Parte 008 - PAMPHLET 001 008

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At Calcutta Airport was to address at 4.0 p.m. Most of them were young and had joined the Communist Party while they were studying in England. Now any public speaker, if he cares to tell the truth, is always interested in how many people he will be talking to. And being a Truthful James I asked the simple question and received the reply, “100,000 at the least.” I looked at the comrade and he looked at me. No words were spoken, but I could not help thinking of what I always tell the British comrades when they say “Harry, we’ve booked another hall for an overflow,” and I always make the reply, “Fill the hall you’ve got, and it will be fine.” Off we went to a kind of huge Hyde Park. I couldn’t see a thing for people. I had to fight my way to the platform, and was exhausted when I got there. But then the sight of that vast audience! Talk about a little drop of what you fancy does you good—I felt I was walking on air. When I had to mount a raised platform and “show my face,” I just couldn’t see where the audience ended. I wondered if an Attlee or a Deakin could command such an audience anywhere in the world. The garlanding and gifts of bouquets came to an end. One com- rade gave me a splendid piece of sculpture of Comrade Stalin he had made, and then I was called upon to say a few words. 14 They lasted non-stop for an hour. It seemed half of the audience could follow me in English. The “Internationale” was sung, then I mounted the dais again. took out my handkerchief, à la Tom Mann, and called for “Three cheers for peace that will be heard in Washington,” and I’m sure they were—and that was that. Or was it? Tired? Not arf! Happy? Twice over! Goodnight! December 21. FIRST thought this morning is to try to remember how many years it is since I first began to send congratulatory telegrams to Com- rade Stalin on the occasion of his birthday, which would have been today. Therefore glad to see the Communist Party daily newspaper in Calcutta had made a feature of this fact in its issue today. Up as usual. Then to make a speech to the Bengal Provincial Conference of the Communist Party. Garlanded no end. This time with a difference. The flowers seemed to be tiny lotus; their perfume was enchanting, and I was informed that they are called “Nights of Fragrance.” Then to inspect the Party office, the Party bookshop, and the Party press. There everything is hand-set, and I only wish everyone em- ployed on the Daily Worker could see the conditions under which our Calcutta comrades get their daily newspaper out. It would make them all think, and no mistake. Part of the Calcutta Demonstration 15