Some Sunny Day

by Madge Lambert

  ‘Have a nice day, youse guys,’ said the driver as he dropped them off by the plane, which was a hive of activity. By the looks of things Madge and Basil would be the only English passengers because the others were casually dressed with badges on their shoulders featuring two yellow eagles over a white star. Everybody mixed happily together and Madge noticed a marked difference from the ‘them and us’ divide that separated the ranks in the British military.

  Not only had Madge never flown before, she had never really spent time in the company of Americans and she found that she loved their courtesy and their accents. Basil had to smile when the pilot, wearing knee-high boots, a leather flying jacket wrapped over his shoulders and Hollywood sunglasses, gave them a casual salute as he walked past with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a soft drink in his left hand.

  The temperature was rising rapidly even though it was still early in the day and Madge was dressed in her nursing khaki, which she found quite comfortable as she and Basil stood talking by the side of the plane alongside their two lightly packed cases. The handsome young American turned back and said the weather forecast was predicting swirling cross-winds from the Bay of Bengal and because of that the flight could be quite entertaining.

  ‘We may go a little higher than normal to get above the winds,’ he added, ‘but this here old crate is a stripped-out Dakota DC-3 and just about the safest taxi you’ll ever get to fly in.’

  What a nice man, thought Madge as they began to board the flight that would take around an hour and a half before they reached Calcutta’s Dum Dum airport. Madge was surprised at the steep incline passengers were forced to make once they boarded at the side of the plane.

  ‘That’s because the tail wheel is so low when the plane is on the ground,’ one of the crew explained.

  If the slope surprised her, then the inside of the plane was a real eye-opener. Instead of a passenger flight they were on a narrow freight carrier. Parcels were everywhere with some US personnel sitting on packages that were strapped to the floor in the central gangway that ran the length of the interior. Madge and Basil had been allocated so-called seats, which meant sitting on a long length of strong rope, woven like a fishing net, which was secured to the fuselage. Madge’s dreams of enjoying a gin and tonic above the clouds like Betty Grable in those Hollywood movies very quickly evaporated.

  They were, of course, grateful for their ‘seats’ but conversation became difficult when the plane began to vibrate as the twin engines coughed into life and the old warrior of the skies rumbled down the runway. Madge looked around once the plane was airborne to see signs either side of the pilot’s cabin stating, in big red capital letters, NO SMOKING. Underneath both signs were guys happily puffing away on their cigarettes and downing beers hidden in brown paper bags. Why on earth shouldn’t they? thought Madge. They’re putting their lives on the line to support the Allies on an alien continent. Let them have some relaxation!

  One soldier shuffled across the aircraft on his backside and courteously offered both Madge and Basil a swig from a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, but took no offence at their refusal.

  ‘I’ve never been to Calcutta before,’ he told them, ‘and me and the boys are sure as hell going to party round the clock when we get there! Listen, buddy,’ he said, looking at Basil, ‘can you tell me, is the airport we’re flying to really called Dum Dum? I thought that was the name of a bullet!’

  Basil had to shout over the noise of the engines when he replied that Dum Dum was actually an airport, but he could understand the American’s confusion as the word dumdum had become associated with a controversial soft or hollow-nosed bullet that expanded on impact and caused extensive damage. This bullet had been developed at a British military installation in the area known as Dum Dum Arsenal.

  Apart from a couple of minutes of bouncing about and one blast of turbulence that made the aircraft feel as if it was actually flying sideways the rest of the journey was calm enough and the pilot landed the DC-3 as smoothly as he had handled the take-off from Patanga. They were cleared through US security at Dum Dum at remarkable speed. The American soldiers accompanied them and after their flight Madge and Basil were invited to become honorary Americans. The only stipulation was they had to promise not to say a word ‘in case that limey accent gives the game away’.

  The DC-3 boys invited Madge and Basil to ride into Calcutta on their waiting US Forces truck and even diverted the vehicle to Chowringhee, where Basil had booked a week in the Grand Hotel. The young English couple’s luggage was handed straight to the bearer at the front entrance of the fabled hotel and with much whooping and waving and lots of voices hollering ‘Have a nice day, you guys’ the happy group of Americans drove off to paint the town redder than red.

  ‘There’s certainly plenty of staff here,’ said Madge as they were escorted into the lavishly appointed lobby where a magnificent chandelier and carved stone fountain vied for attention along with dignified, teak-panelled walls. It was little wonder that the Grand had become a byword for luxury and was normally so busy that it was very difficult to book even the most insignificant of rooms. Before Madge could even sit in one of the almost regal mahogany armchairs she was handed an iced flannel. ‘It’s like being in a palace,’ she said to Basil, not realising he was deep in conversation with the concierge.

  ‘I’m surprised the hotel is so quiet,’ Basil said.

  ‘Well, sir, I’m afraid there’s been something of a problem with an outbreak of cholera in the building!’

  Madge could hardly believe her ears! Calcutta was in the grip of a full-blown cholera epidemic with a hundred cases and upwards of thirty deaths being reported daily. A dozen of the British troops billeted in the Grand had also caught the deadly disease and had been taken to an isolation hospital. The rest of the British contingent had left. When news of the outbreak had emerged, close to 140 American servicemen had also moved to other accommodation and the finest hotel in town was decreed to be off limits to the rest of the US forces.

  As the conversation between Basil and the concierge continued Madge suddenly remembered the security officer at Chittagong airport.

  ‘It seems,’ she said to Basil, ‘that just about everybody knew about cholera in Calcutta except us!’

  Suresh, who was standing in for the main concierge, explained that because of the number of people who caught cholera on the premises every room was being fumigated. ‘As soon as that is complete, madam, the Grand will once again be the finest and the safest hotel in the whole of Calcutta,’ he said with a beaming smile and a lot more positivity than Madge and Basil themselves felt. ‘The kitchens are, however, to be fumigated later this week so it is better you have breakfast somewhere else,’ he added.

  Much to Madge’s amusement Suresh, a happy soul who let slip that he loved a glass of Chivas Regal to start the day, wanted to turn the conversation to cricket rather than cholera. What should have been a joyful and relaxed week was on the verge of becoming a holiday from hell. The immediate problem the couple faced was where to go next if they checked out of the Grand. There was certainly no guarantee that a new hotel would be any safer. As Suresh lavished praise on Douglas Jardine, a controversial former England cricket captain ‘who gave those Aussies what for’, Basil asked how busy other hotels were in the city.

  ‘Well, I should imagine they are in a similar situation,’ Suresh replied, ‘but I can assure you that fumigation of the majority of the hotel will have been completed in just a day or so.’

  ‘When you think it through,’ said Basil, turning to Madge, ‘if we move, we could be jumping from the frying pan straight into the fire so it’s probably better to stay put.’

  ‘Good idea,’ she replied, ‘because this hotel certainly looks rather splendid. The situation’s not ideal but I think I’d rather be here than anywhere else.’

  Only after the check-in formalities were completed did they find that their separate rooms, beautifully decorated and luxuriously furnished, were actually at to
tally opposite ends of the hotel, but they decided not to make a fuss. Instead they opted for an early lunch at a nearby restaurant that was the haunt of kings and queens, governor generals, maharajas, film stars and touring cricket teams.

  Impressive as the list of celebrities who frequented the fabled Firpo’s restaurant may have been, there was one thing that attracted Madge far more than the autographed pictures of the likes of the Aga Khan.

  ‘I can’t believe what they’ve got on the menu,’ she said with a delighted smile.

  Basil looked across the table as Madge waved the menu at him and said, ‘First place goes to . . .’ She handed the menu over so he could read for himself. ‘Yes, steak and kidney pudding!’ she said, choking up a little at the thought of Dad and his second helpings at Friday lunch. The smell of steak and kidney pudding always took her straight back to her gloriously happy childhood in Dover.

  ‘Oh, that sounds delicious,’ agreed Basil. ‘I haven’t had one of those in such a long time! But my goodness, there are some treats on this menu . . .’

  Madge hadn’t eaten since her 7 a.m. breakfast of two slices of toast and a cup of tea in the nurses’ mess and she had no hesitation in choosing the steak and kidney pud with new potatoes and green peas. Basil decided on roast sirloin of beef followed by gateau mille-feuille, which he said was ‘a posh way of describing a vanilla slice in flaky pastry’.

  Madge hadn’t realised just how much of a relief it would be to be away from Chittagong. Basil seemed to feel the same way. The barriers melted away and they were finally able to talk heart to heart.

  ‘Well, I know a bit about you, like the fact that you were brought up in Woking and you have four brothers and one sister, but there’s still so much I don’t know. Like how on earth did you finally end up in the 10th Baluch Regiment of the Indian army?’

  ‘Well, you know how my brother Brian and I enrolled and we were accepted and joined the Middlesex Regiment there and then. My regimental number was 6216153,’ said Basil, ‘and I have never forgotten it.’

  He said that the most interesting time during his many months of training in Chester was being taught to operate the water-cooled Vickers machine guns, which he had to dismantle and reassemble wearing a blindfold during sessions in the battalion camp at The Dale. When it was announced that a war office selection board was being held at a military centre in Kent, Basil and Brian decided it was worth trying and both were recommended for commissions into the Indian army. They sailed on the one-time cruise liner RMS Strathaird from Gourock to Bombay in February 1943.

  ‘And can you remember your commission number?’ Madge teasingly asked.

  ‘EC11754,’ Basil replied instantly.

  Madge was interested to hear details of the brothers’ sea voyage, because the threat from German submarines was so perilous in the Mediterranean in 1943 that Allied troopships, often carrying personnel in excess of four thousand, went down the coast of west Africa and round the Cape instead of through the Strait of Gibraltar and the Suez Canal. However, time was running on and Basil promised faithfully to compare his sea journey with her own another time.

  Once the bill was paid they made their way to the door, but stopped outside Firpo’s green shutters wondering what the sudden noise was all about. There was banging and shouting and a banner emblazoned with the slogan ‘Jai Hind’ was waved by a group of protestors.

  ‘Back inside, quickly,’ said Basil and they watched from Firpo’s upstairs windows as the demonstration demanding ‘Home Rule for India’ marched past. ‘Jai Hind means victory to India,’ he told Madge, who expressed surprise at the size of the demonstration.

  Once the protest had passed, they decided to walk to a local cinema and got caught in such a torrential downpour that their clothes squelched as they sat down to watch Ginger Rogers and Ray Milland star in The Major and the Minor. Their clothes were still soggy when they got back to the Grand Hotel, where they were given flasks of freshly boiled water for drinking and brushing their teeth.

  ‘The hotel is completely deserted,’ said Madge. ‘It actually feels quite eerie, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Basil. ‘It’s certainly not what I had in mind, that’s for sure! Let me walk you to your room.’

  At the door to Madge’s hotel room, Basil took her hand before kissing her lightly on the lips and wishing her goodnight, then making the surprisingly long walk to his room at the very other end.

  At the end of the first full day she had spent in Basil’s company Madge had an overwhelming feeling of happiness and within minutes of her head hitting the soft pillow, she was fast asleep.

  They thought they had escaped the attention of stand-in concierge Suresh the following morning as they strolled hand in hand through the lobby but were a little too slow.

  ‘Good morning, good morning,’ he called out, and although the door was in sight, they politely turned back. After asking how they had slept, he said how sorry he was that the hotel was so quiet because it used to be a lot of fun many years ago. ‘The best time of all was New Year’s Eve when there was iced champagne for everyone and at the stroke of midnight twelve little piglets were released. Anybody who caught one could keep it,’ said Suresh.

  ‘Well, thank you for telling us that,’ chuckled Madge, and they beat a hasty retreat from the lobby and the very chatty concierge to make an early start exploring a city that had once been the capital of India. They planned to have a leisurely breakfast, enjoy reading a daily newspaper for the first time in months and then slowly make their way across town to see the Victoria Memorial. Traffic was heavy as cycles, rickshaws, motorbikes, cars and several lorries emblazoned with ‘Jai Hind’ banners drove past while they waited to cross the road to pick up a copy of The Statesman, an English-language newspaper.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Basil, as he glanced at the front page. ‘President Roosevelt has died. He was only sixty-three. Apparently it was a stroke!’

  ‘Oh my goodness, that’s terrible,’ said Madge, just as shocked as Basil.

  Their plans were put on hold as the pair discussed the news at length over a good old fry-up in Firpo’s.

  ‘I wonder what those American boys who were so kind to us on the flight from Chittagong must be thinking,’ said Madge. ‘They must be wondering what the future holds for US forces in the Burma Campaign.’

  ‘They won’t be the only ones wondering that,’ replied Basil.

  Elsewhere on the front page of The Statesman it was reported that the Allies were closing in on Berlin. A Reuters story said that ‘the collapse of the entire German central position was imminent’ and that Allied entry into Berlin was just days away at the most. British paratroopers had been dropped fifteen miles from the German capital and total victory in Europe seemed in sight, but there wasn’t a single word about progress in the Burma Campaign. Frustrating as that was, Madge and Basil were well aware that strict censorship was the reason. Their security training kicked in and they decided not to discuss that situation in Firpo’s.

  Madge had a spring in her step as they walked out to wait for a rickshaw in the shade of the green shutters outside Firpo’s because the wonderful news from London meant Mum and the girls would hopefully soon be able to move back from High Wycombe to the family home in Dover. Although it will be a while before the house is fit to live in again, she remembered with a pang. All thoughts of home took second place, however, at the first sighting of the Victoria Memorial set in sixty-four acres of lawned splendour on the banks of the Hooghly River.

  A guide approached and instantly started telling the couple in almost perfect English about the history of the building. He wore a traditional flowing white cotton kurta top and dhoti, sandals and a faded brown trilby hat that had seen better days. He was one of those characters who had an irresistibly cheeky charm. He explained that after the death of Queen Victoria in 1901 George Nathaniel Curzon, First Marquess Curzon of Kedleston and Viceroy of India, suggested the building of a stately, spacious and grand monu
ment in her memory. ‘This magnificent creation in white Makrana marble from Rajasthan that stands before us is the result,’ he said.

  ‘It certainly is beautiful,’ Madge agreed, ‘but it doesn’t look like white marble?’

  ‘Memsahib, you are right,’ the guide replied. ‘The Japanese were bombing us and the British said the building had to be camouflaged to prevent it being damaged. I think they painted it black so the Japanese pilots could not use it as a landmark. It used to gleam white in the moonlight and I hope it will do so again once this terrible war is over.’

  ‘For just a few annas it has to be worthwhile to have a guide like this,’ whispered Madge to Basil, as they walked towards the magnificent structure. The guide told them that construction of the building had begun in 1906 but by the time the Victoria Memorial was completed in 1921, New Delhi had already been earmarked to replace Calcutta as the nation’s capital.

  ‘The official reason,’ he explained, ‘was that a more centrally located capital city would be in the country’s best interests.’ He looked at them with an apologetic, almost sardonic, smile. ‘The British couldn’t wait to relocate the capital from Calcutta after a spate of bombings and political assassinations.’

  Without saying another word, he doffed his hat and simply walked away.

  ‘He left very abruptly,’ Madge said, slightly confused.

  ‘He did indeed!’ laughed Basil. ‘Well, while we’re here let’s have a wander round the grounds and then make our way back into the city centre to do some exploring.’

  When they arrived in the centre of the vibrant but troubled city, the pair were shocked when they saw for themselves the huge divide that separated the haves from the have-nots. The Victoria Memorial had been overwhelmingly impressive yet just a taxi ride away poverty-stricken families lived on the edge of rubbish dumps and pavements where they begged for money to buy food to feed their starving children.