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Calcutta has always been a port
city where large riches and and large impoverished rootless population sat very
close together. The Social and moral
rules of both India and Britain were often weakened in peoples minds upon
arrival in this extraordinary city.
The war and the resulting
population pressure further increased both the desperation and temptation for
many to resort to crime.
All this and not least the
overwhelming influx of single young men, led to a great increase in crime &
vice.
The
1940s saw a boom in the criminal underworld in Calcutta. New victims and perpetrators where washed
into the city and the economic strains as well as the unprecedented influx of
money and materials provided endless incentives and opportunity for illegal
money making schemes.
The Calcutta Police undermined by the political
situation certainly had its work cut out for them and it changed itself just as
much a the criminal classes in order to keep up with modern times.
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Famous cases
of Dacoity
1945 Dixon Lane Shooting
1945 Suri Lane Shooting
1947 looting of firearms
in Tollygunge,
30 July 1947 Armed robbery
of Lakshmi Bank
1948 DumDum Basirhat
Armoury Raid
1948 the Pollock Street
Robbery
16 October 1948, Strike at
Kadapara Jute Mills in Beliaghata
1950 Sealdah Hotel Dacoity
1950 Tollygunge Taxi
Robbery
1950 Arpuli Lane Dacoity
Case
5 June 1950. Dacoity at
the Guinea Mansion, a jewellery shop in Gariahat. Jewelry worth Rs.30000/- is
looted.
The notable event of that other visit was of a very different
kind. When Father Brown and his companion
arrived at Behala they found the place in desolation, and sorrow on every face.
Dacoits or burglars had come in the night, wrecked the interior of the church
and carried off its treasures. Years before, similar ruffians had robbed
Barisal, first when the church was being built, a visit which nearly cost
Douglass his life, and after it was built to break into the sacristy safes.
Here at Behala their object was to find the concealed safe and carry it off,
and in their search they reduced the church to miserable disorder. When early
in the morning it was entered by the Sisters a lamentable scene met their eyes,
and everything of value had gone. For the first time the Eucharist could not be
celebrated, the holy vessels had been in the safe, but the miscreants had
discovered its hiding place and carried it off bodily. All that could be done
was to tidy up the church as best they could, and send for help to the Mission
House ten miles away. Amongst the losses was the gold crucifix presented to
Douglass by the London police more than a generation before when he had been
working at St. Pancras.
All that the visitors could do was to weep with them that weep and
discuss measures for defeating thieves in the future. Where could a safe be
hidden in a place like Behala so that bandits could not discover it. That problem was indeed hard to solve.
So back into their car the visiting Brethren got, to carry heavy
hearts back to Cornwallis Street; but they had hardly gone two hundred yards
when they heard a loud shout from behind. 'That is a shout of Joy,' said one of
them; 'let us go back and see if anything has happened.' In a few seconds they
were back, and in a little copse on the south boundary they saw a group of
Behala lads waving and shouting with excitement. What had happened was this.
These young apprentices had gone off to work in Calcutta very early, and on
their return had heard of the disaster. They went into counsel together, and
decided that the thieves would hardly be likely to carry off down the road a
heavy safe, nor would they be likely to use a car, for that would let another
into their secret, and another to share the loot. They would be far more likely
to bury the safe somewhere in the neighbourhood and come back at night with
adequate tools to open and rifle it at their leisure. But if they buried it,
where would they find a suitable place ? They looked round, and there close by
was a little grove of trees. 'Let's search there first,' said they. Before long
they noticed that a little carpet of fallen leaves was arranged far more neatly
than nature -usually arranges them when they fall. They moved some of the
leaves and found that the earth beneath them had been disturbed.
Spades were brought, and soon iron struck iron, and the stolen safe
was unearthed. It was then that the loud, joyous shout went up, and as the
visitors arrived Douglass was hurrying to the copse with the key of the safe in
his hand. It was hauled out of its earthly bed, opened, and everything was found intact within it.
Back to the church they went. The safe was locked with a Earthing in it, for it
was certain that the rascals would come back for their booty, and it seemed
their capture could easily be brought about. Away they went to the nearest
police station with their tale, and asked "that police might be concealed
in the little wood that night and. arrest the thieves when they came. The
Superintendent or Inspector made the surprising remark that their own lads
would be far better watchers than his men. 'They will talk,' he said, 'and
probably smoke.'
That night the big lads watched. They saw one thief, and one only,
come; he examined the site of the buried safe and crept away to report that all
was well. The next night an ambush of police was insisted on, and the robbers
came, at once discovered that police were on the ground and fled; not one was
captured. The Inspector was right; his men were not much good.
Since then the church of the Epiphany at Behala has been unmolested.
Its old priest made a change in his rule of life. Daily he said at Terce, 'At
midnight I will rise and give thanks unto Thee.' In the preceding verse are the
words, 'The ungodly have robbed me'. At midnight now he rose and to the end of
his life with his hurricane lamp in his hand made his way to the Sanctuary to
spend an hour there in meditation and prayer. If thieves ever came to
reconnoitre and peeped, into the Church they saw not only the light burning
before the Blessed Sacrament but the lamp by the side of an old white-robed
white-haired priest with bowed head kneeling in adoration before his God.. The
church was safe.
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Inquire At.
U.S. Military Hq. at 6 Lindsay Street
Calcutta Police Hq. at Lal Bazar
Advertise In. The Daily Bulletin.
The Local Newspaper.
Broadcast.
If you have lost something extremely valuable, such as important documents, get
in touch with the Station Director of the All-India Radio Station.
(source:
“The Calcutta Key” Services of Supply Base Section Two Division, Information
and education Branch, United States Army Forces in India - Burma, 1945: at:
http://cbi-theater-12.home.comcast.net/~cbi-theater-12/calcuttakey/calcutta_key.html)
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
2. Do protect your money. Stay in-bounds and you will not be molested.
Robbery with violence is practically unknown here. On the other hand, there are
many thieves, pickpockets, and swindlers operating in the in-bounds area. So
carry your wallet buttoned up in your shirt or blouse pocket. Flashing your
roll in public is like waving your red flannels at a bull - some pickpockets
will immediately put you on his "must" list. All of you know that a
soldier full of this Indian cane juice is easy to roll or to swindle - act
accordingly. And remember that Indians are friendly, peaceful people but don't
forget that there are unscrupulous petty dealers who will attempt to get a large
part of your roll for the least possible return. In a friendly and peaceful
manner, just plain refuse to be swindled.
(source:
“The Calcutta Key” Services of Supply Base Section Two Division, Information
and education Branch, United States Army Forces in India - Burma, 1945: at:
http://cbi-theater-12.home.comcast.net/~cbi-theater-12/calcuttakey/calcutta_key.html)
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
Pilfering.
Yes, pilfering is part of YOUR PERSONAL SECURITY.
Security.
You are at the end of the longest supply route in the war. To maintain that
route takes BLOOD! Every article, no matter how small, reaches the end of this
route only as a result of a colossal, united effort that staggers the pre-war
geared imagination. And any piece of equipment (again, no matter how small)
that travels this route and arrives here only to be stolen, sold or given away
- that becomes a misstep in the whole war scheme. To replace the lost item
delays the ending of the war. It allows the blood to flow that much longer.
Perhaps, YOUR BLOOD! Yes, it may well be yours. When needed, that piece of equipment
will not be there for your defense; and meanwhile, it may, and probably will,
have reached the enemy and have become a part of the very offense being pressed
against YOU! You lack the war materiel! Why?! Because some DIRTY RAT, someone
unfit to wear the American uniform, has stolen that materiel and sold it!
(source:
“The Calcutta Key” Services of Supply Base Section Two Division, Information
and education Branch, United States Army Forces in India - Burma, 1945: at: http://cbi-theater-12.home.comcast.net/~cbi-theater-12/calcuttakey/calcutta_key.html)
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
Be careful not to leave firearms around. They are likely to be stolen.
(source:
“A Pocket Guide to India” Special Service Division, Army Service Forces, United
States Army. War and Navy Departments Washington D.C [early 1940s]: at: http://cbi-theater-2.home.comcast.net/booklet/guide-to-india.html)
There were several placements in India but for the main
part Alfred was stationed in Bengal at Khargpur, where the remit was to keep
the lines of communication open between Delhi and Calcutta and between Calcutta and Madras. Sections of the telegraph
lines on which the messages were sent were stolen from time to time by the
locals who melted them down and made copper ornaments from them. Alfred's
company had patrols out to prevent the thefts as far as possible
(source:
A4103506 Captain Alfred Richardson ISO JP and his War in India at BBC WW2 People's War'
on http://www.bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar/
Oct 2006)
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
This man was the most dedicated churchman I have ever known. He truly
tried to live by Christ's example. He refused to lock the church at any time, saying
that it was God's House and should be open to the needy at all hours. He helped
many people who were shunned by society and one of the most memorable instances
was a man called Archie who had been in prison for stealing and could not find
any employment when he came out. Rev Bryan gave him a job looking after the
Church grounds and the concensus of opinion was that Archie was a bad egg and
would run off with the silver.
He did and Rev Bryan refused to call in the Police saying he would
leave him to his conscience and to God. The extraordinary thing was that Archie
came back - returned the silver and begged his forgiveness - ever after that
remaining on the premises and looking after the Church grounds.
Most who served in CBI remember it as a theater of
chronic shortage: never enough material for the job at hand. Ironically enough,
Calcutta, In the spring of 1944 found itself at the opposite extreme - glut.
More and more supply ships were running
the Indian Ocean/Bay of Bengal
gauntlet and the Hooghley River ran heavy ship traffic with cargo destined for
Assam and thence to China as well as creation of a material reservoir for the
upcoming 2nd Galahad drive into Central Burma. Unfortunately the multi-gauge
Bengal and Assam Railway, even with partial help from other unsophisticated
veins of transportation, proved a bottleneck. Inevitably Calcutta's existing
warehouse facilities were overwhelmed and overflow material, waiting for
transport, had to be temporarily stored in hurriedly constructed outdoor dumps
not only in the environs but In the city itself.
One of these in the city itself was, as I recall, a
large open area maybe some four blocks square. This was now fenced in, closed
to all but the military, and the supplies rolled in. Boot laces to aspirin,
cigarettes, medical supplies, canned goods, weapons, you name it and it was
there. Most of it protected only by waterproofed tarpaulins and fervent hopes
that it might be moved soon.
With theft being a disgrace only if you were caught
in this region of the world, the light fingered of the citizenry viewed this
cornucopia as a gift from heaven; something to be plundered with abandon. The
British, American, and Ghurka guards did their best but it was too much like
guarding a lake of honey from an army of Invading ants. After all, while
chasing one miscreant, how many others would be passed by, safely hidden under
piles of supplies, waiting for their chance to grab booty and run?
Though some were shot, it had no deterrence. After
all, for every one that was caught it was agreed by all that at least ten
others made good their mission. No, the odds were with them and the Calcutta
Black Market paid well enough for American merchandise to make the risks well
worthwhile. What the overloaded storage and transportation systems couldn't
handle, the local freebooters could and did!
It was at just this stage of the game that our unit,
then known only as the Casual Dog Detachment (later to be designated War Dog
Det-CBI) came to mind.
We had arrived on April 5, 1944, and held at
Kanchrapara for acclimatizing and waiting orders. And though Europe had used
military dogs for many years the concept was still novel to our warrior leaders
so they didn't seem in any particular hurry for either.
Finally someone in the upper echelon remembered
there was some kind of dog outfit around supposed to be trained for just this
sort of thing. While the military is normally aghast at trying anything new or
unproven, someone in authority used their intelligence and decided to let us
show what our dogs could do so that twelve of our teams were temporarily
assigned to the dump In question.
From all accounts, the first night at the dump could
only be described as a turkey shoot. The regular guards were all pulled out of
the Interior of the park and stationed only on their outside perimeter posts.
To take the place of the regular twelve guard posts. Inside, each shift would
have four of our teams enter and patrol in any manner they wished; the only
criteria being that all points be covered.
This was all no doubt being taken in by those
planning nocturnal activities and their amusement must have been great. The
exterior and interior guard system they were very familiar with for, after all,
it had never given them much trouble before. But now, four men were going to
protect what had taken twelve previously? Strange Indeed were the ways of the
pugia Emreekans. But no matter, it promised to be a very lucrative night.
The dogs? Who knows? But Indian city dogs all knew
to keep out of the way of human's kicks and stones. Why should these curs be
any different? All In all, the coming night seemed to show great promise for
lucrative endeavors.
With their attitude toward the dogs In mind it would
be difficult not to imagine their utter chagrin when, after infiltrating the
outer perimeter (and on this first night some of the outer guards deliberately
allowed this just to see what would happen) and sneaking into the dump, they
would suddenly come face to face with the bared fangs and raised hackles of a
dog very unhappy at finding an intruder in his domain. Not in my supply dump
you don't !
The intelligent ones would quickly give up and be
marched back to the perimeter guards who in turn would throw them into the
fenced stockade erected just for this purpose. Some witless ones thought their
two feet could run faster than a dog's four; a folly attested to by torn legs
and slashed backsides. But of all the trespassers, the ones who actually
infiltrated the area and found themselves a cozy hidey hole fared the worst.
They thought it was business as usual and they could play their old game: find
a hiding spot under or atop a pile of material, perhaps under the tarpaulin
that covered most of these piles and once the guard had passed, grab their loot
and run.
What these complacent ones failed to realize was
that our dogs had been specifically trained to play this game and their ease at
sniffing out these hide-a-ways was second only to their pride of
accomplishment. Once the dog alerted, his handler would give the order for
whoever It was to come out with hands held high. If the culprit was smart
enough to obey there was no problem; Just a quick march to the stockade.
If, on the other hand, he thought to just He still
and be passed by, he soon found It to be a very unwise decision for It was a
simple matter to Just unsnap the dog's leash and let the animal follow through.
Since these hiding spots were almost always dead ends and of close quarters,
the unfortunate one would find himself between a no exit on the one hand and a
set of slashing fangs on the other. The result was usually a scream of terror
followed by an eruption of flailing arms and legs trying to escape the trap as
best they might. A trap they themselves had set.
Not having been assigned to this duty, I cannot with
certainty say how many people were bagged that first night but do know it was a
respectable number: several of whom, through their own doings, had lost bits of
their flesh to flashing teeth. Now some of these walking wounded were
deliberately allowed to "escape" and it was a smart piece of
psychology. The reasoning was, and rightly so, that if these examples were
allowed to limp back to their friends they would tell what happened and, human
nature being what It is. the telling would assure our dogs grew to the size of
tigers with huge fangs dripping blood while their evil eyes glowed in the dark.
The second night was not quite as active as the
first but still busy enough to keep out teams on the Hump. Some moonlight
entrepreneurs had not yet gotten the word while others just refused to believe
it. The result was, for the second night in a row, the stockade was not wanting
for occupants.
By the third night, however, business had dropped
off decidedly and by the end of the week, not only our own people but the
perimeter guards as well found the duty to be quite boring. The fraternity of
theft had gotten the word out that the dogs of the Emreekans were thrice cursed
devils not to be trifled with and that other targets were much more amenable to
the theft profession.
Temporarily, at least, the Calcutta Black Market was
minus one of Its many sources while our unit suddenly found Itself a hot
property.
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing'
terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with CBIVA 1999)
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We lay at anchor in the
River Hoogly at Calcutta for 28 days discharging the salt and every ounce of it
had to be weighed on board before it was loaded into barges to be towed away.
Apparently there is a Customs Duty levied on all salt in India so that is why
they were so keen on weights.
(source: A6021136 J W Stanworth - Memoirs part 3 at
BBC WW2 People's War' on http://www.bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar/ Oct 2006)
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
The Collector called me in and
stated that smuggling had been on the increase during my absence and that
something had to be done. I suggested having a fast motor launch built, big and
strong enough to intercept the ships outside Sagar Island, at the mouth of the
bay. The Scout could not be sent out there in rough weather. I
proposed the building of the launch be given to Garden Reach Workshops. Tenders
were called from them; also from Bum & Co and John King & Co. I had not
much faith in the two latter firms; however, the tender from Garden Reach
Workshops proved the best and they got the order. I went to the manager there
and told him what kind of boat would be best-suited for the job and, jointly,
we drew up a sketch of a German-designed meer [sea] bow boat, powered by three engines of 120 hp
each.
For some unknown reason this design
was turned down by Captain Walsh and the Chief Engineer Surveyor of Port
Commissioners. In fact, I had no knowledge this had been done until the firm
reported that the boat was half-finished and sent an invitation to the
Collector to come and inspect their workmanship. He called for me to accompany
him to the works.
I then saw that a new manager had
been appointed at the boat works, and that the boat they had built was not of
the design I had suggested to the former manager - and I told the Collector so.
Walsh was obviously up to new tricks to get me discredited. The Chief Surveyor
was also present and highly recommended the altered construction.
To say I was disappointed was
putting it very mildly! I told the Collector that I very much doubted if such a
boat would be able to attain the speed of 16 knots per hour asked for in the
contract. But, on the recommendation of the Surveyor, I was over-ruled and it
was completed.
The day came for the test and speed
trials, to which I was not invited. The Surveyor reported they had obtained a
speed of 15.15 knots, and this report was shown to me by the Collector. I asked
him to order another trial run and to send me on it instead. This was done. I
borrowed a stopwatch from a watchmaker and the trial was arranged by the
Surveyor to take place on extremely high water, figuring he would be proven
right and I wrong.
The Hooghly River has a
peculiarity: at the peak of high tide, the ebbing begins at both sides of the
river at once; whereas, in the middle, the tide still flows up-river for about
an hour.
We went by the measured mile. Three
runs were to be made, up and down the mile, with an average of the three runs
taken. The first run was up-river in the middle, and the next two down the
sides of each bank. In this skewed test, all three runs were made with the flow
of the water in favour (running with the boat) in both directions. On completion, I worked out the average speed
to be about 15.5 knots. Then, allowing for the benefit derived from the runs
made with the flow of water in favour both up- and down-river, 1 could come to
no other conclusion: the boat could barely do 13 knots!
1 made my report to the Collector
accordingly. This, of course, raised a storm of protest from both the firm and
the Surveyor, and they came forward to argue their case before the boss. But I
stood firm on my timing; and when they jointly questioned my ability to give an
opinion on a speed trial, I said:
'I am only a poor man, but I'm
willing to back my calculations with a sum of 500 rupees. If you will put up a
similar amount, we will have another trial arranged - but on honest lines this
time, not at the extreme top of high tide!'
They declined, of course, to put up
500 rupees, so the Collector declined to accept the boat. The contract had been
fixed at 100,000 rupees. Some days later, the firm approached our office again:
they were ready to accept 90,000 rupees, on account of their failure to produce
16 knots, if we would accept that price. The matter was referred to the head
office of the Central Customs Board in Delhi. Mr Greenfield came down, inspected
the boat, congratulated me on beating the experts, and accepted the boat as it
stood.
The official launching then took
place and it was named Halcyon by the Collector's wife. We were now able to
intercept incoming and outgoing ships right outside the mouth of the Hooghly,
thus preventing drugs like cocaine, heroin and opium from entering or leaving
Calcutta.
[…]
The coming of the Halcyon
was a blow to the big drug smugglers. They used to have the cocaine thrown
overboard in water-tight containers from the incoming Chinese and Japanese
steamers at the mouth of the Hooghly. That we put a stop to and, for a time,
cocaine was almost out of the market in Calcutta.
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The
copyright remains with 1999 Margaret [Olsen] Brossman)
Smuggling is an art: it's the wits
of the smuggler versus the preventive officers. The Chinese are the most
efficient experts in the game. Here are a few examples:
Opium was the chief drug leaving
Calcutta. A Chinese came on board a ship in Calcutta bound for Hong Kong. On
going from the gangway onto the ship, a sudden gust of wind blew his sola topee
off his head. The preventive officer on duty on the gangway heard it drop with
a heavy thud. He picked it up before the man could retrieve it and found it was
very heavy. It was a fine day and the hat could not be rain-sodden. His
suspicion was aroused. On pressing the hat, he found it was pulpy.
The man tried to run away, but he
was apprehended. The hat was ripped open and, where the sola pith should have
been, it had been taken out and the cavity filled with opium. He had tried to
carry two pounds of opium on board in his hat!
Another Chinese likewise came on
board. He had a pair of very thick rubber soles under his shoes and walked as
if he had sore feet. On examining the shoes, it was found that the crepe rubber
soles had been carefully carved out and he had a pound of opium in each shoe,
acting as soles!
Once a steward of a steamer bound
for China came up the gangway. He had with him a coolie carrying a huge basket
of eggs. On going under the sundeck at the top of the gangway, some obstruction
rolled an egg off the top of the basket. It fell on the deck, but though the
shell cracked, neither white nor yoke flowed out.
The preventive officer on duty
noticed this. Upon examining the eggs, they were all found to be full of opium!
They had been very carefully sawed off near the ends and had then been filled
with opium. The sawed-offends were then fitted on again, glued fast, and the
eggs whitewashed to cover the joints. In that basket of'eggs' was one maund of
opium - 80 pounds, the value of which would be worth many thousands of rupees
in China.
Once drugs get on a ship, they are
very hard to find, for there are so many nooks and corners where it's almost
impossible to find them. Other methods are also adopted for large consignments
of drugs. A decoy is sent with a couple of packets supposed to contain opium.
An informer then goes to the preventive officer on duty and points out the man,
saying: 'That fellow there is carrying opium.'
The officer then goes after him.
Whilst away arresting the man, a couple of bags - perhaps 160 pounds of the
stuff- are then carried on board. The decoy, when arrested, may be found to
have only a harmless packet of shoes or some cloth under his arm. As cocaine
comes in both vials and paper packets, it is easier to conceal than opium.
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The
copyright remains with 1999 Margaret [Olsen] Brossman)
The coming of the Halcyon
was a blow to the big drug smugglers. They used to have the cocaine thrown
overboard in water-tight containers from the incoming Chinese and Japanese
steamers at the mouth of the Hooghly. That we put a stop to and, for a time,
cocaine was almost out of the market in Calcutta. It was not long, however,
when our sleuths reported that the market was again flooded with drugs.
Obviously, a new way had been found to circumvent the usual channel.
Japan was a big exporter of tiles
of all kinds, a large amount of which went to India. They came in willow crates
rolled up in rice straw. These crates would ordinarily be opened by the
Appraising Department; but as that would entail a lot of work, it was seldom
done.
Nemesis, as a rule, overtakes all
scoundrels sooner or later. One day, a crate fell out of the sling and burst;
whereupon, some of the bundles of glazed tiles opened and, in each bundle of
six, it was seen that one had the middle cut out - giving place to a square tin
about four inches and the thickness ofthe tile. Each tin was found to contain
five ounces of cocaine - a huge consignment! Needless to say, all was
confiscated. The firm to whom the tiles were consigned denied all knowledge
ofthe cocaine and refused to take delivery of them.
The law was defective. A person had
to be found in actual possession of drugs before he could be arrested. The
bundle had broken open whilst in the custody of the Port; the duty had not been
paid on the tiles; the consignee refused to take delivery, so all the cocaine
was taken over by the government and the tiles sold at auction.
That avenue was closed, but the
smuggling ring is big finance and they found another outlet. An agent for a big
English chemical concern applied for a permit to import old military coats
(cast-offs) for sale to the poor workers. The permission was granted and the
first bundles arrived. They were, of course, opened and thoroughly examined.
Nothing was found. The coats were then sold by the agent at ridiculously low
prices, and the poor people were pleased to get such cheap woollen tunics to
keep them warm in the cold weather.
Suddenly, something went wrong:
someone squealed. The next bundles arriving were more thoroughly examined and
it was found that, under the lining at the back of the tunic breast pockets,
each coat had a one-ounce paper packet
sewn in. The man had already taken delivery of the consignment, a raid
was made on his premises, and hundreds of ounces of cocaine were recovered from
the coats. He received the maximum sentence: 1,000-rupee fine and six months in
jail. What did he care? He had, before the exposure, imported many hundreds of
bundles of coats.
This was a hard blow to the ring,
but they were not beaten. A Chinese firm got an import licence for cane
furniture, tables and chairs from Singapore. Again, it was carefully examined.
The brass plate ferrules of the table and chair legs were removed to see if the
hollow bamboo contained any drugs. Nothing was found and the Customs were
lulled into the belief that the imported furniture was a genuine transaction.
Besides, the prices charged for it were very high.
Naturally, the Customs eased off;
that was fatal for, sometime later, in the course of unloading, one chair leg
got broken and out streamed cocaine powder! The cunning Chinese had waited
patiently, and when he found the Customs examination had slackened off, he
began to import.
The most daring case of smuggling
cocaine, I think, was performed by a second engineer of a steamer running
between Calcutta and Rangoon. He had been two years on the run and, during that
time, had kept a motorcycle for his own amusement and comfort. When the steamer
arrived in Calcutta, he would have his cycle landed on the wharf by one of the
ship's cranes. It would stand against any of the sheds unattended until the
ship was securely moored in the river. Then, in the evening, he would come
ashore, collect his motorbike, and go riding around the town.
At the end of his two-year term, he
gave the cycle to an engineer friend. There was a farewell party, they all got
more or less intoxicated, and his friend wanted to pay him something for the
cycle. 'Not at all, my dear fellow. That cycle has earned me 200,000 rupees
during these two years. I am never coming back out East again.'
He then explained how it had earned
him all that money. In Rangoon a certain firm would pump his cycle tubes full
of cocaine. In Calcutta he would go to an Indian house on Lansdowne Road. There
the tubes would be removed and a new pair put on. This had gone on twice a week
for the two years - right in front of the Customs! Brave man! I hope he is
enjoying his easy-earned money somewhere in dear old England.
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The
copyright remains with 1999 Margaret [Olsen] Brossman)
There was another daring smuggler:
a Mandarin woman from China. During World War II, aircraft were constantly flying
from India to Chungking, mostly with war material for the Chinese. Passengers
were also carried. This Mandarin woman - at least she was dressed like one -
came on one of these planes, and was decked out with all kinds of very heavy
gold ornaments.
Gold was at a very high price in
China. She declared her ornaments with the Customs; they were weighed and
totalled about ten pounds. She remained in Calcutta about a fortnight as the
guest of some wealthy Chinese family. On departure, she had all her ornaments
on and nothing was thought wrong.
She came again, after some time,
wearing the same-looking ornaments. We thought it strange she should spend such
huge sums on flying to and fro, as the fare was about 3,000 rupees one way.
Whilst weighing the ornaments, we
had a testing instrument ready and found that the ornaments were made of gilded
brass. She was allowed to go with it all; but when she was ready for departure
and we examined the ornaments, they were found to be of pure gold! She was
taken into a room and a lady searcher of the Customs had her undress. It was
also found she had a band of pure gold around her waist, and the soles of her
Mandarin silk shoes were hollowed out and filled
with gold plates. In all, the good lady had pure gold totalling 20 pounds in
weight on her person! It was, of course, confiscated,
as there was no export permit for gold from India. Considering the gold value
in India, as compared with its value in China, the brave woman had, on her first trip, netted about 25,000 rupees!
However, gold smuggling was not at
an end by her capture. The crews of the planes were as much interested as
anybody. We virtually had to examine every plane before departure. They even
had tools made of pure gold, but lacquered over with black varnish to disguise
them. It was an endless hunt! Eventually, restrictions were put on the sale of
gold; but, even then, some got smuggled out of the country.
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The
copyright remains with 1999 Margaret [Olsen] Brossman)
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On that particular day the streets
were filled with trucks full of allied forces and their friends, hooting wildly
as they drove around. A small gang of us youngsters piled onto a tram and
crossed and re-crossed the Howrah Bridge, whooping and shouting encouragement
to all and sundry. The only people not looking happy were the black-marketeers.
They had done well out of the extraordinary wealth of goods shipped in to feed
American troops.
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The
copyright remains with Nandita Sen)
It was a
Mecca for most of the troops who were
stationed in the cantonment or there on sick or normal leave. Every possible
luxury had been imported, from the four comers of the world, and in profuse
quantities: wine, women and song were the order of the day. It was a poor man
who was unable to find whatever
special vice he enjoyed - providing, of course, that he was prepared to pay for it. No matter how rife your imagination ran, still you would be unable to
plumb the true depths of the decadence that was possible. And Just about every
country had its representative contingent of heaven knew how many thousands
amongst the burgeoning population of fifteen million natives. They came from
the United Kingdom and the United States - who appeared to outnumber us, and
were still increasing, day by
day. There were Chinese, Australians, New Zealanders, French (what were they
doing there? They lost Madras a hundred
years ago), Poles, Czechs,
West and East Africans and Uncle Tom
Cobley and all - and they all had money to burn. The streets were
jam-packed solid with the buyers and the providers, Just say what you wanted
and it was yours in a flash - but be wary, for you could as easily get your
throat cut and end up dead in
the labyrinth of alleys for which Calcutta was noted. And everyone was looking for easy money,
at any price: there were gangs galore, both white and coloured, and the
local constabulary was too small to cope with them. As well as preying
on the tourists, there were no
end of gang rivalry fights.
(source: page378 of
William Pennington: Pick up you Parrots and Monkeys and fall in facing
the boat. The life of a boy soldier in India. London: Cassell, 2003)
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms
as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains
with William Pennington)
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Corner bookstalls, specializing in
lurid novels, sex treatises, are fascinating spots for British and American
soldiers alike. Typical titles,
"The Escapades of Erotic Edna", "Kama Sutra, The Hindu Art of
Love".
(source: webpage
http://oldsite.library.upenn.edu/etext/sasia/calcutta1947/? Monday,
16-Jun-2003 / Reproduced by courtesy of
David N. Nelson, South Asia Bibliographer, Van Pelt Library, University of
Pennsylvania)
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A little snooping in Chinatown will
turn up the little opium dens stuck down an alley (not recommended without
police escort). Actually, the smokers
shown in this picture do it legally.
Each den is licensed for so many pipes.
Each pipe costs a rupee, a phial of opium five rupees. Average smoker consumes a phial a day and
there are about 186 pipes licensed in Calcutta.
(source: webpage
http://oldsite.library.upenn.edu/etext/sasia/calcutta1947/? Monday,
16-Jun-2003 / Reproduced by courtesy of
David N. Nelson, South Asia Bibliographer, Van Pelt Library, University of
Pennsylvania)
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Nightfall in Calcutta stirs the imagination
and curiosity as to what goes on down dimly-lit alleys often leads an
occasional soldier into the out-of-bounds areas. If you don't know the way, five rupees will buy a trip to the few
still existent brothels in one of the garies shown here. (Warning: MP's take a poor view).
(source: webpage
http://oldsite.library.upenn.edu/etext/sasia/calcutta1947/? Monday,
16-Jun-2003 / Reproduced by courtesy of
David N. Nelson, South Asia Bibliographer, Van Pelt Library, University of
Pennsylvania)
Highlight of the out-of-bounds
visit is of course, a look-in on the lassies.
These dusky ladies of the night ask from $3.00 to $6.00 for the dubious
pleasure they offer. The GI seems to
find making choice hard.
(source: webpage
http://oldsite.library.upenn.edu/etext/sasia/calcutta1947/? Monday,
16-Jun-2003 / Reproduced by courtesy of
David N. Nelson, South Asia Bibliographer, Van Pelt Library, University of
Pennsylvania)
3. Take care of your health if you
want it to take care of you. You will not find a brothel in-bounds either according
to the M.P.'s, according to your present health and the future health of your
children, or according to your pocketbook. There are "easy" girls,
the so-called amateurs, in the in-bounds area. Sure, there are. But you didn't
persuade her with your charm. Some other fellow made the road easy for you. And
he, that last customer in this free bread line, might have left a present with
her to be relayed to you. Over 50% of these kind-hearted amateurs have V.D. And
if you forget all else, for remember the "Pro" stations listed in the
Health section of this booklet.
(source: “The Calcutta Key” Services of Supply Base
Section Two Division, Information and education Branch, United States Army
Forces in India - Burma, 1945: at:
http://cbi-theater-12.home.comcast.net/~cbi-theater-12/calcuttakey/calcutta_key.html)
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
India - en route
October 13, 1944
My Darling Reva,
This is my second note to you
tonight, my charmer, for in thinking while alone endlessly and forever my theme
is you. How proud I am of you, darling, and how happy that I have you to think
and dream of.
I share the weaknesses of other
men, and in some instances have faults beyond redemption, but in one respect I
have disciplined myself. I have done in this land as you wished, and found that
it was my wish, too. There is no regret on my part for a physical want not
satisfied. It can wait until proper, complete, and marvelous satisfaction comes
in your arms and in your arms alone.
I should have written before on
this subject, but I wanted to be sure. Temptation is ever present, and here
there are in-bounds houses. The first question the taxi driver asked us tonight
was - . The soldiers on leave, at least many
with whom I have talked, spend a large part of their savings on prostitutes.
This is a sordid matter; but I wanted
you to definitely understand what I was talking about.
Your faith and trust is great,
dearest, and mine matches yours, but I know that you like reassurance. Well,
here it is, little wife. "An humble and a contrite heart" – you know.
So, lie back, with your pretty face
framed in your luxuriant black hair, and let me look deeply into those starry
eyes of love.
Goodnight, precious,
Dick
(Source: page 73 of Elaine Pinkerton (ed.): “From
Calcutta With Love: The World War II Letters of Richard and Reva Beard”
Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 2002 / Reproduced by courtesy of Texas
Tech University Press)
Women. (Whoops, here we go again! But we don't mind
knocking ourselves out if you guys don't mind listening.) Those of you who have
already made up your minds to abstain, kindly turn to the movie section and
decide what show you want to go to tonight. That eliminates part of the
audience - we hope. To go on: As in any port city in the Orient, Calcutta is
riddled with venereal diseases. Studies show that professional prostitutes are
150% infected (half have one and the other half have two). Even in the native
population the rate is well over 50%. That good-looking amateur whom you think
you convinced by your personal charm may be just the baby to hand you a gift
package - unwrapped.
Prophylaxis. So we didn't convince you - or you got sort
of tight and forget that you were convinced. Then do remember that there are
Prophylactic Stations located at:
77c Park Street
6 Lindsay Street
14 Watgunge Street
Hindusthan Building
Each camp dispensary in the
Calcutta area.
(source: “The Calcutta Key” Services of Supply Base
Section Two Division, Information and education Branch, United States Army
Forces in India - Burma, 1945: at:
http://cbi-theater-12.home.comcast.net/~cbi-theater-12/calcuttakey/calcutta_key.html)
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
UNDER THE VILLAGE PALMS OR Why Not?
It's Been Going on a Long Time
by Richard Beard
The Officer on Duty and
the sergeant of the guard called for me at the club and I joined them with
alacrity, for we were about to visit the village brothel area – on business,
not pleasure.
We drove into the
darkened village about 10:00 o'clock at night. The road was dusty and bumpy;
the jeep creaked and heaved its way along. Every other blackened shop had an
open kerosene lamp flickering in the front, revealing skirted shapes sitting
quietly on benches and sleeping boards. A musty odor saturated the air, drenching
our spirits. Forty-fives jutted from the hips of the Officer on Duty (OD) and
the sergeant of the guard. The twentieth century was moving into a community
sagging under the dreadful burden of a thousand years of unchanging
superstition, poverty and human degradation.
The old, rotted and
gutted by the termite time, was confronted with the modem, strong,
self-sufficient, scientific, and hard. The ancient gave way as the bow of a
ship cleaves through the water, and just as the waves heal the wound made by
the passing, so did the ancient soul of this village close in and around us. We
were a foreign excrescence struggling vainly in its age-old shadows.
We rounded a corner and
came to a shop before the narrow lane leading into the compound. Several natives
were standing in covert watchfulness before another of the nameless
"confectioneries" which scar the streets. They knew we were
Americans, representatives of the mightiest nation the world has ever known; we
were all rajahs; compared with their puniness, we were veritable giants; our
thundering silver bombers roared their song of death in a fierce battle chant
over the quiet of their homes every morning. They were not impressed. They
simply watched. Some days we would leave as we had come, in a jarring burst of
flaming exhausts, and then once again they would pad are footed over their rice
paddy trails, safe from chattering, clanging trucks that jerked madly over the
roads.
The sergeant rudely
shoved aside an un-protesting Indian soldier who blocked the path. Our
flashlights made tentative jabs into the gloom of the bamboo-sheathed alley.
Silent palms were outlined against the darker blue of the sky. The stars mutely
shamed us. But we walked warily on, unsure of our footing. The trail turned and
debauched into a courtyard with a suddenness that appalled us. We blinked in
the sputtering light from the open lamps. When our eyes had accustomed
themselves to the semi-darkness we saw that we were surrounded by heavily
clothed seated figures, They were the "beebies" and were waiting for
trade. They said nothing, for they knew that we were the American patrol, We
walked around the circle, flashing our glaring lights into their faces as they
stiffened on the ground. One especially attractive, well-dressed girl did not
pause in preening her hair. It rested on her head in marcelled waves like a
blue-black, glistening crown.
"May I touch
it?" I asked, curious to know if it were set in grease. She said nothing,
but, at my gesture, leaned forward slightly. I hesitantly touched her hair,
careful not to disarrange her hairdress. The spun hair was soft and silky and
dry.
I followed the Officer
on Duty (OD) and the sergeant of the guard to the first of the closed
compartment doors. "Open up, open up!" the sergeant jocosely shouted
in a lewd tone. There was a rustle, then silence.
"Open the
Goddamned door before I break it down," he yelled and kicked viciously at
the flimsy bamboo. Apparently fastened only with a bamboo string, the door
sagged away from the sill. Our combined flashlights lit up the interior. An
Indian poked his head from under a dirty sheet which covered the bed.
"Let's see the
beebie," the sergeant raucously commanded. The man half lifted the sheet,
revealing the upper part of a black woman. "More, damn you." The
sheet went all the way up, and the half naked backside of the
"beebie" flashed" for a moment before the sheet dropped. The
sergeant laughed.
The courtyard was
closed on three sides by the compound building, which was continuous, being separated only by bamboo
sheathing. The fourth side, forming the square, consisted of a solid fence. The
door of the next compartment before which we stopped was open and no one was
inside. The room was about six by eight or ten feet with a seven-foot ceiling
or roof.
There was no flooring.
The ground was not the true color of ground. It was black; worn shiny and hard
by countless footsteps. Vermin, rodents, sweat, excrement, filth, waste, human
misery had left their imprint were now the floor upon which some girl even now
was faltering through a living hell -- the sordid sop of a depraved appetite; a
piece of human flesh to be torn on the calendar of lust until the warm blood no
longer seeped from its open wounds. A rag, a dirty, filthy, scummy diseased rag
- with no more soul than a reeking, grunting hog. How had this happened? How,
indeed?
Furtive figures could
be detected silently slipping from stealthily opened doors. They soon melted in
the shadows without a backward glance. I approached one of the compartments
from which this culmination of an illicit union had resulted in this skulking
retreat. Through the half-open doorway I cold see a miniature woman adjusting
her girdle of abundant cotton cloth more firmly about her slim hips. She deftly
tightened the flow of the sari over her shoulders, throwing her tiny breasts
into high relief. Childish hands of grace smoothed the folds of the skirt and
softly patted her hair, which was drawn tightly over her head and tied just
below her ears. I spoke to her sharply, "Mulam English?" She shook
her head in a pert negative and answered, "Nay mulam."
"Mohammedan?"
I questioned. In a gush of words, she shrilled, "Nay Mohammedan, nayteek.
Me Hindu," Despite her lack of knowledge of the English language, she
understood the universal language of praise all too well. With no more
invitation than that, she glided to the doorway, stretching her hand to me
in supplication. I eluded her momentarily by
backing away hastily.
She laughed again and
shook her head wisely. In alternative English and Bengalise, we conversed for
five minutes, neither knowing more at the end of that interesting period than
we had at the beginning, but we were becoming acquainted.
Several times I inquired, "How
much?" and tired to make her understand that I wanted a distinction
between Indians and white men. But her responses of "Two annas, four
annas, one rupee" seemed irrelevant and unwitting. Her attitude indicated
that she wanted me to touch her, but under the circumstances, it was not
difficult for me to refrain.
The Officer on Duty
(OD) loomed out of the shadows and suggested that we continue our checking. As
we went from compartment to compartment our experiences varied, but the squalor
of the rooms did not. The accommodations were usually a dirty pad, stretched on
the black dirt floor. Beside the pad were two small jars of ointment. A cracked
earthen bowl of water set across from the lubricating oils, and near that was a
raised mound of earth, disfigured with ashes. Above the ashes, the tarnished
brass bowl in which the "beebie" prepared her meal of boiled rice.
Despite the known fact that the
American and British patrols would be active at 10:00, a number of local
residents had determined to exercise their libido regardless of possible interruption.
About half the stalls were occupied or had just been used. As we approached one
door a Hindu broke from it and ran through us, as we scattered before his dash.
The door remained ajar, and we looked curiously inside. This compartment had a
large open oil lamp and was clearly lighted up. Rolling from side to side on a
raised bed was a black woman. The bed sheet had been pulled around her body. A
continuous stream of moans issued from the bundle.
"Hey," the
sergeant called. Louder moans. More wriggling. "What the hell goes on in
here, you nigger bitch?" the soldier wanted to know. Some spark of
indignation stirred in the poor wretch. Without turning toward us, she said low
and distinctly, "Jow!"
With an outraged loud
curse, the sergeant seized the door, crashing it to the door frame with a
parting benediction, "S— in your face, f— you." The OD and I stood by
without a word.
We were informed that
there was still a further brothel compound, deep inside the labyrinth of
stagnant ponds. We stumbled along in the darkness lighting our way with
flashlights, walking on the ridge between two cesspools. A sheeted Hindu
slipped down the bank ahead of us and stooped before the water, dipping into it
with a bowl. He washed his hands fastidiously, then drank deeply and spat into
the pond. To our left we noticed a block-like structure, apparently constructed
from huge quarried stone. A Stygian aroma assailed our nostrils and we
blanched, faltered, strode recklessly up the gravel path to look inside. We saw
what we knew we would see: an Indian latrine. It had no roof, was built that
some degree of privacy was insured. Open at four sides, the walls projected in
such a way that the cubes couldn't be seen from the walk. Defecatory
indications lay heaped everywhere, and since the subject squatted on a flat
surface, naturally we were puzzled as to just what benefit was secured from its
use. However, the ways of these people have not been revealed to us in anything
like rational clarity, so we passed on, noted as we went that a rain would
drain the accumulated faeces into adjoining ponds.
In dimensions and
general appearance the second area was like the first, except that it was
deserted. Lack of business, a British sergeant told us. The girls were all
purchased for the purpose of prostitution, he added, or were widows with no
other means of living. They were Hindus, but he was vague about whether men
other than Hindus visited them. We returned to the first compound and found
that the situations had not altered materially. The "beebies" were
still waiting, squatted on their haunches in the darkness.
The group surgeon once
had occasion to examine five of these women for venereal diseases. All five
were afflicted with a running soreness caused by uncleanliness. Signs of
gonorrhea were present in each case, and two had symptoms of incipient
syphilis. The institution is, therefore, a social cancer in the community, but
no control is attempted except that maintained by the Allied armies. Military
restrictions do not cure, nor even prevent, infection. The ideological myth of
continence is promoted by the army on the theory that stating a thing makes it
so. Ergo, black is white, and never mind the evidence of your eyes.
Before leaving, the
eldest woman and the madam of the establishment invited us into her
compartment. Two British sergeants were seated at the edge of a huge bed, while
one of them fanned a sleeping child. The madame made love to the
not-too-bashful Officer on Duty (OD), clinging to his arm, simpering that
"American officer very rich," and sing-songing, "With you, not a
rupee, not two annas, for notheeng. Just love, you and me?"
Her arms slipped around
his neck and she raised her legs, throwing her full length against his bosom.
But American officers are made of stern stuff; the Officer on Duty (OD)
extricated himself from her warm clasp, muttered closely behind me, "One
word of this, and..."
I followed closely
behind his retreating, hulking back, only to find that the bedeviled woman had
leaped on me. In a panic, I tripped, shook her loose, and began to run. As we
retraced our steps to the jeep, in considerable confusion, mocking laughter -
tingling in space - floated in the night air after us. They were sure of
themselves. We were not. Our sergeant was befouling himself with filthy curses,
but we heard him only faintly.
In the security of my
own basha, I sat for some time in serious thought, then I walked out into the
night for a breath of fresh air.
(Source: shortened version on pp. xx-xxii of Elaine
Pinkerton (ed.): “From Calcutta With Love: The World War II Letters of Richard
and Reva Beard” Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 2002 / Reproduced by
courtesy of Elaine Pinkerton & Texas Tech University Press)
The red light district (for
Europeans only) in Calcutta was known as Karaya Lane (more of a boulevard than a
lane, with its broad street, its shady trees and uncharacteristically clean
pavements). Down each side were neat, well-decorated bungalows lying back from
the road in their flowered gardens. Run by very superior Mesdames, and staffed
by girls from Singapore, Hong Kong, French Indochina and of course, Russian
emigres—vagabonds of the Far East living by their wits and with a saleable
commodity to offer.
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The
copyright remains with Micheal Carritt
)
In the 3 days before we
had the wedding arranged, David, Pat & I took a look at the Calcutta shops. Pat & David were plagued by offers of girls
that they might want to go to bed with —“Nice English girl Sahib?”
(source: A1307026 Wartime Memories of a Nurse at BBC
WW2 People's War' on http://www.bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar/ Oct 2006)
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
Then there was the
pimps chasing you to have a Bibi (woman/ girl). If you went in there you
probably wouldn't come out alive or at least would get a dose.
(source: A2615726 tom clifford - the war years 2 at
BBC WW2 People's War' on http://www.bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar/ Oct 2006)
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
… Upper Chitpur Road the busiest road in
Calcutta at that time. With all the trams and cars and people going by and the din
of motor horns and hawkers. It bemused me how they could work in that
cacophony! Until the early Forties this area also used to be famous for her
prostitutes and the singing and dancing girls. If you passed in the night, you
could hear the sound of the bells on the legs of the dancing girls and the sound of their singing and
instrumental music.
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The
copyright remains with Ravi Shankar)
We didn't really do any special
jungle training while we were at Calcutta. We seemed to get an awry lot o'
leave there, local leave. We could wander out into the town and what not.
Apparently the area we were in was called Chowringhee and it was notorious. It
is •well known to most troops that nave gone to India. There's a lot of
brothels in the area. And it's a pretty seedy nm-down part o' Calcutta. The
troops were prohibited from going to the brothels; they were out of bounds. But
they went! The Military Police roved around there and if you were caught in
mere you were for the high jump—well, put on a charge.
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The
copyright remains with Ian MacDougall)
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Indian Women. Indians are great family men. But their wives are
kept much more secluded than western women. In certain circles it is a breach
of good manners to inquire of a man about his wife or to mention women in any
respect in conversation. A married woman wears a red spot in the center of the
forehead. Many wear a small jewel in the side of the nose purely as an ornament
as American women wear earrings. The jewel has no religious or caste
significance.
Indian women keep to their homes as
much as possible. Most Moslem and many Hindu women take particular care not to
show their faces before strangers and wear heavy veils when out of doors. In
the villages and rural sections where women are working out of doors, you
should exercise special care not to stare at them or address them. Many will
run at the approach of a white man.
(source: “A Pocket Guide to India” Special Service
Division, Army Service Forces, United States Army. War and Navy Departments
Washington D.C [early 1940s]: at:
http://cbi-theater-2.home.comcast.net/booklet/guide-to-india.html)
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
August 26, 1945
Dearest Girl:
Good old gloomy Sunday...the whole
darn day...every bit of it...gloomy. And just awhile ago, it rained like the
seven hells had broken loose and heaven had sent all of its fire departments to
put out the blaze. However, the rain did let up in time to let Gus and me go to
dinner about 7:15.
Just as I finished my letter to you
last night, I was commenting to a patient on the fact that it had been a quiet
evening, and I hadn't taken my duties too seriously. I laughingly rapped on
wood, but I should have hit it a terrific lick, for just then an MP walked in
and that started a four-hour mess that carried over the next day,
It seemed that an Indian girl had
been raped by two Gl's and that the Gurkha guards were yelling for vengeance. I
found the girl in the Receiving Office, a pitifully huddled figure perched at
the rear of the building on the pavement. When I checked the barracks in which
she was supposed to be, no one knew anything. I called the downtown MP's, for
the interpreter said that she had been assaulted, or said she had, in the
mouth, vagina, and rectum. They sent out two CID men who located one of the
soldiers, who confessed that he had had, in company with the other men,
relations of the type so unhappily described.
Then, in the rain, I had to find a
gynecologist for the examination. We secured a nurse, opened the operating room
(about 1 a.m.) and gave the girl a thorough examination. It was as she said,
but the question was, had she struggled and screamed as reported? If so, where
had she gotten G.I. gum and handkerchief? It was my opinion that she had gone
willingly enough but put up a fuss when the men didn't pay her. I was pretty
angry with the fellow we had caught, the dope! He could have saved me a lot of
trouble if he hadn't behaved in such a niggardly fashion. She, the girl, turned
out to be a Hindu widow, which under the Hindu laws, is damned near a
prostitute's level to keep body and spirit together.
Someone hit a bearer on the head at
the club...otherwise, no excitement. Major Schnitker and I had late dinner
together and enjoyed some good talk on "the hell with the army."
After my final round, which went smoothly, I had coffee with some of the
enlisted men. To bed at 4 a.m. Work went as usual this morning. Read papers and
napped this afternoon. Decided against seeing "The Great John L."
But very much in love with you,
Dick
(Source: p.190 of Elaine Pinkerton (ed.): “From Calcutta
With Love: The World War II Letters of Richard and Reva Beard” Lubbock: Texas
Tech University Press, 2002 / Reproduced by courtesy of Texas Tech University
Press)
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The boys in the Receiving Room took me to the morgue, where they were laying
the 20-year-old boy, packed in ice, away forever in a plain, varnished pine
coffin. I learned that the ordinary seaman, a Negroe, was captured on the spot.
The essential tragedy in all this was that the boy (who died from a severed
jugular vein) had not even been involved in the original dispute but was merely
trying to help a group of white seamen take the knife away from the crazed and
drunken sailor. His life-long friend, John Smith of Milwaukee, was unable to
realize that his classmate and friend was dead, but he gave me all the
essential information and took back to the ship all but the I blood-stained
trousers.
(Source:
pp. 240 ff. of Elaine Pinkerton (ed.): “From Calcutta With Love: The World War
II Letters of Richard and Reva Beard” Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press,
2002 / Reproduced by courtesy of Texas Tech University Press)
NEW YORK. March 27. FBI agents, army
intelligence and police today searching for 22-year-old VALSA MATTHAI, daugh-
ter of John MATTHAI, wealthy Bom- bay, India, Industrialist, who disappeared
from her residence here a week ago. Police said the girl, who came here last
September to attend the business school at Columbia university, was last seen
about a. m.,...
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational
research project. The copyright remains
with Reno Evening Gazette)
Another family we knew were the Days. Phyllis Day was an Anglo-Indian
girl married to a Bengali man. This was very unusual, High caste Hindu families
were very opposed to mixed marriages but even more so when the girt was
"Half-caste". They had a huge house on the outskirts of Ranchi and we
often visited them. There were many children - I cannot remember all of them, I
was much younger and spent most of my time with Stephen when we went to their
house. The last we heard of this family was that Phyllis had killed her
husband. The details were never made public but this was years later when we
were living in Calcutta and of course, people did not discuss things in front
of the children.
All night the snow fell heavily. Before dawn it
lay eight inches deep on the streets of sleeping Manhattan.
At 4:50 a.m. the elevator signal buzzed in
International House, the massive 13-story lodging place built by John D.
Rockefeller Jr. for foreign students. The elevator man had a blind right eye,
but as he stopped the car he turned to look at his lone passenger. She was
Valsa Anna Matthai, 21, a pretty Indian girl from Bombay, a Columbia University
student. She was not wearing the Indian sari pulled over her hair, but a bright
kerchief; and as she walked out of the empty, lighted lobby, the operator
noticed she wore a tan polo coat, dark slacks, and sport shoes. She had no bag.
The street lights along Riverside Drive made pale yellow pools on the drifted
snow, but beyond, Grant's Tomb and the park sloping down to the Hudson River
were lost in gloom. That was the morning of March 20.
Valsa Matthai did not return. Last week her
disappearance was still a mystery to the scientifically thorough (and 99.2%
successful) Missing Persons Bureau of the New York police. It had stumped
private investigators hired by the Manhattan office of Tata Iron & Steel
Co., Ltd., branch of the rich House of Tata which controls much of India's
heavy industry.
Valsa's disappearance was big news in Bombay,
where her father, Dr. John Matthai, is managing director of a new Tata
enterprise, a $5,000,000 chemical plant. Dr. Matthai, a Christian, educated at
the London School of Economics and Oxford's Balliol College, distinguished
himself as an official of the Indian Government before joining Tata in 1940. A
believer in freedom for women, he sent his only daughter to convent schools in
Calcutta and Bombay, and finally to the U.S.
At International House Valsa was not missed for
more than 24 hours. Then Pritha Kumarappa, an Indian, and Salma Bishlawy, an
Egyptian, Valsa's two closest girl friends, went to her room. The key was in
the outside lock. The bed was turned down neatly. It had not been slept in. Her
room and her clothes were in order; even her purse was there, with lipstick,
identification cards and $17 in cash.
At first the case seemed routine to detectives
from the West 100th Street station. They got her description for the routine
form which the police call "DD-13." For the Missing Persons Bureau,
which seeks 9,000 people a year, turns up 8,900 of them, alive or dead, before
twelve months are out; and 80% come back by themselves, 50% within 48 hours.
But by week's end Captain John J. Cronin, the
deceptively delicate-looking commanding officer of the Bureau, was directing a
meticulous search which had spread across the whole U.S.
Cronin's men quietly invaded International
House. If the girl had met with foul play, they reasoned, she might never have
left the building. They drained two 9,000-gallon water tanks on the roof,
another 5,000-gallon tank in a 13th-floor engine room. They shoveled and sifted
their way through 150 tons of pea coal in basement bins. They searched the
building's 550 rooms, foot by foot. They found no trace of her: Where had Valsa
been going, in the snow, before dawn? She had only an amateur interest in
Indian political affairs. If she was dead, where was her body? If she was
alive, who had seen her?
Restaurant operators, taxi drivers, residents of
the area for blocks around were questioned. The charred ruins of a burned-out
apartment were combed. Ticket sellers at Hudson River ferry terminals were
interviewed. The Hudson was dragged.
Had Valsa planned the disappearance? Usually the
people who attempt to vanish are in search of love or money. But Valsa had all
the money she wanted: there was $1,400 in her bank account. Love? On the
afternoon before her disappearance Valsa had met a young officer, Lieut. Elmer
Rigby of the Army Medical Corps, at the Waldorf-Astoria. The two had known each
other since New Year's, had met often. Rigby showed investigators a recent
letter from the girl; it was casual, friendly, with no hint of romance.
The detectives on the case, attempting to
understand Valsa Matthai, began to experience an exasperated futility. Her
friends said she was proud, brilliant, interested in her studies. She smoked
cigarets, and occasionally visited nightclubs, in groups, escorted by an older
Indian friend of her family. But as the case dragged on, digging began to
change this image of Valsa Matthai. She began to sound less like a reserved
visitor from an exotic land, and more like any other glamour-dazzled girl,
first seeing Manhattan's bright lights.
Her interest in nightclubs, it turned out, was
far from casual. She was an habitue. She sat at nightspot tables with American
girls and young American and British officers night after night. A photograph
made by a nightclub photographer showed a Valsa who looked different from the
girl in muddy photographs made back in India. Valsa's hair was not primly tight
around her head, but hung in a loose wave. Valsa's smile and Valsa's eyes
suggested what students at International House reluctantly confirmed. Valsa had
hangovers, and missed classes. She was repeating first-semester subjects. Late
last winter some of her friends had remonstrated with her. They had reminded
her that she represented India to Americans. The Missing Persons Bureau checked
85 reports that Valsa Matthai had been seen in New York City. All were
erroneous. After one careful three-day check, officers closed in on an
indignant Armenian woman.
Newspaper reporters and photographers, following
a telephoned tip, burst into a Willard Hotel dining room in Washington, D.C.
They found an Indian woman, but the embarrassed newsmen soon discovered that
she was with her husband, P. A. Menon of the India Supply Mission.
At the end of last week Captain Cronin and his
men, still toiling, still could not answer the very first question: why did the
girl leave her room at 4:50 a.m.?
J. J. Singh, president of the India League of
America (TIME, Feb. 28), guessed why: Valsa had never seen snow, and was so
fascinated that she could not resist walking out into it. Captain Cronin, a
far-from-casual student of abnormal psychology, pondered this idea seriously:
"We know that sensitive people are sometimes driven to suicide by the
depressing sight of rain, snow or bleak landscapes."
Suicide? Could she have been pregnant? A
policewoman checked her girl friends, reported that she was not. Amnesia? But
real amnesia, despite fiction, is exceedingly rare. And a woman with amnesia
would still need food, and would probably wander the streets.
Cronin, baffled, pondering murder, saw only one
really possible answer—his old enemy, the river.
"If she's in the river, maybe we'll
know," he said. "We're just getting our December bodies up now. But
they come up quicker in the springtime—men face down, women face up. If she's
in the river maybe we'll know in May. If there's a thunderstorm we'll know
before that. An odd thing, the way thunder will bring them up."
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The copyright
remains with Time Magazine)
Died. Valsa Anna Matthai, 21, daughter of Bombay
Industrialist John Matthai, Columbia University student whose disappearance two
months ago was an unsolved mystery (TIME, April 24); by drowning; in the Hudson
River. It was believed that she would be found in the river, that a
thunderstorm might bring her to the surface; last week, three days after a
thunderstorm, her unmarked body was found floating near Yonkers.
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The
copyright remains with Time Magazine)
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The following paragraph is well worth quoting here, and well worth
your reading and consideration.
"Have you ever stopped to consider just what is our best source
of protection in this country: If you've been in India as much as a week, you
probably know that it would be practically impossible for American or British
Intelligence to cope with alone any sabotage plot of other underhand doings in
this section. It is the Indian policeman and the Indian civilian who can keep
our Intelligence informed as to what is going on, or who can ignore us
completely, depending, in the final analysis, upon how much they like us . . .
. ."
No one can argue successfully against the truth of the foregoing
statements. We do need Indian civilian and police co-operation. Whether we
continue to get it or not depends on how they feel about us - on how you cause
them to feel about us. It comes right down to you!
And what are you doing to help? Most of you are okay. But - there are
an unfortunate number of you who mistreat Indian civilians and who disobey
Indian police and flaunt their authority. Does that make sense? Can you
reasonably expect to kick an Indian civilian around or to thumb your nose at an
Indian cop - to do these things one minute and the next minute expect these
people to be 100% on your side? How could you, yourself, react to such
treatment? Well, that's exactly the way the Indian responds. And rightly so,
too.
Give good treatment, and you'll get it. Show respect, and you'll earn
it for yourself. The Indian's friendship is worth having. If you do something
against an Indian, the harm is possibly small to yourself; but it is a great harm
to your country, and to the Allied cause. As men, as Americans, you were
brought up to be respectful of the law and kind to those around you. The fact
that your environment has been changed is all the more reason why you shouldn't
change. Remember the old proverb:
"Man who stands behind mule is wise to remain on friendly terms
with said animal."
(source:
“The Calcutta Key” Services of Supply Base Section Two Division, Information
and education Branch, United States Army Forces in India - Burma, 1945: at:
http://cbi-theater-12.home.comcast.net/~cbi-theater-12/calcuttakey/calcutta_key.html)
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original submitter/author)
EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION: […] Paperback readers believe
that spying and attendant dangers occur only in the pages of novels. Not so.
The event which is the subject of this issue of MEMORIES occurred during the
Christmas holidays of 1944 in Calcutta. James Garcia had served in the 40th in
Puerto Rico and Panama. He returned to the States, rose to colonel and went to
India as Intelligence Officer of the XX Bomber Command.
On June 15,1944, the first B-29 raid on Japan was
carried out. Col. Garcia flew on the raid with his brother-in-law, Winton Close
(40th and later 444th). The world, and especially Washington, was waiting for
word that bombs had been dropped on Japan. A code word was established to be
flashed over the radio when the bombs were released if the mission was a
success. That code word was "Betty," the name of Jim Garcia's wife.
Against the possibility of capture if he flow over
enemy territory, special permission had to be obtained from the XX Air Force in
Washington for Col. Garcia to fly the mission. Approval was received by
scrambled telex at the Bomber Command Headquarters in Kharagpur only just in
time. Meanwhile, as is known, U.S. cryptographers had cracked the Japanese most
secret code. Security was so tight that transmission of such information was
extremely limited.
In fact, only just prior to the June 15 mission, an
officer was dispatched from Washington to brief Gen. K.B. Wolfe and his
Intelligence Officer, Col. Garcia, on information derived from this code-
cracking effort.
Col. Garcia sensed that the briefing would hold such
high classified information that he would be precluded from flying the mission
if he knew it. Accordingly, he sent his deputy Col. George A. Stinson, to
attend the briefing in his place.
By the time Christmas 1944 had come around, Col.
Garcia had received orders transferring him to Guam. Celebrating Christian
holidays in a non-Christian land was an alien experience; but American troops,
with their British counterparts, carried on their traditions in India at this
season as best they could! Garcia was invited to a Christmas party in Calcutta.
As Leonard Lozano, who was, at that time, M/Sgt. and chief clerk of the Bomber
Command Intelligence section notes, "The Christmas party was only an
incidental part of an official trip to Calcutta. I remember Col. Garcia would
not go 60 feet from his quarters to attend a party-much less 60 miles."
On this evening in Calcutta, Col. Garcia was driving
his own car. He agreed to drive some nurses, who were attending the party, back
to their quarters. It was his intention to spend the night with a U.S. Naval
officer friend who was stationed in Calcutta and who had an apartment in the
city. Heading toward his friend's apartment after returning the nurses to their
quarters, Garcia became uncertain of directions. (How could it be otherwise in
the streets of Calcutta at night?) To orient himself, he stopped to read a
street sign at an intersection. To better read the sign, he got out of the car
leaving the engine running.
It was at that moment that he was jumped by perhaps
four men. They asked him to come with them. Garcia protested, saying that he
was just an American officer having no knowledge of anything that would be of
use to them. One of his captors responded by saying, "We know who you are,
Col. Garcia."
Well his captors could say they knew who he was.
Garcia recognized one of them who was Chinese and who walked with a decided
limp. He had attended the Christmas party where Col. Garcia had also been a
guest. (Knowing that Col. Garcia could not possibly fail to identify him,
removes from speculation the chances that the Colonel would have survived this
kidnapping.)
Garcia was forced into a car which he recognized as
being of American make. Garcia also made another life-saving observation, it
was that, on this make of car, the door release was activated by pushing the
door handle forward. The car was being driven at moderate to slow speed. The
captors drove in a pattern of turns and changes of direction intending to
confuse Garcia so that he would not know where he was when they reached their
destination. Thwarting this move, Garcia kept track of the turns that were made
and continued to hold a picture in his mind where they were. He was being
loosely held in the back seat between two of his captors, with another in the
front and the fourth driving. As they made a turn, Garcia leaned in that
direction and eased forward as if to absorb the turn. In doing so, he suddenly
fell forward, pushed down on the door handle and opened the door. As he tumbled
forward, one of his captors reached out and slashed Garcia in the back with a
knife. Garcia got to his feet and dashed back in the direction of his car,
backtracking from the spot of his escape. He reached the intersection and there
his car still stood with the engine running. He jumped in and made his escape.
He made it to the quarters of his Navy friend and together they patched the slash
in his back sufficient to hold until he could get to a military hospital. He
was awarded the Purple Heart for wounds suffered in this encounter.
British counterintelligence was brought into the
case and they said they believed they knew who the perpetrators were. One of
the kidnappers had a friend in a Calcutta hospital. When it was known that his
suspect was going to visit the hospital, it was arranged to have an appropriate
CID man bedded next to the patient. Screens were positioned and Garcia was introduced
into the screened area in an effort to listen to the voices to see if he might
be able to identify them. The effort was inconclusive. Being scheduled for transfer to Guam, Garcia
did not participate further in the investigation of the incident. No successful
conclusion ever was reached.
General LeMay, in 1988, noted that the purpose of
the kidnapping was never determined for sure although it was thought that
somehow the Chinese might have been involved. The only action taken by the
Bomber Command was to close the Chinese restaurants that had concessions at
some of our bases. That was unfortunate, this officer observed, because we were
on British rations and the Chinese restaurants were the only places a good meal
could be found.
Garcia served in the Marianas as Intelligence
Officer of the XXI Bomber Command. He had not previously qualified as a pilot
of a B-29 and he wished to be so qualified, before returning home when the war
was over. Tragically, he was killed in a crash while shooting landings on the
last day of the war.
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(source: Glenn S. Hensley: Calcutta police, I002, Calcutta police on Strand Road North near the Calcutta approach to Howrah Bridge. seen at University of Chicago Hensley Photo Library at http://dsal.uchicago.edu/images/hensley as well as a series of E-Mail interviews with Glenn Hensley between 12th June 2001 and 28th August 2001)
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced by permission of Glenn Hensley and under a Creative Commons license)
(source: webpage http://40thbombgroup.org/indiapics2.html Monday,
03-Jun-2003 / Reproduced by courtesy of
Seymour Balkin)
The thoroughfare branching off the north-east corner of Dalhousie
Square, with Mission Row on the right and Radha Bazar Street on the left,
is Lall Bazar Street. The whole of the northern side of this street is occupied
by the Headquarters of the Calcutta Police, a commodious up-to-date
structure in the Grecian style of architecture, with the facade of the central
block, adorned with classical columns and the Royal Coat of Arms.
The Calcutta Police consists of 5645
officers and men, and is rightly considered to be the best organised and
most efficient Police Force in the East. The Force comprises the Armed
Police, the Port Police, the Mounted
Police, the Motor Cycle Patrols and the Criminal Investigation Department, and
has acquired great traditions since its inauguration. In addition to maintaining law and order and regulating traffic
in this large city, made doubly difficult by diverse 'races, creeds, languages
and customs, the Police garrison suburban Police outposts. The Criminal Investigation Department, in
particular, has a splendid record of achievement. Another department under the
administration of the Commissioner of Police, is the Fire Brigade, that gallant
band or men who guard the city from the ravages of one of the greatest
elements. The Brigade is a smooch
running, efficient service and consists of a courageous body of 272 fire fighters.
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The copyright remains with John Barry 1940)
Phone
Calcutta Police Headquarters 18
Lall Bazar Street Cal.
2300
Commissioner of Police 18
Lall Bazar Street Cal.
2301
Dy. Commissioner of Police 18 Lall Bazar
Street Cal. 2302
Port Police
(North Division) 67/3 Strand Road Cal. 2349
Port Police
(South „ ) SastitolaRd.
(Kidderpore) South 110
Police Vehicles Department(Motors &- Hackney Carriages)
38 Beltola Road P.K. 2020
Calcutta Police Club 31 Bentinck Street Reg.
259
Calcutta Police Morgue 2/1
Nil Madhab Sen Street B.B.
2339
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with John Barry 1940)
Alipore Section 8 Belvedere Road South 309
Amherst Street „
57 Amherst Street B. B. 2390
Ballygunge
„ 38 Beltola Road P.K.
87
Belliaghatta
„ 6/1 Gas Street B.B.
4219
Beniapukur
„ 40A Gorachand Road P.K.
933
Bhowanipore
„ 7 Russa Road South
233
Bowbazar
„ 42 Central Avenue B. B.
2307
Burrabazar „ 8
Mullick Street B.
B. 2364
Burtolla
„ 1 Raja Raj Kissen St. B. B.
2312
Chitpore
„ 19 Cossipore Road B. B.
2276
Cossipore
„ 86 Cossipore Road B. B.
2325
Entally „
12 Convent Road Cal. 2330
Garden Reach
„ 71/2 Garden Reach Rd. South 337
Hare Street
„ 42 Central Avenue B. B.
239
Hastings
„ 4 Middle Road, Hastings South
324
Jorabagan
„ 74 Nimtala Street B.
B. 2306
Jorasanko
„ 2 & 2/1 Chitpore Spur B.
B. 2314
Maniktala „
20 Canal West Road B. B. 2328
Muchipara
„ 6 St. James' Square B. B.
2317
Park Street
„ 89 Park Street P.K.
303
Shampukur
„ 47 Shambazar Street B.B.
2310
Taltala „
4 Taltala Lane Cal. 2321
Tollygunge
„ 28 Russa Road South 8
Watgunge „ 16
Watgunge Road South 336
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with John Barry 1940)
Sure the M.P.'s are part of YOUR PERSONAL SECURITY. Let's get the M.P.'s
straight for once. They are YOU in a different branch of service. That's all.
Believe it or not, their primary purpose is to help you, to protect you -
protect you from others, and even from yourself if necessary. They want to
answer all of your questions, they want to aid you in having a good time, they
are on your side. Of course, they do have to maintain discipline and good
order; that is simply a necessary part of their job. Nevertheless you will find
that the M.P.'s in the Calcutta area will give you every possible break and
will only as a final resort subject you to arrest or confinement. Revise your
attitude: look upon the M.P. as a friend, as a source of guidance and
protection, and as a walking information booth. Cooperate.
(source:
“The Calcutta Key” Services of Supply Base Section Two Division, Information
and education Branch, United States Army Forces in India - Burma, 1945: at:
http://cbi-theater-12.home.comcast.net/~cbi-theater-12/calcuttakey/calcutta_key.html)
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You have probably heard of Dr. E. Schaefer, a
German who spent mid-summer 1938 to
July 1939 in Sikkim and Tibet. We
allowed him to employ as interpreter a Sikkim subject of Nepalese extraction,
Kaiser Bahadur Thapa, who was a
Junior clerk . -. Schaefer professed a passionate affection for the young man
and made great efforts to obtain permission for him to proceed to Germany at
the expense of the German government...
In my letter of 14 July 1939 Kaiser
was told that he should report
to duty to the Assistant Engineer, Sikkim as soon as his duty with Dr. S
terminated. He failed to do so, and we are glad not to have him back in
Sikkim ... I suggested that the
Calcutta Police should be asked to keep
an eye on him.
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE:
Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial
educational research project. The
copyright remains with Christopher Hale)
He has been closely watched while in Calcutta and I have had
him up for official examination.
He appears to have lose his head completely at the prospect of going to Europe and had developed a kind of
hero worship for Dr. S. Shortly
after he came down here the German consulate secured a job for him in a German motor firm, so that he has now lost his job
and is looking for work elsewhere- If you like, I will send him straight back to
Sikkim, but having once tasted life in Calcutta
where he was earning Rs 70 per month as salary, I very much doubt that he will stay with you ...
(COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing'
terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with Christopher
Hale)
The next job I did in Calcutta was a very short job — at that time there were problems
with the Indian National Army which had been serving with the Japanese and
there was quite serious civil unrest at that time. It was decided to send
Intelligence people to about four of the main towns. I got some Signals people
and trained them up and sent them out, to set a network up to send Intelligence
back. And then it was decided that I would be sent to Tokyo to start the main station
in Tokyo, in the Embassy in Tokyo.
(source:
A7889700 Part Two - Under cover in WW2 at BBC WW2 People's War' on http://www.bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar/ Oct 2006)
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair
dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational research project. The copyright remains with the original
submitter/author)
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(source: personal
scrapbook kept by Malcolm Moncrieff Stuart
O.B.E., I.C.S. seen on
20-Dec-2005 / Reproduced by courtesy of
Mrs. Malcolm Moncrieff Stuart)
Location :—Esplanade Row (West).
Trams:—Park Circus to High Court
via Harrison and Strand Roads:Sealdah to High Court via Bow Bazar Street and
Dalhousie :Dalhousie to High Court (on weekdays only), 8 a.m. to 7 p.m.
Buses .—Nil.
This splendid edifice of Gothic architecture, with a
handsome tower 180 feet high, was designed by Walter Granville, who is said to
have been inspired by the Town Hall of Ypres, Belgium. The foundation stone was
laid in 1864 and the building, erected on the site of the old Supreme Court,
successor to the old Court House in Dalhousie Square, was completed in 1872.
The structure takes the shape of a rectangle built
on the four sides of a quadrangle, the interior having arcaded cloisters which
give access to various Courts and Legal Apartments.
Ascending the main staircase we reach the first
landing, adorned with a bust of Sir C. M. Ghose, while right above in the
southern corridor is a statue of Sir Edward Hyde East, (Chief Justice,
1813-1822) by Chantrey.
On the first floor, on the right, is a bust of Baron
Sinha of Raipur, and farther down the corridor, one of Sir R. C. Mitter. On the
left is a bust of Sir Rash Behari Ghose, and, let into the wall, a tablet to
the memory of Syed Amir Ali. The various Courts, the Judges' and Bar Libraries,
and the offices of the Registrar are on the first floor. The walls of the
different Courts and offices are lined with portraits of members of the legal
professions; particularly noteworthy among these is one of Sir Elijah Impey,
(first Judge of the Supreme Court) by Zoffany. In the Meeting Room of the
Judges' Library are two finely executed oil paintings of their Majesties King
Edward VII and King George V. The Administrator-General and the Legal
Remembrancer have their offices on the top floor.
From the lofty tower over the main entrance, a
splendid view of Calcutta and the river Hooghly can be obtained.
(COPYRIGHT
NOTICE: Reproduced under 'fair dealing' terms as part of a non commercial educational
research project. The copyright remains
with John
Barry 1940)
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problems, factual inaccuracies or things you have to add,
then please contact the group
under info@calcutta1940s.org