I had planned my furlough to begin on May 9th for a
special reason. May 8th was a holiday. Therefore, by depending on a little
cooperation from a buddy at the school, signing me in and out again, I was able
to leave on May 7th in the evening. (It's a trick all of us like to pull, but
seldom do we get away with it. I happened to have no trouble.)
I had my bag packed for weeks, so I just hopped onto the
train and left for Munich.
In Munich, with one day to spare before my orders were valid
to travel to Amsterdam, I put up at the Germania Hotel in a very modern room
with a bed huge enough for four and a studio couch for those left over. It was
my first stay at that hotel. I've now stayed in the following hotels in Munich:
Schottenhamel, Drei Lowen, Bundespahn, and Columbia. The Bundespahn was the
best.
After washing the train off myself, I thought I'd go window
shopping for an hour or so. It was about 9 p.m. on Thursday evening. As I left
my hotel, a woman, about 28 years old, very nice looking, ran up to me and said,
"You go with me?" Being the person I am, I ignored her, but I lacked
the nerve to tell her to move on. All turned out advantageously, however,
because a short time later I saw the same woman with a GI on each arm and a
triumphant look in her eyes.
I ate breakfast the next morning at the hotel and spent the
day seeing many parts of Munich I hadn't seen before, including the beautiful
English gardens, acres and acres of them.
In the evening, I made sure I was at the train station one
hour early. You must do that here if you want everything to turn out as it
should. My train was an express to Amsterdam with stops but no changeovers. I
was quite happy about that. It was scheduled to arrive in Amsterdam about noon
the next day. That meant one long night and half the next day on the train.
A note of explanation, please. I traveled second class
throughout my trip with the exception of my 2 boat passages. Then I traveled 1st
class, because 2nd class rail fare automatically becomes 1st class boat fare. I
didn't get Pullman reservations because once you leave the American Zone of
Germany, their cost is quite impossible. Only by using Government rates within
the US Zone are sleepers inexpensive. Thank you.
I found my seat on the train and settled back to await the
train's departure. The compartment was meant to hold six persons, but I was the
first to arrive and my seat was the best, next to the window and facing the
direction of travel.
Soon the other passengers entered the train and I held my
breath hoping that I would get pleasant companions and not cigar smokers or
drunks. I had good luck. Two young women came into the compartment and plunked
down their baggage. The dark haired one was with the University of Maryland
extension course in EUCOM, working in Munich. The other one was a teacher of a
grade school at Salzburg in Austria. They were quite surprised when in
conversation I told them that I, too, was a teacher. The pretty one was a
graduate of Columbia University and as interesting as she could be.
Just as the train was pulling out of the station, the fourth
and last passenger entered our compartment. It was Bob, a GI, and guess what?
another teacher. He was quite out-spoken in his statements of his dislike of the
work he had to do - teaching English to Puerto Rican soldiers.
At first Bob mistook me for the husband of the Columbia
graduate. What a character. It wasn't two minutes before he was being actively
charming and trying to find out everything he could about the pretty female
opposite him.
Strange as it seems, they had graduated from schools quite
close together, and had even been to the same parties and dances, but had never
met before. This was not at Columbia, it was at prep school. They had many
mutual acquaintances and their talk was quite interesting as all four of us put
in our two cents' worth.
Ulm
Gradually, things became more strained. Bob was to get off
at Ulm, one-half hour away. The rest of us were all going to Amsterdam. So he
worked fast. He even managed to get the girl's address and a promise to have a
date with him sometime in the future. It was a sorry affair. He was so young and
high-schoolish, and she was so mature and bored with him by then. But, as she
said later, it was better to give him her address and not cause trouble and hard
feelings although she had no intention of seeming him again.
Bob gave me many addresses in Amsterdam and asked me to see
some of his friends there for him, none of which I could see, having a few plans
of my own concerning how my time was to be spent. Bob kept saying how much he
hated GI's and yet he was one. Finally, Ulm came up and Bob said his good-byes.
The girls then let fly their quaint remarks about him. He was not too bad, but
his brashness was just a little too much. It probably would have seemed quite
cute in a high-school freshman.
The grade school teacher from Salzburg told her story next.
She was having difficulties marrying the man she loved. He was an Austrian. It
seems that all sorts of rules and regulations are in existence to aid GI's who
marry European girls, but when an American girl marries a European, it throws a
monkey wrench into the machinery. She had been living with him for some months,
but marriage had been impossible until just recently, when she managed to get
him cleared of Nazism, etc. I was thankful she came along. I hadn't bought any
travelers checks, a very foolish oversight on my part, so she cashed $10 of hers
and I paid her for it in script, which she was authorized to have since she was
a government employee.
The long night was very tired making. We could see a sliver
of a moon first on one side of the train and then on the other as we changed
directions. The women shared one side of the room and I had the other side to
myself. I was able to stretch out quite comfortably, but the women had an
extremely hard time fitting together on their seat without falling off.
Wiesbaden
Bonn
Railroad Station
Cologne
Cathedral 
Next morning at 4 a.m., we were sitting up with half-open eyes watching the scenery. We had passed through Wiesbaden and Bonn, which I saw from the train, and Koln (Cologne). I had seen Koln before (bombed to ruins) when I first arrived in Germany and was on my way south by troop train to Bavaria.
The countryside was interesting to look at. The homes were brightly painted and kept in good order. Windmills dotted the horizon. Often you could see three or four at one time, framed by the train window. We soon began to realize that they were a common sight and stopped talking about them. (I was surprised to see windmills in Belgium and England. I had thought Holland had a monopoly on them. But I am getting ahead of myself.)
We arrived at the station in Amsterdam at 11:30 a.m. and I
grabbed a cab for my hotel after saying good-bye to my fellow passengers. It was
quite a long ride to my hotel, but we finally arrived. What a place! At first I
thought it was City Hall. It had a beautiful garden park in front with a
large statue of Rembrandt in the center. It was raining lightly and since
Rembrandt was bent over slightly, like "The Thinker," the rain was
running down the back of his neck. But he seemed so intent in his observation of
the tulips and other flowers in the garden that he was unperturbed. Not so I. I
wasn't too happy about the rain, but it didn't last long.
I gathered up my courage and walked boldly into the lobby of
the Hotel Schiller (known also as the Rembrandt, I believe). I presented my
reservation notice to the clerk who explained to me that my room with bath was
not available. The person who had it before had taken ill and wasn't able to
leave the room. He said that he would have another nice room ready for me within
an hour, although I would have to wait until the next day to get a room with
bath. I was quite unhappy about the arrangement at first, since I had made my
arrangements so early. With an hour to spare, I left my bag at the hotel and
walked down the street and across to one of the many canals.
I bought a ticket to take a tour of Amsterdam by glass-topped boat along the canals, and that's what I did. The slight rain had discouraged most sight-seeing tourists, so it turned out that there were only two American ladies and myself on the boat for the tour. Our guide was able to become friendly and we all enjoyed the trip.
Rembrandt
House in Amsterdam
We saw the home of Rembrandt and the old houses in which
the royalty of Amsterdam lived many years ago. We went out into the harbor and
circled an artificial island created to relieve the heavy traffic at the shore
docks.
I was surprised to see a huge refugee ship leaving for
Australia. Our guide explained that since Holland had lost her colonies, they
were extremely over-populated and many people had to leave because they could
not support themselves and their families in Holland any longer. He said
he, too, would like to leave because the happy life in Holland was no more. I
was quite upset by this because I had not thought of Holland as a dying country
entirely dependent on others, but that's what it had become.
Back at the hotel, my first disappointment changed to great
pleasure when I saw my substitute room. He had promised me a modern room, and I
had it! Also an excellent view, not over the garden in front, but overlooking
the garden behind the hotel, where many guests were eating at tables under the
trees.
The only really Dutch touch to the room was to be found in
two old picture prints, one of a famous drawing and the other of a
painting in the Rjks Museum, that hung on the wall.
I unpacked my things and after shaving I went to sleep for a
few hours. Then I went down for dinner in the hotel restaurant. The food was
good, but the waiters in their long black coats and tails got on my nerves
because I was alone and they kept hovering over me like vultures. If I
reached for a spoon or a napkin, they would beat me to them, and hand them to
me. The bartender at the end of the room seemed to be enjoying himself trying to
speak English with an American Captain and his wife.
Later I went window shopping and also stared at the people
and buildings. A few impressions: The people were remarkably good looking as
compared to the many big-featured and goiter-ridden people of Bavaria. They
dressed very smartly and modernly, but most of the clothes were factory made.
Personal cleanliness was evident in the majority.
Imagine my surprise when a young, about 19, blonde (and truly
charming looking) called "hello" to me half-way down the street and
indicated she wouldn't mind sharing my company, etc. I ignored her as best I
could, not returning her greeting.
The reason she surprised me was not because it hadn't
happened to me before. It happened many times in Germany, but not involving such
a young and beautiful person as she was.
I walked down the famous "Alley of
Amsterdam," (Red Light District) where the women display themselves
in their 2nd and 3rd story windows by using lighting effects. The idea is that
you stand in the street, look up at the windows, and choose the particular girl
you like best...short, tall, fat, thin, or pleasingly plump. They're all there,
and each is eager to please you for moderate prices.
Robert Mitchum
I also walked down a narrow theater street which was so jam-packed it actually reminded me of Times' Square. A Robert Mitchum film was playing at one theater and the street was lined for blocks with people trying to get seats. I went into a movie featuring two Russian shows in gorgeous color. The shows were called "Actualities". One concerned a huge sports arena in Moscow, its care and all the sports that took place there the year round. It was very good. The other one was a complete Russian Circus on color film. It, too, was good and very amazing. After the movie I returned to the hotel and went to sleep.
The next day I caught a boat that was going to Monnikendam, Vollendam, Edam and the Isle of Marken, and a few other places north of Amsterdam along the Zuider Zee.. The trip lasted all day. I saw churches, windmills, old Dutch customs still in action, people wearing wooden shoes, more often even than you would expect. Even visited the Edam cheese dairy. At the Isle of Marken, I saw the quaint costumes and laces the people wear.
I went into one of the small homes that was open for public
inspection and there "Mae West" told me in fairly good English the
story of the Island, the life of a typical Islander, and showed me the old
dishes, clothes, etc. About the house were all sorts of stands attempting to
sell souvenirs. I had my picture taken standing with Mae. The lady who took the
picture for me was from Johannesburg, South Africa. She was middle-aged and an
old maid. There was a middle-aged bachelor from the US on the boat who fell for
her in a big way during the trip. By the time we arrived back in Amsterdam, they
were holding hands and ready to walk down the aisle. The bachelor was a colorful
character who kept giving money to every "native" he saw. These
"natives" were, of course, people from Amsterdam who arrived on the
Island just before the tourists did. They changed into their costumes and
greeted the tourists. Then, after the tourists left, they too returned to
Amsterdam. Well, it was a living for them. I suppose there were a few fishermen
and their families who actually lived there.
Back in Amsterdam after the long but quite interesting trip,
I discovered that the hotel personnel had already moved me to my room with bath.
The room wasn't nearly so nice as the first room they gave me, but the bath was
welcome.
I left Amsterdam by train, traveling through Harlaam,
Rotterdam, and The Hague, to Belgium. On the train I met two soldiers who were
also going to Brussels. We talked over our impressions of Amsterdam. They had
rented a car and driven all over the city and surrounding area for two days.
They had very bad luck with hotels, though, having stayed in some very poor
ones. It made me glad that I had made my reservations in advance.
Arriving in Brussels, we took a cab to my hotel, the "Le
Grande". The two soldiers thought they'd try getting a room there, too,
even without reservations, and they were successful, although their room in no
way compared in excellence to mine. They did have a nice fireplace, though.
My room (I should really say suite) consisted of three
separate rooms, a spacious hallway, a nice big bathroom, and a huge bedroom with
windows 14 feet high that opened onto a small balcony. It was heaven. But then
the dogs began to bark. I looked down from the balcony and discovered that just
across the street from my room there was a huge arena on the order of Madison
Square Garden. There, Greyhound dog races were held...the Belgium national
lotterie business. The dogs were just arriving for their evening races. They
didn't ever bother me anymore, but just that one time as they were all entering
the arena. At first, I thought I was in the dog house for sure.
I found Belgium to be a delightful place. The hotel
personnel were extremely cordial in Brussels - the best attitude towards me that
I felt anywhere on my trip. The city is just right for sightseeing, for you can
do it all on foot without too much trouble. I covered the whole city (well, sort
of) twice in the two days I was there, almost entirely on foot.
I remember climbing the steep walks on the east side of the
city just as the sun was going down and looking out over the city, crowned with
a golden sky.
1st Act Setting
Maria Callas as
Tosca at Covent Garden, London (but not when I was there).
2nd Act Setting
3rd Act Setting
A Tosca poster
I talked the two GI's who were at the hotel where I was
staying into going to see "Tosca" at the opera house. Playing also was
"Fantasia Italiene," a ballet. We enjoyed the ballet all right, but I
was disappointed in their production of Tosca. Tosca is a melodramatic opera to
be sure, but they overdid the melodrama. What a pity. The music is so very
beautiful. The theater itself was impressive, and I was surprised to note that
it was only half filled. In Munich, opera productions are always packed with
people. (No, unfortunately I did not see the Maria Callas performance).
In Brussels I ate the best rumpsteak I've had in Europe. It
was delicious. Also, I got my hair cut at the hotel barber shop for only 20
Francs...the best hair cut I've had in Europe. He really did a great job. I wish
I could get such good hair cuts in Lenggries.
There is an internationally famous (and humorous?) statue-fountain in Brussels
of a little chubby boy called "Mannekin Pis," which is exactly what he
does, and which everyone must see. I couldn't find it, although I walked around
in ever-broadening circles all one morning in search of it. Having given up, I
returned to the hotel, got a cab, and asked the driver to take me to the
"Mannekin Pis". He smiled, and then drove me the short distance to the
fountain. No wonder I couldn't find it. I had expected it to be displayed in
some nice park, or at least in a square, but no. It is a very small statue
(smaller than the photo indicates) located at the point where two streets meet,
very close to a building. It was raining so I didn't even get out of the cab. I
looked at the statue a few respectful moments, then had the driver take me back
to the hotel. The drizzling downpour somewhat lessened the effect of the little
left-handed boy's "performance."
I left Brussels early the next morning, traveling over some
nice country that looked much like the countryside in Holland. We passed
windmills and miles and miles of bicycle riders.
On the train, I convinced a soldier that he was on the wrong
train. He was headed for some city in the opposite direction and had gotten on
the train by mistake. It can happen quite easily. He asked the conductor and
verified his error and got off at the next stop. The train was very crowded.
Those without reservations had to stand all the way to Ostende.
Ostende was the typical medium-sized seaport and the regular
jumping off place for people leaving the continent. My papers and bag were
checked by the customs and military authorities, and I climbed aboard the boat
bound for England. Since I had first class fare on the boat, I went immediately
to the top deck and intended to spend my time on a deck chair in the sunshine.
Was I fooled. Although some people braved it (they were wise enough to have
brought coats and scarfs with them), it was much too cold for me. I retreated
under the deck roof, where the breeze wasn't so strong.
Although the crossing took only three hours, it seemed longer
because it was so cold. A captain on board (Air Corps) told me to take a good
look at the sun while I had the chance, because I wouldn't see it again until I
left London. Although I couldn't figure out what good it was to see the sun when
the breezes were so cold that the sun couldn't shed any warmth, I did as he
suggested. It turned out that his prediction was wrong, however.
Throughout my stay in England, four days, I had warm weather.
It couldn't have been more pleasant. The boat (Belgian) was quite nice. I didn't
eat lunch on board because I was still apprehensive about having enough money
for my necessary expenses. I still wasn't sure I could change my script for
English pounds or traveler's checks.
Interesting to me was the crowd of English porters waiting
for us at the end of the gangplank. As soon as the way was clear, they rushed on
board calling "porter, porter"...very enthusiastically. There were so
many of them we had a difficult time making our way through them to get ashore.
At the station, I had the routine of customs all over again and then boarded the
train. The city was Dover, of course. The city of the White Cliffs.
When I first came over to Europe our ship passed through the
Channel and I saw the White Cliffs of Dover. But when the channel boat took me
right up to them, along side of them, and among them, I was much more impressed.
They are really white when you get up close. At a distance they look dull grey.
They are much higher and steeper, straight up and down, than they look from a
distance.
My seat on the train from Dover to London was a very big
disappointment. It was soft enough, but I had to ride backwards. Ordinarily this
doesn't bother me, but this time it proved to be very unpleasant because of my
great anticipation of entering the city of London, and not wanting to do it
backwards. My train schedule had been miscalculated by the American Express
agent where I booked my tickets and therefore I was peering out of the window
trying to spot some landmark indicating that London was close, all to no avail.
I was still an hour away from the city. What a hectic last hour that was. I got
so discouraged cranning my neck around to see what was coming ahead of me, that
I finally gave up and just stared straight ahead. I couldn't keep that up long
either, because opposite me was a German lady who was not pretty to say the
least and she was having quite a time trying to pin her flying hair back into
place. I had to look out the window again. The scenery was
beautiful...interesting houses and chimneys and people all along the way. At
last I was in a country that printed their advertisements on billboards in a
language I could read and understand. I read all the ads in sheer ecstasy. I was
surprised to arrive finally in London without much warning for there is no
skyline view of the city at all when one approaches the city by train.
At the station I was greeted by an American Express Agent who
was all courtesy. He was so courteous, I was flabbergasted...and he was entirely
sincere. He was sent to take care of me. He took me first to the office where I
managed to change my script into pounds and travelors checks (wow, what a
relief!), and then took me to the Imperial Hotel and saw to it that I was
registered properly. After I was settled, he assured me that the office would
reserve tickets for me on the train for Dover when I was ready to leave.
About the Imperial Hotel. It was a large, very old building,
of reddish brick, with a high tower. It faced a very pleasant park and was near
Queen's Square and the British Museum. The lobby was always crowded for the
hotel offered all the convenient services one could want...ticket agency, barber
shop, turkish baths (not in the lobby), and souvenir stands.
The hotel was the most disappointing one I stayed in and yet
it was entirely adequate. It seemed like a family hotel to me; much too busy for
a relaxed vactioner. I made very good use of the ticket agency, however, for I
booked three programs immediately. The girl at the ticket window fascinated me.
She was so efficient, it scared me. I was used to such confused arguments and
waits and apologies, etc., that public servants in Germany and Austria and
Holland and Belgium dish out, that I couldn't believe small arrangements could
be handled quickly. But this girl was a whiz. She spoke over the phone in a code
all her own and evidently the agents at the other end knew the code also for the
whole business was over with in jig time. Even though she spoke English, I had
to have her repeat everything she said to me at least twice. Not because of any
dialect problem, but just because she exporessed things so fast and in such a
way that it left my head spinning.
John Gielgud as
Hamlet
The first evening was to be filled by attending "Much
Ado About Nothing," starring the great actor that I had long wanted to see,
John Gielgud, and also a famous leading lady, Diana Wynward. For the next
evening, I booked a seat at the Sadler Well's Ballet performance at Covent
Garden..."Giselle" with Margot Fonteyn and also the ballet
"Donald, of the Berkshires:. And the third evening I was booked to
see "The Barber of Seville" at the Sadler Wells's Theater with the
Sadler Wells's orchestra. I was all set, with a bonus treat of an afternoon
matinee performance of "The Jimmy Durante Show." Jimmy. In London. His
show was much like his TV shows, and most of his regulars were present including
one who was to spin off his own TV show and become a sensattion, if only for a
season. Boffo entertainment. The audience could not have loved Jimmy more.
It is almost impossible to express how much I enjoyed each of
these performances. From the first minute, "Much Ado" held me
enthralled. The performances were so spirited, so fresh, and so fascinating,
that it was an event I'll long remember. The young lady sitting next to me was
also fascinating, but certainly not fresh. She was from Edinburgh, in town on
holiday. I found her to be a pleasant theater companion and the intermissions
passed much too quickly as we discussed our enjoyment of the play and other
things. John Gielgud's timing was a miracle and his interpretation without
equal. These are words of high praise, but he was woth them. His method of
changing the scene before the eyes of the audience (he was also director of the
play), in a matter of seconds was a technical triumph. My college drama teachers
should see the production. They would do well to take a few lessons from him.
The whole cast was excellent.
The next morning I took a tour that included such old
tourist sightseeing standbys as Whitehall, Buckingham Palace, and the changing
of the Guard, St. Paul's Cathedral, and Westminster Abbey. I could write five
pages at least concerning each of these places and events, but since I've
actually been writing this account over a period of two weeks now, I think I'd
better not.
During the afternoon, I visited the House of Parliament,
although I couldn't go into the main chamber since the house was in session. Saw
the London Bridge and road over it, the Tower of London with its terrible
history, the crowns and jewels of the royal family, and Big Ben. I set my watch
by Big Ben as it chimed out the hour in its eternal manner.
Dame Margot Fonteyn, some
years after I saw her.
The ballet program was one of the highlights of my entire tour. Seeing Margot Fonteyn was an experience I was fortunate to have, for she had been ill for some time and unable to dance. This was her first performance since her illness. The beautiful Covent Garden theater was packed to overflowing. My theater companion this time was another pretty lady, a great conversationalist who could analyze and criticize things theatrical in an uncanny manner. Our talk began when I noticed that no smoking was permitted in the theater (according to the program)..."Not even Abdullah," it said. I asked her if that was intended to be especially clever and she said yes, it was. Her knowledge of the ballet as revealed in our intermission conversations was amazing. She never went to movies she said. She considered it impossible to compare legitimate theater with movies. I couldn't figure out how she could make this statement if she never attended movies.
Meanwhile, a miracle took place in front of my eyes...the dancing of Margot Fonteyn. I just couldn't believe my eyes. It's the first time a ballet dancer has made me break out in goose bumps and spirited applause and enthusiasm. The whole audience gave her a nice ovation and she took many curtain calls as the people stood to shout their "bravos". (Margot Fonteyn was to become Dame Margot Fonteyn not long after I saw her perform.-LRB).
The next day I went by bus to Eton College. Such an old
place. Part of the foundations were built from beams from the ships of the
Spanish Armada fleet. Then on to Windsor Castle, one of the biggest
castles I've ever visited. It covered acres and acres. And it actually
looked like a castle, whereas so many of them don't. Then I went to Hampton
Court, where the famous gardens are so popular with color photographers. We
drove through Hampton Park and then, after I bought a little Honiton vase in a
curio shop, we headed back along a beautiful drive, towards London. We passed
the Air Corps headquarters, Longchamps' race track, and other interesting places.
Many huge companies had factories out along the main highway and they were
forced by law to build artistic fronts to their factories. Very nice.
During my last day in London I walked quite a bit, seeing
Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, and other sights. When you see many
two-decker buses gathered at one time at Piccadilly Circus, it is quite an
amazing sight. The National Art Museum and the Tate Galleries were wonderful to
visit.
Although the food was not the best in the world (boiled
potatoes for breakfast?), I managed to eat very satisfactorily and enjoyed not
worrying about money matters since I had plenty of pounds and checks that could
be easily cashed. It was a relief after those apprehensive days in Holland and
Belgium.
I spent half a day visiting the National Art Museum and the
Tate Museum. Both contained excellent exhibitions, the Tate Museum included
paintings from other countries as well as Britain. Excuse me for digressing.
My last theater ticket was good for "The Barber of
Seville" and believe me it was very entertaining to sit in a theater where
I could understand what was going on. I enjoy German theater and opera, but you
can't deny that if you know what they are talking and singing about it's bound
to keep you awake longer. There was a character in "The Barber" who
was so perfect he stole the whole show away from the leads. He was a comical
priest who had a tooth missing in front and wore an impossible hat. (The same
kind of hat was worn in a different manner in "Much Ado," I noticed. I
had never seen anything like it before). No matter what this character
did, he was excruciatingly funny and the audience's laughter was so loud the
rest of the dialogue and music was inaudible. Of course that kind of scene
stealing is unforgivable in the eyes of many people (Shakespeare, for one), but
it was just what the doctor ordered for this comic opera. The Sadler's Wells
Orchestra was the best I've heard in Europe. Such beautiful music! Played in an
entirely different and much more invigorating manner than you can hear in the
state-managed German orchestras. The German's play the music properly, and I'm
sure they keep on the beat and in the right key most of the time, but there it
stops. This orchestra started from there and expressed the feeling the composer
intended. The stage setting was colorful and the whole cast was a dream.
When it came time to leave London, I really dreaded the
arrival of the little Am Express man who was to lead me by the hand to the
station and put me in my proper reserved seat on the train to Dover. I dashed
around too quickly in London, the time sped by so fast, I could hardly believe
it was time to go. London is such a romantic place as far as history and
literature are concerned. Such places as "Dickens' Old Curiosity
Shop," I'll never forget. The fact that my schedule was so full in London
was both fortunate and unfortunate. I would like to have had another week
(year?) to do all that I wanted to do.
Ye old Curiosity Shop. One of
my better snapshots, I think.
I remember that I arrived back in London from Hampton
Court just in time to catch a cab to the theater and be seated at the precise
moment the curtain rose for the performance of "The Barber of
Seville". That kind of schedule is a bit too hectic for a relaxed vacation.
The people in London seemed to be neither anti-American nor
pro-American. In fact, at no time on my whole trip was I abused or sneered at,
that I noticed. Many soldiers who frequent the beer halls, however, have a
different story to tell. "Ami, go home" is a common greeting. And open
criticism and sarcasm is meted out on every side. I'm glad I saw none of this. I
know it would have spoiled to a great extent my tour of the countries.
The seemingly superior attitude of the British is not too
hard to take if you realize that most of it stems from the dialect of the
language and the difference in the way they make their phrases and say their
words. Once you realize this, the speech becomes interesting instead of
superficial, and offers no barrier whatsoever.
I noticed one more perhaps uninteresting detail nevertheless
worth telling. In the Green Parrot restaurant, where I ate, mainly because it
was in a convenient place, the waiters were very impatient with people who came
in to drink a cup of coffee or tea and read their newspapers. Every few minutes
the waiter would ask them, "More tea? More tea?"...until the annoyed
customers would get up and leave.. As long as they were eating food, it was all
right, but the managers were anxious to get rid of them pronto if they weren't
eating in order to have room to serve customers who would be paying more. This
behavior is unheard of in Vienna. There, a customer can read the paper and drink
one cup of mocha tasse at the best restaurant in town and stay half a day in
doing it. All seemingly with the blessing of the managers. What a difference!
(I have just noticed that clouds are forming in the sky over
Lenggries. I suppose it would be too much to expect the sun to shine two days
straight without rain.)
But I'm not yet even to Paris, and that's where I'm to stop
next.
I didn't wait for the Am Ex Agent to pick me up at the
Imperial Hotel. I hailed a cab and high-tailed it to the station all by my
lonesome. There I met the American Express Man who reimbursed me the amount I
had paid for the cab, and took me to the track my train was on and plunked me
down in my reserved seat. I was one-half hour early, but that isn't unusual
because most passengers traveling on the trains of Europe are in their seats
plenty early.
Across from me in the compartment were two English ladies who
were quite excited about spending a holiday "on the continent." The
train pulled out at last, and I was soon seeing the channel from my window as we
rolled along toward Dover.
I boarded the ship after the usual customs inspection. The
ship was more modern than the Belgian one. It was neither English nor French,
but sort of an international vessel.
I ate a big lunch in the ship's restaurant and then went onto
the top deck to look for Calais. The crossing took only one hour and twenty
minutes. I met no one of interest on board. One young American civilian fellow
kept running around telling everyone his problems, but I wans't much interested.
He had just lost his expense account and was quite depressed about it, as he
should have been.
Calais came into view and it was quite as I had expected.
Strange looking two and 3 storey houses along the flat coast, and the regular
small seaport paraphernalia. I took a picture from the boat just as we were
entering the dock.
At Calais I boarded the "Golden Arrow" train again
and it took off for Paris. Hours later we were passing through the beautiful
French countryside and I caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower through the haze
in the distance. But then it disappeared and I didn't see it again until my
second day in Paris. What a surprise! I thought it would be visible from
anywhere in the city. I missed the Am Ex Agent, who was supposed to meet me as I
stepped off the train. Finally, I located him, but he was so busy he had little
time to be polite to me. At last, after running up and down the busy street, he
hailed down a cab and paid the driver to haul me and my suitcase to the
Commodore Hotel.
It was a splendid drive, and quite a long one, too. I kept
gaping at the street names and buildings hoping to find where I was and if I
could remember reading about the places.
I had been told that the Commodore Hotel was an Army
Hotel...all soldiers staying there. Was I astonished when the cab stopped in
front of two huge glass doors covered by a white canopy which boasted
"Commodore". I was the only soldier there. The hotel was
excellent...my room with bath couldn't have been more satisfactory...and the
bell boy was offering me fantastic rates of exchange for my travelers' checks
before I had even tipped him.
After refreshing myself, I climbed aboard the elevator for
the five floor descent to the lobby. There I dashed to the ticket agency to make
my reservations. Nearly everything was filled up for that night, but I did get a
ticket to see the flamenco dancer,
Carmen Amaya. I also booked a seat for the Follies Bergere for Saturday night
and the opera "Faust" (with the complete ballet, which is not often
presented), for Sunday night.
Carmen Amaya, whom I had seen in movies and on TV, turned
out to be a torrid, tempestuous, Spanish dancer who fought imaginary bulls and
the like. Carmen was getting on in age, almost having the look of a welterweight
boxer, but she and her company energetically met the expectations of the highly
biased audience. The extraordinarily noisy crowd seemed to feed on the frenzied
antics of the dancers. At least half of the audience appeared to be of Spanish
blood, and they kept yelling things to Carmen and making all kinds of loud
noises. I didn't dare leave my seat at intermission, because the place was so
crowded. Besides, the usherette was very angry with me because I didn't tip her
for showing me to my seat - a tipping custom that was unknown to me then.
At last the alarming experience was over and I hailed a cab
that took me over the famous streets of Paris back to my hotel, which was in the
Montmarte section, not far from the Follies Bergere theater.
The next day I went shopping. I bought a French tam (beret),
and a dark blue pull over shirt. I rushed back to the hotel and put the new
things on and topped them off by putting a pink silk neckerchief about my neck.
The girl at the ticket agency in the lobby assured me that the beret looked very
becoming on me, so I proudly walked out into the street again.
As I was waiting in front of the American Express office for
a tour to start, an American lady stepped on my toes. Then she backed away very
startled and said, "Pardone, monsieur," thinking me to be a Frenchman.
I was undecided whether to be pleased or insulted.
(We just had a three minute cloudburst here in Lenggries
where I am writing this account. What a lot of noise and downpour! But now the
sun is shinning again.)
On the Paris city tour, I saw the main points of interest.
The Louve, Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, Gladiator, etc., all very wonderful. And
Notre Dame, the Left Bank, the bridges, the antique shops, the parks, the Arc de
Triomphe, and the Palais of Justice.
Palais of Justice, Paris
I look just the same in all these scans.
I met a lady and her daughter and her son who were
from Denver. I kept running into them all the time I was in Paris. They thought
I was a Frenchman when they first saw me. I enjoyed getting to know them and
eating with them at the Pam Pam restaurant (American-style food - hamburgers and
milk shakes, etc). They were headed for New Delhi where the man of the family
was to be consultant engineer for the Indian government, concerned with the
Point Four Program. They were very unhappy about leaving their friends and home
in Denver, yet very excited about the prospect of their new life in such
different surroundings.
That night I claimed my seat at the famous Follies Bergere.
Now hold on to your hat for I'm going to tell you about it just as it was.
My seat was 4th row center. I was dressed in my French
outfit, thank goodness. If I had been in uniform, there's no telling what might
have happened to me. Even an American Major (a fat one) was humiliated to death
with four enlisted men when they became involved in an audience participation
act on stage.
The theater was over crowded. The balcony was filled and so
were all the aisles. The stage was medium-sized, but the roof of the auditorium
was very, very high.
The first act (of a total of 40!) came on stage. Quite nice,
I thought. The leading lady was a natural crowd-pleaser, pleasant and friendly.
But there was something oddly strange about her. She (Yvonne Menard) had on
silver lipstick. It gave her a most weird appearance.
The acts proceeded one after the other. Each was fabulously
extravagant to an unbelievable degree. One act presented was a chess game,
played by people who sat in the air at a most improbable angle without falling
to the floor. All the furniture and props were set on an angle, too. I can't
explain it, but it was a stage production triumph done with reflective mirrors,
I guess..
During the scene, one man places a lid over the chess board
and chessmen and the curtain goes down. Almost immediately, the curtain opens
again and you see a large box coming towards you. It is suspended in air with
huge steel cables. As the box reaches the front of the stage, the lid opens and
reveals live people dressed as chess pieces. Then they proceed, by their dance,
to enact an actual chess game. It was amazing, as you might imagine.
The first shocking act came next. It was concerned with dope
fiends, devils, and maiden sacrifices to the Gods. Of course the girls were nude
and the whole scene was quite surreal. The girls, with glaring red lights
playing on their bodies, wiggled up the stairs on their bare skin and finally
jumped into the blazing fire at the point of the devil's prodding. Quite an
exciting spectacle! The audience, I noticed, sat very quiet throughout the
strange happenings. They were very quiet through all the acts in which the
performers were nude.
The men were not entirely nude. They wore slight,
less-than-bikini, contraptions. The women wore only their lipstick and
g-strings.
It is impossible for me to describe each act. I can only make
a few generalizations. The whole 40-act performance impressed me as great
entertainment and an amazing bit of theater lighting and production. And also as
being very perverted. That isn't very consistent, is it? But there were acts
that would go over with any audience, and there were acts that probably should
never have been devised. The stage was much too small for the huge cast and the
elaborate settings and costumes.
The act concerning the loves of Lucretia Borgia was by far
the most shocking thing I had seen to date. Yvonne Menard (an international
star), again appeared but this time as Lucretia. She wasn't sweet and pleasant
any longer. During the scene in which she tries out each of seven lovers' sexual
powers, she wore nothing but her silver lipstick and a diamond clip, which
somehow stayed in place. (Aren't you glad I provide no photos of these
goings-on?)
The men did everything they could to win her as a bride.
Their physical love making was exaggerated and sometimes quite brutal. They were
all over her, in a wriggling mass. All this took place in front of that large
mixed audience, some of whom were hopelessly shocked. But isn't that why they
attended?
I had expected to be shocked, myself, and believe me I was.
While the leading lady was choosing the most able lover of the group, the rest
of the cast was busy doing the same things as the leads, all enjoying themselves
erotically, or so it seemed.
That's one stage act I'll never forget, although perhaps I should.
One act concerned a drunken debutant who wandered out of the
ballroom into the park where a bronze statue stood in the center of a lake. Of
course the debutante was unaware that the statue was really a live, very
muscular man, just posing as a statue. She approached the statue after disrobing
herself and began to rub her body against him. The live statue took it as long
as he could, and then he grabbed her by the hair and pushed her underneath the
water. He, too, went under the water with her. In about a minute they came back
up - he to resume his pose as a statue, and she to put her gown back on and
return into the ballroom. All this represented the completion of the sex act
under water.
The only disappointing act, to my mind, was the singing of
"Old Man River" by the black performer, Babe Williams. He was
terrible, and the rest of the audience did not like his rendition any more than
I did. He spoke perfect French, however, as well as I could judge. He did much
better later on when he sang "Danny Boy" but his rendition was
exaggeratedly sad.
During intermissions they announced that there would be
oriental dancing downstairs. I didn't go down there. The ushers tried to sell
the customer rubber belly dancers, which wriggled and jumped in their hands.
Again, I repeat, the stage production was astonishing and
magical. And, indecent. The show ended at about 12:30 p.m., four hours after it
started.
The next day I met the family from Denver again, as I joined
a tour going to the Palais of Versailles. It was a grand tour, and we saw all
the famous rooms in the palace, including the Hall of Mirrors where treaties
were signed. We visited the museum where we saw the fantastically elaborate
coaches that were built for the Kings of France.
That evening I donned my Class "A" uniform and
claimed my seat at the most beautiful theater I had ever seen, the Paris Opera
House. There I saw a great performance of "Faust" and the complete
ballet, as I stated previously. The program had an English supplement, so I knew
quite well what was happening on stage. The man who sang the part of
Mephistopheles was about seven feet tall, big, and with an excellent voice. The
singer playing Margaret was also very good. I'll never forget the beautiful
stairway in the opera house and the elegance of the lobby. It was grand. The
opera and ballet together were quite long. After it was over, I walked back the
short distance to the Commodore Hotel and went to bed.
Snapshots I
took from the "top" of the Eiffel Tower.
Next day, I ran after the bell boy and got from him
more Francs for travelers' checks. Then I decided to walk around for awhile. I
later found myself on the Metro (subway) headed for the Eiffel Tower. I enjoyed
going to the top of the tower even if it did take three elevators, plus a walk
up some stairs to get up there. It's called the top, but it isn't quite at the
top. The outskirts of Paris disappear in the mist, but what I could see was
beautiful. I took quite a few snapshots from the tower and around the park in
which it is located. I spent quite a bit of time there. Along the river there
were many bathers and even acrobats practicing their acts. When the acrobats
fell, they fell into the river, which is probably why they practiced there.
Nancy, France
I did not see an
opera at the opera house in Nancy.
Scene in
France
Since my money was running low, I decided not to extend my reservations in Paris. I left for Munich, traveling through the French cities of Nancy and Strassbourg, then into Germany. Since I still had three days left of my furlough, I had to think fast. I got a room at the Army hotel, the Columbia in Munich. The cost is twenty cents per night and the rooms and services provided are very good. I went to the PX and bought coffee and cigarettes using my ration card. The first German I met after leaving the PX bought my supplies for 45DM (German marks), so I was set for a nice time for the rest of my furlough. To give you a small idea of the black market in Germany, the cigarettes and coffee cost me about $4.00 and at the time that would be about 16.80 Marks. You can see that I made quite a good bargain.
Munich, Germany
Panoramic views of Munich streets and the Nymphenburg Castle grounds in more recent times. (scroll down, left and right):
I went to the American Way Service Club where I booked
tickets for 3 operas and a tour to Nymphenburg Castle. The tour to the castle
was quite interesting. The guide was better than any guide I had in London or
Paris. The "Hall of Beauties" (paintings) at the Castle was worth
seeing as was the hunting lodge. Also I visited the Nymphenburg Porcelain
Factory, but I didn't buy anything. The first night I saw "La Boheme".
It was quite good, although someone in the audience went berserk and had to be
escorted out. The leading singer kept singing through all the commotion to the
great appreciation of the audience, who applauded loudly for his presence of
mind. But you should have seen the startled look on his face when he first heard
the shouts from the unfortunate fellow in the audience.
The next day I rode all over Munich on street cars (free, you
know), and was quite astonished to find out what a great and magnificent city
Munich must have been at one time. But how shocking and tragic is the sight of
the hundreds and hundreds of elegant buildings which now appear as gutted ruins.
At night, I had a front seat to see "Das Rheingold" and it turned out
to be the best Wagnarian production I've seen (even including "Der
Meistersinger"). I was amazed. The scenes that took place under water were
most excellently done.
The last night in Munich (Friday), I saw "The Marriage
of Figaro" and although the leads had bad colds, they came through fairly
well. The setting was colorful and the actors lively, but they could not compare
in excellence to the cast of "The Barber of Seville" in London, in my
opinion.
Saturday, I checked out of the Columbia and boarded the train
for Lenggries. My furlough was over. My hopping around Europe was over, too, at
least for a time. There were still Austria, Switzerland, Italy and Capri to be
seen.
But I was ready for some work again. I rested during my three
days in Munich and felt very refreshed instead of worn out when I returned to
Lenggries. I hope to be able to return to London again and perhaps to Paris.
London had such excellent theater and ballet, and Paris was exciting.
If I should ever return to Europe it would be to visit
England, Ireland, Scotland, Sweden, Finland, and perhaps Russia. I would
especially like to have time to hunt for my relatives and records of my
ancestors in the UK.
A Bad Tolz view, in a
different season.
So now I am back at work at the EUCOM Quartermaster
School, scolding my students (all Sergeants who march to and from class) and
counting each day until my next furlough (South).
Out of breath. -Pfc. Lynn R. Burton.
Copyright (c) 1952-2006 Lynn Ransom Burton.
lburton@infowest.com
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