A selection of vignettes depicting one's service to the Empire,
with Observations and Comments.
The above is an advertisement for Dulcie cards.
All names & addresses are purely fictional; any similarities between persons, living or dead are coincidental & the product of a deranged mind.
Me, during that scuffle in Iraq.
Baluchistan: Sir Henry MacMahon & H.H. The Khan of Kalat (Boss Chappy) & Jam of Lasbela. Jolly good chaps. Kept the natives down every bit as well as we did.
Quetta, Baluchistan: Myself and one of our other Officers, (slips my mind, who) going out for a morning ride; on the off chance of keeping some of the natives in their place.
Horses: Wonderful beasts. Wilful bastards who will bolt at the sight of a primrose in a hedgerow, but will trample a striking miner or Socialist to death without flinching. Break your leg as soon as look at you, or bite the hand that feeds it… but magnificent beasts all the same.
The Khan of Kalat and some of his lads.
Not much of a sense of humour, but bloody marvellous in a bit of cut and thrust.
Good fellows to have on one’s side.
Baluchi Chaps in their going out clothes.
Native Chaps, Quetta.
Fierce buggers. Fight like hell, and spare no quarter.
Some Wag has written something in Squiggly on the Mission Hospital sign. Something rude, I suppose.
Baluchistan: Barohi Fellows in a family group. Bare essentials, but happy with their lot.
Chota Sahib had a Barohi Aya; she had the little blighter speaking Squiggly before we knew it. Little bugger wasn’t even speaking the King’s English. Far too fond of each other, so we took him back for the Memsahib to take care of him and sent the Aya off to do other things. Can’t have a Chota Sahib being too friendly with the natives; no idea what could become of that.
Me, Captain by now, the Memsahib and Chota Sahib. Christening of the Chota Sahib. Didn't want the little chap facing the risk of Going Native.
The Royal Family.
Backbone of the Empire.
Good crowd. Only pretend to be Germans to keep the Jews in place.
Chota Sahib getting a bit of practice in telling off another chap.
India: The Church of England: Bang on. Speaks the same language God speaks. Some of those Bishops are a bit of a worry. Nancy Boys in long frocks if you ask me.
Being Church of England’s absolutely perfect so long as one doesn’t take Religion too seriously.
Quetta Military Hospital: Two views; above and below. After the Great Quake of 1935: which proved a disaster to the Civil Lines. Innumerable casualties occurred both in the Cantonment and to the Native Population.
Chota Sahib born here in 1939.
Quetta, Baluchistan: Rippon Road, Masonic Hall.
The Memsahib went to balls at places like this in a tanga or a Victoria, wearing Wellington boots until she arrived, then changed into her dancing slippers and danced till dawn.
Bloody proud of the Memsahib. A real beauty.
(Carpenter in Squiggly)
(Tailor in Squiggly)
Me, now a Major. Waiting on the veranda for Bearer to bring me my morning chai. His voice, calling, "Sahib, Sahib, Burra Sahib. Your chai Sahib!" always made me think, "All's right with the world".
(Just before they kicked us out with all that Quit India nonsense).
India: Dehu Road Cantonment:
Our Bearer, Krishna, Chota Sahib and Khansama (Cook in Squiggly).
The Chota Sahib idolised Krishna, and the feelings were reciprocated.
Strange how these things happen!
The little chap seemed on the verge of Going Native. That would never do.
Tiffin, with some Native Chaps in the background.
Brahma Bull with Friend
One of these blighters gored the Memsahib. Tore the frock, walked all over her, and bruised her a bit. She was up dancing at the mess in a couple of days.
Real trouper, the Memsahib... British of course.
Leaving: Band made up of the Indians, bidding us Goodbye. Wonderful blokes, every one of them. Every week we'd see more of the Chaps and their Memsahibs and families leaving India and returning to Blighty, or somewhere else in The Old Empire.
Dammit, the Quit India buggers, with the help of that fool, Mountbatten, were making many of us leave the land of our birth. Strange, wonderful country, but we loved it. Even Chota Sahib is an Indian by birth.
The Memsahib (left) and friend entertain the troops during that fracas with Mr Hitler & the Hun.
Quetta Home sweet home. Lots of snow. Mind out for earthquakes.