WASHINGTON - (UP) - Informed that her column in the CBO Roundup had been suppressed, Clare Boothe Luce issued the following statement:
"It is with deep regret that I am informed my column in the Roundup
"I felt I had been completely fair and unbiased in my presentation of the Washington scene but it is now clear that I must have been in the hair of those who are not anxious to have our men overseas know how many people feel about the home front.
"To all loyal readers of the Roundup; to your able and courageous editors; to the men of Stilwell; hail and farewell. My pen is no longer at your service in CBI but it is and always will be here at home."
|Five G.I.'s arriving at the main gateway, are picked off by an ubiquitos guide.|
|Through the main gate, the Taj is framed in the distance.|
|The best-known view of the Taj - along the mirror pool. The famous dome is now temporarily defaced by wartime scaffolding.|
|Descending the marble stairs to the "holy of holies," the mausoleum.|
|The Taj is "holy ground," so felt slippers must cover G.I. shoes before entering. A temple priest points out the beauties of the intricately-carved tombs.|
|Looking up at three G.I.'s on balcony of one of the minarets.|
|Could be New York - from the angle of the heads of the visiting firemen.|
|Looking back at the gateway, along the mirror pool, from the Taj.|
|An old American custom. Two G.I.'s carve initials on the pinnacle, 260 feet up.|
Her green-and-silver sari liquefied
In subtleties of motion, while she bore
A basket of ripe mangoes on her head;
Each footstep jingled ankle-bells she wore.
The burden cast a shadow for dark eyes
Whose frightened look turned not to me the while
But to a fruit stall in the town bazaar;
Nor did her sun-bronzed cheek betray a smile.
Between her brows, the bright red dot recalled
The sun that dawns for men of every race...
What barrier is there between one's heart
And beauty one beholds in any face?
- Sgt. G. ELWOOD JONES
Although we're for the Cause of Labor
And Policies like the Good Neighbor
We do not think the time is ripe
For miners to pow-wow and gripe.
We realize the digger's lot
Is many things it should be not
They probably have ailing wives
Who lead appalling, sordid lives
And have to bear with grievous ills
Like food and baby doctor bills.
But we who fight, do not think well
Of strikers and their chief, John L.
It takes a just a month to earn
The weekly wage which miners spurn
Oh, we are not complaining, thanks,
But just would like the guns and tanks
The strikers hold up, day by day
Because they cannot have more pay.
And with the Japs across the Hump
It seems to us that just a lump
Of coal to help us now and then
Is small to ask from fellow men.
You delvers into anthracite
Are free to exercise the right
To bargain with your boss for more;
BUT WAIT UNTIL WE'VE WON THE WAR!
- By Sgt. SMITH DAWLESS
THE MESS HALL DIRGE
Oh, the walls are dirty
The seats are hard
And spread all over
With chutney and lard.
The floor is muddy
The table's wet
My mess-kit's the greatest
I've seen yet.
I've lost my appetite
I can't eat
The bugs in the tea
Had filthy feet.
When duration is over
My six months are through
I'll polish my fork 'til it
Shines like new.
I'll inspect my plate with
A critical eye
And eat with the hogs
In the old pig sty!
- By H. R. N.
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