Open Writing

During the first three months on 1938 my parents sold off their household effects and we said our good-byes, as it was not our intention to return to India. Little did we know!

In March my parents, Gloria and I took the Bombay Mail across the Indian sub-continent via Nagpur to Bombay where we boarded the SS California destined for Britain.

It was an adventurous voyage for me as I saw the exotic ports in the Suez Canal, the Red Sea, and the Mediterranean that I had read about many times in my Boy's Own Annuals and Wide World Magazines. We bought Turkish Delight and Dad bought a sjambok among other tourist items from the boat peddlers in Port Said. I also enjoyed the activities on board ship of deck-quoits, shuffleboard, swimming in the saltwater pool and many other diversions.

My mother, unfortunately, suffered with acute seasickness. And as she could not keep what she ate down, she began bringing up blood. “I am going to throw myself through the porthole,” she once threatened. In fear of losing her we ended our voyage at Marseilles.

During our day in Marseilles, before the train journey, we rode up an elaborately designed dual water elevator, an almost vertical open chair lift, to the bottom of the steps leading to Notre Dame Cathedral. The elevator was an ingenious device. When the water tank on the cabin at the top filled with water, the tank of the cabin at the bottom emptied, thus allowing the cars to smoothly change places.

Once we reached the top, we had to climb a hundred steps before reaching the huge ornate doors of the Notre Dame cathedral. On the wide steps of the Cathedral were canvas marquee covered kiosks and shops selling statues, candles and other religious paraphernalia. I remember thinking, "What would Jesus say?" Inside the cathedral the opulence and brightness was unbelievable. The altar was brilliantly lit with hundreds if not thousands of burning candles. The religious statues glittered with gold leaf. In a small room near the altar, people lit candles for loved ones. It was so bright inside this room that I could barely open my eyes. When we came outside again we looked down and saw our ship lying at her berth at the harbour far below.

We crossed the picturesque countryside of the south of France to Paris by train. I sat next to a heavily perfumed stout well-corseted Frenchwoman with a white Persian cat in a basket on her knee.

Because our train missed the Calais connection, we spent the day in Paris.

I was very disappointed with Paris, as I saw litter and cabbage leaves lying around in the streets and I was astounded to see a young man relieve himself at an open ornate cast-iron pissoire while holding onto his girl friend’s hand.

We decided to eat our lunch at a café at the end of a cul-de-sac. We all sat down at a well-dented metal table with metal chairs. Mum unsuccessfully tried to make sense of the hand-written menu. Dad decided to take the risk and ordered the shortest name he could find and ended up with a bowl of steaming spinach. Dad paid for his uneaten meal and instead bought a long crusty loaf of bread and a lump of cheese from a nearby corner store which we all ate it sitting on a grass verge nearby.

The choppy ferry trip across from Dieppe to New Haven lasted only a few hours and thankfully my mother did not suffer from seasickness.

Early the next morning I was equally disappointed with my first sights of London’s grimy buildings. I was also astonished to see white English men, women and children doing menial work. Despite some of these ingenuous impressions I did enjoy our three months in London.

There is one incident that has always remained in my memory from that time. It occurred the day after our arrival.

Gloria and I were walking back to the flat our family had rented near Hyde Park where we had been playing; when I saw an old woman walking in front of us drop one of the parcels she was carrying. I picked it up and after attracting her attention, handed it to her

"Lor bless me. Thank you Luv," she said in broad Cockney, obviously startled by my action. She then studied at us closely. It was either that she was not used to being accosted, or because of our sun-browned appearance.

Reassured, she beamed at us and said, "And where do you young ones come from?"

"We arrived here by ship from India yesterday," I answered cockily.

"My goodness, Did you now! Do you know,'' she said looking at us her eyes twinkling. Leaning over in a confidential tone she said, "I am over eighty years old and I've never even been off this street!" She winked and with a nod, turned around and trotted off.

To this day, I remember that little old lady in her long grubby full skirt, and a mop cap trying to contain untidy white close cropped hair, with an equally grubby shawl thrown over her stooping shoulders walking away in a surprisingly sprightly manner.

© Clement 2006