CBI Roundup
VOL. I        NO. 43            REG NO. L5015        DELHI,  THURSDAY                                                 JULY  8,  1943.
Maj. Gen. Thomas C. Hearn

It's Maj. Gen Hearn; Arrowsmith Awarded Advance to Brigadier
  Just as the Roundup was going to press, news was received of the promotion of Brig. Gen. Thomas G. Hearn, massive-framed Theater Chief of Staff, to major general, and Col. John C. Arrowsmith, of the S.O.S., to brigadier general.
  Hearn, who towers six feet six inches into the ozone and weighs 220 pounds, was chief of staff for Lt. Gen. Joseph W. Stilwell when the latter was in command of III Army Corps in Monterey, Calif. He participated in the Burma campaign and has since held forth in Chungking, except for a quick trip to Delhi a year ago last May.
  Arrowsmith, who commanded an Engineer Regiment at Camp Blanding, Fla., came to the Theater a year ago last May and has been in charge of various construction projects.


PX Situation On Improve
  Letters received by the Roundup enable the Theater newspaper to feel the pulse of G.I. morale fairly accurately.
  Generally speaking, only two complaints have been of any appreciable volume - scarcity of (1) American cigarettes and (2) American beer.
  So today's communiqué from the Army Exchange Service front is particularly exhilarating.
  Under direction of the Commanding General of the S.O.S., a general improvement in PX supplies is expected to be reached until it hits proportions adequate by Aug. 15 to satisfy basic necessities of all G.I.'s. Thereafter, the volume will be increased . . . barring unforeseen accidents. Orders have been placed, priorities granted, but ships must still arrive safely in port with cargoes intact before paper dreams become satisfying reality.
  Stations most isolated will receive supplies FIRST. Those close to the ports and those in largely-populated cities will come last.
  Specific volume of supplies - cigarettes, beer, coca-cola, cigars, fruit juices, cookies, candy, razors, soap, shaving brushes, pipe tobacco, nail clippers, combs, cigarette lighters, gum, toothpaste, magazines, etc. - cannot be revealed, but they will be adequate if present plans do not hit a snag.
  The PX has not forgotten the Army Nurse Corps, either. Mysterious articles to enhance the loveliness of these already beauteous American angels of mercy stationed in India and China are en route and more are being loaded on ships.
  Oh, happy day.

Myitnge Bridge
Battered Into
River Bottom

  Periscopes were needed as much as bombing sights last week as heavy and medium bombing crews of the 10th Air Force navigated high winds and monsoon storms to smash enemy installations in Burma.
  Only on two days did lack of visibility keep them from letting loose destruction on primary or secondary targets. Two interceptions by single Jap aircraft did not worry the boys at all, but turbulent air, vertical currents and icing conditions on almost every mission called for more intestinal fortitude than the strongest interception.
  One bomber is missing, due to weather.
  On July 1 and 2 our heavies were working on the railroad junction at Thanbyuzayat, where the monkey men have piled up stores for the construction of their dream railroad line connecting the Burma railroad system with Bangkok. This target is a bomber's paradise. It has been plastered before this month, but photographs of the most recent raids show

Sometimes we wonder transiently whether pictures such as this week's page one cheesecake are morale builders or have just the opposite effect.  (For instance, we have the duckiest photo of Vice President Henry Wallace addressing Congress we could have used.)  The young lady's name is Virginia Patton and she displays her charm for Warner Brothers.

Hell and destruction among the warehouses, repair shops and supplies stored in the open. The big car repair shed, the size of a Zeppelin hangar, just ain't.
  On the 2nd another formation blasted the oil refinery at Syriam across the river from Rangoon. Clouds prevented full observation of results, but hits were observed among the oil tank farm with black smoke billowing skywards. On July 3 our heavies in good strength splattered the industrial area of Myingyan with many tons of 1,000 and 2,000-pound bombs. Pictures of the damage done await an improvement of the weather. Other large projectiles were delivered among the railroad installations at Prome. July 4 the four-engined boys splashed up to Shwelhi bridge on the Yunnan border. When they left, the busy Rising Sun repair section was rushing to the spot. Other projectiles blasted the Akyab jetty.
  Medium crews started out June 29 with a raid damaging warehouses on the Mandalay docks, while another strong formation was battering the railroad yards at Kyaukse. Tracks, rolling stock and buildings all were hit and three big fires were left burning. One of the fires was attended by a violent secondary explosion. On July 1 targets were shipping in the Irrawaddy and the railroad installations at Kyungon and Kawlin. Smashed freight cars and burning storage sheds were left behind. July 2 buildings at Chauk, the oil derricks at Yenangyat, and freight cars and buildings at Nyaungyan and Pyawbwe were demolished or damaged.
  The boys were in the spirit of the night before the Fourth on July 3 when they paid a return visit to a familiar target - Myitnge Bridge. They never did better. When they left, one end of the south span was down on the river bottom and the south embankment and tracks were a mess. Serious damage was reported to other spans and Winny Churchill's leaves of autumn will be falling before the Japs patch up the old wreck this time, if ever.
  Independence day was observed with appropriate fireworks, touched off by the medium crews at Shwebo and at Meiktila. Barracks were flattened at Meiktila.
  To finish up this particular celebration, the pilots visited Kangaung airfield nearby, where they went down to strafe an enemy plane in its revetment. More than ten tons of bombs were poured into the railroad yards at Shwebo in a perfect bombing pattern. Tracks, freight cars and storage buildings were uprooted. The perfect touch was an explosion with black smoke the boys left behind like a monster July 4 bonfire.

Amplification of the above 10th Air Force aerial photograph knocks Jap propaganda into a cocked chapeau and provides another vivid instance of enemy guile. The artist's arrows indicate the following: (1) Ammunition dumps, (2) Jap-bombed hospitals. Note the unscathed hospitals and the international Red Cross symbol adjacent to the hospital buildings and ammunition dumps.

 Bissell Produces Photographs To Disprove Enemy Claims

  Japan's hard-pressed propaganda machine has ground out a complexity of stories that have been about as subtle as a kick in the teeth. Numbered among this multiplicity of bald-faced lies is the archaic, thread-bare story of U.S. bombers viciously laying waster to hospitals, plainly marked with the international sign of the Red Cross.
  The proof of the pudding is in the eating, so Maj. Gen. Clayton L. Bissell, Commanding General of the 10th Air Force, produced a convincing aerial photograph of hospital buildings at Maymyo (shown above) at his monthly press conference that hurled the lie so hard into the buck teeth of the Jap that it, figuratively, cracked his bridgework.
  There are two hospital buildings in the photograph that are only a rubble of brick. These were bombed by the Japanese while the buildings, plainly marked, housed British sick and wounded.
  So far, the buildings, since taken over by the Jap, have been untouched, despite the fact that the sons of Nippon have craftily planted munitions stores in the area as indicated by the artist's arrows. These arrows point to only two such dumps. There are a number of others. Note the Red Cross marker, which is the sign of a noncombatant area.
  Bissell added that for the second month in three, the 10th Air Force did not suffer a loss of a plane or a man in action and that, during June, there was not a single attempt at interception, the last costly attempt (May 21) which resulted in either the destruction or damage of 14 Nips of an attacking force of 15, apparently causing the enemy to lick his wounds.
  Despite the monsoon, the 10th Air Force operated every day except seven and accounted for just short of 500 sorties. There were reasons other than weather for the seven days of inaction.
  An important objective destroyed, declared Bissell, was the cotton mills at Allaneymo. Inability to provide machinery replacements has most probably knocked out this vital installation for war's duration.

  Today's Roundup picture page is dedicated to the ladies, bless 'em. On the home front, they're just as beautiful and unpredictable as ever. Many are serving their country as WACs, WAVES, SPARS and Marines and in other numerous lines of war work; they're cooperating with Mr. Stork; they're making the ration coupons stretch as far as possible as homemakers; many are waiting for husband and son to return from the war - all the complexity of things that have amazed mere man from time immemorial.

A quintet of teenage RAMs (Relieve A Man . . . for war work) set out to tackle the odd jobs assigned them.
Shoeless and comfortable, the gal makes a pillow for her sailor boy friend as they rest upon the grass of New York's Central Park.

Benny Goodman, "King of Swing," substitutes a baby bottle for a clarinet as he takes his hand helping wife feed his daughter.
No, lovely Dolores Moran isn't wearing a half-baked hat. It's all baked - from plastic.
Nan Grey, radio and film actress, poses for her first picture with daughter Pamela Ann. She's jockey Jackie Westrope's wife.
Pulchritude may not be a qualification for life guards. But these two misses, who took men's jobs on Chicago's North Shore, don't lack it.
Call them WAVES, SPARS, WACs and Marines, but they're still women and they won't hesitate to admire the latest milady will wear. Still, they're the best-dressed women in the nation now.

Notes From China Base Congrats For Gold Bar

  CHINA AIR BASE - The gang crowding around the operations shack, the rain falling incessantly, and some dope muttering aloud, "Gee, and it's a beautiful day in Chicago" as if we're caring. Which reminds me: Raindrops aren't the only things falling these days. The former "first gadget" of this squadron picked up a gold bar and, naturally enough, placed same bar in a very conspicuous spot so as to adorn the peak of his shirt collar, (Right side, please). He came out with his customary gag, "Well, waddya know?" and from nowhere popped a cigar, a nice, big juicy one that fascinated the doggies to whom it was offered. He is now and ever after to be known as Lt. Kenneth G. Falkner, and we all wish him the success he deserves.
  Pitter and Patter: From the you-know-where comes the you-know-what that Sgts. Sense and Byrd and Cpl. Middlecamp are sweating out O.C.S. phisterums. (There must be something about gold that actually does glitter).
  Acting "first piston" S/Sgt. Wiegel is having a helluva time trying to ruin the Fuller brush man's routine selling insurance to the lads. But he's happy. . .
  S/Sgt. Randerson tearing around hollering, "Where's my hair tonic?" . . . The medics up to their old tricks: Running a guy down and stabbing him with something that remotely resembles a hand-pump used in blowing up dirigibles.

No one but a blind man should have any difficulty discerning why Alice Wallace recently captured the title of "California Sweater Girl for 1943."

Rainy Day Starts G.I. Reminiscing
About What Pals Did Before War


  CHINA BASE - A rainy day usually brings out a man's sentimental side. In our army of civilians - gathered together as a fighting unit to battle for the privilege of being civilians again - every trade and profession has contributed its share. One thinks, as he looks around the room, of how these men are remembered at home . . . Not remembered, certainly, as fighting men, but perhaps as the fellow who left for work each morning, late as usual, or perhaps, as the schoolboy who never got along too well with his teacher, or maybe, just as another guy named Joe. And so we looked back to what our men were doing a couple of years ago, before coming to China with the 14th U.S. Air Force.

  There was Lt. Mark Conn dodging through Times Square traffic on his way to classes at City College of New York . . . and there was T/Sgt. Stan Hodges busy in Alaska, one day logging and the next, perhaps, panning for gold . . . S/Sgt. Bob Monroe in the quiet of the library at Ashland, Ore. . . . Sgt. Bill Yeats sitting as magistrate at Chatham, Va., perhaps listening to a colored gentleman explaining the case of the missing chickens . . .
  Capt. Joe Pavesich photographing gurgling babies and cute society misses in the Windy City . . . M/Sgt. Virg Felegans spraying the blossoms on the apple trees in his Washington orchard . . . Sgt. Glen Zimmerman teaching ruddy-checked lads in Kansas how to score two points on the basketball court . . . Sgt. Terry Palmer seated at a piano in the Baltimore Conservatory of Music practicing some intricate bit of Chopin or Bach . . .
  Maj. Bill Gjerde and Capt. Joe Morrone earnestly pursuing studies at the University of Minnesota, which were later to bring them, respectively, degrees in Medicine and Dentistry . . . S/Sgt. Ike Newport sketching the fishing boats off the Jersey coast he loves so well . . . Maj. Bill Davis busy in his New York brokerage as word comes of a sudden spurt on the Exchange . . . M/Sgt. Johnson still a business college student in his beloved Provo, Utah . . . T/Sgt. Eddie Ottis putting on his best bib and tucker in preparation for an evening of jitterbugging after his day's work with a Utica, N.Y. insurance firm is finished . . . Capt. Bill Szymkowicz deeply engrossed in an engineering problem in Rhode Island . . .
  Sgt. Bill Knowles driving Admiral Stark, his peacetime boss, through the lovely Pocono Mountains

Maj. Grant Mahoney was one of a group of 14th Air Force pilots to receive trophies recently from the Chinese Troops Comforting Association for rendering vital aid in the Hupeh campaign.
in central Pennsylvania . . . S/Sgt. Nat Ackerman hurrying up New York's 7th Ave. with the gait that shows he has a prospective customer for the garment manufacturers he represents . . . S/Sgt. Ed Devries putting the brakes on as he skillfully maneuvers his huge bus down Michigan St. in his native Grand Rapids . . . T/Sgt. Hal Martin hurrying down to Garvey's Pharmacy for a coke before going to work for his dad in the silk mill at Lancaster, Pa. . . Sgt. Fred Swanson braving the breeze from Lake Michigan on his way to his sociology studies at Chicago U . . . M/Sgt. Joe Ceglie pouring over figures on the huge ledgers of the railroad for which he worked up in the Pacific Northwest . . .

  S/Sgt. Bob Carpenter visiting a poor family in a Louisiana farmhouse and obtaining information that will bring food and clothing to them . . . T/Sgt. Frankie Sears at his desk in the General Electric office at Lynn, Mass. . . Col. Bill Ellis, his empty lunch bucket in his hand, stopping at the brightly-lit corner lunchroom for a hamburger after finishing up work on the 3 to 11 shift at a Youngstown, O. steel mill . . .
  S/Sgt. Reno Knebel wiping the sweat from his forehead as he halts the horses pulling the plow over a wide sweep of Iowa farmland . . . Sgt. Mike Polidore stopping at the chain store to buy a few groceries on his way home from work at Macy's in Yonkers, N.Y. - a few things his charming wife phones to tell him she forgot to get when she went shopping that afternoon . . .

  Today, the memories of those tree-lined streets in our hometown mean a lot to us. And its rainy days like these that give us time to think more about them than ever . . . give us time, too, to realize that this is what we're fighting for . . . give us the answer to the question we often ask ourselves, "What in the H- are we doing in China?" . . . Give us the incentive to lick those dirty yellow devils. So we can get back to things we love . . . the things that are America, whether it be Yonkers in New York, Lynwood in Kansas or Ashland in Oregon.

Wounded in action, four members of the Skull and Wings Squadron recently were presented Purple Heart awards by their boss, Maj. Robert D. McCarten.  Left to right: Lts. Patrick A. O'Connell, William X. Zeidler and Paul D. Green and 1st/Sgt. Joseph W. Meier.


  To HQ Squadron of 10th Air Force this week came a group of recruits fresh from the States and to the sun-trained Old Timers of India there came a source of amusement.
  It all started when the new arrivals were lined up in the areaway near the Orderly Room. One of the Old Timers walked among them, examining their clothes closely. Silently, he passed from one to the other until, finally, one of the rookies found his tongue long enough to ask what was going on. The reply came earnestly:
  "Soldier, I'm looking for the guy who wears a tag that names him as my replacement."

  This was only the beginning.
  A short while later, the new men were gathered in the Supply Room awaiting instructions from the Supply Chief, S/Sgt. John R. Shipley. But he paid no attention to them and they were leery of interrupting this sergeant who was busily moving his palm up and down as if he were bouncing a ball on the floor. To the newcomers, no ball was visible. Lt. Harry Morse, could see it, however, for Shipley tossed it to him and they started playing "Hit the Anna." Cpl. Elvis Lott then joined the other two, making it a triangular game.
  Suddenly, Morse started to brush himself off vigorously and the play ceased. Lott immediately followed Morse's example while protesting vehemently: "Won't you stop that, sir? You're getting them all over me."

  The newcomers looked on in amazement. They could see nothing unusual on either the officers or enlisted man and were just about decided that American soldiers in India were slightly sun-slappy when Sgt. Martin Saidikowski ran in, slamming the door quickly behind him.
  "That damn do's been following me all day," he exclaimed in gasps. "Oh, there he is again at the other door."
  And for a full five minutes all was turmoil as officers and supply men started a hectic chase over tables and desks.
  The poor recruits could see no dog and one of them, slightly hysterical, edged toward the door as if ready to bolt. He let loose a shriek when Lott slipped up from behind and started to pick at the G.I.'s uniform with thumb and forefinger. The corporal's question, "Where did you pick up so many dead ones?" did not help to calm the emotionally exhausted soldier.

The above picture displays vividly the results of improper wrapping of packages. Sgt. Lawrence Kavanaugh, of the APO, sorts gifts which might - or might not - reach the addresses.

Story With A Moral:
 By LT. THOMAS A. ENLOE   Assistant Postal Officer

  EAST INDIAN PORT APO - So you didn't get those fur-lined bedroom slippers Aunt Myrtle so thoughtfully mailed you?
  The picture at right showing Sgt. Lawrence Kavanaugh attempting to make order out of postal chaos may help explain why.
  Lt. Col. E. E. White, Theater Postal Officer, estimates that each month there are approximately 500 packages delivered here that must be rewrapped in order to affect delivery to the addressee and that there are approximately 25 packages with the addressee's name and sender's name completely obliterated, precluding any delivery whatsoever.
  Most packages broken and damaged through improper and insufficient wrapping are tediously reassembled, rewrapped and forwarded to the addressees with the contents intact.
  Those with all trace of ownership destroyed or lost are turned over to Special Services for distribution to needy G.I.'s.
  The following is a list of undeliverable items from broken packages which were turned over to Special Services last month: Nut cracker, money belt, Serviceman's manual, bag of nuts, can of cucumbers, two cans of salmon, jar of honey, bundle of pipe cleaners, can of tooth powder, and a spool of thread.
  The moral of this story is to write Aunt Myrtle to wrap all packages doubly secure and then have Uncle Horace jump on them a few times. If they take that O.K., then they should get to you undamaged and intact.


Vincent Stresses Need For Over 500 Planes

 By DANIEL BERRIGAN   United Press War Correspondent

  CHUNGKING - If the 14th U.S. Air Force had three fighters for every bomber they now have in China, the Japanese wouldn't be able to lift a plane from any field within striking distance of Americans. Col. Clinton (Casey) Vincent, 28, commander of the 14th Air Force's Forward Echelon, after making the above statement, pointed out he was .......
  The blue-eyed colonel said, "We need not less than 500 fighters and bombers for defensive and offensive operations. With that many airplanes, we could make the Japanese wish they'd never thought of coming to China."
  Fighters are Casey's first love and whenever possible he flies his own P-40 on raids. He said, "The fighters have done more damage in China than the bombers because they make the enemy pay a toll every time they are out on a mission. Our fighters have an amazing record: More than 12 Japanese planes to one American. American fighters are doing to the Japs in the air what the Chinese guerillas are doing on the ground. Of course, we want to change that to steady pounding."
  Vincent added, "They are purely defensive weapons which accomplish the purpose by offensive action - hit them before they hit us, and when they do hit us, make them pay so heavily that it won't be worth it."
  American pilots in China fly over one of the worst terrains Allied pilots are meeting anywhere in the world. Vincent said, "China is more hazardous because the terrain is bad and much of it is uncharted, without outstanding landmarks, and existing maps are inadequate. Also, the weather is so changeable. China makes a rugged field for combat operations, especially for fighters."

  Maj. Allen P. Forsyth, 28, commander of the oldest medium bomber squadron in China, whose outfit went into action over a year ago with three Hankow raids before the American Army was officially operating here, spoke up for B-25 Mitchells. The husky, serious, blonde major said, "In the past year we've kept the Japanese air force deployed by ranging over targets along a 2,000-mile front. Our squadrons have been fluid - one day striking at a Japanese base at one spot, and the next day hitting them 1,000 miles away. This way we have kept them occupied over the entire front. The damage we have done to the Japanese is incidental, but we are a harassing force that they can't ignore."
  First working with the AVG and then with Army fighters for protection, Forsyth's squadron struck the Japanese from Hankow to Mandalay, making all stops between. The arrival of heavy bombers recently increased the 14th Air Force's range, Forsyth pointed out, and the Japanese now are forced to be alert at bases beyond the Mitchells' range "whether they are hit or not."

  Illustrating the range of medium bombers operating from China bases, Forsyth said, "We once hit Lashio in the morning and in the afternoon of the same day bombed Canton." Forsyth's squadron have been on 76 missions since coming to China last year. Out of this number, Forsyth has piloted a bomber on 39 of them. The squadron's gunners have confirmed destroyed 10 attacking Japanese planes.
  Forsyth declared, "We could do something here, if we had ground forces powerful enough to hold the places we reduce. That is what we need out here."

‘Spit And Polish’ Days Of Peace Plague IATF Hq

  IATF HEADQUARTERS - Old "spit and polish" days of the peacetime Army were with us again last week when the boys here were ordered to rummage through their "B" bag and haul forth any firearms or gas masks there present for an inspection of same.
  Strange was the sight of soldiers who have yet to fire a round fumbling with the intricacies of the venerable Springfield or shaking big black beetles out of their dust-filled gas mask holders.
  Cpl. "Ardent" Clark was discovered groping 'neath his bunk, flashlight in hand, and rifle cleaning materials scattered all about. "I've got the thing all back together," he explained, "But I'm sure there's one piece left over."

  S/Sgt. Roscoe Alexander, that solemn soul from Pioche, Nev., sweated and grappled with a ramrod which had jammed tightly in the barrel of his "piece." "Slick" finally won out, but the rod came out with the slotted end neatly chewed off.

Maj. Gen. Clayton L. Bissell, left, Commanding General of the 10th Air Force, looks sufficiently solemn as he welcomes to his office Gen. Sir Claude Auchinleck, newly-appointed British Commander-in-Chief in India.

  Came the day of the big game, however, and those presiding strode through the barracks past the martial array laid out on the beds. Gun barrels were squinted into, chambers explored with fingers for grease, and gas masks checked for punctures. The final verdict was "Not Good," and the naughty ones who had corruption in their carbines got three days on the Reservation to mull it over. Terms of the order were: "NCO club, day room, and local cinema off limits, only barracks and latrine in bounds after duty hours."

  Scarcely chastened, however, was the bunch of the boys who proceeded to whoop it up in the yard outside the barracks that night. When things lagged after an exhibition of front yard tumbling by Sgt. Bernie Hoekstra and Cpl. Emil Jacobson, billed as the "Two Ponderous Pachyderms," Sgt, Broda Davis turned to a buddy and said, "Well, nothing else to do, let's take the long walk to the latrine." Later on, the clever devils had a phonograph brought over and then got "Pop," the most ancient of bearers, to booting them glasses of lemonade by the dozen from the NCO clubroom. In the end it was a regular picnic, complete even to the ants.

Letter To The Editor

  A couple of weeks back, ye ed, moved to abysmal depths of self-pity, devoted an entire editorial page column acquainting all and sundry with the varied woes born out of his opening Roundup mail - the indignities suffered, the heart-wrenching tuggings at his sympathy, the subtle little attempts at flattery, ad infinitum. Now along comes the following gem. Chums, and you think you have worries:
  After reading your column (which I enjoy almost as much as good American beer) for several months, I have come to the conclusion that it is my duty to bring to your attention the fact that you have one

Did you ever love me dear
Or did you only want to hear
Me tell you just how sweet you are
And how much lovelier by far
Than any flower ever grown
Or anything this earth has known?
Now if that's all you really wanted,
I wish to Heaven you'd have hunted
Until you found some other punk
To send you all that doggoned junk;
Then he, not me, would be this screwy
From feeding you that gooey hooey.
ardent admirer - namely, me. When you stated that never did you receive a letter entirely devoid of criticism, I was brought to the verge of tears. Now my admiration of your literary talent is such that I feel I can honestly offer the highest commendation for your column. These writings of your are brilliant masterpieces - no less. I want you to know, Ye Ed, that I was not prompted to write this out of sorrow for lack of appreciation shown your work (nor have I any axe to grind). No, rather I feel sorry for the poor layman who is unable to fully and completely enjoy the intensely interesting work you put forth, so unselfishly for their benefit. Let me conclude by saying that if, like many great artists, you are to go through life unrecognized and unrewarded, then please be consoled with the fact that you shall be acknowledged and rewarded as you so richly deserve . . . in the life to come.
  I offer here with a number of words to be used as you see fit. My idea is to use them in retaliation for the mistreatment you suffered at the hands of your readers. Either print them or merely threaten to.


A quiet street, a shady lawn;
The milkman's cart at streak of dawn;
I raise the curtain, greet the sun,
And breathe the cool refreshing air.
The morning breeze has gaily flung
The scent of lilacs everywhere.
I don some slacks and quietly creep
To wet my feet in morning dew.
The sleepy birds begin to peep;
The colored sky yields now to blue.
I'm free to dream - to plan once more,
As freedom's youth has planned before,
To see my folks, my friends - my love
How long - how long - dear God above?
Road repairing Indian style
With hoes they do their patching
Though mostly lean on tools, the while
Scratching, scratching, scratching.
Squatting 'round a charcoal blaze
Within small huts of thatching
Enveloped in smoky haze,
Mechanically scratching.
In dingy shops they mull and crowd
With tradesmen sharp wits matching,
Gesticulating, haggling loud
And scratching, scratching, scratching.
Siesta time they sprawl about
Fitful slumber snatching
They cannot even sleep without
Scratching, scratching, scratching.
Dear President I am with hope
This S.O.S. dispatching
Lease-Lend a billion cakes of soap
To stop this blank, blank scratching.
Necessity, or maybe fad,
I don't know, but it's catching
Ye Gods I'm slowly going mad,
Scratching, scratching, scratching.
Under the deep blue Bengalese sky
Where the ships go out to sea
Sits a potter's maid where shadows lie
And she waits there just for me.
With slender fingers she moulds her clay
Into smooth, round water jars.
But her thoughts are with me across the bay
And her dark eyes shine like stars.
Alone in the hot, bright noon so still
I ride down the amethyst foam,
Counting the slow golden hours until
I can set my sails for home.
When the reluctant sun goes down
Like a blossom drowned in wine,
Back I turn toward the little town,
For the night is hers and mine.
The purpling dusk is spent before
My rudder cleaves the sands,
But there she waits on the darkening shore
Holding love in both her hands.
I furl the butterfly wings of my boat.
Impatient each breath we're apart
I kiss her lips and her soft brown throat
And there's thunder within my heart.

Mess Cleaned

  Following an editorial which appeared in the Roundup concerning the sorry condition of a transient mess in Northeast Assam, a complete investigation was made.
  Capt. Carl G. Arnold, Asst. Theater Special Services Officer, was sent to the mess and took over. The place has now been completely reorganized, personnel shifted, new bashas constructed, brick walls installed and the kitchen cleaned up.
  As of the first of this week, it was a good mess.


  For the information of all you amateur jewel experts who've been making paper profits out of investments in star saphires and star rubies, the following is offered:
  An officer, formerly stationed in this Theater, bought a set star ruby for Rs. 1,320. He recently returned it to another officer in this Theater asking him to return it to Ganeshi Lal, the vendor, and get his money back (that's for laughs!)
  The stone had been appraised by Tiffany's and other New York jewelers, bringing a concensus that it is worth about $100. These little baubles for which you pay $1 a carat are worth about $3. Profitable?


  INDIA AIR BASE - Sgt. Harry E. Fitzgerald isn't complaining, mind you, that the movies are slightly ancient in this neck of the woods. However, hearken to his terse comment:
  "We've sat through Gentleman Jim (the life of James J. Corbett) three times, and the boys are now laying odds on Sullivan in the next battle, for they figure that after 63 rounds he should have figured out a way to solve Corbett's style." - By Cpl. LEE KRUSKA.


  ASSAM - Here is our laugh of the week.
  When Capt. Nathan Shiffman opened his personal laundry, he found a beautiful, newly-laundered pink brassiere. Best of all, it had his own laundry mark on it.
  He is still wondering how it got there, and we are wondering what he did with it. - By Lt. SAMUEL B. JERVIS.

Ration Policy

  It has come to the attention of the "Policy Department" of the Roundup that (oh infamy) our folks at home are being forced to pony up ration coupons to get those cans of coffee and other consumer goods we are sending.
  Inasmuch as ships returning to the States skip blithely over the waves in a state of sheer emptiness, we can see no particular reason why the cabin boy's locker shouldn't carry a few pairs of Kashmir slippers, cans of sugar or coffee or any other goodies designed to bolster the home morale and alleviate shortages in the bloody battle of continental America.
  The assumption, naturally, is that rationing was designed to conserve the national larder, mitigate waste and make sure that he whose pockets bulge with that happy cabbage shall not buy 10 pairs of shoes while the poverty-stricken coal miner stubs a bare toe on the cobblestones of wartime scarcity.
  To us, it seems that even a primary school intellect would reach the conclusion that an empty bottom is more wasteful than a bottom carrying even a few pounds of goods to America.
  The husband, preparing to return jaded to his job in war work, must depart often without that bracer of black coffee. This is particularly critical if he is suffering from a night of settling the war over a bottle of bourbon whiskey which, we hear, is still available at terrible prices of $3 per quart. A can of Indian coffee will aid his morale, because he will realize that the boy in CBI thinks of him in his travail even though he may retch languidly down the drain after the second sip.
  We don't know who is responsible for this. Is it the OPA, the WFA, the Treasury Department? Who knows? We will say without equivocation, however, that the busy little bureaucrat who conceived the idea is a little silly and would be given an appropriate reception should he come to this Theater in search of a campaign ribbon during the cool of the winter.
  Many of our soldiers are in places where it is difficult if not impossible to spend any appreciable amount of their pay. These men, having money on their hands and letters from home telling of the difficulties to obtain many items available in India, have, with characteristic American generosity, purchased same for transshipment. It's a trifle irritating to discover that instead of adding to the family larder, the gifts have merely been a usually inferior substitute for what could have been had at home for the same ration tickets. All that has been saved is a few cents or a few dollars in the family exchequer.
  We would like to see something done about this and the above is by way of a gentle hint. We feel that some of Washington's great minds could forget the coming Presidential election long enough to give this matter a thought. We can't see how it could take longer than 15 minutes to write the necessary letter rescinding this business.

The C.B.I. Roundup is a weekly newspaper published by and for the men of the United States Army Forces in China, Burma, and India, from news and pictures supplied by staff members, soldier correspondents, the United Press and Office of War Information. The Roundup is published Thursday of each week and is printed by The Statesman in New Delhi, India. Editorial matter should be sent directly to Lt. Floyd Walter, Rear Echelon Hq., U.S.A.F., C.B.I., New Delhi, and should arrive not later than Monday in order to make that week's issue. Pictures must arrive by Sunday and must be negatives or enlargements. Stories should contain full name and organization of sender.

JULY  8,  1943    

Original issue of C.B.I. Roundup shared by the family of CBI Veteran John Sunne

Copyright © 2009 Carl Warren Weidenburner