- Contributed byÌý
- Des McDougall
- Location of story:Ìý
- Bombay and Bangalore, India
- Background to story:Ìý
- Army
- Article ID:Ìý
- A9001658
- Contributed on:Ìý
- 31 January 2006
VOYAGE — FINAL STAGE
INTERCITY RAIL - INDIAN STYLE
Once all our lads had come ashore we were herded down to the railway station, almost on the docks, where our carriage awaited. It certainly did, a Third Class Indian style coach, with two facing rows of slatted wooden seats running down its length, and similar seating in two rows down the middle. With an Indian type loo at one end. (More about that particular bit of fun later...)
This was to be our home for about three days and nights, and we were ceertainly back to the 'crowded' bit again. We had to sleep on the wooden seats, but as there was insufficient space for all of us, some - me included - decided to sleep on the luggage racks above the windows. There was marginally less chance of getting trodden on up there. An unfortunate few had to sleep on the floor. As usual, it was chaos! However, we were full of high spirits, we felt our troubles were at an end, and at least the sea voyage was over. The end was in sight, Bangalore and OTS was just down the line, we had some good food inside us, and more in store. Such is the resilience of youth.
The train, once it got under way, rattled and swayed alarmingly. Not from any particular speed, but because it was old and battered. All windows were wound right down ,and everyone who could had their heads out watching the station roll by as we set out. Unfortunately, being new to the ways of the country, several of the lads lost their glasses. Young boys would stand waving to us, and just as you passed would jump up and snatch your spectacles off your nose. A nice little earner! Luckily it didn't happen to me, and in any case the Army issued two pairs to everybody. But you paid for any pair you lost.
The loos were something else again. At least there was a door, but in the tiny compartment there was just a hole in the floor, with two metal plates on either side shaped like a foot, and slightly serrated to give a firmish grip. On one wall only was a metal bar to hang onto. My only comment is, - you want to try it sometime. Or rather, you don't! Crouched over a small hole in the floor, hanging onto a small bar with one hand while the train sways and pitches from side to side, clutching your trousers with your other hand to try to prevent them slipping right down onto the festering floor, is no joke. Add a touch of Bangalore Belly from guzzling too much ripe fruit too quickly, multiply by about 40 for the number of travelling companions, and you may get some idea of the problem. I never thought I would look back on the troopship bogs with a feeling of nostalgia, but I did.
o o o o o o o
At meal times the train would stop wherever it happened to be, usually miles from anywhere. We would then leap from our coaches, race down to the Messing Coach where meals were prepared, heap the nosh into one mess tin, tea into the other, and get back as quickly as we could to devour it in circumstances a shade short of luxury. Still, there was plenty of it, and we thought it was good. Everything was a new adventure. The nights were warm, the great starry skies seemed near enough to reach up and touch. Night fell very quickly, bringing the temperature down, thank heavens, as the days were pretty hot. Two or three days of this and the euphoria was beginning to wear off with a vengeance. then one morning early we pulled into Bangalore, and jumped down onto the platform, weary, crumpled, sweaty but happy. We had arrived. The morning sun was already warm; there were green trees, grass, snug-looking bungalows, luxuriant gardens.
Several crackingly smart NCO's waited for us, immaculate in khaki drill shirts and shorts, along with equally smart Indian Army drivers with their 3-ton trucks lined up ready for us and our possessions. Great big welcome smiles from them. (The Indians, not the trucks or the NCOs!)
We piled in. As we drove through the streets I had a feeling of almost coming home, it reminded me so much of Umtali, - the dusty roads, the neat bungalows, lots of space, the sunshine. When we drove past the gleaming whitewashed Admin. block of the OTS, with old black cannons outside, blue skies above, we all felt that at long last things were coming right for us.
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