In war, it’s not
just enough to capture a territory – in order to maintain the upper hand, it’s
equally important to hold on to your gains.
It was in order
to achieve this aim that the 5th Indian division was sent to the
island of Surabaya in Indonesia, recently captured from the Dutch. The Indians
were to be there and hold the fort (so to speak) to make sure the enemy didn’t
try and recapture the island.
Of all the lucky
breaks in what can only be described as a charmed life, this one was the best. The enemy had fled, leaving behind their luxurious
houses and superb Dutch cars. Their mess was like a palace. Most men had a car
at their disposal for the duration of the stay. My grandfather had a blue
Chevrolet. With nothing much to do on the island, he often took out his
beautiful, mint-condition blue Chevy for long drives along the sea coast,
driving as much as 60 miles in one trip.
As
quarter-master, the spoils of war were at my grandfather’s finger-tips. The fleeing
enemy had left behind godowns packed with foreign goods, from Woodbine
cigarettes (a popular brand at the time), to the best Scotch whiskey - and of
course, my grandfather’s absolute favourite , sweet tinned milk.
The Indian contingent
were a huge hit with the locals. They bought bundles of Chinese silk, gold jewellery
and ‘luxury’ items like bottles of soft-drinks. The Indians had nothing to do
but spend their money on the gorgeous island paradise. Far from haggling, the
Indians would press more money on the vendors than they’d asked. I still remember how my grandfather would tell this (our favourite story) to us, his excited, saucer-eyed grandchildren.
“We’d ask, 'how
much is that?'," he'd say, warming up. Then, doing both sides of the dialogue, "If the person replied, ‘200’, we’d
say, ‘Take 300! Take 400!’ ” And we'd all laugh delightedly, including him.
My grandfather’s naturally expansive nature
blossomed joyously under the unexpected wartime windfall.
When the time
came for the contingent to leave, my grandfather says, the locals were actually
crying. “Please don’t go! Stay with us!” they pleaded tearfully with the best
customers they’d ever had.
When my grandfather recounted this story to me at age 97, he still remembered those days with a fondness that most people wouldn’t
associate with war.
Life as an
Indian soldier in the Second World War might have been the least fun place to
be in the world. But more incredible things happen everyday than any of us
would ever believe. Like being sent into war as cannon-fodder, and ending up
living like a king on a beautiful tropical island.
At the end of the posting, the Indian soldiers were flown
back from Indonesia to Dum Dum Airport in Calcutta, adding another rare
experience to my grandfather’s cache, for most Indians in the early forties
would never have had the chance to even see the inside of an airplane, let
alone travel by airplane.
That was how my
grandfather returned from war with loads of happy memories and many souvenirs
of a sojourn in paradise.
Vous pourriez lire la version française de ce billet de blogue à :https://waranenguerre.blogspot.com/2013/10/le-paradis.html
Merci de visiter mon blogue !
Merci de visiter mon blogue !
