Vol. IV No. 14 Reg. No. L5015 Delhi, Thursday, December 13, 1945
AAF HQ., HASTINGS MILL - We are leaving here for the States tomorrow. Before we go we want the G.I.'s left behind to know how we WACs really felt about our life here.
I think I speak for most of the WACs at Hastings when I challenge the statements made several weeks ago by three WACs in New York returning from this base. Either they were trying to get their names in the paper at any cost, or they were unsuccessfully trying to be funny, when they said "life here was rough."
Like any other G.I.'s we didn't like being in the Army, nor did we enjoy being 13,000 miles away from home. But we do have enough sense to appreciate the "good deal" we had in comparison with the way G.I.'s had to live up in Assam or over in Burma.
It is true that Hastings is a converted jute mill. But our Army moved heaven and earth to make this place comfortable for the WACs BEFORE we got here. While G.I.'s in other parts of the Theater were sleeping in pup tents and fox holes, we were in beds in a dry, brick cement building. Right on this base, male G.I.'s lived in hot tents, while our barracks has fans. We even had bathtubs installed in our barracks, and toward the end, hot running water.
The food? Well, the Army never promised us breakfast in bed, and we didn't get it. G.I. chow is G.I. chow. But a lot of our husbands and sweethearts were eating cold K rations while we sat down to fresh meat, even if it might have been water buffalo.
It seems odd that the three WACs who made the American newspapers forgot so soon about the hamburgers, eggs, cookies and iced drinks at the Snort Club; about comfortable chairs at the Red Cross; about the movies three times a week.
If there was ever a WAC at Hastings who didn't get to Calcutta, it was because she was too lazy to catch the bus that went in every hour.
And, of course, there were thousands of G.I.'s who were more than delighted to take WACs places. As far as social life was concerned, I am sure we were a lot better off than many Stateside gals who lived thru the darkest days of the male shortage.
So, "au revoir" to I-B Theater. Thanks to all the G.I.'s who were so swell. Now that we're going home, we can appreciate the fact that it was fun. And please - brother G.I.'s - don't get us wrong. We appreciate the "good deal" we had in comparison with that suffered by most of you.
A Nurse’s Tribute
One night in October life slipped away forever from an American boy lying in a bamboo and concrete basha ward at the 20th General Hospital in Ledo.
As she stood above his bed, Lt. Jo Holod, now of the 142nd Hospital in Calcutta, was struck by the tragedy she, as the boy's night nurse, had witnessed. A short time later she wrote the following tribute to that nameless youngster.
Death has come and taken its lot and left nothing
Save a vacant bed, a quiet ward, and a few thoughts
That still occupy the minds of those who card for him.
Save a few mental pictures - a young boy, robbed of his share of joyful living, robbed of future cares and sorrows
His glassy eyes not seeing, his fevered skin not feeling
The last few comforting measures administered by a solemn khaki nurse
Who then placed a rosary in his limp hand and blessed him
And before the jackal's morning cry, his lifeless body, in its muslin shroud
Was jolted down the muddy desolate jungle path
The stretcher-bearers, silent, each with his thoughts
Journeyed on to the dark cold morgue which would absorb the human warmth
Till the body within its concrete walls would likewise become hard and gray
Autopsy chapel services and then the grave - to be watered by countless monsoons
A lonely grave in India, at which his still unknowing mother would never kneel in prayer
When did his soul depart, where to, and why?
Who caused his untimely death - the typhus mite or gluttonous man?
I can not say - I only know that death has visited here
And the night is empty and still.
|Here, Roundup WAC writer, Sgt. Dorajean Ellis, spends an evening at the Snort Club. When this was taken T/Sgt. Morris Glazier and Pfc. Eugene Stumbers were doing the "oohing" and the "aawing." In the center, one tries out the piano at the Swelter Shelter, the Red Cross Club at Hastings Mill and attempts to persuade Dorajean to sing. And at right, it is "salaam and farewell" to the ayah. Cpl. Waneda McLemore helps Dorajean say goodbye to Hastings Mill. Things don't look so rough, do they?|
NOMINATE ‘UNCLE JOE’
We, the departed members of the Roundup staff, say farewell and thanks to you officers and men of the Theater. Whatever the Roundup was, you made it possible. We wish good luck to the new staff and know it will receive your full cooperation.
To one man, especially our vote for a Pulitzer journalism award for his fighting belief in freedom of the press and his hatred of intolerance. He founded the Roundup as the first Army newspaper overseas. His only instructions were: "If you can prove it, print it." Gen. Joseph W. Stilwell never budged an inch from that stand.
Maj. Floyd Walter (San Francisco News)
Capt. Boyd Sinclair (Ft. Worth Press)
M/Sgt. Fred Friendly (WEAN, Providence)
S/Sgt. John McDowell (Los Angeles Times)
S/Sgt. Charles Clark (Ft. Worth Star-Telegram)