vital not to be too far out of balance. For if too tail heavy (say a trunk in the rear), the shafts could pick the pony up off the ground !
Stowed somewhere was the pony's fodder, usually green grasses of some sort. You could follow a pony around by the trail of green offerings ! Flatulent ponies would be a common enough occurence, I'm surprised that they embarrassed even a Miss-Sahib.
We did not use them much in Calcutta, most of the spots we would want to reach from the "Grand" were in rickshaw reach, and places further out (say the Victoria Memorial) were taxi jobs. In flat cities like central Calcutta, the tongas were one horse, in more hilly places like Hill Stations, two-pony tongas were necessary. Look up Rudyard Kipling: "As the Bell Clinks", for one such in Simla (not Shimla !)
Danny.
PS: If you want an unusual tale of Old India try:
"On Military Aviation", click on " Search this Forum" for "Military Life on the Malabar Coast of India in WWII". From the list of "Search Results", select the Thread of that name. Scroll down to my (Page 2 of the Thread, #25). The story is on that and following Posts.
D.
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Danny
Your reminiscences are a delight!
I read your 'Military life on the Malabar coast of India in WWII' (Search box top right of this Forum... p2, post 25 on) in which you treat us to an evocative insight into your wartime love life! My only quibble is the absence of a further post from you... you can't leave us hanging! How did you handle it? What did she say to you? How did you get-on thereon? And... where is the picture of you... obviously quite handsome or this beauty wouldn't have gone for you? (I'm sure that, even if you don't have a scanner, your daughter will oblige (?)... I'd welcome shots of you (and the two squadrons) to enhance your tales!)
Re my mother... Yes she was in the Womens' Auxiliary Corps India (WACI). You recall that she was the daughter of someone serving in the Indian Army Ordnance Corps, having transferred from the Royal Field Artillery in the 1920s. The WACI were like the ATS back in the UK, doing office work and running canteens etc (although, unlike the ATS didn't man searchlights or AA guns). In fact if you had been to Ranchi, you might have encountered my mother in the Officers' shop, which she ran. She was also at Quetta (where the photo was taken) doing clerical work while living with the family. She had recently left school, which was at Ooty Hill Station. She got commissioned and later was one of the first to go through the WACI Staff College at Quetta, after which she was a Captain and a PA to General in Delhi.
I asked her about Anglo Indians being in the WACI and she was puzzled. She said she recalls only one, otherwise the women were all British colonialists. Yes, I understand there was a stigma against the (mixed-race) Anglo Indians, and certainly officers would be very discreet if they had one such as a girlfriend. Different for the ORs, some of whom did marry and, no doubt, had rather better-looking children than they otherwise might expect to have had. When I see my mother next, I'll ask her about what she was wearing in the photo, and show her your post. The things on her shoulders are surely epaulet sleeves, probably saying 'WACI'.
Yes, she was a good-looker, and my father, having a lifetime affinity to such women, grabbed her when 84 were at Quetta, waiting for the first Vengeances to arrive from America. He did get engaged to her in 1944, after the squadron had been withdrawn from the Burma Front. But they didn't marry until 1948, when my father felt a bit more secure about his future, having gained a permanent commission in the RAF (after being RAFVR). By then he had also been to RAF Staff College, complete with promotion to substantive Sqn Ldr. The delay to the marriage didn't go down too well, of course; my mother taking a job as an air stewardess with British European Airways, to induce a 'concentration of mind' on my father's part! I think part of the final deal was that she had to give up smoking, but it all came together in the end!
Ah... yes I'm 62. I noticed I didn't have an age credited to me, but could find no way to add one. I would add a mugshot too, but as someone once observed, having met me only after hearing my voice on the phone... I don't look as polished as I sound! Too many years being 'arty' and 'outdoor' bohemian!
Your reminiscences are a delight!
I read your 'Military life on the Malabar coast of India in WWII' (Search box top right of this Forum... p2, post 25 on) in which you treat us to an evocative insight into your wartime love life! My only quibble is the absence of a further post from you... you can't leave us hanging! How did you handle it? What did she say to you? How did you get-on thereon? And... where is the picture of you... obviously quite handsome or this beauty wouldn't have gone for you? (I'm sure that, even if you don't have a scanner, your daughter will oblige (?)... I'd welcome shots of you (and the two squadrons) to enhance your tales!) Re my mother... Yes she was in the Womens' Auxiliary Corps India (WACI). You recall that she was the daughter of someone serving in the Indian Army Ordnance Corps, having transferred from the Royal Field Artillery in the 1920s. The WACI were like the ATS back in the UK, doing office work and running canteens etc (although, unlike the ATS didn't man searchlights or AA guns). In fact if you had been to Ranchi, you might have encountered my mother in the Officers' shop, which she ran. She was also at Quetta (where the photo was taken) doing clerical work while living with the family. She had recently left school, which was at Ooty Hill Station. She got commissioned and later was one of the first to go through the WACI Staff College at Quetta, after which she was a Captain and a PA to General in Delhi.
I asked her about Anglo Indians being in the WACI and she was puzzled. She said she recalls only one, otherwise the women were all British colonialists. Yes, I understand there was a stigma against the (mixed-race) Anglo Indians, and certainly officers would be very discreet if they had one such as a girlfriend. Different for the ORs, some of whom did marry and, no doubt, had rather better-looking children than they otherwise might expect to have had. When I see my mother next, I'll ask her about what she was wearing in the photo, and show her your post. The things on her shoulders are surely epaulet sleeves, probably saying 'WACI'.
Yes, she was a good-looker, and my father, having a lifetime affinity to such women, grabbed her when 84 were at Quetta, waiting for the first Vengeances to arrive from America. He did get engaged to her in 1944, after the squadron had been withdrawn from the Burma Front. But they didn't marry until 1948, when my father felt a bit more secure about his future, having gained a permanent commission in the RAF (after being RAFVR). By then he had also been to RAF Staff College, complete with promotion to substantive Sqn Ldr. The delay to the marriage didn't go down too well, of course; my mother taking a job as an air stewardess with British European Airways, to induce a 'concentration of mind' on my father's part! I think part of the final deal was that she had to give up smoking, but it all came together in the end!
Ah... yes I'm 62. I noticed I didn't have an age credited to me, but could find no way to add one. I would add a mugshot too, but as someone once observed, having met me only after hearing my voice on the phone... I don't look as polished as I sound! Too many years being 'arty' and 'outdoor' bohemian!
Last edited by NigG; 11th Aug 2016 at 18:04.
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NigG (#311),
The picture is only to be found in the "Fly Past" magazine for September, Page 28. The beauty had a hidden agenda - did you read the story through to the bitter (?) end ? Handsome is as handsome does !
Have a scanner/copier/printer, but daughter no better at it than I.
Thank you for the opening compliments ! Will return to your post tomorrow, knackered now.
Danny.
...And... where is the picture of you... obviously quite handsome or this beauty wouldn't have gone for you? (I'm sure that, even if you don't have a scanner, your daughter will oblige (?)...
Have a scanner/copier/printer, but daughter no better at it than I.
Thank you for the opening compliments ! Will return to your post tomorrow, knackered now.
Danny.
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Military Life on the Malabar Coast......
NigG,
Must rescue this Thread from the Slough of Despond (aka Page 2 of "Military Aviation").
First let's turn to your:
The tale of my ill-fated amour continues to #44 or so, and the "wash-up" goes on to the end at #58 on Page 3.
Now to your:
Ah, the Officers' Shops ! I recall that you could get Elgin Mills (Ahmedabad ?) khaki drill, infinitely better than the Stores issue stuff, (54in?) wide for a rupee or two a yard (was it - your Mother would remember), and cellular cloth for shirts and bush jackets. Must've bought yards and yards of the stuffs. Local dherzi would make it up for you into slacks, shirts and bush jackets for a couple of "chips". One mistake: at the end had no greatcoat, the Officers' Shop (in Bangalore or Cochin) had the optional blue serge cloth - but no Crombie. Bought a length of the serge, gave it to dherzi with a pukka greatcoat for him to get the idea. Made a woeful mess of the job. I think I gave it to my bearer when I left.
Now there is much more gold to be mined in your Post, and will return to it, but let me turn to your Father's Memsahib. She was in India at the times of my "ill-fated Amour", and would have been keenly aware of the major scandals going on. Please show her my tale - she may very well have heard of it, as the earlier part (up to the divorce) was the talking point of the season in S.India, and you mention that she was in Ooty for a while; perhaps she could add to it. If you wish, I could PM you with the real names.
Danny.
Must rescue this Thread from the Slough of Despond (aka Page 2 of "Military Aviation").
First let's turn to your:
... My only quibble is the absence of a further post from you... you can't leave us hanging...
Now to your:
... In fact if you had been to Ranchi, you might have encountered my mother in the Officers' shop, which she ran...
Now there is much more gold to be mined in your Post, and will return to it, but let me turn to your Father's Memsahib. She was in India at the times of my "ill-fated Amour", and would have been keenly aware of the major scandals going on. Please show her my tale - she may very well have heard of it, as the earlier part (up to the divorce) was the talking point of the season in S.India, and you mention that she was in Ooty for a while; perhaps she could add to it. If you wish, I could PM you with the real names.
Danny.
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Bought a length of the serge, gave it to dherzi with a pukka greatcoat for him to get the idea. Made a woeful mess of the job. I think I gave it to my bearer when I left.
Flatulent ponies would be a common enough occurence, I'm surprised that they embarrassed even a Miss-Sahib.
Bullamakanka , a tiny town in the western district. She was met at the station by the mayor , a big man with an enormous beer-gut and manner to match. He chucked her port in the tray of the sulky, said to her hop in love, then set the transport in motion with a flick of the whip.
She had never been as close to horse or pony in her life. Let alone the hind quarters. They had not gone far when the pony lifted his tale and gave out with a mightly blast . 'Ahh .. . you dirty rotten bastard' quoth he.
Affronted young woman, shocked to the core . . . by his language . .. says 'That is the rudest thing I have ever heard in my life!' 'Dead right there love . . . I'll just pull up for a moment. Bastard needs a good kick in the guts.'
what some people of a certain vintage classify as 'A Rotary Joke'.
and a gross digression from matters in hand, far more factual and far
more redolent of service in climes where it was said it "Ain't half hot mum."
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I got a chuckle out of that post.
For those not familiar with carriage horses, there are times when the driver really does have to pull over and 'relieve it of its wind'.
For those not familiar with carriage horses, there are times when the driver really does have to pull over and 'relieve it of its wind'.
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Danny
I'm now at my mother's and have read through with her our various posts concerning her and the Womens' Auxiliary Corps India (WACI). She confirms that they were epaulet sleeves in the photo, with 'WACI' embroidered on them. She points out that she was in fact a Sergeant, not a Corporal, at the time (her upper sleeve must have been folded, in the photo). So this dates the picture to when she had just joined the organisation. She was commissioned soon after, and finished as a Captain by the end of the War. Again, she doesn't recognise your claim that the WACI were full of Anglo Indians... She knew only one such person. Apparently I, myself, was wrong to write that they ran canteens. She said they either did clerical/office work or they ran shops, or sometimes drove transport. Also all of the work was Forces-related, having nothing to do with private businesses.
Now you have to brace yourself for a dressing-down! She didn't like your reference to her as a 'Miss-Sahib' and points out that she was not Anglo Indian! (I pointed out to her that this was a simple mistake, based on her good looks and the assumption that she had two tapes on her arm. But, alas, this wasn't accepted!) Further, that she has no knowledge of the scandal concerning your female friend and has no interest, whatsoever, in learning about it! Nor does she concur with your assumption that she would have been 'keenly aware of all the major scandals that were going on'.
Are you feeling suitably contrite?!! I am also 'in the dog house' for mentioning matters concerning her marriage, reasonably enough perhaps, as it's a personal matter. (But what is a chap to do, when striving to write entertaining posts?) However, on the upside, she was amused by your little saga with the Indian tailor who made a hash of your greatcoat, and its eventual fate when you left India. Also she was amused by the bit about you being in Quetta too late to have encountered her, and how others have all the luck!
Anyway, I think you might agree, that you hit the nail on the head, when making reference to my father's 'Memsahib'! But then, she was born and bred in India and is a product of the, so called, 'Raj'. I rather think I was imprudent to have shown her what we wrote! But there we are. Head above the parapet, and all that.
I'm now at my mother's and have read through with her our various posts concerning her and the Womens' Auxiliary Corps India (WACI). She confirms that they were epaulet sleeves in the photo, with 'WACI' embroidered on them. She points out that she was in fact a Sergeant, not a Corporal, at the time (her upper sleeve must have been folded, in the photo). So this dates the picture to when she had just joined the organisation. She was commissioned soon after, and finished as a Captain by the end of the War. Again, she doesn't recognise your claim that the WACI were full of Anglo Indians... She knew only one such person. Apparently I, myself, was wrong to write that they ran canteens. She said they either did clerical/office work or they ran shops, or sometimes drove transport. Also all of the work was Forces-related, having nothing to do with private businesses.
Now you have to brace yourself for a dressing-down! She didn't like your reference to her as a 'Miss-Sahib' and points out that she was not Anglo Indian! (I pointed out to her that this was a simple mistake, based on her good looks and the assumption that she had two tapes on her arm. But, alas, this wasn't accepted!) Further, that she has no knowledge of the scandal concerning your female friend and has no interest, whatsoever, in learning about it! Nor does she concur with your assumption that she would have been 'keenly aware of all the major scandals that were going on'.
Are you feeling suitably contrite?!! I am also 'in the dog house' for mentioning matters concerning her marriage, reasonably enough perhaps, as it's a personal matter. (But what is a chap to do, when striving to write entertaining posts?) However, on the upside, she was amused by your little saga with the Indian tailor who made a hash of your greatcoat, and its eventual fate when you left India. Also she was amused by the bit about you being in Quetta too late to have encountered her, and how others have all the luck!
Anyway, I think you might agree, that you hit the nail on the head, when making reference to my father's 'Memsahib'! But then, she was born and bred in India and is a product of the, so called, 'Raj'. I rather think I was imprudent to have shown her what we wrote! But there we are. Head above the parapet, and all that.
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Plainer Tales from the Raj.
NigG,
Far be it from me to ruffle the feathers of a true Memsahib (and a Daughter of the Raj to boot !) - "By gad, Sir, fella' should be horsewhipped" - and I most humbly apologise for any inadvertent offence I may have given.
But I was never aware that "Miss-Sahib" had the faintest implication of an Anglo-Indian backgroud. Are you sure ? - I thought it was just as deferential and acceptable as: "Burra-Sahib, Chota-Sahib, Sahib, MemSahib and (!) Miss-Sahib". Now I know better and will not make the same mistake again. Just shows, the R.A.F. may have made me an Officer - but hardly a complete Gentleman !
EDIT::
Retraction: Heaven fofend that a nicely brought up young lady should find vicarious pleasure in juicy accounts of the peccadillos of her less virtuous sisters !!
I now see that the sleeve is neatly rolled up. and it obscures the bottom stripe. Sorry, Sergeant ! (I, too was a Sergeant [-Pilot] for some time before my Commission came through), But I am still foxed by the sash (?) and the strange thing (right shoulder) with the three eyelets. What could they possibly have been for ?.
I would hazard a guess that there was only a small Anglo-Indian community at Quetta - but a very big one in Calcutta, where the girls were extensively employed as clerks, typists and secretaries, for whom WAC service would be an obvious attraction. All I can say, is that it was like that in my day.
As for Quetta, my story starts on p.150 on "Pilot's Brevet" (# 2993), and your Mother may find it entertaining, as it tells of a time (summer - autumn 1944) when you say she was also there.
Lovely photo of the happy couple - note your Father's slicked-back hair. On wedding photo 1955, mine is exactly the same - "the last of the Brylcreem Boys !"
Must now prepare my daily stint on "Fly Past", so will return later ("Tora Peachi, MemSahib" !)
Danny.
Far be it from me to ruffle the feathers of a true Memsahib (and a Daughter of the Raj to boot !) - "By gad, Sir, fella' should be horsewhipped" - and I most humbly apologise for any inadvertent offence I may have given.
But I was never aware that "Miss-Sahib" had the faintest implication of an Anglo-Indian backgroud. Are you sure ? - I thought it was just as deferential and acceptable as: "Burra-Sahib, Chota-Sahib, Sahib, MemSahib and (!) Miss-Sahib". Now I know better and will not make the same mistake again. Just shows, the R.A.F. may have made me an Officer - but hardly a complete Gentleman !
EDIT::
Retraction: Heaven fofend that a nicely brought up young lady should find vicarious pleasure in juicy accounts of the peccadillos of her less virtuous sisters !!
I now see that the sleeve is neatly rolled up. and it obscures the bottom stripe. Sorry, Sergeant ! (I, too was a Sergeant [-Pilot] for some time before my Commission came through), But I am still foxed by the sash (?) and the strange thing (right shoulder) with the three eyelets. What could they possibly have been for ?.
I would hazard a guess that there was only a small Anglo-Indian community at Quetta - but a very big one in Calcutta, where the girls were extensively employed as clerks, typists and secretaries, for whom WAC service would be an obvious attraction. All I can say, is that it was like that in my day.
As for Quetta, my story starts on p.150 on "Pilot's Brevet" (# 2993), and your Mother may find it entertaining, as it tells of a time (summer - autumn 1944) when you say she was also there.
Lovely photo of the happy couple - note your Father's slicked-back hair. On wedding photo 1955, mine is exactly the same - "the last of the Brylcreem Boys !"
Must now prepare my daily stint on "Fly Past", so will return later ("Tora Peachi, MemSahib" !)
Danny.
Last edited by Danny42C; 12th Aug 2016 at 16:30. Reason: Addn.
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Danny
I knew you'd do that... assume all blame and apologise sincerely! But then you are, as all would acknowledge, a true gentleman and a 'knight gallante'. In fact many get to feel the lash of my mother's tongue from time to time, but to her credit, she blows her top, then half an hour later she's right back to being her usual self, as if nothing had ever happened! (I'll try your Quetta tale on her after a suitable interval!)
To move on, a couple of shots from 84 Squadron in North Africa. Pilot: Flt Lt John Wyllie and his Nav/Bomb Aimer. They are, of course, in a Blenheim MkIV. In a Squadron team photo, four of the aircrew sport beards, which is interesting. But then, there was a serious lack of water when operating from forward Landing Grounds. This was because all the wells had been either contaminated or destroyed by the treating enemy. The ration was 2 pts (1 litre) per day and it was both brackish and heavily chlorinated, making the tea taste foul. The Squadron, however, was clear about genuine necessities. It had a couple of 3-tonners, plying between the main forward supply depot and the operational base, delivering (among other items) a ready supply of bottled liquids. While these were excellent for morale when off duty, none of course, were suitable for shaving stubble.
The bearded, Wyllie later did sterling work with the Squadron after it moved to the Far East, including the destruction of a Japanese ship. A couple of months after this picture was taken, he was captured by the Japanese. However this was not before he tried to take-off as the Japanese attacked their airfield at Kalidjati, Java. Starting the engines, fire from a Japanese tank came in, hitting the windscreen and persuading him and the crew to abandon the attempt. He then Jumped into a car driven by the Squadron CO, and, everyone firing Tommy-guns from the windows, sped off the airfield under the noses of the Japanese soldiery. Unfortunately he was taken prisoner before he could effect an escape from the island, and spent the rest of the war interred in Singapore.
I knew you'd do that... assume all blame and apologise sincerely! But then you are, as all would acknowledge, a true gentleman and a 'knight gallante'. In fact many get to feel the lash of my mother's tongue from time to time, but to her credit, she blows her top, then half an hour later she's right back to being her usual self, as if nothing had ever happened! (I'll try your Quetta tale on her after a suitable interval!)
To move on, a couple of shots from 84 Squadron in North Africa. Pilot: Flt Lt John Wyllie and his Nav/Bomb Aimer. They are, of course, in a Blenheim MkIV. In a Squadron team photo, four of the aircrew sport beards, which is interesting. But then, there was a serious lack of water when operating from forward Landing Grounds. This was because all the wells had been either contaminated or destroyed by the treating enemy. The ration was 2 pts (1 litre) per day and it was both brackish and heavily chlorinated, making the tea taste foul. The Squadron, however, was clear about genuine necessities. It had a couple of 3-tonners, plying between the main forward supply depot and the operational base, delivering (among other items) a ready supply of bottled liquids. While these were excellent for morale when off duty, none of course, were suitable for shaving stubble.
The bearded, Wyllie later did sterling work with the Squadron after it moved to the Far East, including the destruction of a Japanese ship. A couple of months after this picture was taken, he was captured by the Japanese. However this was not before he tried to take-off as the Japanese attacked their airfield at Kalidjati, Java. Starting the engines, fire from a Japanese tank came in, hitting the windscreen and persuading him and the crew to abandon the attempt. He then Jumped into a car driven by the Squadron CO, and, everyone firing Tommy-guns from the windows, sped off the airfield under the noses of the Japanese soldiery. Unfortunately he was taken prisoner before he could effect an escape from the island, and spent the rest of the war interred in Singapore.
Last edited by NigG; 12th Aug 2016 at 20:18.
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So ... sergeants got shaving water, but officers didn't? 