大象传媒

Written by my Grandfather
Corporal John W Donaldson
l943

A WORKING DAY IN THE HOT SEASON (SECUNERABAD)

We rise at 5.30, and the first thing one notices is the wet and sticky feel of the sheets. It is still dark, except for the pitiful yellow glow of a couple of oil lamps, and I groan as I ease myself up and prepare to begin the daily round. Of course, like the rst of the men I wear only underpants and a towel wrapped round my tummy during the night. The first thing is a wash in tepid water (wouldn鈥檛 it be grand to have a cold shower? Then change those underpants, so wet and sticky and uncomfortable. By this time a cup of tea has been produced and I gulp it gratefully.

Suddenly it is light. In a matter of two or three minutes darkness has flown and the sun has begun its deadly journey. As I go to work, for we start at 6 am, I can already feel the heat from those long, golden, slanting rays, as they strike through the scattered trees in the compound.

Sleep, during the hot season, is not refreshing. I feel jaded and weary after a restless night, sweating and tossing beneath my mosquito net, and the thought of another long day of blazing sunshine and breathless heat makes me feel no better.

It is hard work talking, I stand in front of my class with my throat dry and soon the sweat trickles down my face, my back, my legs and arms, and worst of all, saturates my shirt and shorts around my middle. Flies buzz around incessently -one particular kind most irritating - being very small indeed, they buzz around the eyes and very often go right in, causing much discomfort.

I wait impatiently for breakfast time, and the hot tea which I know will make me sweat more, but relieve my painful throat. What stupid people the trainees are! What silly questions they ask, how hard it is to make them understand a simple point!.

The sun ascends, and for a little while, a fitful breeze plays around, choking us with fine dust - as fine as my lady鈥檚 face powder - but not so smooth - but gritty and painful.

Breakfast period at last! 8.45 until 9.30 - tea, porridge, soya with beans, and bread. Sometimes a wee scrap of bacon as a treat! Change of clothing and back to work. Talk, talk, talk - engines, propellers, oil and petrol systems - round and round - the same words which I used last week - and will use next week, and the next, and the next. And its hot. A pitiless, glaring, blazing sun - heat from the ground like an ove, and a breeze like the breath of hell!

How my eyes ache, and if I glance at the sky for a moment, how they smart and water. The heat hangs over everything - an object twenty yards away shivers and fades - or are the eyes playing tricks? The aeroplane which I use for instruction is under a torn and tattered old cover - poor protection from the Indian sun, and when I鈥檓 not busy with the engines, I hold my class beneath the mainplane and belly of the bomber, which, incidently, has seen good service in North Africa and on the Burma front. The mounting sun grows fiercer - by mid-day the heat is unbearable - my brow is corrugated and my eyes screwed into wrinkled slits. Clothes saturated and the longing for a long cool drink something beyond description.

At 2.30 the whistle goes for cease work, and I parade my class and march them away. March! What a hope. A shuffling walk with clouds of dust rising and hanging in the still air - choking and blinding - the gritty particles making the eyes red and sore and all the while the heat pressing down on one like a heavy load.

After dismissing the trainees I go to tiffin - usually a mug of water - cool - sometimes iced - and corned beef, cheese and onions. Then a shower - warm water - but it takes away the sweat and dust - and off to my "charpoy".

From then onwards, until six in the evening, the camp is like the grave - not that one sleeps - it is much too hot - we lie and sweat and irritably swat at the ceaseless flies which pester us. No covering except a couple of towels to absorb the sweat. As soon as one is wet it is put aside to dry. By the time the next is really wet the first is dry again. The whole place is an oven - the ground outside the billet scintillating with heat waves - and the errant little breeze which lazily wanders through the hut occasionally, is a breath out of hell, carrying with it the inevitable fine red dust.

At six we have another shower - go to dinner - usually more corned beef with mashed potato and pumpkin, followed by a sweet - usually oranges or bananas, with - what is supposed to be cream!! Made with flour and water I believe - it looks like - and tastes like, paste for sticking bills!

Then we sit on the veranda step until the sun goes down. With the setting of the sun one must wear clothes. Long trousers and long sleeved shirts for during the hours of darkness the mosquito reigns. There seems to be very little difference in the temperature during the night, for the ground throws back the heat which it absorbed by day.

Most of us go to the canteen, to drink weak and tepid beer - or still more tepid lemonade, which by the way, tastes only very faintly of lemon and is totally devoid of "fizz". So we talk and smoke and drink until 9.45 - then back to the billet and bed, perchance to sleep - perhaps! And if we do - to dream for sure - of that boat which will be leaving Bombay.

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