1939 March
Family letter from LJT
Chinsurah
March 1st 1939
My dears,
For a wonder I have been here for a week without going into Calcutta or being away on tour. It has been extremely pleasant. The garden is just about at its best, and I am able to have heaps of flowers in the house. The weather is getting warm, but is not yet too hot to be uncomfortable. I have been able to do all sorts of things that have been awaiting attention, chiefly the yearly sorting and rearranging of the Himalayan Club Files. It took me almost a whole morning, but they are in beautiful order now.
Louise Rankin brought old Miss MacLeod to spend the day here on Friday. They were delighted with the house and garden. We left the old lady (she must be nearly eighty) to sleep after lunch, and Louise and I went off on a sight-seeing tour to the usual places. With a vivid imagination and sparkling intelligence, Louise was able to re-create the past, and so really enjoyed these monuments to the vanished activities of two centuries ago, and the vague Hindu-Mohammaden doings of more distant ages.
Miss MacLeod takes a keen interest in Herbert’s irrigation schemes, and she enjoyed seeing his maps and charts of crops and rainfall.
We had more visitors on Sunday. Everyone exclaims at the peace and beauty of the garden, and enjoy the quiet after the bustle of Calcutta. One of our show pieces at the moment is a group of red ants’ nests in a big tree on the edge of the Compound. They are balls about the size of a very large cocoanut, made of leaves beautifully stuck to-gether with some white substance, which fills up all the gaps between the leaves, which by the way, are still growing on the tree, and still green and fresh. The ants have just bent them into the positions in which they want them, and have fixed them there. I discovered them by chance looking up into the tree for birds, and now I take all sorts of people to see them, and they all aplaud the ingenuity, and neatness of workman-ship.
This is always an anxious week for the police, for it is the time of the Mohurram, the Mohammaden festival commemorating the so-called murder of Hossein and Hassan, the Prophet’s two nephews, who were killed in a battle at Kerbala. Models of the tomb of the two brothers are carried in procession on certain nights of the week, and mimic battles and sword dances are performed at intervals along the roads, to the great inconvenience of traffic. The model tombs, called “tazias” made of paper on a bamboo frame, are eventually immersed in some selected lake or pond. Since the Mohammedans invariably make a great fuss when the Hindus carry their images to immerse them in the Ganges or the nearest river, and wont let the Hindus play music or pass in front of a Mosque, especially at a time of prayer, the Hindus not un-naturally like to get a little bit of their own back when the Mohhurum processions are going on. There are frequent riots. There was one such a few miles north of here last night, in which one man was killed. How incredibly stupid it all seems doesn’t it? The sad thing is that modern politics have added fuel to the flames and made them fare up with renewed vigour.
I find Mohammadanism such a dull religion, and the Prophet such an unattractive figure. Even their ideas of heaven seem to be so singularly mundane. They do not seem to believe in a passing beyond the desires of the flesh, but postulize the Houris of Paradise to attend to such needs. Hinduism, on the other hand, is anything but dull, and though it may be humanely earthy to the extreme on the one hand, it does rise into great spirituality of thought at the other. I am sorry that Kali and a few of the Hindu dieties, still like blood sacrifice, but there are signs that they are turning to a more vegetarian habit of mind. I saw in a paper last year that some big temple in South India (so much more orthodox than the north) had substituted the sacrifice of melons and cucumbers for that of goats. More and More of the educated Hindus regret blood sacrifice, and I am sure the feeling will little by little filter down to the masses.
The death of Lord Brabourne has been much in all our minds. I persuaded Herbert not to go into the funeral on Friday. He was not specially summoned to come, and had he gone it would have meant wearing his uniform, which is terribly heavy and hot, and walking in the procession from Government House to the Cathedral, a distance of about a mile and a half, and the same distance back again to old St John’s Church where he was buried. Herbert has so recently managed to pull back to normal strength after his upset, that I was sure the funeral would push him right down-hill again. Sir Leonard Costello, who was out here on Sunday, said I was quite right. The strongest of them felt exhausted after the long and incredibly slow walk in the heat. You will of course have seen all about his illness in the papers. There is the usual talk going on in Calcutta about “why did they not call in another doctor” “why did they not send him home by air sooner” etc etc – All so futile! What was done at the time was done in all good faith, and if he had cancer of the stomach it seems to me that it was better to die before it got too bad. I dont know when I have felt so touched emotionally at the passing of someone whom I scarcely knew, but he was always so nice and so gracious, and he always looked so nice, and he and his wife appeared to be so devoted. I don’t know whether she has left for home yet. She went out to the country house at Barrackpore with a friend who was luckily staying with her.
The Indians are all vastly excited over the resignation of so many of the Congress Leaders from the Congress working Committee, on the election of Subash Bose as President. He is an extremist, and was undoubtedly mixed up with the anarchist movement a few years ago. Ghandi does not like that extreme attitude, no more apparantly do many of the other leaders. I wonder what will happen. Most of the Europeans remain unmoved, but it is a sure card in conversation with Indians of all shades of opinion. “What do you think of the resignations in the Congress?” Immediately there is a buss of talk. The rulers of the Indian states are being made to sit up and take notice. The great plank in the Congress platform this year is responsible government in the native states, and after what has been happened in some of the Orissa States, the princlings have been hurrying to mend their ways. The happy days when they could opress their people, and squander away the result in riotus living seem to be passing quickly. A good thing too, I think. Of course, some of the big and more enlightened states have had some sort of councils elected by the people for some years, and have ruled fairly decently, but its a small minority. Ghandi an his friend are having fine fun with the other sort now. I dont envy the British Residents in such states. The position for them must be extremely difficult.
As for other news of our doings, its not much. We have had a few exchanges of civilities with various people in the station. The Tufnell Barretts had pot-luck dinner with us the other night, and we went to visit the Administrateur of Chandanagore and his wife, and congratulate them on the new baby, one evening. In their turn they came to tea yesterday, and I took the opportunity to invite a woman who has just come back to work at the Scotch Mission, and Miss Westwater to meet them. The party went on a long time for they came at 4.30 and did not go till 7 o’clock. However I suppose it meant that they enjoyed themselves.
Best love to you all
LJT
From LJT to Annette
Chinsurah
Bengal
March 2nd 1939
My darling Annette,
Dad grieves that he has written to none of you for so long. He really has been busy. What with the Committees that have been put on to him, and the work that he creates gratuitously to do with his Development scheme, on top of his regular job, he has had no leisure at all. He does spend an hour or so working in the garden after tea, but it would not be good for him to sit indoors and write during that time. After he has had a bath and changed he usually works again till dinner-time, unless people come in to see us, or, more rarely, we go out. However you are not absent from his mind, and he much enjoys your letters.
Its interesting to see the way Dad’s interest in natural objects such as plants and trees, birds, animals and insects, has awoken during the last few years. When he was young he was always working at scholarly matters, and for most of the time he never lived in the country, so he did not have much encouragement to take notice of natural life. I don’t fancy his family noticed it much either. He is becoming quite knowledgeable about the names of garden plants as well as trees and birds. He enjoys breakfast with the squirrels, and I wondering what we are going to do, for it will soon be too hot to have breakfast out of doors, and I don’t know how we are going to teach the squirrels to come to the dining-room. Its a long way from the chabutra by the river where we have our out-of-door meals. Mogul will perhaps think of some ingenious quiff.
Do you ever make a list of the things you have got to do, and cross them off when accomplished? I do occasionally. I made one about a fortnight ago, quite a long one, - and I have just had the satisfaction of crossing off the last item, which was “Make a list of flowering shrubs needed in the Rains”. Momentarily I feel comfortably satisfied. Of course a new list will spring up quickly enough, but in the hot weather it should be easy to keep abreast of things one has to do, and accomplish something more as well. I have just been writing to Col Mason giving him a lot of suggestions for possible articles for the Himalayan Journal, not just accounts of expeditions that have taken place during the current year, but stuff of permanent interest that we can get people to begin writing now. With his approval, the onus of getting the stuff written will fall upon me, at my own suggestion. I hope the ideas will prove fruitful.
Did you remember “Nanie Roper” at all? I have such a vivid recollection of her hot partisan-ship of you, when at the tender age of about fifteen months, your father going into the nursery at Roslyn House and seeing boiled egg being spooned into your mouth, exclaimed “Good God! Does’nt the child feed herself yet?” I can tell you his criticism of you nearly split the household, and it was only by useing the greatest tact that I was not forced into the position of having to choose between husband and nurse. Each had to be told how ignorant the other was about the matter under discussion. “And the Consequence was” that you were made to feed yourself abnormally early. Luckily as you had a hearty appreciation of food from the time you were born, this was not as difficult as it might have been.
Do you ever meditate on whether you want to try for the Home Civil, or whether you would prefer some other line? Its rather an exciting idea that Whitehall should be full of Townends.
There does’nt seem to be any more in my mind that might be of any conceivable interest to you, so, - farewell!
Best love
From
Mother
From LJT to Romey
Chinsurah, March 2nd, 1939
Dad is so sorry he hasn’t written, he has been frightfully busy.
My darling Rosemary,
Many thanks for a most interesting and varied letter. What a good idea it is to have criticism of the plays done for the Dramatic Competition. Apart from helping towards better performances, it must be a great helping learning to appreciate good acting in other people.
I am glad you were able to see John Averill, and it must have been rather fun getting a chance to talk over the village news, which hope was not entirely “scandal’, as you rather insinuate in your letter. Poor Great Leighs! That seems to give it a bad reputation. Did you her anything about whether Mr. Averill’s book has been published yet? Or when he is likely to come to England again?
Nannie Roper seems to think that Richard has changed least of all of you! I hope you had a nice time on your exeat weekend. It is a bit of luck that you have Mrs Petrie to go to.
I wish I could be in England for your Confirmation. I don’t know whether I ought to let your various godparents know about it. Since you have not been in close touch with them, I feel it looks a little like asking for a present. I expect Aunt will try to be down for it. I hope she will. It certainly will be nice having the service in the Cathedral. I don’t know what day you break up this term. Will you remember to tell me? Also the date of your return to school, and did you ever get my old riding coat? Isn’t it funny that neither you nor Aunt has mentioned it?
Yesterday afternoon we received a most dignified visit from two of the Maharaja of Burdwan’s elephants. He has lent them for the Mohammedan festival of the Mohurrum. It’s jolly good of him, I think, for he is a Hindu, and last autumn in Burdwan the Mohammedans behaved very badly to the Hindus. Well these two huge elephants arrived just before tea, and walked majestically on to the gravel sweep by the front door. Their heads and necks were elaborately painted with designs in bright red and blue. As we appeared they threw up their trunks, giving us the salaam, which I always think impressive. By a stroke of bad luck we had only two miserable little bananas in the house, so I gave one to each elephant, with a slice of bread, and the Mahouts received 8 annas each, baksheesh. Also, since I had a film in my camera, I took the elephants photo, always, I think, considered and honorable proceeding by the Mahouts.
How’s work going on? Did it take you long to pull up on what you missed last term? Dicky seems to be doing so much sailing and acting and one thing and another that I cannot help wondering how his work is faring.
We gave had lunch early today in order to allow the Mohammedan servants to go off to their festival. You know that children’s’ book “History of the World” by van loon, that on of you has had for years? I am reading a book by the same man, called “The Arts of mankind:. It’s extremely interesting and fascinating, but he sometimes forgets that he is writing for an adult audience, and over-simplifies things. If you get a chance of getting it out of a library or something, I advise you to do so, even if you do not do much more than look at his illustrations.
My mind becomes blank! Best love my darling,
From Mother
Family letter from LJT
Chinsurah
Bengal
March 6th 1939
My Dears,
The event of outstanding interest to me this week has been a performance of the old “Kathakali” Indian dancing, by a troop of dancers from South India, where the ancient traditions of the religious dances is said to have survived. The performance was arranged by the Indian Society of Oriental Art, and took place in a garden at Barrackpore, on the night of the full moon. It was a private show, to which one went by invitation. It was a little complicated for me to arrange to go, but it turned out to be a most delightful expedition. On the day of the performance, which was last Saturday, Herbert and I had to attend a prize-giving at a school only about eight miles from Calcutta, and then go back to tea with the Principal of Serampore College and his wife, Serampore being about half an hour’s drive from here, and just opposite Barrackpore, where the dancing was to take place after dinner. Mr Wooler, the young I.C.S. officer in charge of the Barrackpore Sub-division, had been on a mountain trip with us two and a half years ago, and he responded nobly to my request for assistance now. He arranged for a boat to fetch me from Serampore at 6:30, and I went to his house to change and dine, and later we went to the dancing. The voyage across the river by moonlight was pleasant, but took longer than we anticipated because owing to ignorance of the geography of Serampore, he sent the boat to the college Ghat which was about a mile further down the river than the spot opposite the place at which I was to land in Barrackpore, so we spent about twenty minutes poleing up the river against the tide, hugging the shore, before we turned out across the great stream and took to the oars . It was rather interesting looking up at Serampore’s ancient houses, for it was an old Danish settlement, at the time when the Dutch ruled here. The drawback was the rich and ancient smells that came from the roots of those same houses . I was glad that I had a handkerchief well scented with lavender-water.
Mr. Wooler’s house is on the river-bank with an attractive “stoop” where we sat and had drinks. The dancing began at 9:30, and arriving there, I found many of my favourite friends from Calcutta, and was immediately seized upon by Walter and Kitty Jenkins, who wished to introduce me to Professor Tucci, the Italian, who during the last ten years has made himself such an authority on Tibetan religion and customs. I knew he had just arrived in Calcutta, and had been wishing for a chance to meet him. He, apparently, had been wanting to meet me too, as he needed some small assistance from the Himalayan Club. He is a perfectly charming person. To begin with he is good-looking with a face that might belong to an artist, and to go on with he has a delightful manner, with that ability to pay complete attention to the person he is with, and that rather rare gift to talk about really interesting things from the moment of meeting. Most of us have to waste some time talking platitudes on first meeting, don’t we?
There was no stage for the dancers, simply an awning with back and sides. In front of this, in place of footlights, was an old brass lamp, designed to burn the thick cotton wicks, soaked in butter or some vegetable oil, that has been India’s method of getting artificial light probably from prehistoric times. A brass pedestal about three foot high, supported a flattish bras dish, about two foot in diameter, from the center of which rose a brass pinnacle about a foot and a half high. The dish was filled with the oil or butter (I am not sure which) and on the side next to the stage about a dozen thick cotton wicks lay in it, with about four or five inches of their length hanging over edge and burning with a bright and steady flame. Plus the moonlight, this gave ample light.
How to write about the dancing I scarcely know, for I doubt whether I have yet sorted out my own ides about it. Perhaps trying to write about it will help me to do so. I knew vaguely what to expect. I knew it would be dancing about the Hindu Gods. I knew that it would be in accordance with the dancing rules and system laid down in some of the ancient Sanskrit books (Certain ‘Shastras”) I knew they would use the various positions of the hands, known as the Mudras, each of which has a definite meaning, and which are also (I believe) used in forms of worship. I supposed they would also use the different movements of eyes and eyebrows, head, feet and so on, which also express the different ”rasas” or moods, all of which have been carefully stylized and written down. The dancer is not given much liberty of individual composition. If he wishes to express anger, he is compelled to use a certain set of gestures and positions. If he wishes to express joy, another. The cultivated Indian audience would know exactly what the dancer, cum-actor (For the dances are mostly dramas, and full of mimeing) meant, even if he were not sufficiently good to “put it across” by his own art. To an audience uneducated in the tradition, the difference in the artistic ability is very obvious. For instance in the first dance the other night there was not the slightest difficulty in following the different emotions of Krishna, though one knew nothing about the positions. He used them to express emotions, perfectly. His-lady-love, and his old school friend, were not on the same level artistically, and had the kind hosts not supplied us with descriptive programmes, it would not always have been easy to follow their meaning. It is commonly held that the hard and fast rules of the different Shastras on all subjects, caused the decay of Indian art, for the pictorial, dramatic and literary arts, were all ruled by intricate directions. I would go one further and suggest that the elaborate rules about the whole conduct of life, killed true morality too, for most people found, and find, the carrying out the letter of the law about the conduct of their daily lives, so intricate, that they have no time or inclination to think about anything to do with the spirit.
To go back to dancing, it seems that it survived as a live art only in some remote parts of the South, where the people were still simple. These Kathakalis come from the back parts of Travancore somewhere, and Travancore itself seems pretty much off the map. It has also survived in Java and Sumatra and Bali, but in reaching those islands I think it must have suffered some “sea-change”, for in all those places the art of dancing seems vividly alive.
In spite of the Kathakalis dancing conforming in so many respects to what I expected, I found myself a little startled at the strong impression I got that the clock of the Centuries had been put back so far. The dancers seemed to be the old gods from the temples and the frescos with their loves and their worshippers, but they were the images of painted stone and plaster, and not the splendid bronzes of the best period, on which Uday Shankar has modeled his productions. The dancers were all men, and those who took the parts of gods or legendary heroes had their faces thickly painted to resemble masks, just as the images of the gods are painted. Instead of wearing the minimum of clothes and making up with jewels, as Uday Shankar and his people do, these people do, these people wore a great many clothes, including enormously full skirts, long sleeves, and elaborate headdresses. The female characters wore less elaborate garments, but then, even amongst the gods themselves (Sorry, I did not see that the paper had not shifted on) - - they do. The music was supplied by three or four men who stood or sat cross-legged in the shadows of the back of the stage, playing drums and cymbals, and singing the story of the drama. The tales were all simple and direct, and all from Hindu mythology. There was a slight tendency for the different motifes to be repeated too often. The East likes its entertainments long drawn out. We like them brisk. Much of the miming was vivid and moving. I found it intensely interesting, though it gave me nothing like the aesthetic pleasure that Uday Shankar and his troop do. I believe it has happened to Uday Shankar, as to Ballet in Russia in the last century, that new ideas used on the basis of a classic knowledge and technique, flowered into a renaissance of life and beauty. Percy Brown, steeped in the lore of Ancient India said of Shankar’s dancing that it was beautiful, but a bastard art, born of a union of East and West. I don’t quite agree, but even allowing the bastard party of comment to stand, have’nt such irregular relations often proved better men that the effete descendents of a worn out family? If there is a great revival of dancing as a great art in India I think it may come from the Scholl of dancing that Uday Shankar is organizing in one of the Hill stations; - - Ranikhet, I think it is.
On Saturday the dances lasted for rather over two hours, and then we went into the house, where the Society of Oriental Art were “At Home” and we ate sandwiches and drank hock-cup to the accompaniment of a great deal of what I think might justly be described as “high-brow” talk, for the gathering were distinctly Calcutta’s intelligentsia, both Indian and European. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and introduced Mr Wooler to a great many notabilities, and finally left regretfully, long before the party broke up, because I knew Mr wooler had been up a good part of several nights the previous week on account of the Mahurrum. We found my little boat at the Ghat, and I started off on the voyage across the river, in what might well have been a “Nocturn” by Whistler. The boat seemed singularly small and unimportant on the great moonlit river, and I enjoyed the half hour in which to digest some of what I had seen. The car was waiting for me at the Ghat opposite, and I had an unexpected adventure on the drive home, for I met all the ‘Gods’ having an outing. It was the night of the Hindu festival of Holi, a sort of Spring Saturnalia. It is the night of the year on which every one is supposed to be friends, and “cast” is put aside. People supply themselves with quantities of red and purple powder, and throw it over one another, and a general sort of license prevails. We ran into a huge crowd round a big lorry decorated with palms and illuminated by acetylene lamps, on which about twenty of the gods were having a ride. Many more were being carried in little shrines. Drums were beating and people were shouting, and everyone was happy. The driver, thoroughly disapproving, hooted loudly. In the happy-go-lucky way an Indian crowd has, some people held up hands for the car to stop, and others rushed along shouting and clearing a way for us, and we slowly crept along past the gods and the shrines and the happy crowd. I would have been quite glad to have been held up for a little while to see something more of the doings, and find out what special deities were on the lorry. (The gods have grown fond of motor transport in these latter days) It seemed such a completely suitable finale to the evening. I gave myself a little epilogue too, spending a few minutes looking out from the house down the moonlit river, and thinking of all the centuries it has been flowing from “Shiva’s Hair” and of all the Hindu Dramas that have taken place on its banks.
Sorry! No time for more!
Best Love
LJT
From LJT to Annette
March 8th. 1939
My darling Annette
Your letter about Newcastle, will get a proper answer next week – The bearer retiring to his go-down with an upset tummy has given me a lot of extra work to-day, sor we leave for Asansol at 9 o’clock to-morrow morning – so all the packing had to be attended to –
Camilla Boughey was through Calcutta this week-end and is now flying home – We saw her on Monday night, when we stayed with HD and Winsome – Camilla had to get up at 3 and leave the house at 3.45 am to catch the Flying Boat.
The Haldars from Bankura are coming for tea, as they motor down to Calcutta and we have to dine out – Dad feels dismal at the thought! Best love and thanks –
Mother
From LJT to Romey
My Darling Rosemary,
This is what Dad calls “an affection piece” --- for I have no time for a proper letter. When Bhim Das goes sick, as he does today, I always realize how many things he does, especially if it is a day on which packing has to be done.
We go off on tour early tomorrow morning and though the new Assistant bearer is quite an intelligent man, I dare not leave it to him to choose what to pack for Dad---nor, I think, does he know how to fold and pack ladies’ clothes, so I have done my own. Bhim Das does it very badly, as a matter of fact, but I generally let him do most of it, just attending to the more precious amongst the dresses myself.
Aunt has sent news that the riding coat arrived and fits reasonably well. I’m glad it’s come in useful.
Best love darling,
Mother
Family letter from HPV (carbon, ‘Annette’ hand written in ink)
Chinsurah,
March 13th.1939.
My dear Annette
I do not deny that I have failed in the matter of letter writing these latter days: I do not pretend that one letter since Christmas is adequate. Work has had me down; I lack the art of evading it. The evenings have gone in vain slouching on my back, or in talking reluctantly as a rule to people who have dropped in. Instance this evening. I had indulged in a sulph-aqua bath because I felt rheumaticky or at any rate still in my seat and in my legs, and I had settled down with this typewriter on the drawing room table to start this letter when in came first the Holmans, to say goodbye, (and I am very sorry that they are going), and then little Mr Ghosh from the College. He stayed till 9.30: and that in part is why my letters do not get written. It was sad too for your mother: she has some sort of head cold that has much reduced her and depressed her, and she went off to bed immediately after dinner. This seems to be the result of the dry heat and the dust of Asansol where she accompanied me on a three day tour or a four day. We hurried back so as to be able to attend the Divisional Olympic Sports; intended to be a means of raising the athletic standards of this part of Bengal but run in so futile a way that a preparatory school could have given them points as far as athleticism went. They finished an hour and three quarters behind time. And our tempers were not good even before that, so that if I had not been “presiding” I should have moved off. It was interesting to be in Asansol again with some one to compare notes with after these twenty two years. The most noticeable change in a way is that all the trees have grown up round what used to be our house: though this out not to be so when within a couple of miles there are now enormous steel works with a new town of 30,000 people, which ought to strike the imagination more than half a dozen trees. I inspected; but badly. Last week I came within an ace of getting up to date, but the ground gained was lost by a relapse into weariness after a long day in Calcutta. It will be a relief when we can get rid of this forest committee nonsense: ‘nonsense’ because it is quite sure that no collection of Ministers will ever have the courage to do anything about it even if they pretend to accept the conclusions. Of course they have shown more guts about the refusal of people to pay the Damodar Canal dues; and we have during the last three weeks collected about a third of the six lakhs outstanding, without having to do anything violent. There was to have been satyagraha or passive resistance by 800 people to prevent the canal authorities from selling some cows which had been seized by them from a defaulter; nothing came of it, but I was amused to discover that the defaulter was defaulting on a payment to which he had made himself liable by a voluntary agreement in respect of irrigation when everybody who could not get irrigation lost his crop altogether (a famine year) and when those who got it made pots. If people had been shot because they resisted payment of my tax, I should not have felt bad about it, because their resistance is making new schemes impossible and is thus condemning hundreds of thousands of Bengali children to lives of misery through malaria. I feel more and more that there is no hope and that it is useless to go on trying. However I overheard Tufnell Barrett saying the other night at a dinner to a stranger who asked whether he liked working under a Commissioner who laughed at everything that I was known to be the only Commissioner who fought for the officers working under him. And if only I had the time to harry the Irrigation men, I might be able to manage something. Sad to say, the new Irrigation Secretary who was shaping quite well is desperately seedy and has been told by the doctors that he ought to go home. He says that he will not. He is the third that I have had to try to coach up in the methods necessary for running my Development Act; and besides there have been two Directors of Land Records. Alas!
I was fifty two on Saturday and celebrated the day by working without a stop. Even after I had started undressing to go to bed, in came the district magistrate and the Sub-divisional Officer with a scare about the Hindu-Musalman disturbances at Raniganj. At the moment the Musalmen are ahead on points, having thrown a cow’s insides into a Hindu quarter and a lump of cow-flesh onto a Hindu’s garden wall; the Hindu score is only one pig’s stomach in a Musalman quarter. The stabbings and the beatings I voluntarily omit as not being very interesting. Scum both sides. It all started with some Muhammadans making quite a good thing out of the manufacture of biris, a sort of inferior cigarette with leaves (almost any leaves) instead of paper: then some Marwaris cut in with an opposition brand, and as a Hindu festival was coming off called the Hari-bol procession (in honour of Siva) they named their product the Hari-bol biri so that all the worshippers shouting Hari-bol seemed to be advertising it. Hence communal bitterness; and bitterness also on my part, for I see no reason why I should have to discuss all this without having my trousers on.
Today we abandoned the outdoor breakfast; the sun is too hot. From the dining room I spied a squirrel hurrying along to our usual breakfast place in the hope of nuts; and I was full of compassion for it. So I went out and made chirruping noises and I held out a nut; and to my astonishment it came straight across the lawn to me, stopping every now and then and standing up on its hind legs to make sure that there was no cheat. I threw it a nut and went back to my breakfast. It must have gone right away, for it did not come for more; but when I went out again and chirruped once more at random on the off-chance, there was a real triumph. No less than three came across from three different directions and arrived simultaneously. One came up to my feet but the others had to be given their gifts from a few feet away. All concerned agreed that this for a first effort was very creditable.
Enough.
Much love.
(hand written addition)
“Sans phrase” – for my mind is a blank and it is no use starting to comment on your letter
Yours
Dad
From LJT to Annette
Chinsurah
Bengal
March 14th 1939
My darling Annette
It was a scrubby line I sent you last week, and I don’t believe I shall write much of a letter this morning, for I have a horrid cold in the head, which seems to have penetrated into the antrem, into which Dr Henry cut a big hole and it is giving me a head ache and made me feel generally very “cheap” – I meant to stay in bed, but had a bath and put on one of those “house coats” and am now reclining in an arm chair with my feet on a footstool, beside my writing table – for even if I don’t get up to fetch things, from this masterly position I can indicate what I want. For the three days in Asansol, I tried to pretend to myself and everyone else that I had not got a cold but a sort of catarrh from the hot dry climate and the dust – That may have started it, but I’ve got a cold as well – However, enough of my ills! That’s only to explain why I am not feeling bright and shall probably write a letter, which is duller than usual.
Its interesting to meet some girls who remain so very young for their age. I met one such in Asansol the other day. I took her for a rather sixteen. She turned out to be eighteen and a half – She was wearing a sort of peasant dress effect cotton frock, only just to her knees, and her naturally curly hair had a childish look about it. Her mother was a gem. She is a Checkoslovak full of enthusiasms and entirely unselfconscious. Until lately, her passion in life was music and playing the violin, but when her husband came to “”Burupore” – the new industrial town outside Asansol, as General Manager of the Standard Wagon Co a few years ago – she said “I could not play the violin to mayself all day – so I took up gardening” She has become a really passionate gardener and an extremely clever one. She has turned a raw silderness into as good a garden as I have seen any where in the plains of India – Though it was nearing mid-day and very hot when I called on her, we went off at once into the garden and remained there happily for ages in spite of her husbands protests that we should et heat-stroke. She is most generous and sent me away with a bundle of plants and cuttings.
Interesting that you should have found two stories about reviving the dead, written down in such widely different circumstances – A thought goes through my mind- perhaps reincarnation would explain things of that sort. Oddly enough at a dinner-party given by the head of the Dunlop Rubber Co here, I found myself sitting next to one of the Managing Directors, out from England, before dinner – He was a stout elderly man, rather like Rembrandt’s portrait of himself, and so no beauty – He had knocked about the world a great deal and apparantly was interested in the mind and spirit behind things, and not just in making money. As we sat sipping our cocktails, we quickly became involved in a deep discussion on Hindu philosophy – most unexpected at such a party and with such a man – He remarked that as far as he can see, some form of transmigration seems to give the only logically answer to a great many of the world’s problems – and I agree with him. It seemed a little difficult to reconsile the side of his character he was showing to me, with the fact that the fair pretty girl of 25, there with him, was his third wife and some years younger than his daughter by his first wife! It was hard to believe that she had married him for love – The gap between their ages was surely too big!
A letter has just come from Romey with a very good account of her day in London when she went up to see the Women’s International hockey match. She can tell the story of something she has done quite well.
Uncle Bernard has written me a letter, largely about his views of the Dictators and the state of European politics generally – with much of which I don’t agree – He has an absolute horror of Russia and seems to find it terrible that we should have amything to do with the country at all – I have told him I don’t agree and in many ways admire at any rate what the earlier leaders tried to do. Anything seems to me better than the dissipated small smart set and the serfs who were little better than slaves.
I hope you enjoyed your week-end with Mrs Petrie – I am sure she will have enjoyed having you with her.
Best love
Mother
P.S. Did I remind you last week that you have the book and the letter to be sent to Romey for her Confirmation?
From LJT to Romey (Handwritten)
March 14th, 1939
My darling Rosemary,
Your letter about the Women’s International Hockey match and the exeat (school break) has arrived at a most opportune moment, just as I was going to write to you. How nice and how sensible of “the staff’ to let you wander about on your own in London. It makes it so much more pleasant, doesn’t it? I rather envy you seeing all the Zoo babies and your account of the hockey match makes it sound very exciting. It is nice to see any game really well played, especially a game that entails the co-ordination of a team.
Sad to say I am suffering from a bad cold in the head, which is giving me a nasty head ache and making me feel rather rotten. I am reclining in an arm chair beside my writing table where at least I can reach a good many of the things I want.
Dad had a great triumph with the squirrels yesterday morning. I had decided that it was getting too hot and glary to have breakfast in the garden, so we were having it in the dining room for the first time. Dad walked out to the middle of the lawn, about half way to the place where we used to have breakfast, and called to the squirrels. One heard, and came running, stopping every now and again to sit up on his hind quarters and take a good look round. He came quite close to Dad and got a nut. Dad then returned to the dining room and dropped a few nuts outside the French window, calling the squirrel. The little friend arrived and carried a nut off into a neighboring rose bush. A little later, dad saw three squirrels running about on the far side of the lawn, so leaving his bacon and eggs, he went and stood in the window and called; gradually all three came running across the lawn and got nuts. This morning, they were all ready and waiting at the new space. Dad is awfully pleased about it.
Much love
Your Mother
From LJT to Annette
Chinsurah
Bengal
March 21st
My darling Annette
The thought that any moment the world may be turned upside down, rather handicaps ones writing. All the time, the back of ones mind is occuppied with the world anxieties and one tries to escape from them by turning busily to everyday things – When will the madness of Hitler crack? Has he made all Germany drunk with his lust for power?
March 22nd
Last night I stopped writing for two reasons. One because I was beginning to get sleepy, and the second because Dad kept on reading extracts from a book of Essays by Spender, and I found it impossible to keep my thoughts on my letter to you, and yet listen to him.
I have just been reading your last letter through again. Its pleasant hearing that Miss Starkie thinks your year of Modern Language people a good one. I suppose they often make a bit of a hash of giving the scholarships. From our point of view I am glad that you went up to Oxford when you did, for now you will be finishing next year I suppose, which will make it easier for Dad to retire should he find things unbearable, and from the monetry point of view we should certainly not have been allowed to take the college scholarship money. Does it make a great difference to your “Career” so to speak?
Anne certainly strikes me as having an extremely lively and original mind, combined with a vivid personality. You cant imagine people easily forgetting Anne or failing to notice her.
Dad has just been the author of an amusing little incident with regard to personality. A few years ago there was a young artist in Calcutta for a cold weather. He was a very “pansy” young man, with tremendous waists to his coats, soft silk shirts and ties in all sorts of delicate shades, and a long cigarette holder. He was a painter of considerable merit, and had rather a pretty wit. I was asked “to be kind to him”, and had one or two little lunch parties for him to which I asked some of the wealthy Indians who might conceivably want to have their portraits painted, and I went a few times to his studio to see his work. The other evening Dad said to me “The young man who used to carry the long stick has written a book.” I was completely nonplussed! “You know” said Dad “he had a long stick with a bow on it”. Still I had no light on the situation, so Dad fetched the book list and showed me Phillip Steegman’s name. “But” said I “He did not carry a long stick” “Surely he did” said Dad. Now the interesting point is that that stick must have been a spiritual emenation, for I am convinced it had no solid existance, but Dad swears that it is the thing he remembers the young man by.
Its odd the way one hears people talk! Someone said to me the other day, that friends of hers at home had told her that none of the young people are learning First Aid and Home Nursing, only the people who are old enough to remember the last War, and to remember it as adult people, not just vague children’s memories, are training themselves in these sort of ways. I found it a bit difficult to believe this, and here are you writing about taking your First Aid exam! Its like Mrs Tuffnel Barrett who tries to give the impression that one scarcely hears any English spoken in London these days. Unfortunately I had been in London just as lately as she had, and I said that I had plenty of English been spoken in buses and tubes, and in fact the only place where I recollected hearing foreigners speaking in their own tongue was in Westminster Abbey. why, I wonder, do people go out of their way to exaggerate in that sort of way? Do they think it makes their conversation more interesting?
After hearing nothing about Jock Hamilton from either of you for ages, you both mentioned him last week. I gather that he has involved himself in a number of activities.
It was nice of Hugh Edgley to take you out. You evidently made an impression on his father, who talks about you every time we meet, which, it is true, is not very often these days.
I am glad you went to the Masons. I have not been able to help him with much stuff for the journal this year, but I have already started a campaign to collect material for next year’s Journal.
I was writing Himalayan Club letters the whole of yesterday. This is the season when strangers from Europe arrive to climb or explore in the mountains, and write to me saying that so-and-so has told them that I will be able to advise them about everything. I feel inclined to write a book of general advice to trekkers and climbers in the Himalayas. Much of it could be lifted straight out of the Sikkim Guide. It would save me an awful lot of trouble in the end. Gosh! That’s a good idea! Its only come to me as I was writing. It might be a Himalayan Club thing, and we could get the Secretaries of all the different sections to collaborate. I must give some more thought to it. I waste such a lot of my time writing the same thing over and over again.
You wont forget to send Rosemary the book and my letter for her confirmation, will you?
Best love
Mother
Family letter from LJT
Chinsurah
Bengal
March 22nd 1939
My Dears,
Its just over a fortnight since I wrote, and looking back through my diary, there seem to be a great many things to tell about. I am sorry I did not write last week, but on Monday and Tuesday I really felt quite ill. The previous few days we had been in Asansol, and I had a cold or catarrh from the dust. Arriving back in Chinsurah at mid-day on Sunday, the 12th, we had to go and preside and give away the prizes at the so-called Olympic Tests in the afternoon. Instead of the prize-giving being at 5 o’clock, as the managing committee had promised, it was not until 6:40, with the result that instead of being there for one hour, as we had undertaken to do, we were there for very nearly three, and all the time there was a frightful lot of dust. Dr Norrie whom I went to see in Calcutta on Wednesday, says that it was a strong infection from the dust, settling in my rather sore nose. On Monday after-noon and all Tuesday I had had a horrid head-ache and felt alto-gether miserable, however Dr Norrie was soon able to put me right with infra red ray treatment, and much to my surprise I was able to go to the wedding in Dum Dum for which I had really planned my visit to Calcutta. However I am running along too fast, and must go back and tell you something about our visit to Asansol, which I had not seen for nearly twenty two years. The drive from here takes about three and a half hours, straight up the Grand Trunk Road. We stayed in the Circuit House, just next to the old bungalow in which we used to live, but which is not now occuppied by the Sub-Divisional Officer. The town of Asansol itself did not appear to have changed very much, but where we used to live on the outskirts and beyond, it has changed out of all recognition. On the high land and sloping down to the Damoder River where I used to ride with my dogs, and Swanker used to chase pigs over the terraced rice fields, there is now a large manufacturing town called Burnpore. It has grown up round the huge Indian Iron and Steel Works, and the lesser Standard Wagon Co. Its rather refreshing to be in a place that has been built up and is run by British enterprise. The difference from an Indian town is obvious at once. The wide, clean, well-kept roads. The nice bungalows each standing in a garden of flowers: the water works, shops etc all orderly and decent, and even the works themselves, with their blast furnaces and their great chimneys, obviously well looked-after. I called on the wives of the managers of the two factories. The first was a pleasant nice woman, the second I thought a gem. She is a Checko-Slovak (I don’t know what the nationality will be now) and a passionate gardener. In spite of the fact that it was mid-day and very hot, we rushed out into the garden, and must have spent nearly an hour looking at all her treasures.
Herbert was inspecting the Offices at Asansol, but had arranged his visit so that he could preside, and I could give away the prizes at the local Health Exhibition. You remember our old friend Dr Tomb, who was Doctor for the Mines Board of Health in Asansol? His place has been taken by an extraordinaryily nice Indian Doctor, Dr Sen. I spent Friday afternoon seeing the Exhibition with him, and watching some of the judging of the babies for the baby competition. The babies were great fun, and the Exhibition was really I think the best I have seen out here. They had the excellent plan of running training classes in conjunction with some of the exhibits, during the week, and holding exams and giving prizes at the end. This seemed to me very good, for it impressed the teaching in a way that a casual visit was not likely to do.
One of the things that impressed me most was the amount of work that is being done for the lepers in Asansol subdivision. They have fourteen clinics scattered about that comparatively small area. When they get the cases early they can generally effect a cure in three months by ingestions of cholmogra oil, and by general attention to health and diet. On the Saturday morning I went out to see the leper clinic just outside Asansol town, and also to see the site and plans for the leper colony which they are just beginning to build up there. I found it all extremely interesting and am full of admiration for Dr Sen and his assistants. On the Saturday afternoon the prize-giving took place, and was splendidly run. Herbert went round the Exhibition afterwards, and I poked round and looked at a few things which I had not seen the previous day.
There is a nice young sub-divisional Officer there, who is very keen on his garden. We had tea with him one evening and a great talk about it. After the rather dirty and noisy Circuit House, it was extraordinarily nice to get back to this lovely quiet and comfortable house. You already know the history of the next few days. The “Olympic Tests” for which, under great pressure, we had hurried back, were the most ghastly muddle and exhibition of incompetence that I have ever witnessed, even during twenty-five years residence in this country. They were supposed to be the eliminating round for the whole six districts of the Burdwan Division. The winners would then go to compete in Calcutta, and final selections would eventually go to Delhi, to be chosen for the Olympic Games next year. We arrived to find such events as “Three legged race for boys”, “Egg and spoon race for girls” (This could not take place because nobody had remembered any eggs or spoons) “Skipping endurance test for girls” and so on. I became more and more incensed as the afternoon went on. Chaos reigned unchecked. No-one knew anything. Our chairs were arranged so that, had there been anything to see, we could not have seen it. The crowd were allowed to surge all round, and were occasionally driven back by the police. I don’t believe that anyone who has not been in India could visualize it.
Herbert had Mr Simmons, Conservator of Forests, and Mr Ahmad, another of the forest men, who is Secretary to the Forest Committee, to stay from Tuesday evening till Saturday morning , to collaborate in writing the Forest report, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to go and spend a few days in Calcutta, and leave them to talk as much shop as they liked. Winsome kindly put me up, and I had three very pleasant days, in spite of the nose. It was nice to feel that I had a little more time in hand, and that I need not hurry over my work with Probodh Babu (My Himalayan Club Clerk) or my shopping and that I had more time than usual to see people. On Friday evening I went to a big cocktail party given by the German Consul General. It was, of course, a couple of days after Hitlers walk into Checkie and Slovakia. There was a strange atmosphere at the party. Our hostess, Countess Podewilz, looked extremely anxious. People were gathering into knots, and there was a lot of sotto voce conversation going on. The different consular representatives were all watching to see which of their confreres would come. Some French friends of mine, who had almost stayed away, were intrigued to see that their representatives did not turn up. The old Chancellor of the German Consulate, who is a great friend of mine, hurried up to me soon after I arrived, and taking both my hands and manoeuvering me into a quiet corner he said, with tears in his eyes, “Mrs. Townend, Mrs. Townend! You know I cannot speak. But I am so afraid for our friends the --------- in Cairo.” Later he said, “Do you think any of our English friends will come this evening? I think many will stay away.” I think quite a number did too. It was an interesting party all the same. I like places where I meet all the foreign representatives. I had long talks with the Chinese and the Dutch Consuls General, and many of my American friends. Later I went back to dinner with Mr Groth, and another of the American Consuls, and the fourth member of the party was a German journalist, Herr Bayer, who has recently come back to Calcutta and whom Mr Groth had specially asked to meet me because we both like him and find him an interesting person. He was obviously feeling a bit uncomfortable, and in a way it was rather a relief when Edward Groth definitely turned the conversation on to the international situation. The talk was conducted with the utmost tact by all parties . Herr Bayer said he had been round at the German consulate that day, but they knew nothing that had not been in the newspapers. The Americans asked whether Checkie and Slovakia would keep their own currencies and their own diplomatic representatives, and discussed the ins and outs of the question with Herr Bayer, but he was careful not to commit himself to any opinion either for or against Hitler’s latest move.
I spent some time in the Girl Guide Office on Friday morning, and was quite pleased to be back there. I am going to take the Nature Test for Second Class Competition to-morrow, and I wanted to work out a scheme with the Bengali girl who is helping me. As a result of our deliberations, I went to see Dr Bini Prasad, the head of the Museum, and ask for the loan of a case with eight common insects in it. He was most obliging, and sent for the entomologist, telling him to arrange what I want for me. My only difficulty was to prevent them lending me several large “Set Pieces”, of which I did not wish to take the responsibility. My friend Dr Law has promised me a case with eight of the common Bengal birds, and flowers and fruits that I can easily arrange myself.
I came back here early on Saturday morning, as I as entertaining a mountaineering party for the week-end. Reggie Cooke, Charles Crawford, and a certain young MacLeod from the Cameronians at Barrackpore, came on Saturday afternoon, and two more men came up the next morning. They played tennis in the afternoon, and during the evening we looked at mountaineering pictures, which had been made into lantern slides. On Sunday morning I made them do a bit of work and study some of the letters I am getting in on the subject of Insuring the Sherpa porters and dividing them into grades. All my books of mountain photos were scattered over the house, and many maps. Relief from mountains was introduced by the discovery of a book on how to play golf, when some members of the party borrowing golf clubs and some old balls, and amused themselves for quite a time hitting balls about in the garden and on the Maidan. There was more tennis in the afternoon, and more lantern slides in the evening. I think we all enjoyed ourselves. Its nice to feel that the liberal accomodation in this house is being made use of once in a way.
Before Herbert and I went away to Asansol he had to go down to Calcutta for a meeting of the Commissioners from all over Bengal. Rex Fawcus was in from Dacca, and had lunch with us, but what was much more exciting was that G. B Gourlay arrived unexpectedly from Madras that morning and by dint of great persistance (ie first ringing up Chinsurah and then Winsome) he at last got in touch with me at the Saturday Club at lunch time, and we were able to meet in the evening when he got away from work, and Herbert and I stayed in and had a “Grill” with him, and came back here after dinner. It was so nice seeing him again, but we did not have half enough time to discuss all the things we wanted to.
By the way, Mr MacLeod told us an interesting little story. He and half a dozen other officers are living in an old bungalow in Barrackpore. One of these men is keen on “the Pipes” and is always practicing on them. During the first three weeks they were there, no less than seven or eight (I forget the exact number) cobras were found in the bungalow. The player on the pipes then went off to do a course somewhere, and since then there has been no sign of a snake. It really looks as if piping attracts them. Mr MacLeod says they think it is not the playing of the pipes with the full wind that they like, but the soft practicing of the tune on what I think he called the reeds.
We have stopped having breakfast out of doors, as it became too hot and glarey. We wondered what would happen about the squirrels, but the first morning we were indoors, Herbert went to the French window and called, and the little beasts came scampering across the lawn. They are always waiting for us now.
What can one write about affairs in Europe? Behind all the daily tasks one occupies oneself with, ones mind is full of this menace all the time. Several of the Indian papers give up the struggle to understand Hitler, and say they think he has become definitely insane.
I see this sheet is running out and I dont want to start another, so here is my best love to you all,
LJT
From LJT to Romey
March 22nd, 1939
My Darling Rosemary,
This letter will be the last to reach you before your Confirmation, I think. Annette is sending you a book from me, with a letter enclosed, so I won’t say much about the confirmation now, except to express again how much I wish I could be there. As a matter of fact it is a day when I do not think you want other people very much, for it is an occasion when one takes a step forward in becoming independent. I hope you will have a nice service, and a nice Bishop to confirm you.
Naturally our minds are turning all the time to this terrible impasse in Europe. I find my mind shearing away from consideration of it, and trying to occupy itself with the little every day jobs, but all the time the great menacing cloud is there, ready to force itself on one’s attention at any moment.
Our Collector, Mr Tuffnell Barrett is being transferred, and his wife has just put in 100 Rose trees. She wants to give me as many as I have room for, so I have taken on two coolies and we are digging one big new bed, and re-digging one old one. It will be nice to have a lot more roses, but I am sorry for her trouble in putting them all in and now having to leave them. They are going to Darjeeling, and won’t be taking a house in Calcutta at present, so they can’t take any with them.
The third mali was reported to have stayed in his go-down yesterday morning, saying he had fever, and the others said he had not got fever at all, and that he had played this game several times before, especially if he thought that there was extra heavy work to do. I sent for him, and took his temperature, which was normal. This I think rather nonplussed him, but he persisted that he felt very ill. “Very Well” I said “you must go to the hospital”, and I wrote a chit to the Assistant Surgeon, asking him to have a look at the man and let me know if he thought him really ill. He wrote back rather charmingly “I do not think your servant has any disease yet, but I have given him some medicine”. The prescription was for a liver mixture, and the mali said with pride and satisfaction that he had a liver in his stomach. It’s a good complaint, don’t you think?
When I was with Auntie Winsome last week, I saw the kittens, and have almost made up my mind to have two. I don’t know when they will be ready to come here. Mogul quite looks forward to having some pets again, I think.
Do you remember Ronald Townend? It was he who drove you back from Leatherhead to St Monica’s after the 1937 exeat. He is in business out here now, and has become keen of riding. He has been thoroughly put through it in the Calcutta Light Horse Riding School, and is to go for his exam this week. I am telling Aunt that you may have another course of riding lessons this holidays if you want. I don’t suppose your answer will be in the negative!
Best love Darling. I shall think of you on the first. Your afternoon is our evening dinner-time, so It is easy to remember the time.
Mother
Family letter from HPV (carbon, ‘Annette’ hand written in ink)
Chinsurah,
March 23rd. 1939.
My dear Annette
The fact is that I have no real interest in this Forest Committee report on which I am lavishing so much labour: it is a fault in me that I cannot bring myself to sign the incoherent document that has been drafted by Ahmad the Forest Officer, Secretary of the Committee, but there are things that even the base will not do: none the less it would have been wise to sign and have done with it, for the report, no matter how it reads will have no more practical effect than a wooden biscuit. They may pass a law and they may get out formal resolutions as to the policy of Government, but there things will stick. So far I have spent 32 ½ days on this blighted Committee and the report has reached the stage of a plan of contents of perhaps half of it ---- apart from the 180 pages of typed stuff that Ahmad has concocted. It was interesting to see how little the brief outline that I gave to him at the outset had conveyed to him; probably because writing of long notes is something that has to be learned by experience. In sum
I AM FED TO THE TEETH.
When one overworks one does less than usual after the first couple of weeks because the mind slows up and because one is too tired to do anything after a given hour in the day. This I regret even when the cause of the overwork is my own Scheme: but it is long indeed since I have been able to work at that. Only there has been a slight satisfaction: I had been given rainfall figures for Bankura district (25 years) and notes as to famine years: and I had written to the District Magistrate that it was strange to see a note as to famine in a certain year when the figures indicated far worse conditions for the next year in which no famine had been shown: and today a reply came in that the next year also had been a famine year and a far worse one. Thus my calculations were saved from disaster: for one contrary instance disproves. No news though as to the progress made by the designers in Calcutta. I have been reading the life of Madame Curie and been reflecting with shame that I do not particularly resemble the retiring and generous woman. Undoubtedly, I do like recognition; and it would not really content me if it proved that the plans and estimates were going ahead, but that I was to know nothing about them.
My dear wife has gone to Calcutta; with the deliberate intention of seeing amateur theatricals! Because the author is the brother of Auden the Geological man. That to my mind does not make his poems less tripe; though you and Gavin probably admire them. They are probably beautiful in the same way as equations; or as heraldic animals; by a convention or sort of make-belief. It is because she has gone out that I am thumping the typewriter. It is not true that I abstain from the machine when she is here because the noise is irritating; but you will note that often I do take to it when she is away.
It was soon after Christmas that, hearing what the rules of Darts Cricket were, I became angered by the stupidity of them and at once designed the only possible and logical form of the game as it ought to be. In what form of cricket does the bowler not have a whack and the batsman not have the chance of scoring off the most dangerous of bowling. The rules which I then typed out with the idea of confiding them to you are still lying about; and I shall enclose a copy in one of the three letters ---to Richard it will have to be because the Darts Board lives in the Poopery, though I know well that he will feel no interest in this matter and will lose the rules.
A bright green bird came into the garden and lodged in a near-by tree while we were having tea the other afternoon. Bright? Rather vivid; more than vivid. It had a red cap with a black line round it. And it flew into a distant tree while we were waiting for a domestic to fetch the field glasses. Things of interest in the garden are few. The only real adventure was when my heart stopped beating the other afternoon and I came near to leaping while I was cutting deads off a vast bed of cornflowers; these days I do not see details without my glasses and noticing what looked like a dead twig sticking up among the stems I took a snip at it with the scissors; the horror-cause was that the twig was the tail of a chameleon. Yes, I came near to being sick though I checked the snip (I think) before the tail was cut. The poor courageous beast, sitting there so quiet while I worked all round it, and praying that I should not notice it! It is a pity that I feel impelled to slaughter mosquitoes. The squirrels are not really much fun now that we feed indorrs though there is a deputation waiting for the nuts every morning: we have to keep them at a distance lest they get into the habit of coming indoors, for they are destructive things.
Which reminds me (why, I cannot think) that this morning when the American consulate rang up and asked where your mother was staying in Calcutta, I was put to shame for my memory went back on me and I could not say.
Which all works round to the fact that I forget all the many little things suitable for letter-stuffing. Do not think that because I make so small a return for letters received I do not appreciate them
(handwritten addition at end of letter)
It seems silly to send out duplicates when the recipients will be in the same house. Yet it probably takes as long to type this amount as to write three bits of letters. Less strain to the mind to write one.
Barring the comment that you seem to pick up nice friends, I have nothing to say on your letters. Your mother always speaks as if I know Peggy Christie: but I only saw her once and am capable of mistaking any red cheeked wench for her in consequence.
Much love
Dad
Personal note to Rosemary from LJT
Chinsurah, Bengal March 28th, 1939
My Darling Rosemary,
Your examination results certainly don’t look specially good. It’s interesting that you say that no one could do the Arithmetic paper. Is there any explanation of this? It surprises me to see that your algebra marks were reasonable, and geometry so bad. I suppose I feel surprise because I was fairly good at geometry, and found it interesting, and was bad at algebra, and found it dull. One must, of course, take into consideration the fact that you were away a large part of last term, but it looks as if you will have to work pretty hard next term if you are going to be successful in school Cert.
You don’t want to be thinking about these sort of things, I expect, when you are holiday-making in a new country. It sounds a little absurd to say I hope troubles in Europe won’t interfere with your visit to Ireland, but one has to consider the little with the great things, until a time of crisis comes, and then it is not hard to sacrifice the small and relatively unimportant things. I hope you will write us some descriptions of what you see in Ireland, for I have very few clear pictures in my mind of what the south of Ireland is like.
It’s rather an awful feeling the first time you are made to referee in a game, isn’t it? It’s awfully good experience though, and forces one to be observant, make decisions quickly, and above all, be firm.
It’s rather a pity I said I would have one or possibly two of Auntie Winsome’s kittens, because I have since had the offer of a tabby half-Persian, which would probably have been much prettier. However, it is niceness that matters most, isn’t it?
The squirrels are well established as dining-room visitors now. It is amusing to see the great daring with which they pop over the door sill, and fetch a nut off the dining-room floor. They always whisk away outside to eat it. I expect in a little time, when they find that nothing awful happens to them in the room, they will stay and eat indoors.
On the whole, the Nature Knowledge of the girls who went in for the Girl Guides 2nd Class Competition last week, was poor, but so many of them live in the heart of the town and seldom see any birds except crows and sparrows, and a few trees and flowers. It’s noticeable that the girls who came from schools with big gardens, are up to a better standard.
I hope you have nice holidays, darling, and go back to school ready for a good stiff term’s work. Remember that interest is half the battle. If you can so engage your mind on anything so you become really interested, half the battle is won. You will be able to follow and understand arguments, and you will not easily forget what you have heard. Also, you will make the knowledge your own, instead of looking at as something outside your self.
Best love
Mum
From LJT to Annette
Chinsurah
Bengal
March 28th 1939
My darling Annette,
It was lucky that you letter about the visit to Mrs Petrie arrived this morning, for I was wanting to write to you, and its so much easier to write when there is a letter to answer.
Yes! It is amusing what an interest one begins to take in ones neighbours when living in Mrs Petrie’s house. She has always been a bit inclined that way, and I think that is possibly one reason why she does not like living in London. I don’t believe you or I or Aunt would ever have such a detailed knowledge of what was going on in the neighbouring houses, even if we lived in a house whose windows looked on to the hub of the village, for we would always be too busy about other things, and our attention would be more warmly occuppied with books. Poor Mrs Petrie and the young man who was said to have a lunatic wife! She evidently thinks your young heart might have been touched by him, for she mentions the matter of his incubus in a letter to me. What a tragic thing if it is true! I cant remember whether under the new divorce laws one can dissolve the partnership with a hopeless lunatic. How often I have suffered from that curious idea that four or five perfectly sane and reasonable people, who have met to-gether for the purpose of seeing one another, cannot be allowed to talk, but must be put down to play some absurd gambling game. I am glad to say that the idea is certainly becoming less prevelent in Calcutta. Perhaps the talk in which I and many of my friends indulged about it, has gradually taken effect. I have heard Dr Visser say some pungent things on the subject.
Mrs Petrie writes that she does not think Nannie Roper is recovering her “tone” as quickly as she should. I should imagine she has been through a pretty difficult time, and probably her nerves are a bit worn out. Of course she is not too easy a temperament to live with. She has very very strong ideas, and does not find it easy to look at another persons point of view, so it may not always have been too easy for Felix, though I can think there has ever been any excuse for the way his mother treated her.
Fired by a book I have been reading, called “The Quest of the Overself by Paul Brunton, I have just begun setting aside half an hour in the day in which to attempt mind concentration. I can concentrate fairly well if I am reading, writing or listening to something, but it has always annoyed me that I cannot keep my mind fixed on a single subject, and meditate on it so to speak, without the constant intrusion of other thoughts. Its difficult to find the place and the time when and where one will not be interrupted. I am getting up at six o’clock, and useing the half hour before the bearer brings my tea. Yesterday I went into my dressing room, but was disturbed by the mosquitoes, who were all coming in to find dark places in which to spend the day. This morning I tried the east verandah, which would have been excellent, except for the fact that first the Sweeper arrived to open all the doors and windows, and next the bearer arrived very flustered, and saying he was sorry the kettle was not boiling, and that he would bring me my tea as soon as it was. To-morrow I think I shall try the roof, and see whether I can remain undisturbed there. My friend Dr Biswas of the Botanical Gardens has often talked to me about the art of meditation, and the further step of being able to put the mind to rest, - make it a blank, - at will. He says that the ability to do this is extremely useful, for ten minutes spent in complete mental blankness, is often more restful than a whole nights sleep.
Mental control is one of the most important parts of, if not the most important part of the different Yoga systems, and the astonishing physical control which is achieved by some so-called yogis, was originally only intended as a “path” by which to gain the far more important mental control. As so often in religions and philosophies, the path often became more important that the goal, and was used in ways which were never intended. I am not all sure yet whether I can accept by any means all of what Paul Brunton writes and presumably believes, but I am sure the ability to meditate without the mind wandering must be useful and beneficial. Brunton is the same man who wrote “In Search of Secret Egypt”, and the very much better “In Search of Secret India”. In this latest book about the quest for the “overself” he has made an attempt to fit some of the ancient knowledge about mind and body, to modern minds and modern possibilities, and he has made a reasonably good job of it.
There seem to me to be a terrible number of people in the world who are always running away from thought instead of encourageing it. Its odd that it should be so when after all it is the priceless gift which raises us above the animal kingdom. Of course there is always the point of view expressed by the negro lady in some absurd tale that Dad was reading, who, when her husband began making some excuse to her, and said “I think”, broke in “You! Think! You cant think! You aint got nothing to think with!”
The papers have been very non-commital the last few days, but I suppose Europe is still sitting on a powder mine.
Best love, my dear
from
Mum
March 30th I have been struck with a wish to read “In Search of Secret Egypt” of which I only read the first two bits at home – Could you find time to post it to me? Its somewhere about in the house. Book post, with open ends, is much cheaper than parcel and if you only leave a slit – so to speak – each end, books travel quite well – Sorry to give you this trouble!
Family letter from LJT
Chinsurah
Bengal
March 29th 1939
My dears,
We have settled down to the regular hot-weather regime now, with the house shut up at about ten o’clock and tea indoors before the windows are opened. Its a wonderfully cool house. I noticed the difference when I stayed a couple of nights with Phyllis Gurner last week in a modern Calcutta residence. I went down to Calcutta on Thursday morning to take the Nature Test for the annual Second Class competition for the Girl Guides. The affair took place in the gardens of the Viceroy’s House. Phyllis was taking the child nurse test, so we went along with the funniest luggage. I had a basket of fruits, jars of Flowers, a glass case (borrowed from the Museum) full of insects, and eight stuffed birds. Phyllis had an enormous pink celluloid doll, a bath tub and other odds. It seemed rather queer being in a Guide uniform again, and I enjoyed being back in the old atmosphere. The children from the Calcutta schools are not, on the whole, good at Nature. Many of them live in the heart of the town, poor brats, and have little opportunity of seeing birds and trees and flowers. Amongst my specimens, I had a lizard, just an ordinary little chap about four inches long, and I was a bit startled when some of the children put down crockodile and some aligator as their recognition answer.
I stayed the two nights in Calcutta chiefly because I specially wanted to see an amature performance of “The Ascent of F6”, a play by W.H. Auden, brother of John Auden who is a friend of mine in the Geological Survey out here, and who supplied his brother with all the technical knowledge and local colour of mountaineering for the play. The Himalayan Club lent the mountaineers clothes and equipment and a small mountain tent or two. Reggie Cooke and I dined with Charles Crawford, and the other men in his chummery, and all went along to-gether. It was an amazingly good performance, considering the difficulties inherent in the play. The performers were members of the staff of St Paul’s College and the Scottish Mission College. It was noticeable that their diction was much better than that of the average amatures. I suppose the fact that most of them were school masters, and some padres as well, meant that they had all had practice in the art of making their voices carry. Its a most interesting play, though strange in certain ways. I think it is wise of amatures to choose a play with real interest in it, for then, even if the acting is mediocre there is something that is still worth listening to. So often amatures choose to act complete tripe! I do not mean to insinuate that the acting in this was of poor quality. Certain of the characters were really good, especially the young mountaineer who is the central character. I enjoyed it so much, I should have gone again the next evening had I been in Calcutta. There is too much thought in the play to be grasped in one sitting.
It was convenient having another day in Calcutta for I did a long morning’s work with Probodh Babu, and attended to all sorts of things like checking accounts, which generally get put off, because they “Can be done next time”. I felt a little sad, for that very morning Dr Heron who has been such a good friend both to the Himalayan Club and to me personally, was giving over charge of the Geological Survey to Dr Fox. Dr Heron’s time is up, but though he has to retire from his official post, he is staying in India for a while in the hope of getting some consulting work. He is actually off on his first job this next Friday. He goes to Jodpore to give an opinion about the value of some mining rights which some company want to buy. Dr Fox, though not a member of the Himalayan Club, is most kindly allowing us to go on storing our equipment in their store rooms, and Probodh Babu to go on working for us in his spare time, also myself to run in and out of the offices just as I like. I lunched at home with Phyllis Gurner, for I have seen very little of her lately, and she is going home in ten days time. In the afternoon I had tea with Anina Brandt, who is terribly upset about affairs in Germany. She left Germany some years ago to get away from it all, and she says, in spite of the fact that she so long ago disassociated herself with her country, she feels terribly ashamed of the way they have behaved. We went to-gether to the opening of the new building of the Women’s Hospital, and there we picked up Idris Mathews, and afterwards brought him back to Anina’s flat for a drink, of which we all felt in great need. I had to hurry off and change for I had promised to look in at the Rankins for a drink and to hear what Louise thought might be some rather interesting talk. They had invited one of the Standard Oil Co (Mr. Rankin is Standard Oil) who was just back from Burmah, where he has been having a great deal to do with the arrangements for supplying oil for the fleets of lorries which are going to carry goods into China along the great new road, to meet Mr and Mrs Feng, the Chinese Consul General and his wife. The talk certainly was interesting. Mr Russel told us that 400 miles of road had been made where there was scarcely a track before, and that, crossing three great rivers and the water-sheds that divide them. There had been something like a hundred thousand coolies working. The Burmese Government are letting any goods for the Chinese governmen, which are landed at Rangoon go through “in bond”, charging no duty on them. The Fengs asked news of various Chinese friends of theirs whom Mr Russel had seen, and he passed on to us some of the talk he had heard about the success of the guerilla warfare which the Chinese are carrying on now. It seemed to make the whole thing, which seems so remote and often so unreal to us, so alive and so vivid.
I came back here early on Saturday morning, because I had promised to open a new building in the afternoon. It is a simple little affair on the bank of the river near an especially sacred little temple in the southern part of Chinsurah. It is to house the activities of a Hindu charitable society who do all sorts of things to help the poor, and to look after the pilgrims who come in great crowds to this shrine three times a year. The money to build these two rooms was chiefly given by my friend Dr Law, the man who has the wonderful avairies. His family belong to this place, and he has done this in memory of his Grandmother. I had made a few notes for a speech, but when the time came I did not need them, and found I was able to talk quite easily without having anything to refer to. I suppose several years of lecturing Girl Guides has given me a certain glibness of tongue, and I am luck in having a voice that carries easily. I gave the assembled gentlemen a lot of good advice. The following day I received a letter from one of the gentlemen present, addressed to “Her Most Gracious Motherhood” consisting of two pages of curiously worded outpourings, the gist of which is that he approves of my suggestions, and hopes the rest of the society will take them to heart. Bengalis are so easily moved to emotion but not so easily to deeds.
Dr Law came back to tea with me afterwards, and we had a happy time looking at the garden, for he is a very keen gardener. Herbert found us finally finishing our rounds by the light of an electric torch.
The Collector and his wife, Mr and Mrs Tufnell Barrett, who only came here just before Christmas, are being transferred and leave here on the 1st April. An Indian with an orthodox wife is coming in Mr T-B’s place, and Mrs T-B who had just put about 50 rose trees into the garden was anxious to give them to me, because they would vertainly die if not watered through the hot-weather, and we none of us suppose the new people will take any trouble over the garden. Consequently I have been busy preparing beds for them, and we got most of them planted yesterday. I have made elaborate arrangements to shade them, for its very hot for planting things just now. I do hope they survive.
Herbert is deep in the composition of the Forest Committee Report. He found the draft done by the Secretary, Mr Ahmad, too bad to pass, so he is rewriting the whole thing. He confesses that at the moment he finds himself looking upon his ordinary work as so much interruption to the composing of the report. He has given me bits of it to read, and he is making a striking document of it. My opinion is that it should be published in some periodical where the public can read it. It is far too good and of far too much general interest to be seen only by a few corrupt ministers, who are willing to sell the good of future generations for a few votes any day of the week.
There have been excitements in the compound. The bearer came to me on Sunday morning, after I returned from Calcutta, and reported that the dhobi (washerman) had small-pox. He had left the compound the previous Thursday evening, and his family reported that he had gone away to arrange a wedding. Naturally I became a little perturbed, and wrote to the Health Officer of the Municipality, giving the dhobi’s name and address, for he has a home here in Chinsurah, though he lives generally in this compound. I got no reply, and wrote again at mid-day on Monday, and at last a Sanitary Inspector came to see me about 4 o’clock, saying that it was not smallpox, but chickenpox, from which the Dhobi was suffering. When I come to think of it there have not been any other major crises amongst the domestic staff, except that I at last dismissed the cook I took on from Mrs Burrows, and have got back the man I had all the years we were in Calcutta. It is such a pleasure to have him back. His cooking is of a totally different quality from that of the other man.
I am busy going through all the back numbers of the Himalayan Journal, gathering figures about mountain climbing Expeditions, the number of porters they took, and the number of days they were climbing. Also how many porters were killed or injured or frostbitten. With the exception of the two disasterous German Expeditions to Nanga Parbat, there have been extraordinarily few accidents.
Best love
LJT