1938 February
From HPV to Annette
Calcutta
Feb 2nd 1938
My dear Annette
A grief has happened. Early in the week I said “that is something for a letter” and now I cannot remember what the something was.
Another thing was your mother’s astonishment when she found that I had been putting corn cure on a sore place behind my ear. She accused me of being eccentric. But it was common sense. The corncure is salicylic acid which is a powerful disinfectant: the sore place must be something to be cured by disinfectant because it comes back each time after it appears to have been cured – one of these fungus skin complaints which are not uncommon out here: another salicylic compound which I had was claimed on the label to be good for such things: and so I tried this. Q.E.D. But it was messy stuff and showed; so I washed it off with spirit: and that’s that. Also I tried it on two places which get sore sometimes after shaving – and that may have been queer: to save waste.
I have been doing a lot of physical jerks this week, having suddenly decided to see if by doing them night and morning I might get rid of tummyaches at night. So I have done each morning the whole of Muller (less two) and the whole of Hornibrooke (less one) plus Hawaiian waggling plus some spine twisting which may or may not be those which I saw once in a newspaper.
Also by way of check on results I scraped my tongue each morning with the handle of a nail file. Results in a way pretty good. Reduction daily of muckings on the tongue. General feeling in the first half of the day that I had muscles round the waist and was brisk. Perhaps a bit more cheerful. But: on the other hand: in the evening, tiredness: and at all times, more or less, wind. Boules d’air. Doing exercises is like tuning up on the bagpipes: rumbling noises. It is a nuisance: but I don’t think I’ll go back to Boike: or for that matter to doctors. Maybe if the work I am doing were not so dull, my digestion would be better. The Judge Jameson who came in to lunch the other day says that it is altogether a question of bad temper. Perhaps this will move off, for I began again the other day to read the One Thing at a Time book from which years ago I extracted great wisdom. Strange to say, I have never again been able to find in it the good things which pleased me so much: some phrase must have set my fancy running. It cured my temper then.
On Sunday I went to the movies. Irene Dunne in “The awful truth” or some such name. An admirable dog and a less admirable cat: the former from After the Thin Man: and I believe I’ve seen the latter somewhere. We laughed a lot: but the thing could with advantage have been blue pencilled.
Wednesday. And yesterday was only the 1st. The sat part of scribbling as I did yesterday is that it is all illegible next day and has to be penned over, as I have been penning over the first part of this.
The Book says not to foist one’s troubles on to others unless it is for some serious purpose. I suppose my serious purpose was to make you smile. Which is all wrong, according to the Book.
Being annoyed the other day (according to the Book I should abstain from thinking about it) I said “The Chief Minister ought to be made to swallow a tapeworm so as to have a little stiffening in him”. That I regard as a pleasing conceit: but forget it.
Most unusual: I lunched today at the Saturday Club and (attention!) I drank beer. When before? I don’t know. Or last? So long ago that I’ve forgotten; if ever I did.
Much love
Dad
From LJT to Annette
The Towers
Cossipore
Calcutta
Feb 3rd 1938
My darling Annette
Instead of getting on rapidly with my writing I have been lingering over a re-reading of all the letters from Highways and feeling myself well back into that friendly, if rather over-busy, atmosphere. How lucky it is that aunt lives in a place where there are plenty of other young people and where you are able to go out so much – Richard’s socialistic ideas seem to be settling a little, for he talks of spending some of the money he saved on his allowance last year, in getting a new long tail coat suit. I’ve just been telling him that one of the reasons I would like to get away with you three into the lakes and mountains for a few weeks, is that I think it would give us more chances to talk and discuss all kinds of things. Highways is not very good for that – There are too many people and generally a feeling that there are so many urgent things to do in house and garden that one should not give the time to pure (or impure!!) talk! I sometimes regret that I know so little of what my mother thought about things. We never discussed politics or religion or any sort of philosophy of life. She was a simple woman, in essence very like Auntie. She herself did not wish to question things. She clung to her dogmatic Victorian religion and rules of social order – and I think she really did not want to discuss them for fear that they should be upset and destroyed – She can have had no idea of my thoughts and mental development and would, I have not the slightest doubt, have been profoundly shocked if she had! Its not just a matter of youth and age being unable to understand one another, for often I talked with Auntie Polly Quilter about Life (with a capital L) and how to deal with it – and though I was somewhere from 18 to 20 during the years when I stayed a good deal with her, and she was round about eighty, still we could talk with a great deal of freedom to-gether. She had great stores of wisdom and I remember once when I asked her if she could explain not only the great devotion her sons had for her; but the freedom of their friendship with her; she said that one secret of it was that she had never allowed herself to be shocked – or at any rate show that she was shocked – at anything they said or did – “and” said she “being brought up in a strict Victorian home, I got quite a lot of surprises”. For a woman of her generation, that insight was very remarkable. We may have lost some qualities since the war – or even since the beginning of the Twentieth Century – but what marvels we have gained in freedom of thought and in freedom of action. It needs no courage now to say that you are an agnostic, an atheist or a Buddist or anything else you like. Your less intelligent acquaintances might be slightly puzzled, but it would not occur to them to cut you off their visiting list – Your more intelligent friends would probably be highly interested. It would have been a different kettle of fish 50 or 60 years ago!
So – I ask for an opinion – Should we aim at a few weeks walking and talking and reading, or have you any other suggestion to make for a cheap holiday?
Best love
Mum
Family letter from LJT
The Towers
Cossipore
Feb 3rd 1938
My Dears
The last day of January brought me a new experience. I piloted Idris’ new plane for the first time. Its only the second time I have been up in it, for he has been flying very little this Cold Weather, and we have both been busy. Directly we were up in the air on Monday, he said, “Take the stick”. Obediently I took it, and though I thought I had not moved it at all, the plane’s nose began to rise, and I quickly realized that the response from the plane is lighter and quicker than any car I have ever driven or any horse I have ever ridden, and from then on I had no difficulty in preserving the stability of the plane. Idris told me to fly over various marks he indicated, and showed me how to use the rudder as well as the stick, and then told me to fly to Chinsurah. I know all the country round here so well from the air, that I had no difficulty in finding my way there. Over our future home, Idris told me to turn, and I flew down the river to see the new Ram Krishna Temple, which is just across the river from this house, and then did a fairly sharp turn, for which idris gave me a good report, and few over this house, and back to the areodrome, where of course he took over charge again, to land the machine. it was a very very interesting experience, and Idris is pleased with my performance. He says many people make a plane flounder about tremendously when first they try to control it, and that generally there is a tendency to over-correct every motion. I suppose I have flown so much in a light plane now that I have got the feel of it. In the old Gypsy Mother the seats were in seperate cockpits one behind the other, so that, though there were arrangements for dual control, it was not a convenient plane in which to train another person. In the Hornet the seats are side by side in a little cabin. Idris says we will go up and practice landing on clouds one day soon, but its not so easy to find your clouds at this time of year.
This has been a most enjoyable week, with a feeling of leisure about it. I have been able to do a lot of work for the Himalayan Club; I have been able to spend time in the garden, which is now at its zenith as for as the Cold Weather annuals are concerned, and I have had time to see several of my friends in a quiet way, as well as finding a certain amount of time for reading. I am still deep in reading biology, and finding it extremely fascinating. Two things that have been on my mind for the Himalayan Club, have now been delt with. The one was the appointment of a new Hon Secretary in Darjeeling, and the other setting the machinery in motion for the building of our second hut in Sikkim.
Mr Ruttledge and the Everest Committee have sent me a copy of Ruttledge’s last book “Everest. The Unfinished Adventure”. I am not only pleased to have it, but pleased to have it presented by them.
I have been to two films this week, which is unusual for me. I dined with Walter Jenkins on Saturday and we went to see “Stage Door” which I thought very good, and on Sunday at 6 o’clock Herbert and I, obeying a sudden whim, went to see Irene Dunne in “the Awful Truth”. Herbert liked her so much in “Theodora Goes Wild” and we enjoyed her very much in this thing, thought it is not such a good film as “Theodora”. We laughed tremendously, and I am sure it did Herbert good.
There was a pleasant dinner with the Italian Consul General and His wife last Thursday. They are a good-looking and extremely charming couple Their peg on the official tree is just beside our own, and we have met a lot this cold weather and I find Commendatore Comillo Giuriati very good company. He has a quick and humourous mind with a wide range of interests. They came out to lunch with us on Sunday, partly that he might see some of my mountain photographs, and we enjoyed having them here. Herbert, who professes the keenest dislike of the Italians, took a great fancy to Giuriati the first time they met, because Giuriati knows a lot about public health, and was interested in Herbert’s schemes.
When Professor Gates was here, I renewed an old acquaintanceship with Lady Bose, the widow of the well know Indian Scientist, and liked her so much that I asked if I could go and see her again. My American friend, Louise Rankin was anxious to meet her, so we went to tea on Tuesday last, and spent a most interesting evening with Lady Bose and a Danish woman who lives with her. The late Sir Jagadesh Bose was a botanist who discovered all sorts of things about the sensitiveness of plants and plant movements. She was telling us a lot about his early work in Cambridge, and says that he was one of the pioneers with the vision to see that the nice water-tight compartments into which the sciences were split up, would have to go, for he, for instance was using physics for his botanical investigations, and discovering more and more rapidly that it was imposible to draw a line between animal biology and the work he was doing. Lady Bose has a wonderful personality. She is clever, thoughtful and extraordinarily serene. When we came away, Louise said “Oh! How I enjoyed that! Please let us go again!” I enjoyed it too, and was glad to get a note from Lady Bose this morning, asking me to pay her another visit before we go out to Chinsurah.
We are getting on well with taming the squirrels. “George”, our first friend, is positively bold, and bounds up with a direct approach, whether one is holding a bit of food down for him or not. If there is no food there, he stands up on his hind legs, and waggles his nose about, quite clearly asking for something. His friends and relations are not so brave, but they do come. They are attractive, pretty little things.
What a frightful gale it must have been in England last week. You seem to have had a pretty hard rough winter this year.
Best love to you all
LJT
From HPV to Annette
Calcutta
Feb 8th 1938
My dear Annette.
The item which I forgot last week was my amusement at seeing a mali brushing down a flowering shrub with a broom: to remove dead flowers which came away in brittle dust: sensible enough but it looked absurd.
I have continued to do my exercises at great length and often: and have adhered to some extent to the doctrines of the one thing at a time book. In other words I have bestirred myself and finished off a lot of jobs which I have left undone for weeks and which may have been on my conscience: anything on the conscience makes (according to the book) for internal strife and weariness – as indeed I know very well. Also I have refrained from reading while I dressed or (and this is new) in bed: and I have deliberately stopped things before I finished them, such as letters or cutting deads off the dahlias, because (all according to the precepts of the book) I had set myself a time limit. It works out in curious ways: always there must be a decision, is it or isn’t it a self indulgence to do or to refrain from doing what I ought to do? For example working. It looks as if for me the selfindulgence were working, rather than lying back and doing nothing. In a sense the test is whether one sneaks back to it. I went out to see Dr Laws’ birds at his famous aviary on Sunday, chiefly by way of practising the making of a decision quickly: also to a tea given by the President of the Legislative Assembly, an enormous affair given in the Assembly House Gardens near the railings which divide it from the public road: a crowd stood and stared through the bars, zoo-like. It was such a big show that I might have saved myself the trouble of going. Also I have fixed up about a new will: and taken shoes to be repaired: and been measured for new uniform trousers: and twice sent the car to be looked to instead of leaving it for your mother to do. Enterprise! How far is it due to having more time because I have abandoned work, as I have almost abandoned hope, about my schemes. The car has been behaving piglike. That comes of sending it in for repairs.
Explain about your work. I have forgotten, if I ever knew, about groups. Do you take these as a substitute for pass or Honour Mods? And when do you go in for finals? In your third year or in the fourth? Lucky that I did not have to take modern languages at Oxford. It would have been as if I had been asked to take maths: hopeless.
Also tell me: did you want to go to Oxford rather than Cambridge, or was it pure chance? A sudden spasm as to the rashness of putting all the family eggs into the Oxford basket smote me: and adding Gavin thereto. Whereas Cambridge was nearer (/) and what with Brother Harry and Brother Roy (and Brother Bill once thinking of trying to go there – or didn’t he? Bound to us by more associations.
Do you see the date? Middle of the week. It is an instance of not-leaving-everything-to-the-last-moment, part of the psychological tenets. These forbid my discoursing on tummy aches: “for who wants to hear about them?” – who for that matter wants to hear about anything diseased in this letter?
Much love
Dad
From LJT to Annette
The Towers
Cossipore
Calcutta
Feb 10th 1938
My darling Annette
I wonder whether the news of my home-coming will tip the scales in favour of your going off to Bonn. It would be a good idea I should think.
The impression you give of your life at Oxford is a pleasant one. Do you ever get bored? I think the only period of my life when I ever got fits of boredom was sometimes when I was at school when I was about 14 or 15 – and life seemed a waste of days, going on so much alike and I used to ask myself whether anything exciting was ever going to happen – It did not happen to me often or last for long – Ever since then I’ve been too busy to be bored – Your mention of the daffodils and the Van Gogh landscape, momentarily conjured up a vivid little picture of your room – but of course it was’nt your room that I really saw, but the room of the girl we interrupted when we went over Somerville.
I’m interested to hear that you have been reading “The Mysterious Universe” – I have had it on my shelves for ages but have never read it – I must do so – for my interest in Science has been so strongly aroused I am not only reading biology but any science I can lay my hands on – It is like stepping into a new world – or being given an immensely intensified vision with which to look at this – I recommend to you Julian Huxley’s “Essays in Popular Science” which are published in the Phoenix Library Series. You probably wont have time to read it in term time – but you’ll find it worth while, if you can spare time for it in the vacation. How one skims the cream of other people’s endeavour in that sort of book. To think of all the years of patient research – to all the following of false clues – before the smallest discoveries are made, is almost alarming – and there are all the thrilling things set forth for us to read, almost as easily as we could read a novel!
My garden is giving me much pleasure these days – Its sad that one cant keep these gay annuals in flower for more months of the year –
Best love from
Mum
Family letter from LJT
The Towers
Cossipore
Calcutta
Feb 10th 1938
My Dears,
The weather is so lovely just now, that one greets each day with fresh gratitude and surprise. The queer hot spell which came to us early in January has passed away, and the days are cool and brilliant, with gentle fresh breezes from the north. The gardens are at their gayest, and many of the trees are already wearing their new spring green. I have been having some of my choicer friends who love gardens, out here to lunch or to tea. How much nicer it is to see people like that rather than at big parties.
Though I have been in India for twenty-four years, I never remember seeing so much of the festival in honour of Saraswati, the goddess of learning, as I did this year. The reason is that our journeys to and from Calcutta take us through the Indian quarter of the town. On Friday as we made these journeys, everywhere we saw images of Saraswati, from little dolls ten or twelve inches high, to life-sized figures, being carried in every conceivable way to schools, to colleges and to private houses for the celebration of the puja the following days. On Sunday as we drove in to the 6 o’clock performance of one of the cinemas, we saw these same images being carried in state, attended by drummers and singers, to be case into the holy waters of the Ganges (For religious purposes the Hoogli counts as being one with the Ganges) Saraswati is a charming person. She sits on a lotus, playing a banjo sort of instrument, with a swan nestling at her feet. She is the wife of Brahma. He created her out of himself, and she was so beautiful that he was at once consumed with love for her. Frightened of his ardent gaze, she lept away to his right and at once a new head looking in that direction, grew upon his shoulders. She passed behind him, and a third head appeared, and as she passed away to his left yet a fourth head came into being. Then he called to her, saying come, and to-gether let us create all sorts of living beings, so she came to him, and they lived in perfect bliss for a hundred years. So now you know why Brahma has four faces. Her festival has a delightful gaiety about it, and is chiefly celebrated by young people. On Sunday evening almost the first procession we saw was entirely organised by small boys from twelve years old down I should say. In front, walking with great dignity in spite of the fact that his sole garment was a ragged loin-cloth, was a little lad carrying a foot-high image on his head. With him were a company of some dozen other urchins, shouting praises of the goddess, and strung out behind, smaller and smaller boys, and far, oh very far behind, a fat little naked youngling hurrying desperately to reach the river-side in time to see the immersion. If I had been alone in the car, I think I would have turned it round to give him a lift.
All the way in to Calcutta, from every direction, the Goddess was being taked to the river. She was being carried on mens’ heads. She was riding in rickshaws, in carriages, in motor cars, and on the roofs of “bund-garis”. She was balanced on bullock-carts, and even on platforms lashed between two bicycles, but most of the biggest and most elaborate images were on motor lorries, embowed in palms, and attended by musicians. One procession was rolling along to the strains of “Its a long way to Tippary”, but the effect was cheerful! Coming back at 8.30 the processions were still going on with the addition of acetylene flares. These were mostly big affaires from the different colleges, some of the students almost hysterical with excitement. Personally I found the Puja much more interesting than the Edgar Wallace film, “The Squeaker” which we had been to see. Behind it all I felt a sort of pathos. These hundreds of young men, many of them poor in physique, under-nourished, over-driven to pass examinations, desperately beseeching some power outside them-selves to give them more skill and knowledge than they possess, so that they may gain degrees and appointments, and scrape up some sort of a livelihood for themselves, and for the wives and families with whom they are very likely saddled before they are in a position to earn anything.
Mountain matters have been much in the foreground lately. Messes Tilman and Shipton are due in Bombay to-day and will be staying here for the week-end. A series of Air-mail letters have come from Mr Tilman about all sorts of things - - - about their baggage which has been sent round by sea, - - about the oxygen cylinders, - - about customs, - - and so on. I can picture his feelings so well during his last week or so in England! He is the sort of man who likes to sit for a long while smoking his pipe, while he decides to go off and climb some mountain. Then he collects his well worn mountain gear, buys a few iron rations, stuffs some things into a rucksack, and walks off with probably scarcely a word to anyone. Now he finds himself the head of the most talked of mountaineering expedition in the world, and I guess that till he gets away into the blue at the end of this month he will be rather a worried man. The Germans who are going again to that devilish mountain, Nanga Parbat, the Austrians who are going to Kedanth, the Americans who are going into the Karakorams, and one or two minor expeditions organised by members of the Himalayan Club in India, are all writing for our precious Sherpa Porters, and are all eager to get first choice after the Everest men have been picked. The porters are getting excited too, and remarkable letters penned by bazaar letter-writers have been coming in. The gist of them is all more or less the same, i.e that as I am the mother and father of the particular porter in question, will I please tell Tilli Sahib (Mr Tilman) what a fine fellow he is. I wish I could spare the time and the money to go up to Darjeeling, and settle all this myself. The Himalayan Club has just had the rather unpleasant job of having to ask old Mr Kydd, who was our local secretary up there, to resign, since he had become more and more inefficient, and he is about to give over to another man who is to be our paid “Agent”. I know Mr Kydd will make things difficult, and I am a bit worried about it – My hope is that if I make out lists of the men who are wanted, Tilman and Shipton will pick them for us. They are taking far fewer than usual to Everest this year, and may be glad to be able to give those who are turned down, other good jobs.
Our move to Chinsurah at last begins to take on a semblance of reality to me. I have arranged the day for our furniture to go out, and for lorries to take it. I am sending Mrs Burrows hot weather flower seeds to have sown for me, and in my engagement book on March 5th is written “Move Luggage” and on the 8th “Go to Chinsurah”. Already I have had to refuse my help to one or two Girl Guide affairs because I shall no longer be in Calcutta. This move has a slightly different flavour from any other I have ever made, for it will probably be our last. Another two or three years, and I expect Herbert will retire. Also, of course, being only thirty miles from Calcutta, I shall be able to come in fairly often, and friends will come to spend days and week-ends with us. Percy Brown has promised to be one of the first. I was lunching with him last Friday, and we had intended to carry out a long talked of plan of visiting the fine Buddist collections at the museum, on which he is an authority. We chose the one day in the year when it was not possible to go, for Lady Brabourne was opening the Health Week Exhibition in the big quadrangle of the Museum, and the galleries were all closed, less behind some peaceful meditating Budda an anarchist should lurk!
Herbert flourishes. He has been practicing a psychological system culled from a book called “Nerves and Personal Power”, with very good effect. Roughly it amounts to making up your mind what you intend to do, and then being cheerful about it. Its been amusing to watch Herbert starting to luxuriate in the blackest possible view of any happening, and suddenly pulling himself out of it! I hope the system will last.
Scarcely room to send my love, but I do
From LJT to Annette
The Towers
Cossipore
Calcutta
Feb 16th 1938
My darling Annette
Your description of the Northern Lights is the only one that has conveyed a picture to my mind and you have given me a vivid one – It must have been fun seeing the Aurora Borealis “herself” – I did not realize that this phenomenon could ever be seen in England.
I don’t suppose you really find it very difficult to talk when you dine at the High Table – do you? It always seems to me that you have an easy flow of conversation and whats more you have been accustomed all your life to reading and talking about any old thing – Its a definite advantage in life. To have just enough smattering of a subject to ask one or two questions, will often open the door to really interesting talk – getting the other person – the specialist in that line to open out – Its a surprise to me that so many women go through their lives without finding that out – Hogg’s mother, who is a pretty and intelligent – but I should say not intellectual woman said to me, apropos of Prof. Fisher (Eugenics – London U.) “Of course I found him very dull, because we had nothing in common. I did not know what to talk to him about.” – Well, I had several talks with Prof. Fisher and I don’t know anything about any of his subjects – Eugenics Statistics – but I got him to talk and so I learnt something – I also got him to talk for a long time and most interestingly on the subject of education, by asking him if he approved of early specialization –
I’m still finding myself fascinated by my readings in biology and other odds of scientific essays – I’ve just finished a book by Julian Huxley, called “Scientific Research and Social needs.” that’s worth reading if you come across it and have the time. The other evening I went back to a book of his biological essays and in one on heredity I came up a diagram which I could not follow, though I could follow the text of the book. Idris was reading alongside me. I consulted him – To my joy, he could not follow it either – It had been borrowed from another book and not sufficiently explained. it took us about half an hour with blue and red pencils and a big sheet of paper to work it out – and I felt quite proud that I was the one who spotted the solution – It was much more fun than a jig saw puzzle
I hope you have managed to find time to take Romey out – You can always charge any expenses incidental to such treats, up to me – and remember that I am very grateful to you for doing for her what I am not able to do.
It interested me to hear about your exam – Good luck to you in it!
Twelve weeks to-day I shall be leaving Calcutta! Somehow I am looking forward to this summer in England more than last.
Best love
Mum
Family letter from LJT
The Towers
Cossipore
Calcutta
Feb 16th 1938
My Dears,
Rain is an exciting thing when it comes seldom! A sudden change came over the weather on Tuesday. The Cold Weather North wind swung round to the south. Early for the Hot Weather to begin, we thought. A strong, moist, warm breeze chased grey clouds across the sky all day. At night it started to rain. I went on to the verahdah and drank in the good smell of the damp earth. I fell asleep to the sound of the patter of rain drops on the wide palm leaves outside my window, enjoying it enormously. In the morning early I walked in my garden to see how all the flowers had fared. Some of them were bent down with the weight of moisture in their blooms, but no harm had been done. The strong south wind was still blowing, and heavy grey clouds were hurrying up from the sea. Suddenly I felt I must walk, so I set off along the river bank, and made the circuit of the nine-hole golf course, belonging to the factory. Twenty minutes it took me. I enjoyed the sight of the silk-cotton trees with their magnificent great crimson flowers, and a blue jay tumbling near one of the. Just as I reached home again, rain swept up the river. Breakfast had to be on the verandah, and the squirrels did not come. Rather draggled mynahs arrived, a bit fussed and annoyed, and inclined to be more interested in drying off their plumage than eating our offering of toast. It was a bit of a surprise to wake this morning and find the cold north wind blowing again, and the sky its usual pale clear blue.
This has been a good week. I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve enjoyed it very much. By judicious refusing of invitations, I’ve managed to have several days when I have not had to go in to Calcutta till the evening, and even one or two when I have not had to go in at all, so I have had time to work away happily and put all the Himalayan Club affairs in good order, a thing which I have wanted to do ever since I took over again in Oct: and have never had time for. I have sorted and rearranged papers and reorganised the whole filing system, so that now it should be much easier to find letters and papers on any given subject. There has been time to enjoy the garden too, and do a little work in it. Idris and I have had some peaceful teas in the garden, and time to discuss botany and biology and talk of the things we should like to do. I’m still giving any spare moments I can find for reading to scientific things, so far mostly of a “popular” nature, but they are a fascinating preparation for being able to tackle more solid things later. Idris has done a good deal of scientific reading in his time, and we exchange snippets of information with infinite relish.
The week-end was a busy time for me. Tilman, the leader of the Everest Expedition, and Eric Shipton arrived here on Saturday morning. I met them at Howrah Station by a train which should have arrived at 9.15 a.m. but which was nearly an hour late. I had had the forethought to take a servant to the station, and we sent him off to this house with the luggage, while we went straight into Calcutta, to deal with the many jobs they had to do. We dropped Mr Tilman at Cox & Kings, and Eric Shipton and I went off with a list of things to do, which we accomplished in remarkable good time. They have learnt at last that it saves a lot of time in the East to send word ahead about what you what, and they had sent me information from England about all the things they wanted, so that everything was prepared. and Shipton and I were at the rendezvous at the United Service Club at 12.30, half an hour before schedule. We had the luck to run into Rex Fawcus, just down from Jalpaiguri, on his way home to England. Rex was my predecessor as Secretary of the Himalayan Club, and was awfully pleased to see the Everest men. We all lunched at the Saturday Club. Tilman and Shipton are a curious pair. It seems that their whole interests are bound up in mountaineering. Its a bit sad I think. Such concentration should only be given, to something that is in some way productive. I’ve met no other climbers with so few other interests, possibly because most of them have some profession they have to follow, whether they will or no.
They reported the arrival on the same ship with themselves of the brother of a particularly charming American lad who was on Nanda Devi with Tilman two years ago. We sought and found this man, Loomis, at the Great Eastern Hotel, and carried him out to Cossipore for tea. he was a tall handsome young American, perfectly unselfconscious, natural as the wind or the sky, very vivid and very intelligent. His brother who mad spent some days with us in the Planter’s Club in Darjeeling, wrote to me:- “Y’ll like Lee I’m sure, though he’s more of a deep sea sailor than a mountaineer”. We did like Lee very much. In fact I don’t think I have ever seen Herbert show such warmth and interest towards any young man before. Idris was the same, and he was able to discuss technicalities of sailing boats with our new friend, for he has owned and sailed many boats himself. he came to the Himalayan Club dinner with us that night, and we took him bathing at the Saturday Club the next morning, and he spent the rest of the day with us, going over to Dum Dum and flying Idris’ ‘plane in the afternoon. When asked whether he had a bathing dress, he said “Sure, but does it matter if its only bottoms”. Its a good expression, and we assured him that the Saturday Club has no tender feelings about “Bottoms only”
Tilman gave a lecture on Nanda Devi to the Himalayan Club on Saturday evening, and for a man of as few words as he is he spoke very well. He used no notes and showed no sign of nervousness, and twined in enough of the humour that is always present when you have a good bunch of Sherpa porters in any story, to keep the less serious mountaineers in the audience well amused. The dinner before-hand went well too. They are always easy sort of dinners, because all the people there have a keen interest in common. I took two “doubtful” to sit beside myself, one a new member of the Club whom I did not know, and the other a guest, M. Baron, the head of the French Colony of Chandanagore, who will be our neighbour at Chinsurah. He talks extremely broken halting English, so we dropped into French, and got on very well. Before coming to Chandanagore, he had been on the African Ivory Coast, and knew well that strange American author Seabrook, who is so interested in witch-doctoring. Perhaps you have read some of his books - - “Magic Island” about Haiti, and “Jungle Ways” about the African Ivory Coast. Books giving the most astonishing descriptions of the doings of the witch doctors, and an intriguing account of the old French ex-priest, who discovering that he had made a mistake in becoming a priest, left his appointment somewhere in French Africa, and travelled to Timbuctu, where he settled down, married a handsome negro wife, has a family of 26 children, is the greatest authority on the languages of that part of the world and says he is the happiest man in the world. M. Baron says Seabrook’s account of this Father Yacouba is perfectly true, and he believes that what he writes about the Witch Doctors is substantially true too. I am glad to have made that contact with M. Baron. He promises to be an interesting neighbour, and though I had no more than a few words with his wife, she is at any rate good to look at.
Oh dear I’m being terribly long winded! its high time I had shipped the two mountaineers off to Kalimpong as we did on Sunday evening after dinner. Of course I did the obvious thing, and during the last hand-shake through the window of the slowly moving train, and behind the last good wishes, was the wonder whether they would get to the top of the mountain, and - - - whether they would ever come back.
On Valentines’ day, Feb 14th, we had what I call to myself a “Treat” dinner-party as opposed to a “Duty” dinner-party. We invited a small group of people in whom we are interested, and whom we wanted to see. It was really in honour of Sir Lewis Fermor and his wife. he used to be head of the geological Survey out here, and I used to see a good deal of him in those days. Not long before leaving India, he married a beautiful and charming wife. They returned to India this year for the Science Congress, and have stayed on here because he is doing some work. To meet them we asked the Surveyor General and his wife, and the American Consul General and His wife, the wife being decidedly the jewel of the pair! Mrs White is one of those delightful people, whose presence almost assures that any party will be a success. A full moon shining on the river and our garden full of flowers, called us out of doors, and we strolled and sat and talked with a pleasant sense of intimacy and enjoyment.
I was a guest at another rather such dinner-party last night. We were allowed to talk in peace, and not dragooned into playing some futile games. I explored his book-cases with my host, discussing his psychology books, of which he had a large number, and borrowing “An Outline of Modern Knowledge” chiefly because it has a section by Prof. Crew in it which I much want to read.
My journey across India in May is arranged. I am going in one of the new air-conditioned coaches. It will be interesting to see what its like. Its difficult to believe that its possible to be cool in the middle of India at that time of year.
Blessings on you all. and I hope signs of spring are coming to cheer you up.
My love to you.
LJT
From HPV to Annette
Calcutta
Feb 16th 1938
My dear Annette
The south wind has come. Yesterday was one of the perfect days: today is overcast and distinctly muggy. It is to be feared that the cold weather has gone without our having any really cold weather.
Attentions to the squirrels continuing daily. With many chirrups and with much patience I attracted one small squirrel onto my knee and it sat there a considerable time nibbling toast. Probably the same squirrel which the day before had run up my leg and licked jam off a scrap of toast which I held out to it, with an uncertainty whether it was nice or not which made me merry. And almost certainly the same squirrel which suddenly after standing up and snuffing the delicious scent of toast in your mother’s hand suddenly bit her in the ankle and ran away: she was attempting to coax it on to her knee. It is noticeable that the squirrels which used to get titbits out of our hands as they sat on the ground object to being expected to work for it by climbing up a leg. And it is noticeable that those who got bits by climbing up chair legs as one or two did object to climbing up a human leg clad in alarmingly floppy trousers. Thus specialisation is a natural thing and caste had its origin in the beginnings.
Two Everest climbers and an American youth devoted to ocean racing were our bag for the weekend. The youth was extremely interesting. It was an exciting romance, his tale of the young yacht designer who was coopted to design the Cup Defender along with the celebrated Burgess and ended by doing the whole design and becoming the most run after designer in the world. The your in question had ordered a racing from him and must be rolling in money. He says that his younger brother has got no enterprise and is dependent: but it appears that he has a small seaplane and flies in it up and down the Atlantic coast, sleeping at night under its wings on the beach. Standards of enterprise differ. The third brother climbs: he was on Nanda Devi.
I perceive from your letter of this week that I must have asked you twice about your examinations. It shows how little thought goes into my letters: I have no memory whatsoever of anything which I write in all of them: they are alas! Dashed off in a hurry. Not this one, for following the psychological system, I have made a point of writing some of the mail letters during the week. It makes them no better.
Much love
Dad
From HPV to Annette
Calcutta
Feb 22nd 1938
My dear Annette
Time gallops. Not long now before we go off to Chinsurah: when I shall have to set to and rub up my knowledge of district work which is small. One cannot have it both ways and most people envy me my succession of special jobs: but it is rather a gloomy business starting anew each time instead of having a large percentage of routine in my work. My schemes by the way are not yet dead: a last minute rally: the Finance Minister was annoyed that the others or several of them had gone ahead with proposals to remit the charges without consulting him: as the rules undoubtedly demanded. It was in fact impertinence on their part and he was in a strong position. His budget speech in which he referred to the necessity of making people pay for benefits made it not so easy for the Ministry to give in, at once, on the Damodar business. So my schemes have a respite and may even go through yet. The difficulty is that they are framed with an eye on events ten years ahead and the Ministers can hardly see ten months in front of them.
Change to another pen: it is evening now and I have just finished my bath after exercises. Much pleased of late by the conceit that all such should be in the dog vomiting position: I have not done all thus but have done some: and whether it makes any odds I do not know. But it is certain that there is merit, as alleged by the dear Muller, in having the muscles round the waist all taut or tautable if there was such a word. The pen came back this evening after repairs. On my table there is one of these agreeable waggly smoke stack-like fountain pen holders on a marble base. And I thrust my pen so firmly into it that I could not get it out: eventually in my struggles I gave it a twist; unscrewed it thus, inadvertently; and broke the ink-sac. It is my misfortune never to be able to choose a pen with a nib that I like: and the only pen which I now see that I liked I gave away to (?)Jain(?) moved out of a sort of generosity based on the fact that I did not like it. Not that any pen or anything but a psychological system or other potent spell such as Richards handwriting book would make anything written by me legible.
We have been to a Government House garden party – look you, that shows how little I observe my own tenets! Writing about today and thinking about tomorrow, - that way lies ruin. Kingdon Ward rolled up from Burma, with one undervest and a pair of shorts, so say: and your mother took him to the garden party in my new grey hat. It is part of my philosophy to say nothing: but how I detest other people using my hats or my comb or brushes: or having the loan of French books in which I have written words: or lots of other things. Now I debate, will he return the hat and how best to disinfect it when he does. Fearing not disease but baldness which is (?)due(?): he is not bald but one man’s meat is anothers poison.
Cool weather still: as it has been since last mail day. I flourish. All say how well I look: and I am too. Almost unprecedented: I am cheerful.
Much love
Dad
From LJT to Annette
The Towers
Cossipore
Calcutta
Feb 24th 1938
My darling Annette
Its nice of you to take Rosemary out – She evidently enjoyed herself very much – Miss Moller has written to ask if Rosemary can have some special coaching in Maths –so I have written back to say certainly – Its a pity she should be so behind-hand in that subject. I hope the coach will be a reasonably good one –
To-day, for the first time for some weeks, I have got that uncomfortably rushed feeling which is so destructive to letter-writing – Its silly not to be able to master a feeling like that – for its most unhelpful and things don’t get done any the quicker for it.
Richard’s impression of you at Oxford, is that you flourish – “as indeed she seems to do everywhere” – That’s a nice reputation to have, my daughter! I hope you will always keep it.
It’s nice having Winsome back again. She is looking so slim and attractive –
Here’s a rhym you may like, which Brigadier Tute who is staying with us, has just received from New Zealand.
“There ain’t no justice in this ‘ere lan’
I’ve just been divorced from my old man.
But did’nt I laugh at the Judge’s decision
‘E gave ‘im the kids and the kids is’nt ‘isn”
Its scarcely credible to me that I shall be leaving for home eleven weeks to-day! I’m so excited about it! I hope it wont interfere with your plans too much
Forgive a short letter this week – I’ve one or two Himalayan Club ones to do partly because the clerk is ill – and I don’t want to leave them too late.
Best love
from
Mum
Family letter from LJT
The Towers
Cossipore
Calcutta
Feb 24th 1938
My Dears,
There have been such a welter of mixed social doings, personal events of one sort and another, and major political issues going on this week that it is difficult to pick out the things that may interest you. That being so I shall start on the simplest and last important, and that is our garden menargerie. The squirrels, now very tame, have been introduced to the delights of jam, and sit on Herbert’s knee, licking it off the toast. One has ventured into the dining-room two or three times lately. On the first occasion he arrived before the Mynahs, who for some reason were late for lunch that day, and when they did come, they were so annoyed to find the squirrel sitting up nibbling his toast on their special door-mat, that they broke into torrents of abuse, and were quite unable to eat the scraps we threw to them. The next event was that Idris gave the mynahs cheese, and they like it so much, that they have now gone on strike and wont eat toast! The old Indian Almond tree, which is so full of parrots and owls, has also been the scene of many excitements. In two parrot-homes, babies hatched out a little while ago, and this seems to have been a matter of interest not only to the parents, but to their friends. There have been tremendous parties chattering round the mouths of the holes. The owls, original inhabitants of the tree, have been greatly bored by the noise, and every now and again they emerge and sit glowering at the shrill noise and the shrill daylight, on the branch of a neighbouring tree. At lunch time the other day there was a great deal of noise going on, and I saw Mogul standing gazing up into the tree. In answer to my query, he said that one of the babies had been out for its first flight, with its parents flying on either side. We were too late to see it, and have not had the luck to see any subsequent attempts.
Winsome arrived on Saturday, and its very nice to have her back in Calcutta. We could not meet her on Saturday, because the mail was late getting in, and the Blue Train did not arrive till 5 o’clock, at which time Herbert and I had to be at an Indian wedding. A neice of Sir Jagadiah Bose, the well-known Bengali Botanist, was being married by the rights of the Brahmo-Samaj Church. The ceremony is simple, and the sentiments much those of the Church of England, a little pruned and refined. I cant say I know a great deal about the Brahmo religion, but I know it is a so-called reformed Hinduism, so reformed that there is little Hinduism left, and there remains a sort of vague Unitarianism. The Ceremony took place in the house of the bride’s father. A dais was arranged, decked with flowers, a priest sat in the centre, facing the congregation, with the bride and the bridegroom facing one another at his left and right hands, with a small table bearing two garlands of jasmine flowers, between them. All, of course were sitting cross legged. The bride-groom was an exceptionally nice looking young man, with the light clear skin, square shaped face, and finely cut features of the best type of Bengali Brahmin. The Bride’s looks sad to say, were not so attractive. Sharp nose, slightly receding chin, and gold-rimmed spectacles, gave her a distinctly school-marmish appearance. She was a graduate of Calcutta University, but in spite of that she seemed to be overcome with shyness, pulled her sari half across her face, and never glanced at her future husband. I must say I wondered what the young man was thinking. In some of the advanced Calcutta families, the young people do their own courting, but I rather think that the Boses are too old fashioned for that, and I fancy these two were being brought to-gether by considerations of family suitability. There were about half a dozen Europeans in the room, and after the Ceremony, which took about three quarters of an hour, was over, we all adjourned to the pandal (big tent) in the garden, where preparations for a feast for some two or three hundred people had been made. Modern ideas had begotten trestle tables and chairs, instead of the traditional mats. Earthern-ware platters and mugs, were provided, and some one ran quickly and provided the Europeans with forks and spoons. Our host kindly said that all we needed to do was to take a taste of the different curries and pileaus which were brought round in quick succession, especially as we had told him we must hurry away to welcome friends of our own to dinner. In this way we got through the feast without too great a strain of over-eating, though both slightly nauseated by the richness and greasiness of the food.
Curiously enough the resignation of the Congress Ministeries in the United Provinces and Bihar, which one would have thought would have been keenly discussed, has scarcely been mentioned in the European circles in which I have found myself this past week. I asked Herbert what he thought of it, and his opinion is that they have seized upon this excuse of the release of political prisoners, because they are in great difficulties over revenue and finance. During the elections they made such promises to the peasants, that they are now refusing to pay their rents. Consequently the land-lords cannot pay their taxes, and practically no revenue is coming in to carry on the ordinary work of Government, apart from the promised schemes for all sorts of public welfare services. Its therefore convenient for the Congress Ministeries to retire on some quite different high-sounding issue, and leave the Governors and any scratch ministeries they can form, to “hold the Baby”. Whether this view of his is anywhere near correct or not, I do not know. Personally I give the Congress credit for a great deal of idealism, though their methods of achieving their ends often seem extremely shady. The Anthony Eden crisis has excited us a good deal more. One wishes one could get a handful of the English newspapers, of different shades of opinion, and see what they have to say. Herbert got involved in a good-humoured argument with Giuriati, the Italian Consul-General, at a cocktail party last night. Giuriati is great fun, and we both like him immensely, which is an amazing thing for Herbert, who pretends to dislike all Italians. I don’t really know what the argument was about, because I only cam in at the end to fetch Herbert away. A spice of excitement had been added to the party by the fact that Calcutta’s first “Black-out” took place while it was on. I spent the quarter of an hour of darkness on the lawn with Walter Jenkins and Frank Kingdon Ward, talking English politics. Oh yes! By the way! Kingdon Ward turned up on Tuesday morning, which is just about a year since he left us. He started off to go into the interior of Yunnan, accompanied by one of the Edinburgh map-making Bartholomews. They had their passes to enter China through the Southern Shan States, but were held up for a considerable time at the border, and soon after they had crossed, they were popped into prison in the local temple for a week. There seemed a reasonable possibility that they might have their heads chopped off, but after a good deal of persuasion, Frank managed to get an interview with the local magistrate, with the result that they were released, but told that it was most unsafe to go on, and they had better return to the border, and thence to Rangoon, and then make an attempt to get in through Tong-King. However at Singapore, or somewhere en route they got such unfavourable accounts of the state of the country that they decided to abandon the project. Bartholomew was fed up and went on to spend a holiday in the East Indies, and Frank K-W returned to Rangoon, and got permission to go and spend the rest of the year in the far north-eastern corner of the Burmah frontier, on condition that he promised not to go over into Tibet. He had a foul journey up after the Rains had broken in June, but since then has had a most successful season, botanically, and in every way. He is hoping now to go back to Tibet in May, and if so he wont go back to England now.
He had no clothes that were really wearable, so we dressed him up in one of Idris’ suits and took him to the Government House Garden Party, a pleasant function on a perfect day. We had quite a little private reception, for many of K-W’s old friends spotted him, and gathered round our table. It was a pity he was not here a day or two earlier, for on Sunday I had a visit from one of Ron’s Tibetans from somewhere up beyond Rima. He was waiting patiently by the front door when Herbert and I went out to speed the guests from a Sunday lunch-party. My heart always warms towards Tibetans. This man was typical, with his broad figure, flat smiling face, loose woolen gown, and dirty silk shirt. He had with him a half bred Tibetan-Chinee, who is something to do with the Buddist Association in Calcutta, and who speaks Hindustani. After suitable greetings, we had a long chat, the up-shot of which was; when was Kaulback Sahib coming out again? That Nima (this man) had served him faithfully, and that he would be much obliged if Kaulback Sahib would bring him a gun next time he came. We got this all written down in Tibetan, and parted with the promise that I would send his message to Ron. The look and the smell and the sound of Nima, gave me quite a little spasm of home-sickness for the Hills, and all my friends up there.
We have either had people here or been out a lot this week, and there still seems to be a mass of Himalayan Club work going on, so that I have had little time to read or work in my garden, where seeds are needing to be gathered. its looking very lovely just now and giving me its best before I go.
I’ve been spending quite a time on the telephone this morning fixing up arrangements for the various Everest people who are converging on Calcutta this week-end. Capt Oliver comes from the Frontier to-morrow, hastily summoned by Tilman a week before he originally intended to come, because there is a rumour of another Frontier Campaign, and it was as well to get Oliver away before all leave was stopped. Dr Warren with his oxygen cylinders comes by the ordinary mail from Bombay, and Odell and Peter Lloyd arrive by a City Boat on Saturday afternoon. Quite by chance we have a Himalayan Club lecture and dinner on Sunday. John Hunt is talking to us about the climbing he and Reggie Cooke were doing in Sikkim last Autumn. He is just coming back from short leave in England, and going to do special C.I.D. police work in Bengal, instead of going back to his regiment. He is a great friend of mine, and I am much looking forward to seeing him. He, Odell, and Peter Lloyd will be staying here. Dr Warren and Capt Oliver I am lodging out with other members of the Club. It looks to me as if I shant have much time to attend to my own affairs till Monday, and then I must start packing.
Apologies for the general jerkiness and for the bad typing of this letter. There have been constant interruptions, and I’m afraid I have allowed a feeling of hurry to get the better of me. It, the letter, carries a certain interest because it will probably be the last to go by sea.
Love and greetings to you all
LJT