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WASHINGTON - (UP) - Informed that her column in the CBO Roundup had been suppressed, Clare Boothe Luce issued the following statement: "It is with deep regret that I am informed my column in the Roundup
"I felt I had been completely fair and unbiased in my presentation of the Washington scene but it is now clear that I must have been in the hair of those who are not anxious to have our men overseas know how many people feel about the home front. "To all loyal readers of the Roundup; to your able and courageous editors; to the men of Stilwell; hail and farewell. My pen is no longer at your service in CBI but it is and always will be here at home." |
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Five G.I.'s arriving at the main gateway, are picked off by an ubiquitos guide. |
Through the main gate, the Taj is framed in the distance. |
The best-known view of the Taj - along the mirror pool. The famous dome is now temporarily defaced by wartime scaffolding. |
Descending the marble stairs to the "holy of holies," the mausoleum. |
The Taj is "holy ground," so felt slippers must cover G.I. shoes before entering. A temple priest points out the beauties of the intricately-carved tombs. |
Looking up at three G.I.'s on balcony of one of the minarets. |
Could be New York - from the angle of the heads of the visiting firemen. |
Looking back at the gateway, along the mirror pool, from the Taj. |
An old American custom. Two G.I.'s carve initials on the pinnacle, 260 feet up. |
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HINDU FRUIT-GIRL Her green-and-silver sari liquefied In subtleties of motion, while she bore A basket of ripe mangoes on her head; Each footstep jingled ankle-bells she wore. The burden cast a shadow for dark eyes Whose frightened look turned not to me the while But to a fruit stall in the town bazaar; Nor did her sun-bronzed cheek betray a smile. Between her brows, the bright red dot recalled The sun that dawns for men of every race... What barrier is there between one's heart And beauty one beholds in any face? - Sgt. G. ELWOOD JONES |
OBSERVATION
Although we're for the Cause of Labor And Policies like the Good Neighbor We do not think the time is ripe For miners to pow-wow and gripe. We realize the digger's lot Is many things it should be not They probably have ailing wives Who lead appalling, sordid lives And have to bear with grievous ills Like food and baby doctor bills. But we who fight, do not think well Of strikers and their chief, John L. It takes a just a month to earn The weekly wage which miners spurn Oh, we are not complaining, thanks, But just would like the guns and tanks The strikers hold up, day by day Because they cannot have more pay. And with the Japs across the Hump It seems to us that just a lump Of coal to help us now and then Is small to ask from fellow men. You delvers into anthracite Are free to exercise the right To bargain with your boss for more; BUT WAIT UNTIL WE'VE WON THE WAR! - By Sgt. SMITH DAWLESS |
THE MESS HALL DIRGE
Oh, the walls are dirty The seats are hard And spread all over With chutney and lard. The floor is muddy The table's wet My mess-kit's the greatest I've seen yet. I've lost my appetite I can't eat The bugs in the tea Had filthy feet. When duration is over My six months are through I'll polish my fork 'til it Shines like new. I'll inspect my plate with A critical eye And eat with the hogs In the old pig sty! - By H. R. N. |
SEND IN STORIES The Roundup isn't a closed corporation. If some interesting tid-bit happens in your neck of the C.B.I. Theater, sit down and write us a note: then run, don't walk, to your APO and mail us the details. All yarns, no matter how brief, are welcome. Humor, human-interest, the unusual, straight news releases - we have room for 'em all. |
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