Boy boxing (India vs. Scotland?) - found in Wiltshire, UK (Glass Negative)

Jennie was my grandmother. She was born Jennie Christa Butcher, in 1885, in Mound City, Kansas. She died in Prince Frederick, Maryland, in 1954. She was an accomplished cellist who played in symphony orchestras and vaudeville, mostly in Iowa. This photo was taken in the 1920s in Mason City, Iowa.

My father Shri. Holalkere Venkatanarayanappa Ranga rao, was a Specialist in Accounts. He was an excellent Astrologer and man of high values.

He hails from a sleepy village, called 'Holalkere,' in 'Chitradurga Dist', of 'Old Mysore', a princely state of Karnataka.

This self taught man, knew many things. He was proficient in Marathi, Telugu, Kannada and of course, English !

This particular picture was taken, when he left a reputed firms, to fulfill the desire of his father, to work as *'Shanbhogue' at his native place, HOLALKERE !

* Shanbhogues were not appointed but this profession is passed on to sons, from very earlier times. Essentially Shanbhogues were village Accountants, in the larger meaning of the term. But, in those days, they were treated very highly in the Society, and did several social works !

Now, village Accountants, are working in place of Shanbhagues !

This is a postcard dated 1928 showing the Pacific Highway on the Calif.-Oregon border. Most likely Interstate 5 now. Looks like it's slow going on that gravel. No 65 mph on this road.

A drilling rig crew, likely from somewhere in the East Texas oilfield. Probably from the 1930s. There's nothing written on the back for me to identify it, sadly.

This is my great uncle probably in the 1930's, shortly before he left the Netherlands to move to the Dutch Indies. During the war he was kept in a Japanese camp and suffered greatly.

He was a pow and may have worked on the Burma railroad like my other greatuncle. He survived the war by some sort of miracle and so did his wife. They returned to the house they had built and lived in for years.

Indonesian nationalists came, my uncle came outside to see what they wanted. They shot the dog and then my uncle. As my uncle lay dying the Indonesian Nationalists wouldn't allow my aunt to go outside and help him or at least be with him as he died.

My great-grandparents moved to the Dutch colony of Indonesia at the end of World War I, where they ran one of the few, probably the only, car garage on the emerald isles.

They had a fantastic time there, the locals were happy to work for them or succeeded well in hiding their discontempt [contempt? discontent? - dave].

This is rather common, many Indonesians were very friendly and acted happy and many Dutch had no idea many of these people hated being colonised and dominated and exploited by the Dutch.