27th October, 1943: Cantonment Station

Tea, an egg sandwich and some fruit to wait until 'tiffin'. To miss a breakfast was nothing serious. After tiffin, Joe wanted to go to the Base Post Office. Loftie, Bill and I went with him. We called at the Y.M.C.A. on the way, and had our cold drinks served by a native, a pleasant dame. Some of these Indian girls are good looking, and one can sometimes also see the colour in their cheeks. This may be imagination, but I hardly think so. Having called at the Base P.O. we made our way to the General P.O., taking a different route. 

We may or we may not have been out of bounds, but we were certainly in a different district from the one I knew. Huge flats and houses on either side of wide busy streets. The district was crowded, all Indians, and it most picturesque and beautiful. There are very few beggars around here, but those few that saw us made a bee-line for us. Some of them are very persistent devils - or should I say individuals, "no" is not sufficient. They come cringing around, and follow one for quite a while, hoping the "begged-of" will get tired first, and they usually do. I often wonder if any of them really are in need of money for food. If only there was some means of distinguishing the truly needy from the professional beggar, it would make everything so much more simple. 

 We eventually came across a fair-ground and to see a typical British fun-fair out here in India seemed very strange indeed. We eventually arrived at the post office, got our stamps and returned in time for a shower and some dinner. After dinner, Joe and I returned to this district were the fun fair was. The place was brilliantly lit up, but there seemed to be very little activity inside the grounds. Indians, in all kinds of picturesque native dress, rich and poor, young and old seemed to stand in groups outside. They talked and laughed, what a time they were having, and in their midst stood Joe and I, understanding not a word. 

Instead of going in, we went to our usual Chinese cafe for supper. Due to the waiter misunderstanding me, he brought two dishes of Chinese egg omelette. I had been caught once but this dish did look tempting. Poor Joe, he could not tackle it, he ordered another dish and left me with both. This dish proved far more staisfying than the last Chinese dish I had had, and I ate most of Joe's as well rather than have it wasted. It was when he brought the bill that I realized I had been caught again. Two and a half rupees each - five rupees for an egg supper. During the afternoon I had lost some money and having also lent some out, I felt that it was not my lot to save much. 

 We walked slowly back, there was no call to hurry, the lights would already be out. The evening was most pleasant, still and peaceful. Near Cantonment Station, natives had gathered around in groups. Some smoked quietly, listening to some tall story or others by someone in the centre. This tale, told in a quiet subdued voice, was occasionally punctuated by general laughter. Mirth was in the air - high spirits prevailed everywhere.

Another group would sit in the middle of the street, beneath a big street lamp, to play some game of dice. Other people were engaged in quiet conversation but before retiring while others were already asleep in their hammocks, many of which were slung under trees and others well up in the trees. Others lay on the roadside near to their animals which also slept. Peace and quietness was descending and the enchantment of this beautiful starlit Indian night was enveloping and subduing that throbbing mass of humanity. 

One felt glad to be alive. Those carefree lucky people sleeping beneath the stars, how many of them, I wonder, found shelter when the monsoon rains fell. But "sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof". 

We returned to a quiet camp with a feeling that something big was in the air. Some great Indian festivity was approaching - we could feel it in our blood.