1938 December
From LJT to Annette
Chinsurah
Bengal
Dec. 1st 1938
My darling Annette,
Many thanks for your most entertaining letter telling us about the E.T.C. play. It seems to have been worth while in itself, and anyhow would have given the cast and their friends their money’s, or perhaps I should say, labour’s worth in fun and talk, and opportunities for jokes. Dad enjoyed it all very much, and said at the end of reading yours and Richard’s letters “Damn it all! Why did I never have so much fun at Oxford”. Poor darling, he was haunted by a lack of money to begin with, and he also had that slightly cynical turn to his character, which made him inclined to despise many things, such as dancing.
I am glad that you and Anne have fixed up your trip to Austria. You ought to have good fun. She will be an excellent companion I should think. If your travels take you to Austria, and you have any spare time, do write to my friend Herbert Tichey (Dr) Wein 18. Hocke gasse 95. He is quite young. He only took his doctorate in Geology a year or so ago, and he is an interesting and I think, very charming person. He has wandered all over the world, including making the pilgrimage round Kailas, the sacred mountain in Tibet, in disguise. He should now be back from Alaska, where he has been spending some time. I am sure you would like him, and he is always anxious to do something for me, because I was able to help him when he was in India.
Oh my goodness I am glad I did not produce a daughter like the young woman who is staying in the house at the moment! She does not appear till 11.15 a.m. God knows what she does. Her toilet does no seem to be very elaborate, and as for as I can make out, she seldom reads a book and never sews, and writes no letters if she can possibly avoid it. She sits in the garden with the child till lunch time, doing nothing, except occasionally tell the small girl not to do something. At lunch we talk a few polite inanities, and then she rests all the afternoon! She is a perfectly normal healthy person. In return for the contribution to the life of the nation, she cannot understand why Government do not give her husband a great deal more pay, why they do not furnish and re-decorate houses for them free of charge, and also keep gardens planted and tended, also free of charge. As for England, she says “Those dreadful unemployed, refusing to work, and being handsomely paid for doing so, while all the money is taken from the hard working upper-classes” Its waste of breath to argue with her, for she would not be capable of grasping any ideas, but I find her attitude extremely irritating, especially as she is such a common little bit of goods herself. Its almost incredible to me that such people can still exist.
Have you read North West Passage? I have just finished it, and enjoyed it much. I now feel a compulsion to read some American History, but I have not yet begun the various science books I brought out from home. Dad, by the way, is keeping your parcel till Chiristmas, like I am mine. Aunt says she imagines that Romey’s confirmation will be put off. You will I expect, have remembered the book “In the Footsteps of the Master” which you said you would get for Romey on my behalf, and will either get it, if the confirmation is not delayed, or hold it over if it is. I enclose a little note to be put in it.
I am glad to hear that Christina is going on as well as can be expected. Do give her my love and condolances if you are writing, will you?
Let’s see, we don’t have to think about a Christmas present for you this year, do we? I hope the fur is proving useful.
Best love
Mother
From HPV to Romey (this letter typed by Joan Webb)
Chinsurah,
Dec 2, 1938
My dear Rosemary
Cold weather is upon us. Inprimis the mosquitoes gather thick around me. Also around others, but that leaves me very much unmoved. Secondly there are the migrant birds, the kingfishers are back, but any bird in my judgment is a migrant if I haven’t seen it for a few weeks, and particularly if I cannot remember its name. The same test, of course, would make one class most trees as migrant trees, which is absurd. Thirdly, a wild but friendly cat, having climbed to the second story by night and entered into the drawing-room did vomit on the sofa. Fourthly, we are breakfasting in the garden, and lastly, it is getting cold enough that for two nights we have had fires in the drawing room. Very small fires, but genuine. Your mother has got the house looking quite nice. Curtains have improved the dining room, after all; I opposed them.
I have a stiff neck, not caused by any real physical exercises, but by reaching out for the soap. My temper is execrable; there has been too much work. Had the first meeting of the nonsensical Forest Committee. The members look like a rag and bone shop—stock of. We have had visitors in the house, the Tufnell Barrets. He is the new Collector here, a nice man, and she…. I have become reconciled to being married to your mother. Also, now I understand divorce, wife-beating, murder and various compensatory vices. This woman has a giggle; high and thin, most like the cry –(I have forgotten the name of that melancholy horse which wailed over Shhrab or maybe Rustum ) Your mother has looked it up being unable to endure my guessing aloud and the name was the improbable one of Ruksh, which is by interpretation ‘ByGum’. However, do not mistake me; I did not openly show my feelings or anything more offensive to the woman.
Letters from the family, all with excuses for not writing, have come in; although they need not have worried, for the Indian mails have been delayed and all your shortcomings could have been put down to that. I wonder more and more how all manage to put in so much merry-making into an Oxford life; not so I. Perhaps if I had not wandered around trying to talk myself into feeling clever, I also should have had time.
Much love,
Dad
From HPV to Annette (carbon with ‘Annette’ handwritten)
Chinsurah,
December 2nd. 1938
My dear Annette
Now the festive season’s HERE (?)
Mistleto and holly,
Be my Harry as of yore –
I am always Molly.
That is to please my brother Parp to whom someone will please repeat it; he used to make doleful noises to these words and call them seconds. But the meaning thereof is that the cold weather is upon us, as is to be known by the following portents: to wit and that is to say: --
Inprimis the mosquitoes gather thick around me. Also around others, but that leaves me very much unmoved. Secondly there are the migrant birds; the kingfishers are back, but any bird in my judgment is a migrant if I haven’t seen it for a few weeks, and particularly if I cannot remember its name; the sme test, of course, would make one class most trees as migrant trees which is absurd. “Sme” means “same” Thirdly, a wild but friendly cat having climbed to the second story by night and entered into the drawing-room did vomit on the sofa: this is not really a portent but I mention it because it is real news, as not much else is. The horrid adventure of the vomiting cat: no more of that: and indeed there is not any more. Fourthly we are breakfasting in the garden. And lastly (though I could say much more first) it is getting cold and we have on two nights had fires in the drawing room; very small fires but genuine. Your mother has got the house looking quite nice. Curtains have improved the dining room, after all; I opposed them.
I have a stiff neck; caused not by my very strenuous physicking and jerking as you might say (I have not taken any physic except some aspirin and some quinine since I came here) but by reaching out for the soap. My temper is execrable. There has been too much work. Once in arrears always so; and of course as soon as there is the least chance of my clearing them off I go off at a tangent and start some new thing; But really the amount of work has been beyond bearing. I have not borne it. My neck is stiff from the intolerable burden; but I should have put it that way to begin with. First meeting of the nonsensical Forest Committee. The members look like a rag and bone shop --- stock of. My temper became even more execrable. I have scratched lumps off my hands cutting dollops off the Bougainvillia arbour; if one goes near it with a saw or secateurs the temptation is too much just to cut little bits off here and there, with infinite precautions against scratching all of which fail. We have had visitors in the house; the Tufnell Barrets; he is the new Collector here, a nice man; and she . . . .I have become reconciled to being married to your mother. Also now I understand divorce, wife-beating, murder and various compensatory vices. She has a giggle; high and thin; most like the cry of - - I have forgotten the name of that melancholy horse which wailed over Sohrab or maybe Rustum whereas (you remember?) the river Oxus went rolling along, nigger-like. Surely the name of the horse was not Grab? it couldn’t have been. Your mother has looked it up being unable to endure my guessing aloud and the name was the improbable one of Ruksh which is by interpretation ByGum. And now that I have the poem to hand I looked up what the horse did; and he didn’t do anything to speak of; only from his dark compassionate eyes the big warm tears rolled down and caked the sand. It would have been better had I too felt like that instead of screeching like a sow. For which curiosity of natural history by all means see Synge’s Playboy of the Western World.
However, do not mistake me; I did not openly show any grief or more offensive still wonder that she survived.
Letters from the family all with excuses for not writing though Rosemary had no cause therefore; they need not have worried, for the Indian mails have been delayed and all shortcomings would have been put down to that. I wonder more and more how all manage to put in so much merry-making into an Oxford life; not so I. Perhaps if I had not wandered around trying to talk myself into feeling clever I also should have had time. Also if I had not devoted a considerable time to feeling that my state was pitiable.
No, I have nothing to write about. I gaze on the birds with benevolence. Five screaming green parrots which change from green to copperyishness as they wheel in the sun above the breakfast table. Mynas. Small honey eaters which flutter in front of flowers like humming birds. The king fisher. Wagtails, two kinds. Magpie robins, black and white. Crow pheasants Tree pies. And whatnots. At breakfast. Otherwise benevolence is not my portion.
(handwritten)
December 6th 1938
Interruption due to the arrival of Mr Stein. I am not hospitable and really lament interruptions by visitors. Saturday saw me at sports yesterday at 6 in came visitors. But my failure to finish this off is laziness undefiled.
Much love,
Dad
From LJT to Annette
Chinsurah
Dec 5th 1938
My darling Annette –
Dad and I have been down to Calcutta to-day and though we started back soon after lunch – actually at 2-45- and had tea quietly in the garden here, I feel slightly addle (is that how you spell it?) – addle-headed - Dad had to go in for a meeting of the East Indian Railway Advisory board, of which he is a member – I went to see Dr Norrie, because I have still got a tenderness of the teeth just below where Dr Henry made a hole into my antrem – Also since having a slight cold soon after my return here, there’s been a sort of catarrh hanging about – Dr Norrie says there’s nothing to worry about. Dr Henry has made a very big hole and cut into the nerves of the teeth a bit, but they will gradually settle down – He gave me two minutes ray treatment in the inside of the antrem with a new contraption he has got for the utilization of some special sort of rays that are only used by a very few people at home and have not previously been used for work on the nose and throat – The rays are concentrated in a small disc in front of which an instrument is screwed on – whatever little tool you need – The instruments are made of tubes of various shapes in white quartz, for glass breaks up under the rays, and the part where the rays are not wanted to come through is jacketed with silver – In the little hook affair he put into my antrem, only about ½” at the extreme end showed the quartz and the rays. Dr Norrie believes that these rays are going to revolutionize the treatment of nose and throat troubles and largely do away with the need for operations – He kept me a long time showing the machine to me and telling me about it – and though I was very interested, I felt a little uncomfortable about the four patients who were already waiting when I went in – I love Dr Norrie – He’s got a delicious highland accent – His rs roll out like cascades and there are such pretty cadences in the way he puts syllables to-gether –
I have just been out on the verandah, looking at the full moon over the river, with the rows of lights from the jute and paper mills on the opposite bank, reflected in the still water – Its lovely! The ugliness of the mills in the day light is compensated for by the beauty of illumination they give at night – ones mind does the hackneyed thing and thinks of Whistler – He could have made a lovely picture of what we see nightly from our windows – but still it would not have been as beautiful as reality.
I’m just reading Ron’s new book “Salween” with great pleasure. His charm is, I think, in his absurdity. I have the great advantage of having seen a little of the country he travelled and through, of knowing quite a bit about Tibet and having a fairly close acquaintance with the three servants he took with him – In fact I engaged them for him –
I do hope Austria will be fun for you –
Best love – Mother
Family letter from LJT
Chinsurah
Bengal
Dec 5th 1938.
My Dears,
I have to start my letter very early this week, for to-morrow, Tuesday, we go down to Calcutta, and on Wednesday we go up to Burdwan, where Herbert has to preside at a Durbar on Thursday, and we shall either come back on Thursday evening or Friday morning. There are a lot of engagements while we are there, and I must go round to see the various officials wives, so I don’t suppose I shall get much time to myself. It is between 60 and 70 miles from here, up the Grand Trunk road, which apparantly is not so very Grand or so very Trunk, for most of the way. We are to have tea with the Maharaja on Wednesday, and dine with his younger son who is managing the estate in the evening, and on Thursday we lunch with the Maharaj Kumar (The eldest son) We are staying in the Maharaja’s guest House in the palace grounds. No decidedly I shall not have much time there for letter writing.
My activities have been mostly domestic since I last wrote. The last finishing touches to the house are slowly being delt with. I have to fetch some pictures from Calcutta to-morrow, which will, I think, go in our bedroom. I have at last got the curtains up in it and it looks more friendly and less of a barrack. It is very big and very lofty, and seems to need some softening. I am hoping that the two big, rather gaily coloured posters will make a lot of difference to it.
At last I have started playing tennis again, but so far have only had two afternoons of singles with Mr Stein, the Deputy Inspector General of Police. The first sett on the first afternoon I played like a complete rabbit, but I gradually improved. We have done some good work pruning bushes in the garden on other evenings, and this evening I have been encouraging my sweet peas, which are now growing fast, to climb their sticks. Poor Herbert has had a stiff neck, and has not been able to embark on tennis in consequence. He says he slipped, while he was reaching for his soap in the bath, and thinks he cricked his neck in some way.
The Tufnell Barratts moved into their own house on Friday, and after having people with us for so long, we have rather enjoyed being alone for a bit. We went to the Annual Sports of the Dunlop Rubber Co on Saturday. It was quite a good show, and I was glad of the opportunity to meet more members of the company. We went across to the officers club for tea, and they gave us a very good one. One of the amusing incidents of the evening was when a Sikh won as a prize, a safety razor and a big packet of blades. This caused roars of laughter and amusement, for one of the articles of the Sikhs’ religion is that they shall never shave! The prize was quickly changed to the great delight of the winner, who grinned widely, when he received an attaché case, instead of the useless razor.
Herbert is trying to compose a speech for the Durbar, but says he has no inspiration. Knowing him I have not the least doubt that he will turn out something quite effective when the time comes. Actually he will have some time for meditation while we are driving to Calcutta and back to-morrow and to Burdwan on Wednesday.
It is pleasantly chilly in the evenings now and we have begun having a small fire in the big drawing-room. Of course we don’t really need it, but it looks so nice and homelike.
We have decided to stay here, and have a station dinner on Christmas day. The Jenkins have kindly asked us to go and stay with them for the Government House Ball on the 27th, and we plan not to call on the Viceroy (Sad for him, is’nt it?) so that we shall not be asked to the Ball and the Garden Party. If one is asked one cannot refuse, and Herbert does not want to have to keep on going in to Calcutta and having late nights.
The ribbon in my typewriter wants renewing. It is all frayed, and keeps on sticking. No more this week. Best love.
LJT
From HPV to Romey (this letter typed by Joan Webb)
December 12th, 1938
My dear Rosemary,
It is a long time since last I wrote. This life is not conducive to letter-writing. It is not perhaps true that there are people in to see us during the evenings, but there are such sufficiently often to create the fear that they will be coming. The early part of the week was made hideous by the two facts that I had to produce a speech for the Durbar and that my mind had ceased to function. It would not produce any thoughts worth putting into a speech, a sign that I was not interested. I could have made a speech off-hand, but it had to be prepared and written, which is a very different matter. In a spoken speech one can make abrupt transitions seem reasonable by intonation or by pausing or shrugging the shoulders; when one writes the whole thing has to flow of itself. That simply would not happen. One of my Calcutta meetings happened to come just at the wrong time and increased the feeling that I was rushed. At last I sat down and slogged it out in the morning of the day when I was leaving for Burdwan feeling jaded.
We stayed at the Palace, of which I shall say only that it has the most notable collection of pigeons—thousands. In the morning I woke to hear a noise like the sea in the distance, the pigeons cooing. At ten and at four they are fed, at the side of the palace. No need to call them, they are there waiting. The grain, paddy, is thrown down in such a way that they all have to crowd together, and about the crowding two things are noteworthy – first that 5000 pigeons tails cocked up together into the air are ridiculous, and secondly that, when frightened they fly away in one breath, the dust flies out behind as from an aeroplane propeller. Also that when they wish to move about, they all walk over each others’ backs. Absurd.
Of these pigeons (which are mostly pigeon colour, but a few are white) a tale is told, to explain why they are maintained in idleness. An ancestor of the Maharaja being afflicted with rheumatism was told by a learned hakim that for this complaint, nothing better than the wind from pigeons’ wings. So he procured many and used to stand by while they were being fed. No use at this stage to ask futile questions, such as whether this cured or helped him. Only the pigeons are there to this day. A strange sight.
We dined with the Maharaja’s younger son and we lunched next day with the elder. He had many of the tales of Henty in a bookshelf, at which I should have liked to look by way of renewing my youth. The effect of meals out is bellyache. Wind was no word for it half an hour before the Durbar. Your mother, however, said it was the speech, not the food, that had this effect. Maybe. The Durbar went off, also the speech. It has roused much excitement among the local people. It was a damning of the dishonesty of those who dodge payment of rent or debts, which seems a dull subject, and was. Next day I went down to Calcutta to attend the Maharaja’s dinner to the Under-Secretary of State for India—another coffin-nail. The finish was a lunch to some people who came up here yesterday; without thinking (for I know it to be a fatal thing) I took some corn served with spring chicken. My insides decided to quit about dinner time and if there had not been an inelasticity to check it, I should have swollen like that poisoned pup so often quoted in our family.
Tomorrow I go into Calcutta for two meetings (one is the Forest Committee. Alas!!) and on the next day the Under Secretary of State comes up here to see a jute mill and to have tea. That means two days of work lost. Your mother, who went into Calcutta with me on both days and who stayed there all Saturday, has burst into energy on her return and hung up pictures and curtains; she has the knack of making comfort. Workmen are still hanging around and although the end is in sight because the money has run out, I despair of their ever going away. It is absurd on the part of the Government to keep on an old house like this so big that they cannot find the money to keep it in proper repair.
This morning at breakfast two hens came into the garden to mock us, menacing the seedlings. When rebuked by open manifestations of hatred and the throwing of stones, they fled in such a manner as to show their scorn, by flying over the wall into the walled yard that is supposed to imprison them. Yesterday at a like time, interest centred on a black and white cat which stalked down the side of the drain from the kitchen watching for birds. When called upon, it merely looked contemptuous, and so the incident ended. When we asked where it came from, we were told nowhere, it lives here. It may even be the vomiting cat which I mentioned before. Let me now abstain from mentioning bats.
Of all the faithful letterwriters, you are the one. It is pleasant to read of your riding; grooming a horse is not a thing that I relished. Enough of that, mosquitoes are thick and I will end this now.
Your Dad
From HPV to Annette (carbon with handwritten ‘Annette’)
Chinsurah,
December 12th 1938
My dear Annette
It is a long time since last I wrote. This life is not conducive to letter-writing. It is not perhaps true that there are people in to see us during the evenings but there are such sufficiently often to create the fear that they will be coming. The early part of the week was made hideous by the two facts that I had to produce a speech for the Durbar and that my mind had ceased to function; it would not produce any thoughts worth putting into a speech, a sign that I was not interested; I could have made a speech off-hand but it had to be prepared and written, which is a very different matter. In a spoken speech one can make abrupt transitions seem reasonable by intonation or by pausing or shrugging the shoulders; when one writes the whole thing has to flow of itself; and that simply would not happen. One of my Calcutta meetings happened to come just at the wrong time and increased the feeling that I was rushed. At last I sat down and slogged it out on the morning of the day when I was leaving for Burdwan where the Durbar had to be held; and I started off for Burdwan feeling jaded. We stayed at the Palace. Of which I shall say only that it has the most notable collection of pigeons; thousands. In the morning I woke to hear a noise like the sea in the distance; the pigeons cooing. At ten and at four they are fed. at the side of the palace. No need to call them; they are there waiting. The grain, paddy, is thrown down in such a way that they all have to crowd together: and about the crowding two things are noteworthy --– first that 5000 pigeons tails cocked up together into the air are ridiculous, and secondly that, when frightened they fly away in one breath, the dust flies out behind as from an aeroplane propeller. Also that when they wish to move about, they all walk over each others’ backs; absurd. Of these pigeons (which are mostly pigeon colour but a few are white) a tale is told, to explain why they are maintained in idleness. An ancestor of the Maharaja being afflicted with rheumatism was told by a learned hakim that for this complaint nothing better than the wind from pigeons’ wings: so he procured many and used to stand by while they were being fed. No use at this stage to ask futile questions, such as whether this cured or helped him: only the pigeons are there to this day. A strange sight.
We dined with the Maharaja’s younger son and we lunched next day with the elder. He had many of the tales of Henty in a bookshelf, at which I should have liked to look by way of renewing my youth. The effect of meals out is bellyache. Wind was no word for it half an hour before the Durbar: your mother however said it was the speech, not the food, that had this effect. Maybe. The Durbar went off; also the speech. It has roused much excitement among the local people. It was a damning of the dishonesty of those who dodge payment of rent or debts, which seems a dull subject, and was. Next day I went down to Calcutta to attend the Maharaja’s dinner to the Under-Secretary of State for India; another coffin-nail. The finish was a lunch to some people who came up here yesterday; without thinking (for I know it to be a fatal thing) I took some corn served with spring chicken. My insides decided to quit about dinner time and if there had not been an inelasticity to check it I should have swollen like that poisoned pup so often quoted in our family. What led me astray was that my tongue was like an advertisement of a seaside holiday that morning and fondly I believed that all danger was over. Now I hate my neighbours. It is to be confessed that it would have been better to have cleared off some of the work that is lying heavy on my mind instead of setting myself to make rainfall graphs; especially as the results of make a dozen of them is to destroy the pleasant theory which I had based on three.
Tomorrow I go into Calcutta for two meetings (one is the Forest Committee. Alas!) and on the next day the Under Secretary of State comes up here to see a jute mill and to have tea. That means two days of work lost. There have been many such of late. What I like is to be left to work quietly without interruptions; but that rarely happens.
Your mother who went into Calcutta with me on both days and who stayed there all Saturday has burst into energy on her return and hung up pictures and curtains; she has the knack of making comfort. Workmen are still hanging around and although the end is in sight because the money has run out I despair of their ever going away. It is absurd on the part of the Government to keep on an old house like this so big that they cannot find the money to keep it in proper repair. This morning we had Kegjaree for breakfast (how is it spelt? for the Hindustani is really Khichri) and two hens came into the garden to mock us; menacing the seedlings. When rebuked by open manifestations of hatred and the throwing of stones they fled in such a manner as to show their scorn, by flying over the wall into the walled yard that is supposed to imprison them. Yesterday at a like time interest centred in a black and white cat which stalked down the side of the drain from the kitchen and showed every indication of readiness to deal with birds. When called upon it merely looked contemptuous; and so the incident ended. In fact I do not know why I mention it. When we asked where it came from we were told nowhere: it lives here. Such things are. It may even be the vomiting cat which I mentioned before. Let me now abstain from mentioning bats.
The real reason for my sad state of belly-ache is presumption; one of the lunchers began eagerly to tell of a cure for colitis (eating moss) and I said that it had no interest to me who had renounced the habit of stomach-pains. So much for somebody hand his lies in Truth.
Whill I know that this will be a weariness to read: but well that you do not know what a weariness it has been to write! For it would make you sad.
Much love.
There is a circus near; with a calliope.
(handwritten)
It is an instance of heredity that you all buzz around from place to place. Your mother does it. Also it disproves all theories about transmission of characteristics that you should do so: for I do far otherwise. Most like an ancient hermit, a ?????. However if you like to go to Austria do. It strikes me rather as like a taste for going to church or singing glees. But what do I know of either ???????
Your’s Dad
From LJT to Annette
Chinsurah
Dec 14th 1938
My darling Annette,
Air-Mail willing, this may just reach you before you leave England. It carries you our best wishes, and hopes that the fur is proving useful. I hope you have a splendid time in Austria. I shall look forward to hearing how you get on with the Winter Sports. Also what Austria is like under the new regime.
Richard’s manoeuvres to get a ladies yacht club started at Oxford are rather amusing! I wonder whether one will come into being.
The new Reader’s Digest, just arrived, is more interesting than any number has been recently I think. The last few I have found rather dull. I am looking forward to reading Gunther new book “Inside Asia”. There are extracts from it in this months Digest, mostly about Ghandi. It will be interesting to hear what Gunther makes of the Indian Political scene. He makes such clear pictures. My own ideas about Indian politics are so confused, and I feel sure, so full of prejudice, and so one sided, that I have recently been thinking that I must read some of the books setting forth the Congress ideals and so on. Nehru’s book is interesting, I believe. John Hunt has it and was talking about it. After Christmas I shall see if I can borrow it.
It was very interesting swapping ideas with the Maharaja of Burdwan and his two sons. They have too big a stake in the country to want to see it go further than Dominion Status, and I think they would like even that to be run chiefly by British Officials. Do you know there seem to be such an awful lot of the much-talked-of “thirty-five millions” and so pitifully few men with the training and character to take on the task of governing.
Very soon I must go and change so as to be ready to receive the Under-secretary of State for India, who is having tea here this afternoon. Dad has been accompanying him up the River by launch as far as a big Jute Mill, which he was going to see, and then they drive on here, via Chandernagore.
A short letter, I’m afraid. I’v written so many, mostly Christmas ones, that I feel quite bemused. My love to you and to Anne
Mother
Family letter from LJT
Chinsurah
Bengal
Dec 15th 1938.
My dears,
This letter will, I hope, reach you by Christmas day. It should do if the Air Mails are running to schedule. It carries to all of you our love and best wishes. As we are finishing our Christmas dinner, and drinking to “Absent Friends”, you will just about be having tea, between 4 o’clock and 4:30, so think of us! We are spending Christmas quietly here, and having a station dinner. We shall be rather an oddly assorted party, but that cannot be helped in a station thing of this sort. I think I shall prepare the good old competition game of “Visibly Hidden Objects” and give a couple of small prizes. That suits both young and old, and is not unamusing. The last time I played it was at a dinner-party in Gangtok, when the Williamsons were entertaining the Maharaja and the rest of the station. H.R. has a childish delight in winning and I well remember giving him little hints to help him, but my efforts were vain! He did not win!
There is really a lot to tell about this week, and it is a pity that all sorts of things have cropped up to steal time from the writing of my Christmas mail. Little old Miss Baboneau, whom you must now know by name, has been very ill. We scarcely thought she would live, and as her younger sister, who has been away in Calcutta for some months, with her mind completely gone, passed away on Friday and as Miss B had left everything to her sister it was important to get her to sign a new will. There has also been the business of finding a companion for her, and all sorts of oddments that had to be attended to.
When I wrote last week we were just off to Burdwan, and we had an interesting time there. It must be twenty two years since I was last in Burdwan, and I did not remember much of it. On this occasion we were staying in the palace with the Maharaja. Although he is not a ruling prince, his estates are so vast that he is a good deal more important than many of the little princlings. He is land-lord for 600,000 sq miles carrying a population of two million. The drive from here took rather under two hours, right up the Grand Trunk road, which is the great troop road of the early days of the British in India. The Maharaja and his two sons, all of whom are old friends of ours, were waiting to greet us, as were, (or so it appeared) several thousand pigeons! In reality the pigeons were merely waiting for their tea. More of them anon. The palace at Burdwan is a vast place. It is more like a collection of palaces and large houses, with innumerable courts and gardens. The Maharaja himself lives in the main block, in which are the ball room, the library, and a series of drawing-rooms, something in the style of the state rooms in Windsor Castle. We were given a suite of rooms, two bed-rooms, two bathrooms, a sitting-room and dining-room, in a neighbouring block. They also were richly furnished in Victorian style, with heavy mahogany and thick carpets fitted right up to the walls. After being introduced to our rooms by the younger Kumar, we joined the Maharaja and the Raj Kumar for tea on the great porch above the main entrance. It was interesting hearing the Maharaja’s views on the present developments in India. He is extremely moderate and it seemed to us singularly unprejudiced in his views. He has the strongest disapproval of the way the present ministry in Bengal are behaving. He also thinks that it has been a great mistake to try to introduce democratic forms of government in India. He would, of course, be likely to do that. While we were at tea, half a dozen elephants came walking up the drive. Hullo! Said the Maharaja, “the two new elephants are there”. We walked to the edge of the porch, and he asked a few questions about the new comers, and then said “Now I shall name them. That one shall be called Shaharezade and the other - - “and he gave some name out of the Arabian Nights. The mahouts salaamed, and the head elephant salaamed and they rolled off to get their food.
The Maharaj Kumar (I only gave him half his title just now) then took us for a drive and a visit to the Guest House, a mile or two outside the town. There are big gardens, and huge ponds or lakes (always called Tanks out here) with a reasonable sized house standing on the brink of one of them. A balcony juts out over the water, and as one stands there, one can call and numbers of huge fish, great dark blue rohu, come swimming to be fed. It is so amusing to see their big round pink mouths opening to take in the little scraps of puffed rice or bread. Suddenly we realized that there were thousands of minute fish too. The water was boiling with them. They seemed to have no fear of the big fellows. There is a private zoo at this estate, whose name is “Dil Kusha”, or “Heart’s Delight”. The zoo is well kept, but a sad thing, I feel. I hope it will gradually change into aviaries and a deer-park, which I think it is tending to do already. The Maharaj Kumar, who leads a modern Europeanized life in Calcutta, and has a plump and pretty wife and five children, says that it is difficult to know what will happen about the palace when he succeeds. He will never want to live in it. If he spends any length of time in Burdwan, he would far rather live at Dilkusha which could be a reasonable sized family residence. One would need a hareem of three or four hundred queens to people the houses and the courts of the palace, and that is not the fashion or the desire of the modern prince. It is interesting to see what a huge change has come in the last two generations. There are still a few princes whose wives do not come out, but they grow less and less.
On our way back, we dropped into the Club, where we found all the Government officials, and one or two members of the Burdwan family, -(a cousin and an uncle, I think) having drinks after tennis. Later we all dined with the younger Kumar, to whom has been made over one of the many palaces. He is a nice young man, educated at Harrow, and having spent a couple of years in one of the big English Firms in Calcutta. He is now his Father’s business manager, and superintends the running of the estates. He made a good host, and gave us an excellent dinner. He is about 26 and has not yet married. His father hopes he will do so soon. After dinner I asked him if the ladies should go up to the drawing-room, and the Maharaja said he would show us the way. As we climbed the stairs, he said to me. “I came away with you, because my sons cannot smoke in front of me”. He was most tactful, and indicated where we might retire to “powder our noses”. We spent a pleasant evening talking, and I made a move about 10:45 saying that Herbert had had a long day and was going to have another on the morrow.
We woke the following morning to a sound rather like the distant breaking of the surf. It was the far-away cooing of the thousands of pigeons. I had an appointment with the young Kumar to see the peieons fed at 10 o’clock. For half an hour they were gathering on the walls and roofs adjoining the place where they are fed. When the grain is thrown, the rush of the wings is tremendous, they crowd to-gether so much, that they constantly walk over one another’s backs to get to what they think a better place. If anything disturbs them, they rise up on a body, sending out such a breeze from their wings that the dust flies in clouds. The story of the pigeons is that an ancestor of the Burdwans suffered from rheumatism, and some old Hakim said that the wind from the wings of pigeons would cure his pains. Hence this great crowd of birds, which are still supported by the Raj estate. No word has come down as to whether the cure was effective. The Kumar then took me all over the state rooms of the palace, his own comments and taste being so exactly what our own would be. The money represented in the furnishing and ornaments, must be tremendous. Some of the rooms have a great beauty. There is a room with a lovely grey marble floor, white walls and pillars, and white crystal chandeliers with dull blue brocade upholster, and dull blue curtains. Another is a grey marble room with chandeliers of apple green glass prisms. It sounds frightful, but actually its very effective, for either by accident or design, other colour in the room has been kept dull and negative.
After making the round of the palace, I bade farewell to the Kumar, and went off to visit the only Englishwoman in the station, wife of the Civil Surgeon. I got back to the palace in time to write one or two letters before setting off to lunch with the Maharaj Kumar. He occupies the old palace of the maharani. He says it is impossible to make it into anything approaching a comfortable modern home, for it contains numbers of small rooms, and all built to look into various courtyards. In its centre is the heart of the old-fashioned household, the shrine of the family gods, which are safely locked behind huge brass doors. The court is octagonal, with a first floor balcony running all round it, and iron loops at the tops of the walls to which awnings can be attached when the family ceremonies take place. The Maharaj Kumar says he supposes his daughters’ wedding will take place there. We were a smaller party than for dinner the night before. The Maharaja had had to go down to Calcutta on some official business, and only a few of the officials were there. We had a happy time afterwards browsing round the Majaraj Kumar’s study, and an adjoining room which he has made into a sort of library, and where Herbert found a whole book-shelf full of Henty’s books and others of the same ilk, and masses of detective stories. There were plenty of good books as well, and very nicely arranged according to their subjects.
We thought we should have time for a little rest after lunch, but we had two visitors, one the Indian Collector from one of Herbert’s districts, and the other our dear old friend Raja Moni Lal Singh, a relative of the Maharaja. He lives about twelve miles from Burdwan, and had come in to visit us. He is a dear old boy and very amusing. We had to tell him that we must turn him out at last, for it was time for us to dress for the durbar, the reason for Herbert’s visit. He had to put on his political uniform, and we drove to the Town Hall, where a police guard of Honour was drawn up to greet him, and the Collectors and sub-divisional officers of his six districts were awaiting him on the steps. I slipped quickly into the hall, while Herbert was inspecting the guard, and was in my seat in time to watch him walk in in procession. The collectors and S.D.Os most of them in morning coats, walked in front, and on reaching the dias stood aside, and Herbert marched up between them and mounted the platform. To begin with he had to confer several titles, and then certificates and watches or walking sticks on the men who had done specially good work on the village councils. Then came the speech. As a rule at these Divisional Durbars, there is a good deal of soft soap, liberally poured out. Herbert gave them a very little, and then he spoke his mind most vehemently about the non-payment of rents and the non-payment of money lenders, which has been going on to such an alarming extent all over Bengal. Herbert partly blames the election speeches, when candidates of all parties made all sorts of promises which they could not perform. The illiterate peasants believed that they were going to get all sorts of things, so thought they might as well start having them at once. There was a lot more in the speech than that, for it lasted over half an hour. It was listened to with intense interest, and has been much talked of since. When I wrote to thank the Maharaja for his hospitality, he wrote to thank me for writing, and said he was very glad that Herbert had spoken out at the Durbar.
The show began at four and finished just after five, We went back to change and have tea, and leaving Burdwan at 6 o’clock, we drove home, seeing on the way, a most lovely moon rise, when the moon came up a deep crimson colour.
On Friday morning I left after breakfast for Calcutta, as I had a great many things to do. The Police people were coming in in the evening and very kindly brought Herbert, who had to attend the Maharaja’s dinner to Col Muirhead, the Under-Secretary of State for India. We stayed with my American Friends, The Rankens. I gate-crashed a big cocktail Party given by Calcutta’s Commissioner of police, to which they were going, and I am glad to say, I was made most welcome, and not shown the door. I enjoyed it, meeting heaps of old friends. After dinner we went to see “Sixty Glorious Years”, which I enjoyed but thought it might have been even better. There was an amature cabaret show on at the Saturday Club and we dropped in for the end of that and a dance or two. Herbert had to go off very early the next morning. I stayed in as I had more things to do, and Winsome kindly lent me her car, and I lunched with her and Harry who comes back to lunch on Saturdays. In the afternoon I at last managed a visit to the Agri-Horticultural Gardens, which I have been wanting to do ever since I got back. I was booked for tea with other friends, and met Idris at 5.45 with the idea the we would go to a six o’clock film. However when we met we had so much to talk about, and both wanted to go and see some mutual friends, that we cut the picture, and went visiting instead, and spent a pleasant evening. We decided to try an evening meal at an old hotel, which claims to have been entirely re-organized. We sat pleasantly on an upper terrace, looking over the Maidan, and the food was passable, but not a patch on Firpo’s or the Saturday Club, and the same price. The Chinsurah Doctor and his wife brought me home, and Mrs Lossing and I both fell asleep in the car.
Sunday was full of visitors. The Tufnell-Barretts, now settled in their own house, came to pay a formal call, and we had two lots of people for lunch, and one car load, Milly Chaudhuri, and Anina Brandt, stayed for tea, and I took them round to see the sights in the afternoon.
Yesterday Herbert had to go down to Calcutta to accompany Col Muirhead on a voyage part of the way up the river, a visit to a jute Mill, they finally arrived for tea here. Col Muirhead is a big, rather heavy man. He does not seem particularly quick or intelligent, but was pleasant enough. Herbert did not find him very responsive, and said he only began to light up at all when they got on to subjects connected with Indian industrialism. The great mass of the peasants and their needs, seemed to leave him uninterested. His Parliamentary Secretary, Mr Keeling turns out to be a great mountain lover and on the Council of the Geographical Society, so of course we got on like a house on fire, and have promised ourselves future meetings in London.
My letter has grown to rather outrageous limits this week, but I thought the visit to Burdwan might interest you sufficiently to be told in some detail.
Best love and all good wishes to everyone.
LJT
From HPV to Annette
Chinsurah
Dec 18th 1938
My dear Annette
Reliance on the marvels of science has gone too far this time: and I suspect that my belief in the power of the airmail to carry letters home quickly has led me astray. This was to have taken you my Christmas blessings: let it instead convey to you the assurance that they were given. In a letter to Rosemary I discussed the question whether a greeting takes effect and becomes potent at the moment of writing, the moment of reading or the day in respect of which it is given. If either the first or the third is the fact then I am not wasting time in referring to Christmas. Your mother has just told me that you got your Christmas gift along with a birthday present months ago. It seems an unsatisfactory business but I suppose that you proposed it or agreed to it.
But who am I to talk of Christmas presents? Again I have done nothing about getting one for your mother. Imagination boggles at the problem of guessing what she wants and opportunity of purchase is not great when one lives away from shops. Yet I might have made a search on Tuesday evening: on that day I went to Calcutta to attend two meetings, and I stayed the night in Calcutta because I had to accompany Col Muirhead Under Secretary of State for India up the Hooghly next morning. A nice enough chap but I cannot say that I was at all impressed by him. It seemed to me that for a man who had come out to acquaint himself with problems he showed singularly little interest or intelligence. I had never been up the Hooghly from Calcutta to Barrackpore before: and it certainly is picturesque and gay on a bright cold-weather day, with blue sky and ble water, with the comic boats and the at-a-distance picturesque figures of those on the bathing ghats. Lunch on the launch and I wondered if the two words are connected: then by motor ten miles or may be six up the Grand Trunk Road to a certain jute mill. We went over this. It is the first time that I have seen a jute mill: in a way I knew what it would be like, from what I have read, but it was extremely interesting none the less and I am extremely grateful that I have nothing to do with such things. Thereafter we brought Col Muirhead and his Secretary back here for tea, and when they had gone off in cars to Calcutta I relapsed into complete weariness. This is not a sample of my days but somehow seemed to take up most of my week. Losing two days on end meant accumulations. Also there were, in the aggregate, hours lost on discussing changes of plan which the Secretary was in the habit of suggesting, for the sheer pleasure of it and because he had a guide book. Whenever he read “Here the Dutch were” or “Here the Danes”, he was seized with an anguish of desire to see the places although there are no remains and the places are no better than dust heaps or dung heaps even. However by no means despise secretaries or tourists even if or especially if they are Under Secretaries of State. The type of stupidity which brings a man to the top in politics is one of the cardinal virtues or closely associated with them
Otherwise work: and cutting down which is to me a synonym for pruning trees in the garden: and a dinner yesterday. I am rather vague about two of our guests: but suspect them to have been (to be, in fact, for they will not have reformed over night) missionaries. Then some jute people: and the Administrateur of Chandernagore: and a doctor and his wife: and the Holmans. The Administrateur almost fell on my neck. Holman told him that his mother thought of visiting France: and as these are almost the first words of a linguaphone record, I rattled off a quarter of it. Also he much admires De Croisset and was elated to find that I had his books: he has read the one about India again and again: more elated still to find that I could quote, more or less.
It is just after lunch: I have not eaten much, but it is a drowsy thing to have lunched at all on a day as not as this. A cold weather day but hot
I hope that your Austrian trip will have gone well
There is a blue jay on the lawn. Stupid looking but beautiful: it has moved off being menaced by a hawk.
Much love
Dad.
And anyhow it is not too late to wish you that Happy New Year which you will probably have in any event.
(new page which may be a continuation of the letter?)
How often as I read the account of your adventures or frolics in uncivilized parts did I sincerely thank fate that I had escaped them! I am also pleased that I did not live in times when the English did not wash but did hawk spit and scratch, not without cause. When we lose this great Indian empire it may be remembered that the chief import from Indian into England was the washing habit. When war breaks out take care to preserve a recipe for making soap, so that with the breakdown of civilization the secret may not be lost.
How absurd is Richard with his whetstone marline spike and eight screwdrivers in his pocket! Heredity, says your mother. Isn’t it lucky that after all I never sent him a kukri. – I wonder if he really does no work. Not that the habit has brought me happiness, particularly.
When on the movies Sir John Anderson was shown in all his ugliness, sitting and making a speech, with all the gestures, tricks of expression and intonations that I knew so well, I felt quit a gush of affection for him. If only he had pushed my schemes as well as my legislation for them! He always spoke as if the latter made certain the former, in this country not so. Maybe this bustup in the Damodan Canal area will help me. If, that is, the Ministers get their backs up and decide just to show everybody that they can at a pinch do something. Is the pinch in such a case a starting signal or an irresistible stimulus? and how vivid speech would be if every such phrase called up a picture!
A strong wind came up yesterday afternoon and filled the upstairs rooms with dead leaves. A queer thing
Much love
Dad.
Family letter from LJT
Chinsurah
Bengal
Dec 21st 1938.
My Dears,
Christmas is drawing very near, and contrary to custom and to expectation, I have been a good deal less busy the last few days than I was last week. Certainly there is not nearly so much to write about. There have been the usual sort of routine things doing in House and garden, and the usual amount of odd letters and such connected with the Himalayan Club. I sent off all my Christmas cards for friends in India a couple of days ago. The Indians have taken passionately to sending Christmas cards, many of them of a rather elaborate nature. Sir Hari Sankar Paul, one of Calcutta’s very wealthy and influential business men took the palm last year, by having a large card, with a photograph of his house on the outside, and a photo of himself inside! I have not received anything very striking so far this year.
I have been having a good deal of both over this old Miss Baboneau’s affairs. We are trying to get her a companion, and I wrote to a nice woman I saw, to say that Miss B, was now much better, and would like her to come, and got a reply that meantime this woman had had an offer to go as Housekeeper to one of the big hospitals in Simla, and had, of course accepted. A most extraordinary looking little Eurasian woman was sent up to see us on Sunday, and we decided to give her a trial, but I fear she is not going to do. She has an extremely poor mentality. She is also as black as a negress almost and very ugly, Not that either of these factors would really matter if she were bright and capable. She is pathetically poor and pathetically humble, and so terribly anxious to get the job and to do well, which I think influenced us all into giving her a trial, but I can see that it is not going to answer, and I have written off to Calcutta to search for someone else.
We had a dinner-party on Saturday night, and it went off quite well. We should have been twelve, but the wife of the Administrateur of Chandanagore, who is expecting a baby before long, begged off at the last moment. Her husband said she was “un peu suffrante”, but desolated not to be able to come. Talk went merrily enough, and the cook gave us a good dinner. Later in the evening we played Herbert’s race-game, for points that were really toominute, but chosen by some of the guests. The little Frenchman was the chief winner, and managed to work up tremendous excitement over the shilling or so that he won. This is a good house for a party. There is so much room, and it seems designed for entertaining.
I told Mogul this morning that I wanted certain things for the “Visibly Hidden Objects” game, and he became enthusiastic, and said he remembered the game. I think as a matter of fact he had got it confused with some of the games I used to play with the Guides. At any rate, he kept on arriving upstairs, rather breathless, with a new collection of treasures. His latest ideas include an onion, a potato and a piece of garlic. (What do you call the entire small onion of garlic? Is it “a garlic?)
Twice this week I have been out paying calls. We went to see the Tufnell Barretts, and found them living in about two rooms of their big house, while the rest is being painted and colour-washed. It looked very uncomfortable, but Mrs TB says she would rather be in a through mess and get finished with it fairly quickly, than have one or two rooms done at a time and hang on indefinitely. My other call was on the new Judge and his wife, an Indian couple, nice people and very well off. The wife is the daughter of a well known Indian, the late Sir P.O. Mitter, a brilliant barrister, who was one of the first men to be appointed as a minister in Bengal under the Dyarchy. He died some years ago, and left his Calcutta house to his daughter. It is in the European quarter. Mr Chanda is also a wealthy man and has a family house in North Calcutta, but Mrs Chanda does not like it, so she will not live in it, and they keep both houses going, as well as the big judge’s house up here. The late Sir P.O.Mitter had a very quick wit, and many years ago when the budget speech had been made by a Scotchman from Aberdeen, who in addition to the broadest of accents, never his mouth when he spoke, Sir P.O. rose to his feet and said he was sorry to say that he had not been able to understand what the Hon Member for Finance had just been saying but that was no doubt because English was the mother tongue of neither the Hon Member or himself. Mrs Chanda will I think be quite an asset to the station. She is a pretty little woman, and has a lovely deep speaking voice.
I had a tremendous day in Calcutta last Friday. I left here just after nine o’clock in the morning, and did not get back till nearly midnight. I seemed to have heaps of things to do in Calcutta, including going to see the Administrator General, who incidentally is Charles Carey Morgan about Miss Baboneau’s will. I lunched with some Jewish friends who are keen gardeners, and brought away some melon seeds of a specially luscious variety of melon, which Dr Judah had brought from France. I wonder whether I shall be able to grow them in this garden. The mali thinks I shall.
My friend Dr Biswas, now head of the Botanical Survey, met me for tea. I wanted to introduce him to Louise Ranken, for Louise has become very keen on the idea of having an Indian Herb Garden. Also she and her husband have been having some training in certain of the Yoga system physical exercises, and Dr Biswas is a keen adherent of some of the Yoga practices. We had a couple of hours of most interesting botanical and (if I may coin a word) yoga-stical talk. I had made a lot of notes out of a book read recently “In Search of Secret India”, and got a good deal for information from Dr Biswas. At six o’clock I had to make a quick mental shift as I was meeting two mountain enthusiasts, one a German who has been up in Sikkim this year, and has found and crossed the pass that Helen Martin tried to find, and did not, a few years ago. The other man, John Auden, of the Geological Survey, had also been to search for the same pass with G.B. Gourlay still earlier, so we had a good evening of studying photographs and poring over maps. Idris drifted along and hovered on the outskirts of our mountain atmosphere for awhile. He was tired and worried, for he had been clearing up everything to get away on his long planned flight to Batavia, and some of his permits had still not arrived. He left early on Sunday morning, and the last news we had was that he left Akyab at 11.15 on Sunday, so he evidently got so far on his journey successfully. Our German friend left us about 7.30, by which time we had been joined by Dr Heron, and he and John Auden and I went off to meet the Cookes and have a “Grill” at the Saturday Club. It was a most merry evening. Dr Heron had just finished reading Ron’s Book, which I had lent him, and inspired by Ron’s tale of the nun and other ladies he met from time to time, Dr Heron told us some admirable tales of nuns and others whom he had encountered during his many travels in Tibet.
23.12 38.
I could not finish this yesterday, for we had a succession of visitors, and I never got back to my writing-table. We dined out with the doctor and his wife, Capt and Mrs Lossing. It was a nice party, with plenty of merry talk, good food, and a darts competition afterwards. A new companion has been found for Miss Baboneau, and I had to go over and dismiss this one. She took it so well, poor little soul. I had given her an advance of Rs5, and I told her she might keep as a Christmas present. I also gave her two old cotton dresses and old tweed coat. She was so grateful that I felt quite embarrassed. She kissed my hand and said she would always remember me and pray for me. Its sad that any human beings should have to be quite so humble. I hope the poor little creature will get a job more suited to her mental capacity. Something has just gone phut in my typewriter, and I have had to change on to Herbert’s.
Best love to you all
LJT
From LJT to Annette
Chinsurah
Dec 22nd 1938
My darling Annette
This is only going to be a snootle of a letter, for I greatly desire some sleep. A morning of constant interruptions from one servant after another, and notes from people, and the dhirzie wanting work, brought lunch time round, with the family letters only just finished. However you will not be wanting long letters while you are sporting in Austria.
Its exciting about Richards car. One might have thoughts about thought-transference, since I must have been wrestling with bank accounts, in order to see how much we could send for the purchase of a car, just when he was deciding that he must get one.
The plans are made for Christmas dinner, I gave all the orders this morning, and the cook goes down to Calcutta to-morrow to order all the things and purchase the turkey. I hope he will get a good one.
We shall be a party of fourteen, I think, and should be a reasonably merry party. Mr Holman, the Superintendent of Police, is a first class person at a party. He laughs so heartily that he makes one feel that everything is amusing and the show going well, whatever may be happening.
At Belvedere to-night I am wearing the black and silvery sequin dress that Aunt bought second hand and sent me two years ago. I have looped up the long flat train with a black silk net sash, and I think the frock looks quite modish again. Its a lovely dress.
Sorry to be so dull. I wont try to write any more. I am trying to picture what sort of place you will be in. I hope you will send me a picture or two.
Best love
Mother
From LJT to Annette
Chinsurah
Dec 29th 1938
My darling Annette,
You chose my Christmas present bag very cleverly! It is really exactly what I want. The colour is perfect with my clothes, and there is a nice lot of room inside. I like the two flat inside pockets. Its such a help to be able to keep ones engagement book and papers about odd things, separate from handkerchief and powderpuff. I am grateful to you and Richard for the very handsome present, which ill, I assure you, be in constant use.
The telegram of Christmas greeting from Highways was nicely timed, and reached us soon after breakfast. We thought of you constantly both on the 23rd when you were voyaging out to Austria, and on the subsequent days. I feel little doubt that the wonder whether the game was going to be worth the candle, which you and Anne felt when you were making arrangements, proved to be without foundation. Even walking over snow-covered mountains, which is all I have done in late spring in Switzerland, has a great charm. I much regret that I have never done winter sports. I fear I’m a bit old to learn now.
Idris’ Matthews has just sent me a post-card from Batavia, where he flew, during the Christmas holidays, reporting a marvellous flight. I wish I had been able to go with him! I’m longing to hear more about it. I was just thinking what a complete contrast his Christmas was to yours. He has been flying over miles and miles of tropical jungle and warm smooth seas. I’m awfully glad the trip has been a success. He was so tired and worried the night before he left, that I felt the adventure was perhaps rather foolish.
Sorry! The dhirzie has just called me away to try on a little jacket, and it has upset my flow of thought. (Such as it was)
After a good deal of trouble, because he will not measure exactly, the dhirzie has made me a nice little “Mosquitoe-proof” coat of black boucle organdie, with a row of gold buttons down the front. I find the mosquitoes such a nuisence in the evenings, biting my neck and arms, so I wanted a coatee that was cool, but high in the neck and long in sleeves, to keep the little brutes off. I think this should answer the purpose very well.
I’m so glad to hear that Christina is back in England, and I look forward to getting news of how she is.
An I.C.S. friend of ours is bringing one of the Viceroys Assistant Secretaries out to tea to-day. The A.S. has the pleasant name of Philip Nash. I hope he proves as nice as his name. It seems he has made a special study of the early history of Europeans in India, and he therefore wants to see Chinsurah and the neighbourhood. This is really working up to the fact that I must shortly go and put on some tidier clothes, in case the young men arrive.
We look forward to your letters about Austria
Best love
Mother
Family letter from LJT
Chinsurah
29.12.38
My dears,
Christmas has come and gone, with a good deal of gaiety, and we now look forward to a few quiet days. We went in to Calcutta on Christmas Eve, partly because Herbert had got to a pitch of feeling he needed a little relaxation from work, partly because he wanted to see Fred Astair and Ginger Rogers in “Carefree”, and partly because we wanted to take our Christmas wishes and Christmas gifts to Harry and Winsome (I’m sorry about this odd spacing. My machine is out of order, and I cant see how the spacing poppet on Herbert’s works)
We enjoyed “Carefree” and laughed at it quite a lot. As often when I see a film, I refgetted that they had not made a better and more through job out of the excellent idea underlying the play. It could have been much funnier if it had been a little more real. We did not stay in Calcutta for dinner, for Herbert was a bit tired, and we did not want another late night. Glancing back at my last week’s letter, I see is misdated the last party of it. I wrote it on the 22nd, not the 23rd. It was on the 22nd that we went in to the Viceroy’s ball. We dressed here and drove straight in to the United Service Club, where we were dining with Dr Heron. He had a nice little party, and was an excellent host, in that he hurried us up over our coffee so that we left for the party in good time. Luckily we all had private entre tickets, so we did not have any werisome waiting in a queue of cars. I wore a black and silver sequin and black net dress, that Grace sent out to me two years ago. By making some small alterations it looked quite up to date, and it is a lovely frock. The ball is always a pretty sight, and we met heaps of old friends. We left after the eighth dance, as we were driving home, and did not want to be too late. I slept quite a bit in the car, but Herbert, who needs the rest much more, never can manage to do so.
One of the most Christmassy things I did, was to go down to the Angus Jute Mill, where the daughter of old friends of min has married the doctor, and help them with the Christmas party for all the women and children who have attended the hospital and clinic. From 1 till 3 they are given a feast of curry, rice and chappaties in the grounds of the hospital. A party of musicians and singers and dancers, the latter being young boys dressed up as girls, supplied entertainment. Betty Copeland and her husband had been there to see that all was going well, and had gone home to their own lunch. We returned about 3,15, with several of the ladies from the Mill, to give out the presents. One of the wards of the hospital had presumably had all the serious cases removed elsewhere, and only the converlescents were there. Tables had been arranged down the middle on which were piled little garments, sweets, biscuits and toys. Every baby born in the clinic during the preceeding year, got a little dress, and a toy and a few sweets and biscuits. Children of an earlier “vintage” get only a toy and the sweets and biscuits. It was fun seeing the excitement of the mothers and children. The labour in the jute mills is gathered from all over the place. There are Santals from the edges of Bengal and Bihar:- Madrassis from the South:- tall lighter coloured people from up country, and a sprinkling of Nepalis, mostly working as doo-keepers and guards of some sort. Its cheering to see the care that is taken of all these people now-a-days, and makes me feel that whatever political unrest, wars and rumours of wars are going on, humanity is slowly becoming more humane.
Our Christmas day was quiet but pleasant. We breakfasted in the garden as usual, and strolled round afterwards to see how the plants were doing. My sweet peas celebrated the day by producing their first four blooms. Later I walked over to take my greeting to old Miss Baboneau, and her companion, and on my way I met the Lossings (Dr) and Mr Stein, the D.I.G of police. They summoned me to go in and have a drink with them when I had seen the old lady, which I did, and then persuaded them to walk back with me and see the garden, and have a drink with us. We kept Mr Stein for lunch, as his wife is not here, and he and Herbert played darts. At four o’clock we went to tennis at the Club, and in the evening we had everyone in the station to dinner. We were thirteen but I got over the difficulty by leaving a gap between the two tables which I had to utilize to accomodate us all. A new Military Intelligence Officer with wife, had arrived here only a few days before. They are sharing the Tufnell Barretts house, which is a very big one, and easily divides into two parts. They being new-comers, and the TBs fairly much so, plus the fact that being so near Calcutta we are not dependent on the few other people in the station for amusement, means that a station dinner here has not the trying feature which it has in some places, in that we have not all seen one another daily for months past, and exhausted all our conversation. Herbert says his end of the table became slightly Rabelaisanian to the great pleasure of Mrs T.B. My end which included the matron of the hospital and the mahogany-coloured Collector of Excise, remained perfectly respectable, but the talk rattled along quite merrily.
The “visibly Hidden objects”, which I called “Seeing Things” (a better name, don’t you think?) was very successful. Herbert’s large objects like two walking sticks, a fly-swat, a tennis shoe, and a homburg hat were discovered by very few people. Again the big drawing-room, with my study leading out of it, made an ideal setting for the game. While the guests were hunting, and Herbert wandering round with them, I roasted chestnuts. Our fire-place here burns beautifully and never seems to smoke.
The party broke up about 12.30, Herbert was a bit exhausted, as he always is when he has been host. He puts such a lot of energy into amusing his guests, that he takes a lot out of himself. He was very tired the next day, but luckily we had nothing on on Boxing Day and he was able to take it easy, and so was reasonably fresh again to go into Calcutta on the 27th. We drove in in time for lunch with the Jenkins with whom we were staying the night, for the Government House Ball. Kitty and I went off to watch the final of the Indian Polo Championship, while Walter Jenkins went to watch golf, and Herbert decided to sleep after lunch.
In the polo it was rather a walk over the Jaipore, andtherefore not an exciting game, but it is a joy to see them play! We met the men at the Calcutta Club where we were attending an Indian Civil Service Association Tea and Cocktail party. It was rather out of a sense of duty that we went, and it was as I rather anticipated it would be, a bit of a frost. There were very, very few English people there, and I am sorry to say that with a few exceptions the Indians did look a scrubby lot. There really were only about four or five in the room who looked like, and seemed to have the manners of gentlemen, and one of those, Susil Sinha, has chucked the I.C.S. for a job with Tatas. There was a room cleared for dancing and a good band, so Walter and I danced quite a lot, encouraging a few others to do the same.
The dance at G.H. was really great fun. I had nice partners, and met dozens of old friends. I had to sit out a dance with the Maharaja of Kashmir, once famous in the English press as Mr A. He is not interesting to talk to, but after one or two unsuccessful beginnings, I got his talking quite animatedly about areoplanes and areodromes.
The following morning, after a lateish breakfast, the Jenkins and I went to see the Art Exhibition, while Herbert went to see who he could find at the United Services Club. We foregathered there later and found a group of old friends in from different country districts, whom it was a great pleasure to see, Bry Jones, was one of them, and the Janvrins, with whom my Miss Pearce (Lovey) now is, were also there. We were quite loathe to drag ourselves away to 1 o’clock lunch with Harry and Winsome, pleased as we always are to be with them. We went back to the Jenkins directly after lunch to have a little rest and change for the Viceroy’s Garden Party. It was a pleasant enough function, but somehow the Linlithgows make it feel just an official duty function, and it has lost the geniality which the Willingdons infused into it and all their parties. We went to have cocktails with some I.C.S. friends afterwards, where I fell in with Mr Ormond, the Barrister who married Nancy Magor, and we had a most intriguing conversation on the subject of the physical exercises of the Yoga system. Mr Ormond swears by them, and even gave us a few demonstrations. It was luck to meet him, and to get on to that subject, for as often the talk at cocktail parties is a bit futile. We left a 7.o’clock, and got back here at 8.15 to dinner and an early bed.
That finishes our Christmas gaities. We have refused all other invitations this week, for Herbert wants to get a lot of stuff ready for his Forest Committee work, and catch up some arrears. He goes off on tour with the Forest Committee on the 3rd.
The fact that I have described all these functions to you for several years past, and so felt that there was no use in doing it again has, I fear, made this letter into the dullest catalogue of doings. I apologise!
Our best love to you all, and good wishes for 1939
LJT