Fishing Fleet girls had to be ready to expect anything – especially in the wilder parts of India.
A girl who had come out to join her family, rather than one fresh from a London flat or house in the country, might be less taken aback by unexpected happenings since many fathers, especially in Government service, found themselves posted to remote and sometimes dangerous areas. As a child brought up in India such a little girl would become used to having a sandwich snatched out of her hands by a kite or being told ‘don’t go in the long grass – there may be snakes!’. In some parts, she might have seen one of her father’s dogs taken by a leopard, or been tugged out of the way of a pi-dog frothing at the mouth with rabies.
When a family had been in India for generations, anything from early deaths and long journeys by bullock cart to glittering dinners in the fabulous palace of a friendly rajah became part of family history. Rather than the steady, often predictable path through the years at home, hardship, privation, adventure, luxury and exoticism were interwoven into the fabric of family life. In Bethea Field’s case, there were many of these elements, plus camel-riding out to dinner in evening dress and a bullet-spattering attack by rebels.
Bethea’s journal, which records them all, is notable not only for her keenly observant eye for detail but also for its unusual frankness. She makes no bones about her longing (this is not too strong a word) to meet young men and the fact that although firmly bound by the rules of convention, she has a powerful libido (‘I was highly sexed’). She regarded India as home: her family, both before she was born and for subsequent generations, lived and worked there.
Her grandfather, William Field, had joined the East India Company as a cadet in 1812. His father, in the early days of the nineteenth century, had owned a furniture shop in Windsor patronised by Queen Charlotte, who became interested in the Field family. When William Field died suddenly, the Queen exercised her influence to help his widow and children, obtaining a cadetship to the East India Company for Mrs Field’s son George. He left aged twelve, and his mother never saw him again.
George, who worked hard for John Company (as the East India Company was then known throughout India), also became one of the heroes of Arrah House, the ‘Small House’ of the Indian Mutiny, which sheltered nearby British and loyal Indian troops when the Mutiny broke out. The Indian Rebellion of 1857 began as a mutiny of sepoys of the British East India Company’s army on 10 May 1857, in the town of Meerut, and soon spread, largely in the upper Gangetic plain and Central India. The sepoys were a combination of Hindu and Muslim soldiers, with over 200,000 Indians in the army, compared to about 50,000 British. The forces were divided into three presidency armies: the Bombay, the Madras and the Bengal.
Resentment had built up slowly, over a mixture of causes, from changes in terms of professional service, denial of pensions to retired sepoys, differences in pay between the three armies, to grievances over the slowness of promotions, based on seniority – many Indian officers did not reach commissioned rank until they were too old to be effective. The final spark was provided by the pre-greased cartridges supplied as ammunition for the new 1853 Enfield Rifle. To load the rifle, sepoys had to bite the cartridge open to release the powder. The grease used on these cartridges contained tallow, which if derived from pork would be offensive to Muslims, and if derived from beef would be offensive to Hindus. At least one British official pointed out, fruitlessly, the difficulties this would cause.
Unrest arose gradually throughout April and May 1857, spreading until it became a widespread revolt. On 25 July, rebellion erupted in the garrisons of Dinapur (in Bihar, north-east India). The rebels quickly moved towards Arrah and all European residents took refuge at the house of Vicars Boyle, the District Railway Engineer, together with fifty loyal sepoys. Luckily it was not only a dwelling but a mini-fort, having been an outpost in the very early days of the Company. There was a courtyard surrounded by quite thick walls, a well and stabling, stocked by one of their number with goats and grain in readiness for a siege; and a clear area of about 200 yards all round it, which proved to be their salvation.
They had small arms and some ammunition. George, a good shot, spent the daylight hours on the walls picking off any mutineers who might emerge from the woods. Apart from the fear that supplies would not last out, one of the worst moments was when the villagers, egged on by the mutineers, built a huge bonfire and threw on it at as many red chillies* as they could spare. The acrid fumes blowing across the open space and into the little stronghold blinded and choked the men inside; but the wind suddenly changed direction and it was the enemy who had to flee.
Finally, after an agonising six months, the Mutiny was stamped out and they were relieved. Bethea’s grandmother Catherine (who had remained in England with her children) returned and more children arrived, including Bethea’s father Charles William, born in 1863.
Charles had begun his career in the Indian Army, in the 26th Punjabis, but although he rose to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, after he married and had children he decided that he could no longer afford to stay in the Army, and successfully applied for a posting to the Judge Advocate-General’s Department. This meant not only better pay but also relief from subscribing to all the regimental funds (upkeep of the mess, and so forth). On the debit side it meant he would no longer be called up for active duty should a war arise and no longer be in line to command the regiment or carry a field marshal’s baton in his pocket. It was a move that pleased his wife Mary (always known in the family as Madre) as she disliked regimental life.
Their daughter Bethea (Betty) Helen was born in Lahore Cantonments* in the Punjab on 1 November 1899. She was a pretty girl, with bright blue eyes and the long curling red-gold hair inherited from her mother, a beauty for whom children tended to be an encumbrance rather than a pleasure and for whom a youthful version of herself might prove competition. When Bethea reached puberty at the age of twelve it was ‘to my mother’s annoyance, but what else could she expect?’
After education in England Bethea returned to India as a Fishing Fleet girl in 1918, to Secunderabad, where her father was now the Magistrate, responsible for law and order. Two British infantry (Territorial) regiments, one Indian cavalry and at least two Indian infantry regiments – one from Burma – were stationed there, plus various other detachments. It was a large and important station but for Bethea, newly out from England and agog for some social life, at first it seemed a desert.
‘In my first weeks there I felt very lost,’ she wrote later. ‘The excitement of the long journey was over. Nothing seemed to happen. Father took us to the big clubhouse where mother and I read the magazines. A few people drifted past. Through my bedroom window I could see a pomegranate tree in full blossom and I enjoyed the mornings, drinking early cups of tea and eating soggy toast and bananas, but I longed for life with a big “L”.’
Her first invitation was to a tennis party, where she met a young married woman, Peggy O’Cock, who ‘took her up’. It was the introduction to an intoxicating new social life with a ready-made but fun-seeking chaperone thrown in. Peggy took her to her first dance, in the club. ‘The only music was from a gramophone but I wore an evening dress for the first time and I was thrilled,’ wrote Bethea, who found herself surrounded by would-be partners. ‘That was hardly surprising, since there was only one girl or woman to every four men. My new friend Peggy introduced me to the young men of her husband’s regiment and we went for rides together and picnics.’
These gaieties were temporarily interrupted by the arrival of Spanish flu, the epidemic that decimated populations worldwide. Bethea, who had had a bad attack of ’flu just before she left school in England, was unaffected but most of the servants fell ill and one died. With sudden death no rarity in India, as soon as ‘the plague’ was over the social round started again, with a banquet and dance, to a band provided by one of the British regiments, at the palace of the Nizam of Hyderabad.
‘We were told to bring our own partners,’ recorded Bethea. ‘I chose a young man of whom I was enraptured at that time. He was an excellent dancer and looked very well in his mess kit. We were served in the big dining hall, hung with chandeliers. Then the ladies were taken up to meet the Nizam’s wives and relations. They spoke no English and our Hindustanee must have sounded crude to them. They were dripping with jewels but we had none or little. They must have despised us and thought us immodest in our flimsy chiffon dresses.’
Another night saw a large group gather for a moonlight picnic in a ruined Moghul city called Golconda, just over twelve kilometres from Secunderabad, where it was said diamonds had been found. A few people drove there, some of the men rode and Bethea herself was driven in a buggy by her boyfriend of the moment. The night was so warm that as they ate their picnic in a courtyard all any of the women needed over their evening dress was a gauzy shawl. Little could have been more romantic than the setting of tumbled buildings – palace, mosques and tombs, some marbled and gleaming white in the soft brilliance of the moonlight.
Another moonlight picnic was to a large lake. ‘Only a few of us this time,’ recorded Bethea. ‘A fisherman took us out in his boat and we lay on the bottom holding hands and kissing.’ Bethea had been allowed by her parents to go on these jaunts by herself as the parties were organised by Peggy. But after Armistice Day on 11 November the Territorial battalions started to pack up and Peggy, her husband, and most of Bethea’s beaux left.
One friend only remained: Captain Herbert McPherson of the Burma Rifles. He had joined as a wartime soldier only but no orders had been issued yet that the Rifles were to be disbanded – the British troops had priority. He was tall, good-looking, well-to-do and a man of great niceness but diffident where affairs of the heart were concerned.
‘He never took any notice of the few other girls but kept his eye on me, though I was swept up here and there by the charms of Billy this or Freddie the other,’ remembered Bethea. ‘I think Herbert was too nice. I only know that I did not fall in love with him at all, which was a pity. It might have ripened if I had not gone up to stay with Violet, my sister, and her husband in Baluchistan. She wanted me to spend Christmas with them and my parents encouraged me to accept. The last time I saw Herbert was shortly before I left Secunderabad in the middle of December.’ It was also the last of the flirtations that as a girl of just nineteen she so enjoyed.
Violet’s husband, Jim (later Sir James) Acheson, was the Assistant to the Resident of Kalat state; like other states, largely independent under the Khan of Kalat but under the eye of Britain. Sibi, not far from Quetta and near the border with Afghanistan, was the winter headquarters, with a refreshing cool, dry climate. The Resident, Colonel Ramsay, and his wife were away when Bethea arrived. Jim and Violet and her little niece Janet were living in part of the residency but there was no room for Bethea, so a tent – with planked floors, veranda, bedroom and bathroom – was put up in the grounds.
At Christmas they were joined by an old friend of Jim’s, Major Sydney Williams. As all of them trudged across the dry fields on Christmas Day, Jim and Sydney with shotguns in case game got up, Bethea had no idea that this older man would one day act as Cupid.
‘Christmas over, I began to wish for some social life,’ she wrote. ‘On our side of the town there was only the Residency and the PWD officer, a Scotsman, and his guest – Mrs St John and her two small sons, seeking escape from the bitter cold of Quetta.’ But across the town, three miles or so away, was stationed a regiment of Indian cavalry with British officers. Bethea began to think about them and wonder how she could meet them. Fortunately, Violet and Jim knew their commanding officer and invited him to dinner one night. He clearly realised that his young officers would enjoy meeting such a pretty single girl, since a few days later two of them rode up to the Residency, where Bethea was sitting in the garden sporadically writing, reading and sewing. She saw them ‘and my heart leapt’.
But they said not a word – etiquette forbade. Instead, they dropped cards, looked at her and rode away as she sat there longingly. ‘I did so hope that something would come of it. I think Jim rode over to make a return of cards but days went by before I received an invitation to dinner at the mess. I was thrilled. Violet and Jim, though included in the invitation, decided not to accept.
‘The problem was, how could I get there? There was not a motor car or even a horse trap in the whole place. It would have to be one of the mares or a camel. I had become used to that form of travel when I had gone some days to the Cavalry lines to help a young mother with two sick children.’ On the evening she was invited out, Bethea decided to go on camelback. ‘In a long satin dress and shawl, how could I guide a pacing country horse across three miles? Camel it had to be.’
Mounting a camel was quite a procedure. The animal, brought up from the Levy lines with its rider, was ordered by the rider to squat while the ‘passenger’ – Bethea – stood on the near side. Laboriously the beast first doubled up its front legs, sinking down with its rump in the air, and then bending its hind legs until its body was on the ground. ‘At that moment I had to climb as quick as I could into the saddle behind the rider – camels are very impatient and bad-tempered creatures. As soon as I was on the saddle I clasped my arms round the rider. The camel rose from the front legs and I was indeed grateful that I had a good grip of the rider for the angle was very steep. Then I was thrown forward as the camel raised its back legs. On the level again I could find the stirrups and some measure of confidence. The double saddle was made of wood to fit over the hump and covered with rags of old carpets. The interesting thing was that the stirrups were good British Army issue of steel but attached to the saddle by country rope – very rough. I hung on as firmly as I could to the rider – always a handsome young Baluchi, dressed in baggy white trousers and shirt and an embroidered blue padded waistcoat. He had long black curly hair which swayed in front of me – as his curls swayed I could see a thick rim of grease on the back of his waistcoat. All Indians oil or grease their hair; in the South with coconut oil but in the North with mutton fat.
‘The Commanding Officer met me and the party, in the mess tent under canvas, was sedate. I was chaperoned not only by him but by a couple of other officers’ wives. Strictly on time my camel was ordered up, and again successfully foiling the camel’s intent to unseat me, I was ridden back.’
It proved to be merely a tempting taste of the company of young men of her own age. The regiment was sent on manoeuvres and she never saw any of them again.
The final event of the Sibi season was the horse show. This combination of market, fairground and horse show lasted for a week and attracted the population from miles around. Horses, camels, cattle and goats were bought and sold, there were stalls selling everything from food to clothes, fortune-tellers and gambling games – much the same as any English country fair. The weather was perfect and only in the middle of the day did the sun cause people to rest in the shade, after which it was time for the competitive events: horse racing, camel racing, the racing of young bullocks with small boys on their backs as jockeys. A stand had been set up for the Khan and his guests – the Ramsays, Bethea and her sister and brother-in-law and any other British there – and some of the tribal chiefs, their women, invisible, peeping through the muslin curtains of their bullock carts. Music was provided by a Baluchi band who thumped out the wailing songs of India. Bethea was quick to recognise one that recurred constantly – ‘The Bleeding Heart’, her father’s Punjabi Regiment’s march tune.
A morale-boosting frisson of excitement for Bethea was provided by a British Army vet who had come down from Quetta to look over possible remounts for the cavalry regiments. ‘He was rather common,’ she wrote, ‘but paid me some particular attentions for which I was grateful. Violet and Jim were disapproving but then they were still caught up in the honeymoon feeling of their own early married life and had little sympathy for me and my wish for admiration.’
As 1919 began, Bethea’s brother-in-law Jim moved from the Residency to the Assistant’s house in Mastung (near Quetta), amid orchards of apple and apricot in bloom. But socially it was a desert. There were no other British people at all and nothing to do except play tennis on the Ramsays’ court. Bethea began to fret. ‘I longed to meet people – especially young men!’ So she was excited to get an invitation from Sydney Williams to a fancy dress dance to be held in the Quetta Club. She planned her costume carefully.
‘I remembered some friend telling me how she had gone as a powder puff so I decided that was what it should be. With some rupees in my purse I went down to Mastung bazaar, bought yards of stiff white muslin and a few yards of pale blue Indian satin – all very cheap – pleated them, frilled up the muslin and attached it to a band round my waist and made a strapped bodice and a small overskirt from the blue satin. On my head, I had white muslin covered by blue satin with a white pompom on top.’ White silk stockings and satin shoes completed the costume.
Although Bethea was the only one invited to the fancy dress ball, the rest of the household decided to move to Quetta too. Going the thirty miles there presented its own problems. In 1918 cars had engines that easily overheated and to reach Quetta they had to cross a steep pass of hills – the Lak Pass. ‘By the time we reached the top the engines’ radiators were boiling,’ remembered Bethea. ‘There had to be a halt to cool down and then very cautiously the driver would open the radiator cap. Clouds of steam would gush out. As soon as that settled he would slowly trickle in water from the bucket we carried until the radiator was full again.’ Once over the pass, they could coast down to Quetta.
Sydney Williams called for Bethea to fetch her for the ball and promised her mother to see her safely home again. ‘He had a new Ford car. I got up beside him in my powder puff outfit and at the club we joined a party of friends of his. It was my first big dance and I was thrilled. A real band! a military one – and the ballroom full of people.’
She had the first dance with Sydney but after that crowds of eager young men – who greatly outnumbered the women there – flocked round and Sydney drifted off to join friends at the bar. Bethea was having such a good time that it was only after supper that she decided it was getting late and her mother might be worrying. She called up one of the club servants and said to him in Hindustani: ‘Major Williams Sahib ke salaam do’ (‘please give Major Williams a request that he should attend me’). The servant bowed and went away. As she sat waiting a voice beside her said:
‘You sent for me?’ She looked up to see a tall man in uniform bending down. He was a complete stranger.
‘No, I asked for Major Williams,’ she replied. ‘But I am Major Williams!’ he said.
Bethea shook her head and told him: ‘You are the wrong Major Williams! I wanted Sydney.’
The stranger bowed and went away. How attractive he was, she thought as he left. A few minutes later Sydney came up, collected Bethea and her wrap and drove her home.
Two days later cards were left for Bethea and her mother and Violet and Jim from a Major A. de C. (the initials stood for Arthur de Coetlogon) Williams, Indian Civil Service – the stranger was clearly prepared to do things properly. But Mrs Field, with no particular wish to encourage an unknown young man and in a state of irritation due to the heat and the mosquitoes, crossly pushed the cards to one side. Bethea picked them up and treasured them as a sign of the stranger’s interest.
There matters might have remained but for the resourcefulness of Arthur Williams. He discovered that he and Violet had a friend in common in Quetta, Rose Patel, the daughter of a rich and influential Parsee. With her to introduce them, he could officially meet Bethea.
Soon the Fields received an invitation to tea at the home of Rose Patel. Violet accepted on behalf of them all but the unsuspecting Bethea was reluctant. ‘A Parsee tea party? No thank you.’ However her mother, who had been finding life in Quetta dull, was pleased. After their afternoon rest under mosquito nets she urged her daughter to get up and get dressed ready for the outing. Reluctantly, Bethea did so, putting on a blue straw hat that enhanced the colour of her eyes.
The Patel house, on the fringe of the native city, was a wide, sprawling bungalow built round a central courtyard well-shaded by trees. A fountain splashed softly in its centre. After the glare and dust outside it was cool and refreshing. Rose greeted them and they were given chairs in a shady corner.
As they drank tea and ate small delicious cakes a tall, lean young man in uniform came over to them and sat down, turning immediately to make polite conversation with Mrs Field. In a flash, Bethea remembered that he was the ‘wrong’ Major Williams from the fancy dress ball; and that he must have been the same Major Williams who had left cards on them. Now he was doing his best to ingratiate himself with her mother, who inexplicably became stony, so much so that to Bethea’s deep disappointment he moved away to talk to others.
‘Horrible man,’ said her mother – and Bethea’s budding romance appeared to be over before it had begun. Later, she discovered that, rather as in Victorian times when a widowed parent of either sex – including the Queen herself – felt they had the right to keep one child permanently at home as a companion, her mother hoped to keep Bethea by her side for ever. Violet, married, was out of the running and Bethea’s brother had been killed in the war, so Mrs Field fought against the possibility that her last child would marry and leave her.
Back in Mastung after the Quetta visit a resentful Bethea found life duller than ever. The only amusement was when her father came up from Secunderabad on leave and they could have a tennis four. ‘The interlude in Quetta had been exciting and now here I was in this isolated place, aged nineteen, growing older every day with no future – or so I thought,’ she wrote despondently.
One evening, instead of playing tennis, she wandered through the garden and into an apple orchard. She climbed up into one of the trees and sat out on a branch that looked over the little valley, nursing her woes. ‘I was soaked in self-pity,’ she wrote. ‘Nobody seemed to bother about poor little me. Then I noticed the sun was sinking and my conscience told me that the others might be worried and waiting for me, so I climbed down and went back. It was almost dusk by then. A narrow path, flanked by trees, went down to the dry stream bed – there was a little bridge across and we started up the other side. Jim and my father walked together in front, followed by my mother by herself and Violet and I side by side behind her. I think Violet sensed my depression and tried to rally me.’
Suddenly there was a succession of bangs. At first the party thought it was the villagers letting off rockets in celebration of a wedding, then Bethea saw the dust between herself and Violet being kicked up by some metallic object, and a deep nick being taken out of the side of a tree trunk. ‘Almost in the same moment I saw my father ahead of us put his left hand across his right arm and hold it up in front of him. It was covered in blood.’
They were being fired upon. It was a time when there was fighting with Afghanistan and they were fairly close to the frontier. They ran back, her father to collect his revolver, Jim to alert their Gurkha guard, the others to shelter in the house. From inside, Bethea could see Jim standing on the front steps, his revolver in his hand. Round him were grouped the six Gurkhas, with their NCO beside Jim. All was quiet until they heard a tremendous tramping, which sounded nearer and nearer.
‘What can two men with revolvers plus six men and their rifles do to repulse a horde?’ thought Bethea desperately. ‘We were in a possibly hostile region, we were at war with Afghanistan and the nearest British troops were thirty miles away with a rough ride and high hills between us. I thought it was the end.’
In the near-dark she saw that the men coming up to the drive and into the open space in front of the house carried lanterns. They were all tall, with high turbans and baggy trousers of white cotton. Most of them were bearded and they carried the strangest assortment of weapons. Some had ancient muzzle-loading guns, others large curved swords. There were men carrying lances and boys with sticks.
The Europeans stood tensely on the front steps until one man, unarmed, walked up to Jim and bowed, holding both hands beneath his face. ‘Sahib, we have come to save you and your lady folk,’ he said.
Jim slipped his revolver into his holster and stepped down. They shook hands – the man was the chief of the village elders – and Jim expressed his gratitude. The men left and everyone tried to settle down. Bethea’s shock at the attempted massacre was such that her period not only arrived that night a fortnight early but so heavily that she thought she was suffering a haemorrhage.
A message was got to the nearest British soldiers and the family was evacuated, her father to surgery on his arm at the nearest hospital and everyone else to Quetta, apart from Jim, who remained in Mastung as the guest of the headman to sort out the reasons for the attack.
It later transpired that the night of the attack a detachment of the Mekran Levy Corps were due to march south to their headquarters in Mekran. Three of them and a new recruit, aged sixteen or seventeen, lagged behind and hid in the gully just about under the apple tree in which Bethea was sitting. They had their British-issue rifles and six rounds each, also their camels, tethered nearby. They knew that Afghanistan had declared war and they may also have thought that the British, after the long struggle in Europe, were weak and vulnerable. As they later confessed, they decided to deliver a blow themselves by killing the Resident – but mistook Bethea’s tall father for the Resident, Colonel Ramsay.
At dawn a posse of village men, led by the headman, set out to track them. Since camels leave a distinctive spoor and much of the ground was sandy and impressionable, they were easily followed, caught at their next camping ground and arrested. After trial by the local court of justice, they were condemned to death and hanged – except for the youth, who was given a long prison sentence.
Back in Quetta, Bethea discovered that Arthur Williams, though a temporary Major in the Supply and Transport Unit of the Indian Army, had not been demobilised; instead, he had been re-enlisted to staff headquarters in Quetta. As her father had now been made the Cantonment Magistrate in Quetta, the family soon had their own house and a natural entrée to all the social activities of Quetta.
The delighted Bethea was quickly caught up in these, playing tennis with a girlfriend at the club in the afternoons and going to dances there or at various regimental messes in the evenings. It was the life she had dreamed of, especially now that there was romance in the offing – Arthur Williams, though not a dancing man, constantly kept his eye on her from the bar.
The more she knew him the more she liked him. As well as being tall – 6 feet 2 inches – and good-looking, with thick brown hair, warm brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek, he was clever and had great charm. Born in September 1890, he had won scholarships to Winchester, Marlborough and then Balliol College, Oxford, where he read Classics and became a great friend of ‘Cis’ Asquith, son of the Prime Minister, so that he often stayed at Downing Street. Like many of the cleverest Oxbridge graduates, he joined the ICS, who would not release him to the Army when he wanted to volunteer at the outbreak of war. Instead, a month later, he sailed for India.
Soon after they had encountered each other again, Arthur took Bethea out for a picnic in his car. They returned engaged – subject to parental consent, as she was still only nineteen. The wedding had to take place quickly, because the ICS wanted him back. As Arthur’s first posting, as Assistant Deputy Commissioner in Berhampore, in the Musshidalad district, was about 200 km from Calcutta, they were married from the house of her Aunt Sybil, who had a large house there.
Before the wedding Bethea arrived to stay with Aunt Sybil, who took her off to the dressmaker to choose a wedding dress and going-away outfit. As it was only just after the war the dress, of white satin, was short and instead of a veil she wore a white satin hat under which her long red-gold hair had to be pinned up. The cake came from Firpo, Calcutta’s smartest restaurant and confectioner.
Even today, brides often feel nervousness and tension as their wedding day approaches. Bethea had an added reason for apprehension. In common with most other girls of her generation, her sexual ignorance was total. ‘I had shied away from the “facts of life” even though I was highly sexed,’ she wrote. ‘I could have learnt a lot from my school friends but I shut my ears. I preferred to look at it all with the eyes of romance and ignore the sordid details. So when my mother gave me a talk and told me “you won’t like it at first” I was seized with fear and spent almost sleepless nights.’
The wedding, on 12 December 1919, in Calcutta Cathedral – ‘enormous for so small a gathering’ – went well. Back at the flat the food was laid out, the cake on the centre table, and the champagne was opened. Next day the couple left for Berhampore. As for those initial fears, according to family legend, Bethea quickly got over them – and, later, spent a considerable time proving this.