of their
chairs. The Japanese were saying nothing but eating with oriental patience and waiting—
waiting for what? For Kohima to fall at last? For the gates of Delhi to crumble? Or for the
snow on the peaks of the distant mountains to melt under delayed radiant heat from
Hiroshima?
Just then Mrs Bhoolabhoy billowed in, in shocking pink. Wasn’t she supposed to be playing
bridge? Her companions didn’t look like bridge-players, in fact they looked to Lucy like a
gang of Mafia-type Indians. One even had a suit with gold-glitter thread woven in it. The
party went to a table far down the room, behind a latticework screen. Tusker had not seen
her. Lucy was relieved. It would have put him off his food and spoiled things for both of
them. She could not be sure whether Mrs Bhoolabhoy had seen them. And what did it
matter.
“Have you decided, Tusker, dear?” She asked.
At that moment, Lucy could have sworn, Mrs Bhoolabhoy had sat down. The five storeys
of the Shiraz seemed to lean a little farther towards the East and a tremor to pass through
the whole fabric.
To Sarah Layton
The Lodge,
Smith’s Hotel,
Pankot,
(Ranpur).
2nd March 1972.
Dear Sarah (Lucy wrote the following day),
It’s getting on for 25 years ago that we last saw one another and you’ll scarcely remember
me, although we were all in Pankot during the last war and of course it was my husband
(Tusker) and I who moved into Rose Cottage when you and your family moved down to
Commandant House.
A friend of ours, now back in England, and whom you won’t know because they were Tea
and didn’t come to Pankot until 1965, has sent me a cutting from last month’s Times about
your father’s death because she imagined we must all have been acquainted. I felt I must
write to say how sorry I am to learn of this, and indeed of your mother’s death earlier.
Poor Tusker has been quite ill recently, so although he is now on the mend I’ve not yet told
him for fear of distressing him, but I know he would wish to join me in offering my
sympathy to you and to Susan. He always spoke so highly of your work when you were in
the WAC (I) and worked in his department at Area Headquarters, and, as I did, he had a
great respect for Colonel Layton and indeed the whole family.
I shall not intrude on your grief by going into all the hundred and one things that come to
my mind about the Pankot you knew so well and Pankot as it is today, but should you be
interested presently it would truly delight me to correspond with you from time to time.
Tusker and I remained at Rose Cottage until early in 1949. You may remember he was
invited to stay on for a year or two on contract with the new Indian government. When he
finally retired he took a commercial job with Smith Brown & McKintosh in Bombay.
The firm sent him home on a short business trip in 1950, and naturally I went with him, but
that’s the only time I’ve been in England since first coming out over 40 years ago. It seems
so strange to me, put like that. Tusker finally retired about 10 years ago when he was sixty
and we’ve been back in Pankot for most of that time and are now literally the last of the
permanent British residents on station. Quite a lot of people pass through from time to time
though, young people from home and of course tourists, and we have a number of good
friends among the Indian officers and their wives.
Rose Cottage still stands. Colonel Menektara, who commands the depot, and his family live
there. Tusker and I dined in the mess a few weeks ago when they celebrated the end of the
war with Pakistan. The silver tray your father so kindly presented is still a prized possession,
as is the silver donated by Mrs Mabel Layton’s first husband. Colonel Menektara will be
sorry to hear of your father’s death, although of course they would never have known one
another. He was originally Punjab regiment and I think only a young Lieutenant in 1947.
We, as you see,
chairs. The Japanese were saying nothing but eating with oriental patience and waiting—
waiting for what? For Kohima to fall at last? For the gates of Delhi to crumble? Or for the
snow on the peaks of the distant mountains to melt under delayed radiant heat from
Hiroshima?
Just then Mrs Bhoolabhoy billowed in, in shocking pink. Wasn’t she supposed to be playing
bridge? Her companions didn’t look like bridge-players, in fact they looked to Lucy like a
gang of Mafia-type Indians. One even had a suit with gold-glitter thread woven in it. The
party went to a table far down the room, behind a latticework screen. Tusker had not seen
her. Lucy was relieved. It would have put him off his food and spoiled things for both of
them. She could not be sure whether Mrs Bhoolabhoy had seen them. And what did it
matter.
“Have you decided, Tusker, dear?” She asked.
At that moment, Lucy could have sworn, Mrs Bhoolabhoy had sat down. The five storeys
of the Shiraz seemed to lean a little farther towards the East and a tremor to pass through
the whole fabric.
To Sarah Layton
The Lodge,
Smith’s Hotel,
Pankot,
(Ranpur).
2nd March 1972.
Dear Sarah (Lucy wrote the following day),
It’s getting on for 25 years ago that we last saw one another and you’ll scarcely remember
me, although we were all in Pankot during the last war and of course it was my husband
(Tusker) and I who moved into Rose Cottage when you and your family moved down to
Commandant House.
A friend of ours, now back in England, and whom you won’t know because they were Tea
and didn’t come to Pankot until 1965, has sent me a cutting from last month’s Times about
your father’s death because she imagined we must all have been acquainted. I felt I must
write to say how sorry I am to learn of this, and indeed of your mother’s death earlier.
Poor Tusker has been quite ill recently, so although he is now on the mend I’ve not yet told
him for fear of distressing him, but I know he would wish to join me in offering my
sympathy to you and to Susan. He always spoke so highly of your work when you were in
the WAC (I) and worked in his department at Area Headquarters, and, as I did, he had a
great respect for Colonel Layton and indeed the whole family.
I shall not intrude on your grief by going into all the hundred and one things that come to
my mind about the Pankot you knew so well and Pankot as it is today, but should you be
interested presently it would truly delight me to correspond with you from time to time.
Tusker and I remained at Rose Cottage until early in 1949. You may remember he was
invited to stay on for a year or two on contract with the new Indian government. When he
finally retired he took a commercial job with Smith Brown & McKintosh in Bombay.
The firm sent him home on a short business trip in 1950, and naturally I went with him, but
that’s the only time I’ve been in England since first coming out over 40 years ago. It seems
so strange to me, put like that. Tusker finally retired about 10 years ago when he was sixty
and we’ve been back in Pankot for most of that time and are now literally the last of the
permanent British residents on station. Quite a lot of people pass through from time to time
though, young people from home and of course tourists, and we have a number of good
friends among the Indian officers and their wives.
Rose Cottage still stands. Colonel Menektara, who commands the depot, and his family live
there. Tusker and I dined in the mess a few weeks ago when they celebrated the end of the
war with Pakistan. The silver tray your father so kindly presented is still a prized possession,
as is the silver donated by Mrs Mabel Layton’s first husband. Colonel Menektara will be
sorry to hear of your father’s death, although of course they would never have known one
another. He was originally Punjab regiment and I think only a young Lieutenant in 1947.
We, as you see,
Similar Books
