Violet’s Journal
S UNDAY , 27 TH J ANUARY , 1929
My feet have scarcely touched the ground since I last had a chance to write up my journal. And I can say that with some literal truth too! I’m sitting at a table in the foyer of the Grand Victoria Hotel, Delhi, beneath a large ceiling fan, in the hope of finding a little respite from the heat. The fan turns only sluggishly, barely stirring the soupy air, but it is at least not as hot as my bedroom upstairs, which is like an oven. The hotel has seen better days and the ‘Grand’ in its name is definitely stretching things. But after a whole week of flights and airport hotels I’m just grateful to have got this far. The Imperial Airways route hopped from France to Italy, Greece and Egypt and by the time we flew onwards to Baghdad, Karachi, Jodhpur – such exotic names to conjure with! – and finally Delhi, I had completely lost all sense of what day it was, never mind which country we were in. Despite the arduous journey and a good deal of nausea, as the planes lurched and swooped so very wildly at times, the novelty of flying didn’t wear off one bit. I sat with my nose glued to the window as we passed over snowy mountain ranges, followed winding rivers, and crossed vast tracts of dusty desert as well as the bluest seas I’ve ever seen. I wanted to appear a seasoned and confident traveller to my fellow passengers, but I’m sure my rapt concentration on the landscapes unfurling beneath us as we bounced from one stop to the next must have given away my inexperience.
What a miracle it seems, to have been flung through the ether like that and arrived in the heat of India within a week of leaving the Scottish winter. I’ve written to Hetty to let her know I’ve got this far safely and tell her my extra bit of good news. A husband and wife boarded the plane at Karachi and were seated across the aisle from me, so naturally we got talking. They are missionaries, on their way to Kathmandu, and their church has managed to arrange a flight in a mail plane to transport them there from Delhi. They’ve kindly asked their local contact to find me a seat on their flight, which leaves tomorrow. It has cost me almost the last of the money Hetty gave me but saves me staying here longer to arrange trains and buses, so I’m sure it’s worth it. And so, by the time Hetty receives my letter, I will have met up with Callum and am confident I shall be well on the way to establishing a base for myself in some suitable spot whilst he goes off exploring.
The gong has just been rung for dinner, so I must stop now. The food has been unexciting so far – more along the lines of boiled beef and potatoes than the exotic cuisine for which this country is renowned. Mulligatawny soup is about as spicy as it gets in the dining room at the Grand Victoria Hotel. It nourishes my baby, though, so I try to eat heartily even though I have the most dreadful heartburn when I lie down in my bed at night. It’s probably partly nerves and too much excitement at the thought of seeing Callum so very soon. I must re-pack my case after supper, ready for tomorrow.
Kathmandu at last! I can hardly believe it.