A LETTER from INDIA - by Lt. James Lynch - 1944
"The same old Jimmy, always kidding," chuckled former fellow-workers at
the News Capitol upon receipt of a letter from 2nd. Lt. James M. Lynch,
U. S. Army Signal Corps, now located "somewhere in India."
Some
of the sights and "smells" of India were described in humorous fashion
in the airmail letter by the former News-Advertiser reporter, who is
the son of Mr. and Mrs. James M. Lynch of 208 South Paint street.
Excerpts from the letter, which was only six days enroute, follow:
"Great
place, India! You can smell parts of it for miles. It is rumored that
one native fell into the ocean once---but I'm sure that's the closest
any of them ever got to a bath. My hygiene teacher in grade school
would go into a fit if she realized the nearness to each and every type
of disease one of her pupils is. However, she need not worry, as the
army has punctured my arms with so many needles I look like a pin
cushion that gramma discarded after 50 years of loyal service, and
through my blood run more chemicals than any drug store has in the Old
Capitol.
"But seriously, as in all cities, there is the good and
the not so good part and nosey Lynch had to see how the other half
lives. So, mounting my trusty British-made bike, I pedalled through
some of the narrow streets to learn about India for four annas (about 8
cents) an hour.
"Well, first, sanitary conditions aren't. Also
it seems that there are more people than there are houses, so a great
number make their bed where they are when the desire to sleep arises.
That may be on the sidewalk, doorstep, church step, park, etc., except
the gutter or curb stone. Understand, the curb made a great head rest
for them until the U. S. army came to town; too many GI hell-drivers in
army trucks now to sleep there with any feeling of security.
"There
are also a few residents of this place who are either too poor to own
anything or just don't care to have their laundry sent out. So they
have solved the problem by just not wearing anything except what they
had when they were born. Kind of startling, but you get used to it.
"Begging
here has reached its highest notch as an honorable profession and the
competition is fierce. When an American strolls down the main drag he
is usually followed by at least 10---all saying: "No mommy, no poppy,
no sister, no brother, hungry; you rich American give!" When you refuse
711 times, they finally give up, and utter an oath usually heard in the
American home only when father hits his thumb with a hammer. However,
if you should give them some money, hoping to get rid of the pests,
then you find that instead of losing 10, the number has grown to 50.
"The
shoe shine boys are the same. Let one shine your shoes in an effort to
get rid of the orphanage following you and you immediately have the
student body of the whole town at your throat. Solution to this problem
is to select a shop along the street, go in and buy something and then
just stay in the store and wait them out.
"At first I was a bit
embarrassed by the tribe following me and begging and pleading to have
my shoes shined, till I noticed that each American on the street had
his own family around him.
"The trip over was wonderful. I
enjoyed every bit of it---and I'll bet some of you would rather come
the way I did. Much more comfortable, faster, not crowded, cool and you
see a lot more. Just think, I've been to South America, Africa and now
India---that's something for me. I've met some swell fellows on the
way, too, and am happy to say most of the fellows I'm with here are
aces."
••• from the Private Press of Dave Webb, Chillicothe, Ohio
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