"مذكرات وذكريات مسؤول في الخدمة السياسية الهندية" [و‎‎٥‎٤] (١٥٦/١٠٧)

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CHAPTER 10: THE END OF THE WAR AND THE WRITING ON THE WALL
I remember the day when news reached us of the dropping of the atomic bombs on Nagasaki
and Hiroshima. We were dumbfounded and quite horrified when the magnitude of loss of
life and destruction was brought home to us. Within a few days came the further news
of the capitulation of Japan and the end of the war in the Far East. At last the
Second Great War was finally over. It had lasted over six and a half years. During
the whole of this time we had been in India without home leave. Our three sons had
all been born during that period, each of them in an Indian State in the Residency
where I had been serving; Jodhpur (Rajputana), Hyderabad and Rajkot (Kathiawar).
Now that it was all over, our thoughts turned to home leave. However, it soon became
clear that we civilians were at the end of a long waiting list for sea passages.
Priority had to be accorded to the many thousands of British soldiers and airmen serving
in the India/Burma theatre of war. Shipping and transportation were still controlled
by the military authorities, and there were not enough ships to go around to satisfy
everyone. So there were delays for all concerned, and this caused resentment in certain
quarters, particularly amongst the fighting forces who were insisting on early evacua
tion, demobilisation, and return to civilian life. There was even a mutiny in certain
units of the RAF in South East Asia, particularly those connected with signal communica
tions. As far as I can remember the trouble started in Singapore soon after its re
occupation by the British and communicated itself to other servicemen in RAF bases on the
air routes to England. The affair was hushed up at the time, and I have never heard
it mentioned since, but it was a sign of the general malaise which prevailed at the
end of the war.
But, apart from the universal desire to forget about the war and to get back to peace
time conditions (it will be remembered that Churchill's coalition government had been
defeated in the General Election after V.E. Day and had been replaced by a Socialist
Government), the British officials serving in India were faced with a bleak and anxious
future. The days of the British Raj were now numbered. It was obvious that Attlee's
Labour Government was determined to sever the British connection with India once and
for all, whatever the cost might prove to be in human lives and suffering, which most
of us considered inevitable as power was transferred to Indian politicians obsessed
with fears JL what the Hindus might do to the Muslims, and vice versa.
I remember Cyril Hancock lunching with us in our Baroda house on his return from a
conference of Residents in New Delhi which had been addressed by the Viceroy, Lord
Wavell. The Residents had been told that Indian Independence was inevitable in a year or
so and that we British ex-patriate officials would then find themselves at the end of
their careers. It was only then that I recalled the interview that I had in London in
1928 with Lord Hailey, that great Indian Proconsul and a personal friend of my father,
when he had prophetically warned me that I could not expect a full career in India as
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