|Lt. Col. Raymond Wiseheart and Lt. Ernst discuss with two Indian workers why a temple must be raised to build the air service base.|
|Cpl. Rufus Warren is the radio receiving and sending operator in the control tower of the base.|
|Mess Sergeant Electo Schexnider receives the daily supply of fruits and vegetable brought in by coolies by ox cart.|
|Signal repair men are busy stringing communication lines for the new air service base.|
|Sgt. Anthony Guzio checks to see whether anyone has consorted with a malarial mosquito. He stepped in when the medical officer became ill.|
|Mohd Din gives Sgt. Frank Skufcu a haircut, Indian-style. There's no conversation about baseball and politics.|
|Construction of one of the taxi-ways is in progress under the supervision of S/Sgt. Owen R. Miller. The main runway is already in use by U.S. planes, although not "officially" completed.|
’TIL ITS OVER
I want to stay here 'til its over.
I want to stick it 'til we're through.
Don't you know we live in clover.
Luxurious in Elysian dew?
Don't you know when bands are playing.
Don't you know, with headlines splaying.
That we're a most contented crew?
Don't you know that war is heaven?
Don't you know it's quite a lark?
Toss the dice; our number's seven.
Your glasses please - the future's dark?
Yes, we miss our home, our people;
The beauteous gal around the square;
The chiming clock in Town Hall steeple;
A country road; a county fair.
Jumping juke-box with a boogie break;
The Philadelphia Symphony;
A cherry coke; a juicy steak;
Manhattan - blaring tympani.
The thud of a punt; the crack of a bat;
A dog - red hot; a chocolate milk;
Padded shoulders; a pert little hat;
Canadian Club, as smooth as silk.
But why go on - the die is cast.
Why hesitate, or why deceive?
We're here until all danger's past;
We want no interim reprieve.
You can read it in the papers.
See gangplank movies for mufti gapers.
Read the feature eriter's capers.
He'll tell you what we all believe.
- By Sgt. MILTON MARGOLIS
*Inspired by a recent letter written by two Assam G.I.'s and published in the Roundup.
THAT YANK FISHERMAN
There is a Yank in China
Who really loves to fish
He said when he went after one
It was as good as in his dish.
So I went angling with him
Near the (Censored) River span
Where the fish are so plentiful
They sprawl upon the sand.
He sat on the edge of the nice green bank
And hurled out his trusty line
"It won't be long now, boy," said he
"Before we two shall dine."
After sitting there dreaming
Of the wonderful fish I'd guzzle
I began to wonder
If the damn things wore a muzzle.
For we sat there for five hours
Until the glittering moon came out.
His line didn't even wiggle
Of that there was no doubt.
Then I wish you could have been there
As he sought an alibi
He said, "Now listen, soldier,
You know I wouldn't lie;
"It surely must have been the bait-
It couldn't have been me;
For I'm the greatest fisherman
That you shall ever see."
I really learned a lesson
From this Yank's drastic deal;
Now I never go on fishing trips
Unless I bring my meal.
- By Cpl. LEONARD F. SMITH
LINES WRITTEN IN ACCORD WITH A CERTAIN POLICY OF THIS THEATER
Although you're a beautiful hunk of a soldier
And Heaven's inside your embrace
And your bank book makes interesting reading.
Plus the fact that you have an honest face.
Don't put in for Official Permission
I'll say Maybe, or may be smilingly mute.
'Til I've seen you, my G(overnment) I(ssue).
In a twenty-two fifty civilian suit.
- By Lt. ELIZABETH SHAUNTY, A.N.C.
EAST INDIA REST CAMP - Out of the steaming jungles of northeastern Assam to the cool mountainous heights of this rest camp came tall, tanned T/Sgt. William L. Boarman. From the opposite direction came another man, equally deserving of the forthcoming few weeks of rest after an arduous year of missionary work in the heat of Bengal. He wore the white cloak of the Holy Cross Fathers of Notre Dame, Ind.
One full week passed before the missionaries heard of the American rest camp and came inquiring about names and home towns of the soldiers. Upon finding Sgt. Boarman, they told him news which incited him to hail a taxi and speed toward the missionaries' summer rest home. There on the porch the two men met. It had been six years since older brother Rev. Leon Boarman left the United States and family at Owensboro, Ky., to come to India. Christmas was the last he had heard from Bill.
The following hours were spent in conversation regarding home. Questions were fired by the white-garbed brother in his Bengali-acquired accent and answered in the slow Kentucky drawl of khaki-clad brother Bill.
In addition to his missionary work in the jungles, Rev. Boarman is a chaplain for a British air field in Bengal. - By Pvt. GARRETT H. COPE
GIVEN BY STILWELL
Speaking before the assembled staff officers of the Rear Echelon in New Delhi, the general brought up the subject toward the end of his remarks. He said:
"The Roundup has been criticized recently on the ground that some of its articles are prejudicial to discipline. I feel the Roundup is a safety valve in this theater and we need one.
"Consequently, I had a talk with the editors and the paper's policy of criticism will continue as in the past within the bounds of good sense. So, expect to take a criticism once in a while if you've got one coming."