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!

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.