Tag / india

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

29. India Part IV: The Actual Taj Mahal and then off to Delhi, January 1938

We begin here in Helen’s journal as she is approaching the Taj Mahal. For those following, her letter home after the trip also detailed the Taj Mahal and its breathtaking glories, but the below adds elements and context and an intriguing scientist (and there’s even more that I’m leaving out if anyone wants to inquire).

To refresh, Helen is on 10-day shore leave from the ’round-the-world freight, and she is traveling with a few female civilian passengers from the boat. The passengers are, I believe, at least 25 years her senior (she is 34). And we don’t know much about them because she’s been dead set on making the engineers teach her how the boat goes vroom.

We had our first glimpse of it from the train. Dixit generously asked us to go with him. We sent our luggage to the hotel and went in his taxi.

Side note: What Helen did not mention letter home, which spoke of a series of comical-in-retrospect travel bloopers, is that she did get into a first class train car (in 1938, in India, 1st and 2nd class were vastly different).

And it was in first class that she met Dr. Dixit, a professor of physics from Gujarat College in India; he was swinging by the Taj Mahal on his way home from a conference in Calcutta. And they all joined forces.

It was just sunset when we stepped thru the red sandstone entrance gate and looked down the vista of trees and fountains to the Taj Mahal. 

Stopped to take two pictures, the 2nd a time exposure. The light faded with dull red across the sky.

Side note: She took two pictures. How many would we take today? Of a sight that is life altering?

I have an 8×10 of one of the picture she mentions, but I cannot currently locate it. When I do I will post it.

By a dim pocket torch we climbed to the top of a minaret, stopping on each balcony to gasp at the ethereal beauty as the moon came up and cast a pale light on the marble.

She wouldn’t see the photos for months. And even when she had them, the ‘dull red across the sky…’ she’d have to describe, because of black and white film.

While writing all this, I have been picturing it in black and white (it was olden times), but I want you to envision the below in all the pretty colors:

We approached close enough to see that the pattern is inlay of lapis, jade, carnelian, black marble, in white marble. 

The workmanship is superb, the labor colossal.  

It was dark inside and we saw the tomb of Numtaz Mahal and of Shah Jaahn, her husband (who built the Taj), by the light of a flickering candle. 

The screens surrounding the tomb are marble carved in unbelievably lacy patterns. 

By a dim pocket torch we climbed to the top of a minaret, stopping on each balcony to gasp at the ethereal beauty as the moon came up and cast a pale light on the marble. 

We looked at it from the river side, and lay down on the marble base on the "moon-side". 

It took on the soft color of ivory, and the inlay looked like carving and the shadows are not black but gray and purple. 

Return to the gate where a great carved brass hanging lamp cast leafy shadows on the sandstone walls - and took our last look thru the arch of the gate. 

Words are less than useless. 

To the Imperial room, every convenience, quiet dining room with a delightful atmosphere and good food. Lovely shops in the hotel. Bot a white Kashmir shawl for a skirt.

Side note: The beauty of journals is the juxtaposition of the truly spectacular and the mundane. (Bot = bought. She uses her own shorthand at times.) 

Sat. Jan 15: Mr. Dixit arranged with his driver to take us for the day for 15 Ru. Drive to Fatenour Sirri, 23 mi, passed several villages — every inch of land under cultivation.

Built by Akbar in 1569 A.D., a great wall, palaces, mosques, Turkish baths, the marble tomb of the Moslem saint Shaik Salim Chisti with its mother-of-pearl sarcophagus, the gate of victory 176 ft. high, and towering above the village outside the walls, the horse stables for 175 horses around an enormous span court. All in red sandstone marvelously carved, we were there 2 hours.

Back to the hotel, then to some shops — got a couple of pieces of marble inlay to remind me of the Taj. 

Had only half an hour to see the fort, could only glance at it, but it made an indelible impression. 

Dashed back for our baggage and on to the station for our train at 5:30 to Delhi. The ladies' compartment filled with three Indian women and 4 children, we went in with an English couple and their adorable little girl. 3 1/2 hours to Delhi, to Maiden's Hotel, dinner in a vast dining room at 10:30 p.m. 

Note to Mary on her birthday.

Side note: The Maiden’s Hotel is still there and I want to go. And also, Mary was my grandmother, who was pregnant at the time with my mother, her second child, my mother.

India Part V coming up!

by Mary James

28. India, Part III: Before the Taj Mahal: The Journal, Jan 11-14, 1938

“But we just left the Taj Mahal”, you say. And you are correct. But before we move forward, first we must circle back a little.

The last post presented passages from Helen’s post-trip letter to family, all nice and curated. But remember there is also a corresponding day-to-day journal, that was for her eyes only (at least until I came along)*, with fun detail and juicy context that doesn’t always make it into the letter. I’ll pare to the best bits.

*Helen gave all of her records to family, with the idea that someone might turn it all into a story and here I am doing that; I assume that she would have (and maybe did) pluck out bits she didn’t want anyone else to see.

The Day to Day Journal

Side note: We left the journal when Helen was luxuriating in a hotel (after over two months sleeping — by choice — primarily in a homemade hammock on a boat deck) before heading inland to the Taj Mahal with the ladies from the boat. But first, Helen networks a bit.

Tue. Jan. 11: Jack Frost came for me at noon, as darling as ever, to Ballygunge to her lovely home — high ceilings, airy, comfortable. Deep chairs covered in soft turquoise, a luscious Persian rug, fine silver and lined — a lawn tennis court, two dogs: Jack & Jill.
  
Sherry, then lunch: cold baked eggs with whipped cream & catsup, fish, peas, hot grapefruit, Kashmir English walnuts, figs, stuffed dates, Turkish coffee, Greek cigarettes.

Side note: I picture Jack & Jill as a regal, but derpy, long dogs, like Borzois. And I won’t comment on the cold baked eggs with whipped cream and catsup. 

Drive with Jack about Maidan, Victoria Memorial, Fort William, cricket grounds, Gov. House, race track, 200 (Indian day, with band, hundreds listening, wrapt.) Hippo-elephants, giraffe, birds of color.

Side note: Hippo-elephant sounds like something to come out of a World’s Fair. I think she must have meant hippos and elephants, like she saw both? She’s too science-y to confuse the two (and yes I Googled whether hippo-elephants exists or have existed… no they don’t/didn’t).

To Tollygunge Club (1000 members) — race track where gentlemen jockeys hold 4 race meeting a year open to public, pays club expenses. 

The house was owned by an Indigo Planter — lovely: yellow-orange bougainvillea, enormous cannas, swim pool, golf and tennis. Had tea on the lawn, a restful spot. Thru Alipore, the other residential district (Viceroy's house) past Jodphur Club. 

To 1st Empire. Ronald Coleman and Madeleine Carroll in "The Prisoner of Zenda". Nearly everyone in evening clothes. Strange to come out from the American picture to the squalor of an Indian street.

Side note: She might be again job prospecting thru YWCA connections. This sounds like a lovely spot, tea on the manicured lawn and all, but lordy the disparity (see the last two posts).

Wed. Jan. 12: Shag and I wandered back across the Maidan for a couple of precious hours together. Sigrist came to get Dreyer's blanket while D. buys her own bedding, cheap skate! If I ever get like that!

Side note: She would get like that. Precious hours with Shaaag. She won’t see him for a whole 10 days.

Across the river to Howrah Station. Miss Skinner and party on the door of the compartment. As barren as a cattle car, narrow seats around three sides, so someone's feet are in the face of another. (R.R. & Calcutta time 24 min. different). Punjab express. We rented bedding rolls for 1 Ru. per day from Am. Ex. For 6 As. Had them delivered at station. One ladies' 2nd class compartment on each train.

To Dasashwamedh Ghat to take the boat up river first, past bathing ghats. 

Everyone bathes in the river each day, then worship under the straw umbrellas where the priests sit. Many temples and palaces with stairs leading to the water's edge. Various postures as prayers are said and rites performed. Down river, where we watched one funeral pyre and saw another corpse prepared - an emaciated middle aged man, whose widow, in white, with low-coiled shining black hair, sat wailing at the top of the steps. 

The Hindu belief: body is dust, fire, water, they bury material things, ashes burned in the fire are returned to water. On down the river past more palaces, rest houses, temples and return to the starting place.
Drive thru the city, saw the Monkey Temple, here barren women pray to Durga for fertility. If the prayer is answered, a goat is sacrificed. 

Thru narrow alleyways lined with beggars to several other temples - Siva, Goddess of Plenty, Ganesh, the Elephant God, the Sacred Bulls, Well of Knowledge, the Golden Temple whose beautiful spire must be observed from a balcony next door, so narrow are the streets. We were given garlands of the Niwari flower. Peepal tree sacred, may not be cut down.  

After lunch to Sarnath, where Buddha preached his first sermon, gained his first 5 converts. Dammekh Stupa, built in 3rd Century B. C. near Buddhist ruins more than 1000 yr. old. Modern Buddhist temple with murals of the life of Buddha done by a Japanese. 

After dinner entertained by a magician who was exceptionally good, produced a flock of live birds out of his equivalent of a hat.

Side note: ‘Equivalent of a hat…’ is a good band name, no?

Fri. Jan. 14: Tea at 5:00 a.m., left for the station in the cold gray dark at 5:30. On board the first train for Mogul Serai, our bearers carried our luggage up over the bridge to the waiting room and back again. It was 7:30 when we got away. Had an attractive young Chi-Chi girl in our compartment as far as Allerabad.

Side note: I think Chi-Chi is like shi-shi? Someone who is stylish? 

Wild monkeys, gorgeous parrots, peacocks, mud hut villages, bathing in every water hole, wells with oxen every drawing water for irrigation. 

Change trains at Tundla at 4:30 p.m., we were put in first class carriage with K.R. Dixit, professor of physics, Gujarat College, Ahmedabad, returning from the Science Congress at Calcutta, stopping over between trains to see the Taj.

Side note: Dr. K.R. Dixit wrote a paper in 1940 (two years after this trip) that appeared in the ‘Proceedings of the Indian Academy of Sciences’, which was published by Springer, which happens to be the publisher for whom I work. And we publish their conference proceedings still, almost 100 years later. La de da!

So here we bid adieu, with the ladies choo chooing along with Dr. Dixit, chewing the rag about Helen’s favorite things: science and facts.

Next time we will, again, visit the Taj Mahal, but from a different perspective.

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?

by Mary James

26. India, Pt I: Cocanada, Budge-Budge, and the Hooghly River, Jan 7-9, 1938

After the round-the-world trip ended, Helen sent a three-page, airmail letter to family and friends to summarize it all. Word count and word choice were important back then — each ounce mattered — unlike now where we can just plod along forever and then absentmindedly click send and a typo-laced missive instantly transmits to the nearby and/or far-flung.

Almost one whole page of her three page letter was devoted to an overly complicated in-land side-trip to the Taj Mahal.

  • Two of the three pages consisted of: colorful descriptions of all of the world that she saw except the part about getting to the Taj Mahal.
  • One of the three pages consisted of: getting to the Taj Mahal.

She did other things in India though that don’t get covered in the letter, but do in the journal, where there was not a word or weight limit. And we can’t miss the whats and whos of Cocanada and Budge-Budge back in early 1938, can we??

The Day-to-Day Journal

Side note: We start here while still on the Motorvessel Silverwillow and we are forging ahead towards Coconada, India (now Kakinada — both of these similar sounding names came from the British and Dutch). This port town, like so many, has long suffered the deeds of those looking to stake claim and/or pillage — land, resources, women, men, jewels, crops, minerals, power, etc. 

Fri. Jan. 7: 

Capt. up at 4:00, not long after the engines stopped (we'd been creeping along on one most of the night so's not to arrive too soon). With dawn came barges sailed with lateen rig, from Coconada, 4 miles away. 

On one barge breakfast was in progress, process of washing plate with water from a small glass jar, wiping it off with dirty hand, scooping white meal from common bowl, pouring on some water, eating with hand, plantation, betel nut. Four fires kindled in the bottom of boat, iron pots boiling water, cooking rice, spoons of coconut shell with bamboo handle, drain in large mat baskets.

Side note: The above is a window into colonialism and the caste system at work, with the former taking advantage of tenants of the latter (we’ll see more of this, in much more detail, in the next post). The people on the boat were likely Labourers, which is the lowest official caste, but there are countless others who don’t get a caste. 

[Present location:] Lat. 20° 22' N; Long. 87° 22" E; Dist. 341 mi.; Av. Speed 14.44 mph. 

Sat. Jan. 8: Study in a.m., boat deck at 2:00 for a lesson on "Day's Work". Hooghly River pilots have a very handsome yacht, they're a snooty crowd. Came on board at 4:00 and we start towards the Ganges River, 30 miles away.

Side note: the Hooghly River is a tributary of the Ganges and they are heading up it to Budge Budge on their tug tug. And they are meeting some puffed up yacht snooties along the way.

BUDGE-BUDGE 

Sun. Jan. 9: 

At 2:30 a.m. woke when the pilot took over my hammock saying, "You shouldn't be sleeping out here, it's the best way to get malaria" — then clutched me in an embrace. 

H [a pilot] stayed until 4:45, sitting on the floor talking. He's a fool and an overbearing braggart, if this is the Englishman in Gov't service abroad, heaven preserve us. At breakfast he appeared again — to tell us of the 23 glasses of champagne at the Governor's ball.

Side note: This was all between 2:30am, 4:45am, and breakfast? If this ‘pilot’ is all the same person, we don’t like him. Handsy, overbearing, braggart. There might be more than one pilot being mentioned though, but we definitely don’t like English Pilot H.

“The helmsman stands like Hosea draped in a long robe and standing high above the oarsmen at the stern, makes a strange solitary figure against the sky.”

Went ashore at Budge-Budge when finally we got alongside (it took 3 hours) to the customs house to phone to the city about rooms, with not much success. Wild wind and rain storm while we were there.

Side note: I just learned that Budge-Budge got its name from the sound Portuguese boots would make in the local marshes. 

Shag and I walked in Budge-Budge: squalid huts, innumerable people in sanitary arrangements on whatever spot is convenient at the moment. We did find a moon shining on the water off a lagoon. 

Mon. Jan. 10: Out in the stream at 11:00 a.m. after three hours getting away. 1/2 is carried aft and we are made fast to the wharf chains by them, a very slow process. 

The helmsman stands like Hosea draped in a long robe and standing high above the oarsmen at the stern, makes a strange solitary figure against the sky. Men come down from inland villages and live on the boats and work on the river for months. There are no women on them. 

River channel narrow with dangerous shoals, sharp turns, quicksand's (the James and Mary) necessary to wait for tide. Directly to dry-dock. So we had to get off at once. To Grand Hotel on Chowringee, high ceilings, marble floors, dingy, eccentric plumbing — Lysol! 

Out to see about travel in India.

Side note: That is the Royal James and Mary, thank you very much. It is also my name reversed. We’re going to ignore that Royal James and Mary refers to quicksand, because I am afraid of quicksand and pretend it doesn’t exist.

Instead we will imagine how wonderful it must have been to stay at a hotel after the months on the hammock.

But she wouldn’t be comfy for long, as soon she’d be on her way to the Taj Mahal, where she’d make a misstep or three….

by Mary James

25. Dr. Jo, and a Frolic from 8am to the P.P.M., Madras, India, Jan 5, 1938

The After the Trip Letter

We saw the hills of India for hours before we came alongside at Madras. There was only one white person, on the quay, and she was meeting me! Jo and I had  parted in New York four months before, saying, "See you in India in January!" and here we actually were! I had to pinch myself! We had a most delightful evening with mutual friends (we had been graduate students together) who teach in the college at Saidapet. 

And that aggravating boat WOULD sail that same night...cargo first, last, and whenever.

Side note: Only with kismet could two people plan to meet up on a dock several months into the future and then actually do it, right?? Nope. They organized it somehow, even while they were both be-bopping about to different parts of the world, in 1938.

And who is this ‘Jo’, you ask?! Stay tuned!

(For historical context: Madras is now Chennai and Saidapet is and was a neighborhood there.)

The Day to Day Journal

Side note: The journal starts the day before she gets to Madras and to her friend Jo. For here we start while she’s cruising alongside the lovely and lush Ceylon coast…

[Present location:] Lat. 6° 41' N

Tue. Jan. 4: Saw porpoises leaping, many ships visible, sails along the East Coast of Ceylon, mountainous. 

Took a Lat. And figured our course by dead reckoning.

1 anna - 2 ½ cents (round coin, square edge) 
1/12 anna = pie (copper)
Wed. Jan. 5: Study and the traverse tables are about to get me down. Saw India this afternoon. Could see Madras by 4:00 p.m. 

The jetty has a tricky double S curve, I thot my eyes deceived me but the glass confirmed that Jo Rathbone was standing on the quay. It seemed eons before the gangplank went down and our passports stamped — marvelous to see her. Jo's driver got a car for the other passengers and it turned out that Katy came with us, to be dropped at the Theosophical Society H.Q., drove thru spacious grounds to a beautiful building. 

Had a panoramic impression of the city as we drove thru at sunset. Stopped at the Cannemora Hotel, very swank European, many of the business buildings have domes and minarets. Everywhere flags and bunting are draped for the visit of the Viceroy next week. The members of the Indian Congress are not to be present at the reception and all Europeans are commanded to be on hand.

Side note: Jo, mentioned in the letter above, was the one and only Dr. Josephine Rathbone. In her storied career, she worked to advance physical and physical education therapy, she wrote textbooks about health; she ran a relaxation clinic, and at Columbia was into yoga waaaay before it was made hip in the west. After then, she was co-founder of what would become American College of Sports Medicine (ACSM) and was VP of American Physical Therapy Association.

How do I suddenly know so much about Helen’s friend Jo? I was fortunate enough to find an informative article, all about Dr. Rathbone, and I reached out to its author, the very helpful Dr. Carol Ewing Garber. She was kind enough to send over an autobiography Dr. Rathbone wrote, and what a life. Worth a checking out.

Herd of water buffalo with enormous horns spreading six ft, white oxen with tall horns drawing carts quite different from those in Ceylon. Indian huts rectangular, with high pointed roofs, palm trees against a red sky. 

Not so many people as I expected. New housing development, very square modernistic a la Germany. Wide main streets. (25 Catholic schools for Indians in Madras) 

Several cars at Bucks, met several groups just leaving. Mr. Buck remembered me — a charming house, paneled walls, book cases built in, every room has French doors leading out — on 2nd floor to a balcony, bedroom's have sleeping porches. The whole house is open and airy, very unusual, most livable. A young English politician was there, an Indian Rec. Director, handsome, and a Sikh, turban, beard, small clothes, small sword, bracelet - the 5 requirements of the Sikh religion.

Side note: Mr. Buck is also known as Mr. Harry Crowe Buck. He’d founded the YMCA College of Physical Education in Madras over a decade earlier. How fun.

Reading this all again, now more in slow motion…. if Helen wasn’t distracted by a certain engineer on this boat trip, would she be happily bound for one of those YMCAs?

She would, a few decades after this meet up in India, work for the YWCA in Canada, so the answer is yes, but it might have been more immediate. Seems the physical education world back then stayed tight. 

Tall, fine looking, large sparkling eyes, graceful hands. 

Finally, all were shooed away, and we five sat at dinner at 8 p.m. Larkspur and zinnias, fresh fruit, soup in lacquer bowls, chops, fresh peas, grilled tomato, frozen prune whip, celery and raw carrots, grapes from U.S. 

Mrs. B. has made a lovely lawn and garden from a rubbish dump. Came back for 10p.m. sailing after an unforgettable evening - found we are staying until morning. 

Shag and I walked on the jetty. Many stars, luminous clouds. We found happiness in one another. Coffee and toast in the mess room at 3 a.m. Very cool evening, no heat all day.

Side notes: 1) prune whip; 2) Mrs. B is composting! Also, Mrs. B = Mrs. Marie Buck, who taught P.E. and published a volume entitled “A Programme of Physical Education for Girls’ Schools in India”, mentioned here; 3) and last but not least, after an unforgettable evening ashore schmoozing with sparkly eyed men, Helen finds happiness with Shag there on the jetty, stars and clouds just so. Topped off with coffee and toast at THREE in the A.M.

Hearts are just brimming, it seems. This might be controversial to say, but, just at this port, I wonder if the brimming isn’t just for Shag, but also for the potential of far flung job opportunities. Meeting up with professional associates around the world, planned in advance, seems strategic.

And maybe Shag senses this? No one can know for sure. But one could suspect some tug of war with choices.

On these pages she seems to speak in code… like in case someone found it. The text is tiny, the names abbreviated, language often coy. But she definitely wasn’t averse to family (aka me, as it were) disseminating it, as she gave it to us with her blessing, but more like she didn’t want people on the boat sneaking it. Who can blame her? It’s a small boat with the same people on it more or less for five months. There’s intrigue happening. Who wouldn’t get a bit paranoid or revengeful?

Thu. Jan. 6: Woke at 6, saw a blazing red sunrise, standby at 6:40 - full away by 7. The harbor pilot was 1st Mate on the Palm, under Capt. Tulloch. Dozens of fishing boats — proas with slender lines, a turned up bow, rowed by shovel-shaped oars. "Day's work" is driving me nuts. 

Traverse tables still a mystery. Took a sight, got the same as bridge, found the next course and distance. P.m. and p.p.m. with S.

Side note: P.m and p.p.m indeed.

After much Googling, I found that ‘Day’s Work’ is guidance about ship navigation and dead reckoning.