Tag / calcutta

by Mary James

31. India, Part VI: Calcutta, the Races & a Glimpse at the Future, Jan. 18 – 22, 1938

Helen is back in Calcutta after an eventful 10-day shore leave to the Taj Mahal, a saga that took up more space in her journal than a lot of the rest of the world.

The After-the-Trip Letter

Back in the city, a round of lunching, driving, tea, movies, a formal dinner and dancing afterward at a lovely private club as the guest of a dear friend who has lived in India ten years, gave me insight into quite another facet of life there...low lights, soft music, beautifully gowned women, gracious living.

Side note: Helen was likely job prospecting in Calcutta (and other places she had prospects, like Madras). Up until she got on the Silverwillow, for over 10 years, she’d been teaching Physical Education around the U.S. Gleaning from her shore activities on this trip though, she seemed ready to take her work overseas.

At the time, the YWCA had outposts around the world focused on women’s health and P.E. She had connections there, and in the future she would indeed work for one, but presently Shag was distracting her. You can’t blame her, I mean look at them!


Helen and Roy (Shag) Shadbolt, being cute (not in India in 1938, but still)

Shag’s life plans were shifting too, for similar cutesy reasons, but a looming war would make most plans moot. That’s for later.

Our ship's Captain, who was very partial to me (I don't complain, but the other passengers might) took me to a race meeting.

Side note: She was super flirty and, by all accounts, appreciated high quality flirting in return.

I was equally fascinated by the horses running in a clockwise direction, and by the people....Indians in native dress, uniform of Scottish regiments, Europeans in sport clothes, Mahara-jas with their retinues in gala attire.

Side note: I searched about if horses still run in different directions in certain places and one of the top results was someone in a forum asking, “Why do horses run in different directions in Australia”, and someone responding, “Because they can”.

So horses still do run in different directions, if they want to. 

We were glad to be back on the boat, and cleaning our teeth in water instead of tea. In India you eat no raw vegetables unless you KNOW they have been dipped in potassium permanganate water, and you don't drink water unless it's so hot you can be certain it has been boiled. 

The Grand Hotel, second best in the city had seventeen cases of typhoid just before our arrival. And since we left we hear it had another epidemic, and had to fold up and sneak out the back way. (Moral: don't go abroad without a typhoid, shot)

The Day-to-Day Journal

The above is all from her letter after the trip, likely carbon copies to friends and family, as one would do in the day.

So below we have the personal journal of the same time frame as above. It starts when she is reuniting with the boat crew after her 10 day trip away.

Tue. Jan 18: 

Shag and Jim came while we were at breakfast, good to see them. Showed them pictures and purchases, chatted until noon. 

Shag came back in the p.m. and then I had a grand scramble to get ready, had to wash my hair — still feel filthy from the train. Jack looked perfectly beautiful in a dark wine chiffon. After the guests had left I was persuaded to stay to dinner (not too difficult). 

We were five, and it was delightful. Back at the hotel Capt., Capt. Streets and H. Dreyer were beering. I joined them and went upstairs at 10 to be very ill.

Side note: That all just sounds grand. Except the ill.

Jack, I believe, is her friend in Calcutta. Dark wine chiffon for the win!

Wed. Jan. 19: 

Morning with Shag. 

Lunch at Great Eastern and then to the races. The course is on the Maidan, looking across to the Victoria Memorial. 

The track is turf, 1 1/4 mi. long (3 tracks, really, for the various monsoons), the stands are enormous, and in the center inside the track enclosure, hundreds of Indians may see the races free. 

This was one of the best opportunities to see a multitude of types: every shade; style of costume; all endlessly fascinating. 

The horses were good, and one race was for 5000 Rs. My first look at a race run clockwise. Picked horses in the last 3 races that won Rs. for Capt. 

To Firpo's for a bottle of soda. Spent the evening with Jim.

Side note: I’ve looked up more about horse racing directions. One part of the Internet says that races in the U.S. (be it horse or human or car) are counter-clockwise as an middle finger to the British. Another part says that it makes sense to be counter-clockwise because of right handed people. My theory was that countries race in the direction they drive, but no. Germany has clockwise AND counterclockwise tracks.

What everyone should agree on, I think, is that the horses are the best and should be treated as such.

Thru. Jan 20: 

S. and I had the morning together. 

At noon rode out to the ship which is still in a dreadful mess. Pressed evening clothes in Capt.'s room, had lunch with him. 

S. and I made back to the Grand and then out to look at Calcutta. 

At 8:00 Tombazi's car came for me. Delicious food, charming people. Later to the 300 Club for dancing. All good dances, the club small, intimate, excellent piano and drums, indirect lighting, beautifully gowned women (Pellegrino water, no drinking, slot machine). 

Fri. Jan 21: Shag and I saw the stone slab that purports to cover the black hole of Calcutta — a washout as a sight. We drove around, lunched at the Grand, rode some more. Packed after he left, paid our bill, distributed annas — three were standing outside our door, another half dozen climbed on the taxi step. I bargained for a cab for 1-8, very cheap, for Garden Reach Jetty. 

Came aboard loaded to the gunwales. No running water, (glad I bathed at the hotel), but the cabin very fresh and clean. Pressed an evening dress, and at 8 Captain and I taxied uptown to dinner at Firpo's and to the metro to see Joan Crawford in "The Bride Wore Red", a stupid picture, but I enjoyed the evening.

Side note: The Black Hole of Calcutta story is not for the claustrophobic (like me), good lord.

Apparently the role in The Bridge Wore Red was not written for Joan Crawford, but after she replaced the original actress, she insisted on playing it as Joan Crawford, and it didn’t work. So says the Internet.

Sat. Jan. 22: Shag and I to town on the bike, bot scarves at the good companions. 

Had tea at A.A.B. To the market for cashew nuts — 2 Rs 9 As. for 5 lb. 

Back to the boat at 3 for medical exam, which was a farce. A Chi-Chi woman felt the pulse (to see if the heart was beating, I suppose). Those without vaccination certificates have it done. Couldn't leave the boat afterward, and the ship must sail within 24 hours. 

Pooped out, slept.

Side note: The A.A.B. was then the Automobile Association of Bengal and is now the Automobile Association of East India, and I like that they served tea. While Helen had her eye on P.E. teaching gigs overseas, Roy (Shag) Shadbolt had has eye on racing cars. After World War II, the two of them would go on to a run race car shop in Vancouver, Canada, known as Shadbolt Cams, which was open until just a few years ago. They even had a Facebook page.

They did trade with parts dealers in various parts of the world, like with the A.A.B.

Roy would go on to also race cars around the U.S. and Canada, and was well known in those circles.

More about all that later though! First we must finish getting around the world. Next up, the Bay of Bengal.

by Mary James

30. India Part V: Some New and Old Delhi and then off to Calcutta, Jan. 18 – 22, 1938

This is all from the day-to-day journal. Helen takes in history and environs in Delhi before heading back to the boat. And we shall join her.

Thru the Kashmir Gate to the 1st city of Delhi, founded at end of 12th cent. by the slave dynasty — the Turk, Mohammad Ghori established Mohammedan Rule, having no son, he raised a slave to be his heir. Kutb-Din, the slave, built the Kutb Miner, used by Muezzin to call to prayer, 238 ft. tall. The iron pillar, standing for 1600 years. 

Humayun, son of Babar 1st Moghul Emperor ruled briefly, his tomb is red sandstone, used as model for the Taj.

Side note: there will be quizzes!

The Chatta Chowk, arcades of shops, one displaying the richest wares of the East, now ivory merchants, jewelry, carved wood. 

Diwan-l-Am, Durbar Hall, where Emperor dispensed justice, even the humblest might present his petition. 

The inlay in marble, the canopy incrusted with gems and held by gold poles. 

The Hall of Special Audience where the peacock thrones stood, the inscription, "If there is a paradise on earth, it is this, it is this, it is this". 

The Turkish baths, the fountain of 9 streams for the pregnant woman.

Side note: That is an excellent quote, no? “If there is paradise on earth, it is this, it is this, it is this…”

Drove thru New Delhi — imposing buildings, beautifully laid out, but a come down after the splendors of Old Delhi. 

To the Chandi Chowk — to the Ivory Palace — magnificent carving, lovely textiles and brass. 

Stopped at the Jumma Masjid — too weary of seeing white marble inlaid in red sandstone. 

Had tea at the hotel, dashed to the station to find the train 1/2 hr. late on account of the wreck yesterday of the Punjab Mail. Found we had 1 lower, 2 uppers, 1 middle aged wife of a British Major, very sporty, a mousy governess-y looking person. Resigned to 36 hrs. of grit and dirt, we're off for Calcutta fuel on the hotel bill: 6 As.

Side note: Weary of white marble…

“If there is a paradise on earth, it is this, it is this, it is this” – The Hall of Special Audience

Mon. Jan 17: Our compartment companion got off at 6:00 a.m. at Allerabad. 

We three had tea and oranges, went back to bed. 

Slept occasionally until two p.m. when enormous quantities of luggage arrived — 4 huge suitcases, 4 smaller ones, a wicker box, vegetable basket, birdcage, bedding roll, tennis rackets, coats, toupees, dog, widow with a sweet 14 yr. old child.  

She was a fright, but she and Dreyer struck up an acquaintance and babbled for hours.

Side note: Dreyer is Helen’s roommate from the boat (at least when Helen is not in her deck hammock). Like the new train passenger, Dreyer is also a widow.

And again people traveling with toupees! I’ve looked this up on Chat GTP, and if it’s telling the truth, toupees or wiglets were quite popular before the 1930s, but we’re still being used for specific hair styles (I imagine these could be handy whilst traveling) or to add extra oomph or to cover problem spots.

The train was 2 hours late, and the last several hours were interminable. 

Dirty, wearying, and at every stop the inevitable bangles, dolls, brass, guavas and the everlasting "No-Go Away".  

At long last we pulled in to Howrah Station. The Grand Hotel man got us a feeble taxi to the hotel. 

Across the world's busiest bridge and certainly every type of conveyance is on it — autos, ox carts, horse drawn tongas, rickshaws, and many on foot with bedding and baggage piled high on their heads. 

A seething mass of humanity and a hollow din of rubber bulb horns — honk, honk.  

At 10:00 p.m. dinner in the grill with horrible bleating music. 

To crown the day: a dirty tub taking an hour to empty. 

Trip Advisor: Two Stars.

by Mary James

27. India, Part II: Awe at the Taj Mahal: The Letter Home, Jan 1938

With ten days of shore leave at hand, Helen embarked on a complicated, multi-day side trip inland — traveling over 1,200km each way — via boat and train. She reflected upon it all quite colorfully in both the after-the-trip letter and the day-to-day journal. So much color in fact, it will take two posts.

First, the shorter after-the-trip summary…

The After-the-Trip Letter

(I mentioned in the last post about the unfortunate state of things for many in India at the time. That state of things is reflected in her observations below.)

The ship went into dry-dock in Calcutta, and while hundreds of coolies swarmed over the boat day and night, riveting, hammering, scouring, repairing, and refurbishing, the passengers had ten days "on their own”. 

Three of us, Lysol bottle in hand, braved the so-called perils of travel by train. 

“You must travel 1st class, and you MUST take a bearer (servant)", everyone said, so we went 2nd class, without bearers -- you have to take your own bedding on Indian railroads...we rented bedding rolls from American Express for one rupee ($.38) a day...the natives steal everything on the train that is not securely fastened, so the comforts thereof are negligible, if not non-existent. 

We found the trains unbelievably dirty, the sleeping accommodations thin (the berths were 2 in. thick, and the mattress...well, to be generous, maybe one-half inch...these came with the roll of bedding), the beggars persistent, the station platforms crowded with squatting Indians surrounded by their luggage, and innumerable peddlers who urged us in all the dialects of Hindustan to buy knives, bangles, brassware, guavas, betel nut (one walks the streets of India mentally holding in one's skirts, for chewing betel nut is the national pastime, and you never can tell from where he sits how far the chewer is going to spit the bright red juice whose spots give India's pavements a perpetually gory aspect). 

We wouldn't have missed the experience, and we learned to bargain, and to accept only good rupees (about half the currency is counterfeit, and you have to “ring" every coin before you take it, or they will "take" you…) and how to get off a train without tipping six porters and their uncles and their cousins and their aunts. 

Side note: She was warned! By ‘everyone’! But see… up there she says she wouldn’t have missed it.

Oh, and ‘we’ in his passage of the letter is not about Shag, but instead about her two female traveling companions on this side trip. They are both fellow civilian passengers from the boat. Which two right now I cannot recall, but they will appear in the next post in some detail.

And lastly, a public service announcement: The betel nut, like many consumables that are fun and/or frowned upon, can be addictive and harmful to the health.

In Benares we sat in wicker chairs and were rowed up the Holy Ganges River past the spectacle that is the sacred city of the Hindu (for a Hindu to die in Benares is to assure his salvation, and they come in countless thousands, pilgrims of every age, to bathe in the holy river -- pardon me while I hold my nose). It is the bath, the laundry, the medicine, the chapel, the lavatory and the crematory AND the drinking water! UGH! 

Side note: Here is a video of what she might have experienced, taken in 1937. I found some photos that aren’t all Benares, but there are great photos from India in the 1930s.

Let's escape to Agra. I'd heard so much about the Taj Mahal that I expected to be disappointed, but that evening has a page all its own in my book of memories. The setting sun shed a rosy glow on the white marble as we saw it first...then it was almost dark inside the mausoleum when we entered, and I had a momentary feeling of stepping into the past...a voice called 'Allah, Allah, Allah', and ages later the echo came back hollowly. By candle-light we examined the exquisitely carved marble screen surrounding the sarcophagi, and the wall panels inlaid with lapis-lazuli, carnelian, jade, jasper, in delicately wrought patterns. 

Side note: The Taj Mahal was built in 1631 (!) in honor of the emperor’s favorite wife. I don’t know when I thought it was built, but that is older than I expected.

And did she just know the names of those inlaid rocks and how to spell them? As a child in Colorado, I used to go to a rock and mineral shop almost weekly with my mother — each for our own reasons — and I’ve never heard of lapis-lazuli or carnelian. 

Our companion, a young Indian professor of Physics from Ahmedabad, lighted our way with a dim pocket torch up a circular staircase to the top of a minaret. We had not long to wait for the moon to cross the river. It touched the marble with a caress, softening the lines until the Taj looked like a rare old ivory carved by a master craftsman. 

In Delhi we saw acres of marble buildings inlaid with semi-precious stones, built by the Mogul Emperors five hundred years ago. 

Our eyes stood out on stems and our chins rested on our chests. It was so gorgeous we lost the power to react to it. 

Side note: We’ll talk more about this young professor in the next post, but for context, at some point her little group ends up in First Class on the train and there she meets a young professor who is headed to the same place they’re going. And the four of them then travel to the Taj Mahal together.

Another side note: The bit about the phrase, ‘Our eyes stood out on stems…’ evokes old cartoons, no? And it’s fitting. The art and architectures that humans build for their myriad gods are some of the most eyes-on-stems and chin-on-chest inducing of any, even for non-believers.

“Our eyes stood out on stems and our chins rested on our chests. It was so gorgeous we lost the power to react to it.”

The trip back to Calcutta is a volume in itself, so don't get me started on our compartment mates with their 14 suitcases, the garden flowers, the lunch hamper, the tepees, tennis rackets, basket of vegetables, raincoats, birdcage and catch terrier. 

Side note: Tepees?