A Little Fruit

A British heritage, lime juice,* was much in evidence last week when Burmans held their first election under their own provisional government. At each of Rangoon's polling booths stood a bottle of the juice, put there because of rumors that disorderly elements intended to throw sulphuric acid in the ballot boxes. The Burmans figured that the famed antiscorbutic was also the best anti-sulphuric.

But no acid was thrown. Communists dashed through the streets of Rangoon in a green jeep, shouting: "Rebellion, rebellion! Rise, rise!" A couple of polling booths outside the city were burned. The only bloodshed in Rangoon occurred when a constable accidentally discharged a shotgun into his foot.

As expected, young (32) Premier Aung San's Anti-Fascist People's Freedom League swept the elections.

* British Naval Surgeon James Lind (1716-94) wondered enviously why sauerkraut-eating Dutch sailors got less scurvy than his tars on long voyages. He guessed right, recommended citrus fruits to supply what science years later called vitamin C. In 1795, Earl Spencer, First Lord of the Admiralty, ordered lemons or limes included in the daily diet on British ships. Soon British sailors and then the whole British people became known as "limeys." "Limey" bears no etymological relation to "Blimey," or to Limehouse, a London dock district named for an old lime kiln, or oast.

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