* * * * * The 15 th of March, 1942, found my mother at one of the lowest ebbs of her life. She was slightly off a jungle trail, near the Indian Border between Sake Hi, Burma, and Yanman, India. Her party consisted of Scots and Irish women and children, plus a few native servants with Tulah-Rhum acting as guide, and of course Pinkie. They were fleeing from the Japanese Army and, so far, this journey had proven to be a nightmare. My folks’ escape route. The monsoon had started early that year, allowing Mom’s modest group to take a leaking riverboat up the Irrawaddy, and its tributary the Chindwin, to the town of Singkaling Hkamti. From there they had a 104-mile trek overland - as the crow flies - to Digboi, India, and safety. Their ...