London Archives - Page 2 of 2

November 15, 2016November 14, 2016

Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 13-15 Nov; London-moving hotel

Wed 14-Nov-56: Walked shops & booked in Debenham Court [Granville Place]. British Museum, saw sculptures of Egypt, Greek, Hindu.

Tuesday 9:30 p.m.

13 Nov 56

London

Darling,

I shouldn’t write at all tonight. My mood might affect you who are so sensitive to other’s condition. But seeing as how, this thing of mine will be about a week in the past when you read this, I don’t guess it will matter much. It gets dark so dammed early here-a little later than 4:30 p.m.-and the evening seems so long. I went out for a meal and staggered down to a newsreel for an hour. Place was full of necking couples. Here on the continent people seem to neck anywhere-particularly so in Paris where it’s nothing to see them kissing in the underground trains or in the cafes. Have just ordered a cup of tea-it is something they really make well in this lounge. As a matter of fact it is a much more cheerful drink, than Guinness Stout.

Graham said in his last letter that you weren’t well and you have mentioned seeing Cummins. I do hope you are managing to keep going without too much strain, sweetie. I don’t want you to feel poorly while I’m away. I wish I could help somehow-like being home-I wish I was at that. I should have written you about the Gallery at lunchtime when I was fresher. I went back and it was nearly dark when I came out. It’s got a bit wearing-despite the magnificent early Italian works. I think I’ll read for a while and go to bed.

You needn’t worry about me getting home-things here seem quite normal and placid. In fact, one hears little talk of trouble. A few letters in the papers, appears to be the only manifestation of steam letting off. This ponderous letter will be the death of you. I really must cease. Shall carry on in the murky light of dawn. Lots of love to you my dear little hugging girl. Nothing, absolutely nothing would be better than really to sleep against you, and there somehow, find again a small boy’s peace. I occasionally get quite frantic at the thought that such a pleasure is so far off. Seems, sometimes, I’ll never have it again. But then, that’s nonsense-in fact it is less than three weeks off. But how long those 3 weeks are to become is more than I care to contemplate. I am desperately in need of you. It’s weak of me-but I get relief and comfort in admitting it. And why shouldn’t I open up to you, who are now so much part of me? As I have, it seems, become part of you, and the rest of your life. We are now, inextricably woven of a piece and it gives me happiness to think of it. Good night-other half of my heart. Sleep easily from me.

Wed 9:30 a.m. 14 Nov.

I am a new Willie-stronger in all respects-ready to face the rain of intrepid calm. I have been posting off some small books and catalogues and pamphlets. Getting too heavy to handle. My bag is now swollen and I shall have to get a cheapjack one to take the overflow. Must make a move to organise myself more precisely. Trouble is I don’t know yet what the accommodation will cost by the time I leave tomorrow. I’m moving into a 21/- a day dump. Have to, as I want to buy some things. And feeling much brighter and had best make a move out into the drizzling city. God bless you, you little beaut! I love you brightly this morning. Watch out for a vigourous return of the prodigal boy.

7 p.m. back again from the cold dark city. Am up in my eyrie, back with you, where I belong. Went out to the shops again this morning to have a look around and as there are so many of the flaming things I am little better off now than when I started. Called at Simpsons to get an idea of what they have. Looked in lots of other windows-made arrangements to move up near Oxford Street, behind the fabulous Selfridges store. By the time I leave here (in the morning) this place will have cost me £18.5.2. (8 nights at £2, one dinner 14/6, one ½ bt claret 8/6, 1 coffee 1/-, 3 breakfasts 19/6, 4 phone calls 1/8). The new place looks quite comfortable and I’ll be £1 a day to the good. Wish I had moved earlier. Food is expensive in London and cigs are 4/-a packet. Although I haven’t bought many. Still smoking some I got duty-free on the ship I came across the Channel in. Incidentally I am writing this letter with a pen I picked up in the Rue de L’Opera, Paris France. I feel very fond of you, ducky. Got my air plane ticket and pick the plane up at Zürich. I will be home at 7 a.m. on Sunday 2 Dec.

I’m leaving London on Monday (as far as I can recollect, having lost the folder. Anyway I must buy the ticket tomorrow, to make certain that is paid for) about 7 p.m.-spend about 5 hours aboard ship and arrive in Holland about 7 a.m. where a full day’s journey by train alongside the Rhine gets me into Basle about 10 p.m. Tuesday. As this hour is too late to catch a plane due off at 10.40 I have made these arrangements, and will write Basle for accommodation overnight Tuesday and spend day in Zürich to get plane on Wednesday 28^th at 10:25 p.m. And the whole fare is only £8.16.0. To catch the plane here, first class, would cost me £21.12.0. So it’s quite a saving and if it does by some mischance happened to be a nice day I’ll see quite a bit of the Rhine. Wish me God spend, dearest, I am getting closer. Also bought another suitcase-very much like the one I have, only smaller and light grey in colour. Lined, and with two pockets, soft top, etc, practically an albino twin-45/-at Selfridges. Bought a new translation of the New Testament by a Jewish scholar. Should do me good, more soothing than that wicked Henry Miller I’ve been reading. Went up to the British Museum where my legs gave out and I had to totter off to have some tea and toast. Went back feeling better. Saw a lot of Indian sculpture-was disappointed in the relics of Stupas they had. The whole effect was overburdened and maggoty. Very sad reaction to the old enthusiast. Some of the single figures were very fine. Perhaps I was too buggered. This was before I had the tea. The Tibet’s have some very vicious and naughty concepts about their other worldly hierarchy. The principle of the male and female union, as the basis of all things is depicted with extremely vivid realism. Moreover it is a union that is quite normal in its management. They are very naughty ‘Adavayas’ indeed. After the tea I stayed on the ground floor and was delighted with the Greek and Egyptian stuff. Must have another look. If ever I’m fresh enough I should take some notes. The Tate, National, and Museum should just about use up my time. I was going to take a run up to Oxford but don’t know off I can make it. I certainly can’t get up north to see your father’s people. Finances just won’t stand it. I am not wasting money-but must bring something back. Should go out to Windsor though, it’s only an hour in the bus stop and going out to Rex Reinits place tomorrow night at 6:30 p.m. so we’ll have a little social life for our secret anniversary. He is an Australian writer I used to work with many years ago. I think I mentioned I bumped into him in the bar here, or rather next-door. He has a radiogram so I’ll be taking my Romanian records and shall hear them myself for the first time. I hope the technical aspect of the recordings is all right. I am sure the musical part was performed in a suitable manner in the first place. I hope your old trotters have not been giving you too much trouble-and that the warm weather is allying the old screws a bit. You poor little thing-I’d only be too happy to mass arguing this moment-I’d willingly put up with your squawks and shrieks for the pleasure of being around on the chance of getting an occasional nip at your earlobes. Hotel rooms are deadly things on an empty stomach-so I’ll take myself off and fossick for a meal someplace handy. I’ll be with you again very shortly. I’m sure to get chips with whatever I have. These Londoners seem to live on nothing else. Chips-chips-chips-they eat such enormous quantities of them you’d reckon on getting some fresh some time. But not yet.

9:45 p.m. Back again in my beloveds arms.

How right I was about the chips. Just had a great reason plate full of them with a little piece of steak. I think it is the fat that clings to the chips which makes them so much of a must in food. Like Eskimos eat walrus fat, or candles, the carbohydrates are very warming. Better than Guinness. Not inspiring though. This letter is becoming very staccato in touch-little has happened to fire me off into a grand, and sustained, broadside of enthusiasm. Still haven’t dreamt about you, although for £2 a sleep one would expect even a modicum of entertainment during the night. I feel as if I am being diddled by someone, out of a free and harmless pleasure. Don’t know whether to get into bed, or go down and have some tea. Perhaps tea, and a last look around the lounge of the Howard Hotel. This letter is becoming a struggle because I have more than half a page to go with nothing to say on it-absolutely nothing. I’ll go down and see if I can find an evening paper to squiz at.

9 a.m. 15 Nov. have been thinking of you since I got up. I wish I could be at home to give you the loving kiss you deserve on such a day as this. Two years during which I think we are becoming better suited and as for me more deeply attached to you. I send you a great deal of love, my darling, and hope the way I feel at the moment will remain always deep in my being. Rows, I suppose, will be inevitable, but I trust they will be nicer and fonder.

Lots of love again-please get Graham to give you a kiss from me-and ask Trellie to give you a horrid great leak in one go from top to toe. Tell Graham I am anxious to hear the triumphal return music. I hope he has it all pat by the time I get home-he has that extra week’s practice.

I have been sweating blood on working out finance-and if I get the things I want all have to starve to death. I don’t know whether to get you to wire me £20 or not. If I just had an extra tenner I would be right. It’s a flaming curse. Oh, I think you had better-it’s mad to get oneself into a jam all this way off for the sake of £20. O skip all this, I have just seen Peter Gladwyn and he tells me not to worry. They will be able to do something for me. I got your loving cable off him too. Thanks so much, sweetie, I sort of thought I might get one. God love you!

I don’t know whether to catch the plane here-Cook’s Travel Agency says it might be cheaper. I am going down to see capital BOAC about it. It’s hard to determine things whether to see the Rhine or not. Will let you know in my next letter.

Much love and happiness to my dearest little wife from her loving fellow, Bill. XXX

Tell Graham S.A.O.H. to him to!

For the 15^th Nov 1954.

London 1956

How do I recall-

Lips parted

In a crimson pleasure

Of love?

How do I recall-

Their pearly packets

Piercing irregularities into

My willing limbs?

How do well recall-

The tiny, ardent breast

When my lips

With full of her,

And love?

How do I recall-

I, Pygmalion,

When her limbs

Came to life

In warm embrace?

How do I recall-

The liquid anguish

Through which we fired

A smouldering sleep?

How do I recall-

My Dorothy?

From your husband

Bill

203 Piccadilly St. James's, London SW1Y, UK

Granville Place London W1H, UK

London, UK

400 Oxford Street London, UK W1A 1AB, UK

November 13, 2016November 13, 2016

Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 12-13 Nov; London – National Gallery

Tue 13-Nov-56: Great pleasure, National Gallery morning & afternoon.

12 Nov 56

9 PM London

Dearest girl,

The heat from posting your letter at 5 PM has petered out. (It didn’t get the mail anyway, as it was 5 PM, London GPO, wherever that may be.) There’s nothing like being in a slightly (or really) class hotel in London for being out on a limb. There is not even the satisfaction of imagining what all the mugs are talking about. Or even the pleasure of watching them throw their hands and eyes around in mad explanatory abandon. Everything is controlled and everything is in its place-even if, as I have said, they work for it, and it is part of their tremendous solidity. I don’t have any affection for London-I think it is a wonderful crystallisation of one aspect of the human drive. Perhaps I’m being biased about it all because this pub is in a legal and business area withdrawn, dignified, and not play house. Even serious people like Ulanova apparently stay here. It really is very comfortable-exceptionally clean-and a good table. As a matter of fact, I could not imagine a better place for you and I to be in, if we were together. It is not flashy American. The seats on the lounge writing rooms are all shapes and sizes, and a gentle murmur of slightly foreign voices permeates the air. Two people could-and do-sit in the corner and make modest love and it is very becoming and warming. The only laughter I can hear, is from the young-at heart-passé dame who serves in the cocktail tiny bar. She said “good night” as I came in, and I needed it. However amiability at 3/- for sherry has its limits. After two I couldn’t afford any more jolly converzione with the couple alongside me. Please don’t think this is a whingeing letter. I am merely trying to place a picture which needs no comment one way or the other. That is all there is to it. If I were full of fairies I would say the same, but perhaps sing it with a gayer melody. Guinness is good to you! Look at me!

I don’t mind the European accent-it has as a rule, a rather silvery quality catching the lights and cadences which rise above the abysmal undertones of the lounge. But God spare me the loud over-ripe persimmon squashyness of the American tourist-or even more, God strike dead, all American lecturers or guides, who conduct their compatriots around the Tate Gallery and explain the delicacies of Gainsborough in tones of the loudest molasses. Opposite are three people, one of whom, is like a good-looking Mrs Bookalil (we met her at Ngaire Phillips do) she is foreign and handsome-must have been a beauty-about, oh who could tell-she couldn’t be 50-and she couldn’t be 43. She looks old enough to be your mother, it seems to my far distant eye. I think you are lovely. But I think all girls are lovely-and the younger they are, the lovely-(and sillier). But you are still my girl-and you upset all ideas of what peoples (female) ages should be [Dorothy was 40]. I am getting you younger and younger every minute. And when I get home will be warm enough for us not to have to sit on the lounge-much as it holds associations that are unforgettable for us both. The whole of our loyalties have come from there-and we must not toss its contribution, or existence, aside too lightly. I am finding letter writing much easier in this lounge than in the Regina Venice. I have my finger on your thing, and nobody is disturbing me or even noticing us. I love you and I even hope you will think damply of me while you read this-my yen is for the comfort you can give me. There won’t be many more notes from me that you can answer. I reckon that the next two will be about the limit. Don’t send me anything that I can’t get by the 23^rd or 24^th Nov. I will be leaving by train to Zürich on Monday 26^th. So please send me a bold and encouraging word before this. I guess this wickedness is enough for tonight.

Your Bill.

XXXXXX

2 p.m.: Tuesday [13 Nov 1956]

I am just adding this note whilst having a Guinness in the Garrick Hotel, which is opposite the Garrick Theatre. And is immediately behind the National Gallery. David Garrick was a famous actor and friend of Samuel Johnson’s. So I suppose the sites of both theatre and pub have been long established. I didn’t wake up until 9:30 a.m. this morning-must have been because I had the blinds drawn. Decided I may as well start on the Gallery as I’m not up to rushing around today. Not that I got on the scoot last night. A bad cold is helping to subdue my spirits. The weather in France and England would give you the creeps. It’s not wet, but an awful grey filters into your bones. There is no colour apart from the pearly lustre of a period greys. The blue, white and gold of a sunny harbour will hit me like a bomb. I do so wish you were with me to see the very wonderful pictures that are in the National Gallery. The English have done it again. I think even on a grey day both the National and Tate Galleries are fine display houses. I’ll save up for my next letter something of what to say about the pictures.

Do miss you being with me-so many little inconsequential details of interest one forgets to mention. All those little fine herbs that constitute the bouquet of flavour a particular city has. They are so ephemeral-some time, some stimulus will bring them all back-and perhaps I can give you a hint of their being. I don’t know why beauty depresses me one would think it to have the opposite effect. Perhaps it’s too big for my triviality-makes me want to crawl into a common place bar for a break and a breather. I am ready to tackle it again after I posted this letter. I am making up a schedule for myself for the remaining time. Must get away from the aimless wandering and get myself a purposeful routine. I want to settle down to the galleries and come home hot with the good intent. I love you, again and again. And will properly never again harbour such affection for you, as I will on Thursday the 15^th. A deep kiss you.

From your husband,

Bill

November 12, 2016November 13, 2016

Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 11-12 Nov; London – Remembrance Day

Sun 11-Nov-56: Went 11am ceremony at the Cenotaph which Queen attended. Hyde Park & Pall Mall in afternoon.

Mon 12-Nov-56: Chelsea by bus – walked to Battersea & to Tate Gallery – got Dorothy’s Rumanian letters.

1 PM, Sunday 11 November 56

London

Dearest girl,

I have only just posted a letter to you, that may as well begin again, who knows when this episode will get finished, and sent off. It is sure to be a serial effort. I have just put some drops in my eyes, so for a hour or so will be useless on the streets, sightseeing. I haven’t been using them during the day as it becomes impossible to see a thing. I didn’t put them in early today as I wanted to walk along the embankment, post some letters and see the doings. Saw great crowds conveying towards Westminster, so I followed on and discovered it was remembrance Sunday when a service is held at the Cenotaph which the Queen attends. Couldn’t get anywhere near the Cenotaph but watched all the preparatory organisation. Military bands leading detachments of various forces towards the Cenotaph. The boys in busbies, looks fine again and they led a small group of really Ruritanian guards dressed in long red capes, shiny helmets with long white plumes all horsehair, I suppose, hanging from the top of the helmet. Some were in black capes with red plumes from their helmets-all marched with drawn swords held squarely in front of them. They marched so well-and the clothes so finely cut-that it did not look at all Hollywood-indeed, they were quite impressive. A wonderful splash of colour against the sombre lined crowd lining the wide cleared stretch of Whitehall which contains the Cenotaph down at one end. It had been drizzling, but a few moments before 11 AM, the sun straggled fitfully out for a moment, to disappear in the grey and impressive silencing of London for two minutes. Then the last post was played-followed by a hymn and prayers. But I was too far off to really appreciate the ceremony. Anyhow, the Londoners turned up in a big way. I came back here to get my coat. It was cool, but sunny, when I left. Quite cold and damp later. Sunny again now-and pleasantly the raise a shining into the room as I write, alongside the hot water heater thingummy in the room. Pleasant enough but not lively. Jolly good for such an afternoon as we tossed off in Narooma nearly 2 years ago. I have on my black suit, yellow tie, and a bright red poppy, the whole ensemble giving the effect of an emaciated, that animated Belgian flag rather appropriate for the day, but perhaps it would be an improvement if I were in some shades of red white and blue. Nothing of consequence to say that find it company to natter up a large and expensive air mail fee. However I suppose I should go out and carry on the good work. No galleries from me on Sunday. Hyde Park probably is the right thing. Yes to Hyde Park, by the end of this page. I still love you.

9 PM. Here’s the old minute writer back on the job.

Caught a bus down Oxford Street to the corner of Hyde Park and arrived about 2:30 PM. I think any other Sunday would have been all right for a normal Hyde Park session, that Armistice Day has changed the overall pattern. There were not many of the famous park orators in operation. No show worth speaking of. It, the park, is roughly 1½ miles long by ¾ mile wide, about half to ¾ the size of Centennial Park. It is mostly flat and open and has a curved lake known as the Serpentine in which ducks, and scullers, disport themselves. Alongside the lake one promenades up and down, ad nauseum. Completely isolated from the bustle of the traffic, the crowds find something of rest and idleness. The feeble afternoon sun kept up just enough illumination to make things affable. But by 4.30 its rays have had it. Cantered over to Rotten Row to gape at the horseman and women. But they seem to operate mostly on an empty stomach before lunch. Finally found my way round to Buckingham Palace, which it not as imposing as the great royal constructions of Paris or Vienna. Still hundreds and hundreds of English and foreigners walking around the outside hoping for some loyalty to appear-or failing that, crowding round, inspecting the poor wretched young sentinels do their marionette pacing up and down, and foot banging, he’ll stamping formal turns at the end of their allotted stretch. What a life. Walked up the rapidly darkening tree-lined and gas light Pall Mall and watched immediately put upon by cars and pedestrians whilst the myriads of starlings and pigeons search out a perching place along the cornices of the surrounding building. The starlings kicking up a frightful racket. Had a cuppa-and walked round to have a lousy Chinese meal. Came home tired and have been reading the paper for an hour. Tired now, and think I’ll shout myself some tea and toast, or such, in the lounge and so to bed. No pubs open today.

Waterloo Bridge from Victoria Embankment; 11 November 1956

Westminster Bridge from Victoria Embankment; 11 November 1956

Thames River looking towards Waterloo Bridge from Embankment; 11 November 1956

Cleopatra’s Needle from Victoria Embankment, London; 11 November 1956

Looking towards St Martin in the Fields with the National Gallery to the left at Trafalgar Square; London; 11 November 1956

Remembrance Day Parade, marching down Whitehall towards the Cenotaph, just up from Downing Street, London; 11 November 1956

The Horse Guards, Whitehall, London; 11 November 1956

Looking towards Trafalgar Square from Whitehall, just outside the Lord Moon of the Mall Hotel on the left, London; 11 November 1956

Trafalgar Square, London; 11 November 1956

4 o’clock 12 November. Have just called down to Consol Press and they gave me all your letters. I am back at the pub and I am overwhelmed with the light that you should love me so much. I haven’t even had time to read all the notes returned from Bucaresti. I just am of a twit that you should be so sensible as to send them to me. I’ll have them like Spanish sherry-a sip at a time-I’ll extract all your affection slowly. My how the sparks will fly, when we meet! You are a honeydew, and just right for the picking. Sorry we have to hang out that extra flaming week. But I love you very much and a week more into the bargain. I’m tired of pushing around. I adore you so much I am going to run up the road and posters before I read all your early letters. I want you to know I am very happy indeed that you sent them. I am breathless with affection and I think I will celebrate with some Guinness Stout-it’s supposed to build you up no end-and seeing that the beer is crook I like it.

I caught a bus down to Chelsea this morning had a quick walk through and over the Thames to Battersea through Battersea Park and back across the river to the Tate Gallery which contains British paintings, modern European paintings, and modern sculpture. Was too gone in the leaks to stay long but will ride their next time. Called up to office and got the wonderful present. Am very happy. Have been a bit lonely in London. It is a big place-and pretty remote. Lacks the entertainment of the Gallic humanity. It was easier to watch in Paris. You are a very dear girl and I am your very sookie husband.

Bill.

St Mary-le-Strand Church from outside the Courtauld Institute of Art, Strand, London; 12 November 1956

St Clement Danes from The Strand adjacent to Australia House, London; 12 November 1956

Battersea Park, London; 12 November 1956

Albert Bridge from Battersea Bridge, London; 12 November 1956

Looking north from Grosvenor Road up Westmoreland Terrace, now part of Lupas Street, London; 12 November 1956

Albert Bridge Road, London SW11 4NJ, UK

London SW1A 1AA, UK

South Downs National Park, Lewes, East Sussex BN7, UK

London W1D, UK

Greater London, UK

London WC2N, UK

London SE1, UK

London SW11, UK

London, UK

St. James's, London, UK

Westminster, London W2 2UH, UK

WhitehallLondon, UK

November 11, 2016November 10, 2016

Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 11 Nov; London by red double-decker bus

Dear Graham,

This London is unbelievably huge. And to walk round it is more than I am capable of. So I often ride around in the bright red double-deckers, which are built the same as ours. But in London there are thousands of them going everywhere all at the same time. There are no trams here and the traffic gets around a lot better. I am looking forward to seeing you very soon.

Love xx Dad xx

November 10, 2016November 10, 2016

Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 9-10 Nov; London – the Lord Mayor’s Show

Fri 9-Nov-56: Saw Lord Mayor’s parade [Lord Mayor’s Show]. Went up Bloomsbury to British museum – had lunch with Peter Gladwynn & co. Went to BOAC looked at more shops.

Sat 10-Nov-56: Went to Beacontree Heath on bus. Looked round city – Westminster Abbey & Parliament – went Chelsea at night, met Rex Reinits

Howard Hotel

9 Nov ‘56

London 9.30pm

My dearest and very missed Dorothy,

There is really no way of getting what one feels into the “Heigh yar, Sweetie”, part of a letter – It all has to be inferred from the formal and well-worn adjectives which one has to use to someone with whom they wanted to be so close. To be inside their skin, with the same blood but with different harmonics of the heart. Get me? I’ve had gloomy news – The best the Air Line Co. can do for me is 28th Nov from Zurich. I had a message here at 5.30pm to say so. As no work is done over the weekend, I can’t ask them any further details. On Monday I’ll suggest if there are any cancellations near that date – to let me have them if I get 2 or 3 days’ notice. However, I don’t suppose a week will make that much difference after all this time. But I was looking forward to being with my family on the 25^th. (To say nothing of the extra dough needed for accommodation – However let’s skip it, and hope for something better. As it is, I should be very pleased. I had some black moments yesterday – when I thought I might even be marooned till God knows when. Bookings are building up again – because of people wishing to be home by Xmas. So keep your fingers (& your legs) crossed for me till you have me back with you all. But I’m warning you – wear your rosiest glasses. I’m trained down pretty keenly – not an ounce of fat anywhere – even on your personal part of me. I haven’t seen much of London yet apart from the shopping area – really this comprises most of the town proper – that is, excluding the financial quarters which is the city. I’ll start taking bus rides round tomorrow. Tell John Boyce I am living alongside the smell & fust of the bowler hatted & homberged legal fraternity. This hotel is in Norfolk St. just off the Strand & practically opposite Australia House & near the Royal Courts of Justice (which look imposing & very, very established). And tell them too (I mean Mrs Boyce as well) that I had the good fortune to see the Lord Mayor’s procession this morning. It would be practically identical with the procession that took place when Sir Leslie Boyce was elected or appointed Lord Mayor of London. I got quite a kick out of it & entered sympathetically into the English love of pageantry.

Lord Mayor’s Show from opposite T. Marks & Sons, 33 Fleet Street, London; 9 November 1956

What with the bands & mounted police, the sailors & airmen, and soldiers with great black bussils on. It was a drizzling day & the busbied boys wore long grey overcoats & looked extremely striking, without being musical comedy. You really caught the continuity of tradition with them. They were followed later by foot men in red with very anciently patterned costumes & with carried lances. Shiny breast plated guards in red, with white trousers and gloves, mounted on saddles draped with sheep skins. Beautiful horses & the guards in glistening metal helmets floating, with plumes & the crumby looking gilt Lord Mayor’s coach drawn by six liveried horses, each mounted by a rider in equally unworthy dress. Fleet St, all in flags & full of people. All indeed, there is so much about London that typifies the British spirit. That solid annual performance. The spick & span city – paint going on the window frames – the old black bricks being cleaned back to their warm & cheerful originality. A bourgeois stolidity that has yet freedom – because each individual aspect of the geographical city is the home, or castle of those whose desire it is to invest it with their personal pride and dignity. London is greater and more interesting than I ever expected. The British have not the Gallic lightness but by God it is obvious they are freer in concepts than the Germans – and based securely and irrevocably in their land & in their homes. And the shops! Every flaming aspect of commercialism, intonate, aloof, specialised – cheap jack – bazaar – slick – the works! A wonderful sight – nothing quite like it. And above all the myriads of people, the sound of the cockney (or London, I don’t know) voice – obligated by the accent of the avidly buying American tourists. It must be their paradise – because things are cheap. Not the best, lovely, but the next best are cheap. Still, plenty of new Rolls Royces, Bentleys, etc. around. Even the London cabs have really unbelievable English dignity. They are all black Austins, stuffy & box like – but immaculately polished – and all identically the same appearance, like a rather passé but well cared for great aunt of the family. The cabs & big fast, RED, double deckers, absolutely in in a never ending stream, go up & down the streets, which are nevertheless, quite easy to cross. And so, on and on, this description of London could go – and will. But at the moment all I can contemplate with enthusiasm is being with you in midst of a sportive spring night. I go to bed hoping I can dream about it – but I’m too tired to dream at all. It is most frustrating. I’m glad you miss my shoulder – next time you have it you can gnaw it to the bones for all I’ll notice. You shouldn’t have become so ardent during these years – I can hardly regard the nobility of that wonderfully laid out, and magnificently shopped Regent St, for thinking about the pleasures of a Northwood night.

Bedford Square looking down Bloomsbury Street, London; 9 November 1956

Near 82 Regent Street looking east towards Piccadilly Circus, London; 9 November 1956

5:20pm Saturday night [10 Nov 1956]. Even my urge is wilting under the onslaughts of this overwhelming city. It’s vast – huge – beyond any suburban conception. The impact is terrific – must be quite the moistest city in the world. Paris is beautiful – intimate even – but has none of the power London holds. Who’d have thought, or think, even now, to look at them, that the English could create & sustain so vitally, such a tremendous edifice. This morning I took a bus out past the East End, way out to a place called Becontree Heath. Over an hour’s run, through the slummy areas of Stepney Green – Bow Road – Stratford. Gradually opening a little through continuous rows of houses – through other shopping centres like Ilford and East Ham. The whole teaming with people. Districts, flat & dull, with empty bombed out blocks. All being slowly reconstructed under a housing scheme. Back again to wander round what is known as the City (the centre of Banking & Commerce & Finance). Huge stolid fortresses, like the Bank of England – granite like, impervious it seems to time or change. But alongside them, other great empty blasted spaces, being resurrected with huge modern offices in a different architectural style to those which remain. But the life is there, and the rather amazing emergence of the fogged will to power. It is hard to photograph these monolithic masses which so firmly hold to earth. The human seems secondary, whereas in Paris the buildings are lighter & are more for man. Then to walk along the Thames Embankment – the river busy with barges – the apparently inevitable mist – The still massive structures facing the river – and those blown away, being replaced by others equally large. And so on to Westminster, where the Houses of Parliament are being carefully reconstructed in original carving. Into Westminster – Downing St – Whitehall – Trafalgar Square – Many people placing tiny crosses with a red poppy & a deceased warrior’s name, in the grounds of the Abbey. Hundreds upon hundreds of tiny crosses. Further up guards in vermillion & black capes formally hold guard before ancient archways. Christ it is impressive! How could the English be subdued?

Later. Very nice to come in & find your bed turned down & your pyjamas laid out. Very nice, but is it worth it? If this is a cheap pub, the outlook is grim indeed. £2 per night. 6/6 for breakfast – 15/- dinner. I’ve had 3 nights – 3 breakfasts – 1 dinner & am down over a tenner. I’ll have to move. After finishing this letter I went up the road and had a feed at the dagoes. 5/- touch. It was then still early so I caught a bus down to Chelsea & roamed around dropping into various bars to see what they were like. The English beer is terrible (the draught beer I mean) almost makes me vomit. So I have either a small bottle of Guinness Stout – or a small bottle of pale ale. They are not too bad. The pubs are quite unlike anything we know. – More like mid Victorian drawing rooms. Always dark – plenty shiny glass – brown woodwork – lamp shades – people standing around like at cocktail parties. Some quiet – some with a pianist – & cut glass mirrors & sandwiches & snacks. Started home about ten o’clock & when I got outside my pub felt ravenous, so walked about a quarter of a mile to find a chocolate shop. Managed that, but was rebuffed. After a certain hour it is wicked to sell chocolate – was so aghast I nearly fell into the pub next door to the shop – to continue drinking (pubs are open till 11) – But was too hungry and went back to the shop & settled for a dreadful 1/4dth of beef sandwich. Which I finished in the lift coming up to my room. I was all set to tell you about the church up the road. St Clements Dane [Saint Clement Danes] or something – but I am wilting too rapidly.

So goodnight for sure, with this letter.

I still love you most immoderately and would like to sleep with my head snuggled into the armpit side of your right breast – just where I belong and am extremely comfortable, when not too excited to appreciate it. God bless you honey – I hope you got a little thing in a letter from me from Paris.

Dorothy’s much cherished cat broach which Bill sent her from Paris

I was in such a hurry & so confused because they wouldn’t accept it at letter rate – unless it was in a letter – I forgot to register it. I hope it arrived safely – because I didn’t want you to think that I would forget our second anniversary. I am unhappy that I cannot be with you. But we will have some Minchinbury for dinner the night I get home – I am really very happy and very lucky to have married a sweety adorable little bugger like yourself.

I love you still. Bill XXX

Looking towards the Royal Exchange from Queen Victoria Street near Poultry, Bank, London; 10 November 1956

The Bank of England viewed from Cornhill, Bank, London; 10 November 1956

St Paul’s Cathedral from Queen Victoria Street and Cannon Street at Mansion House, London; 10 November 1956

St Nicholas Cole Abbey, bomb damaged, viewed from Old Change Hill now part of Queen Victoria Street, London; 10 November 1956

College of Arms, 130 Queen Victoria Street, London; 10 November 1956

20 Deans Yd, London SW1P 3PA, UK

Westminster, London WC2N 5DN, UK

London, UK

London SW1A, UK

London WC2N, UK

London EC2R, UK

London, UK

Greater London, UK

London, UK

London E3, UK

London E1, UK

26 Sale Place, London W2 1PU, UK

London, UK

London WC1B 3QJ, UK

London WC1B, UK

Strand, London WC2R 1DH, UK

London EC4A, UK

London, UK

Strand, London WC2A 2LL, UK

Strand, London WC2B 4LA, UK

Norfolk Street, London WC2B 4LA, UK

London, UK

London SW1A 0AA, UK

Greater London, UK

Dagenham, Greater London RM9, UK

November 8, 2016November 8, 2016

Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 6-8 Nov; Au revoir Paris, ‘Allo London

Tue 6-Nov-56: Dashed around frantically shopping. Took Margaret to cheap eating house & on to a Spanish turn place

Wed 7-Nov-56: Caught 11:51am train to London. Couldn’t see any country for fog – arrived Dover at dusk & London 7pm, Howard Hotel

Thu 8-Nov-56: Collected 4 letters from Consol. Press. Roamed round shops – Piccadilly Strand, etc.

Howard Hotel

[Norfolk St, Strand]

Thurs 8 Nov ‘56

London 2.30pm

To a darling girl Dorothy,

Arrived in London last night & found my room all booked & no troubles at all. Got a cab from Victoria Station & everything was the easiest thing ever. Called at the Consol. Press office this morning & was abundantly rewarded with 4 beautiful loving letters. I gobbled them up with 2 or 3 glass of Younger’s Light Ale. London has done me proud. I am enjoying the first sunny day for more than a fortnight. Paris has been very grey (but still beautiful) & for the last few days almost fog bound. Hardly saw anything of the country from Paris to Calais. Cleared up near the coast & the sun came out. Found the boat trip across the Channel pretty dreary. Although it took but little more than an hour, it made me thankful that I did not have to contemplate 5 weeks or so of water – just to get home. I’d have gone crackers. I am going back to Victoria Station (where we came in from Dover) to contact BOAC & find out what cooks and when. Have been walking around this morning – but now get tired – my knee joints have folded up on me. Not so badly as to prohibit their use, on my return. This London is quite a place. – I haven’t even seen the Thames yet. But the Strand, Piccadilly – Oxford St, etc. where I have been window shopping are jolly well all right. Best shops in Europe. Wonderful things for sale – and all, at least they seem to me, after the Continent – very cheap. Dawdled round the basement of Selfridges – very good & so many things one doesn’t see at home. The shopfronts all spick & span – the building facades bright – All without that air of decay that sits like a veneer over most of Europe. This is just a quick note to give you immediate news of my arrival. I shall get back later into fuller reports – I’ll have more time alone now. I’ll have a few beers & pour me bleeding heart out to you.

The prospect of trying to walk over London daunts me. I shall master the bus services & see it more superficially. Called to see if Reg Ash was in – away in America still. Very much love to you, and to Graham & Trellie.

Will go & find advice on plane trip home.

Things are a bit up in the air about the trip home. I have to wait on advice from Scandinavian Airways – who were originally to take me to Bangkok.

Will let you know as soon as possible. It’s getting very dark and cold with the time only 4.45pm.

Lots of love darling

Your man

Bill

Tell Graham a postcard will get sent off tomorrow and tell him to find a photograph of me to put on the wall of Trellie’s bedroom – Don’t let her forget me.

[The Howard Hotel no longer exists nor does Norfolk Street, which used to run between Temple Place and Strand, directly opposite Australia House.]

Strand, London WC2B 4LA, UK

London, UK

London SW1V, UK

Kent, UK

France

75006 Paris, France

View from Pont Saint-Louis which connects Île Saint-Louis to Île de la Cité, looking south east towards Pont de la Tournelle, Paris; 6 November 1956

Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris; 6 November 1956

Looking north east from the Eiffel Tower, the Passerelle Debilly bridge in background, Paris; 6 November 1956

November 5, 2016November 3, 2016

Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 3-5 Nov; Paris – stuck in a Christian Dior parade

Sat 3-Nov-56: Day at the Daily Express while Roley worked.

Sun 4-Nov-56: Went to Embassy church & dinner on pig. Went to concert. Roley went to Vienna.

Mon 5-Nov-56: Weary, Odilon Roden exhibition, later to the Louvre – too dark to see the Rembrandts etc.

Paris

Monday

5^th Nov ‘56

My darling Dorothy,

I got a letter from you this morning dated 29^th Oct. That is a week ago and you called me a big monster because I hadn’t said I hadn’t got a letter from your affectionate heart. Please forgive me if I have not mentioned the joy they gave me. I am sure I must have done so. To tell the truth, it is only since I got to the Paris address that I have been getting anything. I know it is not your fault. I had one letter in Romania. One you had written just after the beautiful letters I picked up at the Hotel Austria. So you will forgive me. I asked them to mail my Romanian mail to Paris – but nothing has arrived so I guess everything is just any old-how in the east. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get the beautiful books they were to have forwarded. All the mail goes or did, through Hungary, so you can imagine that the chances of receiving anything at all are pretty hopeless.

Roley Pullen at his apartment, 31 Quai des Grand Augustins, Paris; 3 November 1956

Roley has just been sent to Hungary, much against his wishes. However, he has arrived at Vienna as the border is about to be closed again – So I guess things may be alright for him. I took the liberty of getting him to put me on the phone to Robert Edgley & asking him to see what he could do for him in the way of local information, etc. I am leaving for London at 8am on Wednesday. I was to have gone on Friday but McNulty sent me a cable from New York to say that he will probably be there till the 18^th. As I would like to see him, I thought I’d leave a little later for London & fly direct if I can. You have had a couple of pretty mad – but, I assure you, earnest letters from me. If anything in them has distressed you in any way put it down to tired and excited ramblings. I want you not to think I am lurching all over the city. I am not. There is a lot to do, and see, and perhaps I cannot cope with it all without an occasional savage outburst – Giving the theatre of the brain a flutter – if you understand – Not that I didn’t mean a word of my love making – but perhaps then it would have been more obscene – and not so beautifully obvious. Anyway I meant every word of it and you have to like it or lump it. Roley got me into a Christian Dior parade the other afternoon. I went alone & had to flash my passport to get in. Got stuck behind three rows of chairs & without a cigarette the two hours of so called parading became even more murderous than conceivable – because I couldn’t get out. All but one of the models looked like creatures from Buchenwald concentration camp. Pin stick limbs, but interesting faces. Very much like Nefertiti because the wizard profiles were capped by flat top haps like Romanian Astrakhan shepherd hats. All the winter clothes were finished off with these type of hat.

I thought some of the winter type coats very nice. Quite your line. I understand your taste, but I haven’t got the money to risk a failure. I should like to have seen you, with your very forthright walk, modelling one or ten of them. The walk you wear when I first remember you running down the side of the pool at Dee Why the day you took off and sat on my costume, and took the little Dutch monster with you into the pool. Your little eyes were so purposeful and your behind wagged as if you were just about fifteen and it hadn’t sat on a hat or swimming pants or even a box of delights for twenty or thirty six years. I think it was on Feb the two-th of something. But it was a wonderful day, because I met you when you got off the bus and you were wagging it from work. I remember Christine saying you were a nice girl. But I had no idea that should agree so seriously with her. I thought she was right, but didn’t realise that I would be so convinced of it later. In fact I never thought then that I would be in love with you – I suppose I was, but wouldn’t admit it even to myself – because how could I, when I was, oh – well – you know, I loved Jess too. And it’s because I love you I can now say that. You understand now.

Bill Pidgeon (Wep) admiring Roley Pullen’s minitiature carousel at Roley’s appartment, 31 Quai des Grand Augustins, Paris; 3 November 1956

Roley has a musical merry-go-round that makes everybody who sees it want to cry because it is so wonderfully static & old world. And all the four figures who are seated on alternate donkeys and rabbits have their tails dropped off with age and the mange of neglect. With the inevitability of last year’s newsreels, the dear little clown clothed figures trace their fixed and inevitable course, centrifugally around the music of a tinkling and passé empire of France. They wear pantaloons & red velvet bows – cockades and pointed vermillion shoes. One of them, who wears a little peaked donkey hat with a feather in it is so like Graham, I could weep. Some of the horses they are not horse, but they had almost the privilege of being horses, are without tails and hooves. They are dusty, but are ennobled with age and affection. The base is ancient pink & contains the most sentimental music it is the pleasure of any cavalier to ride to. I have just wound it up. And all the figures go la-de-da-de-la in an inevitable circle with Graham, not the most elegantly dressed, riding on the only horse with a tail, in poised and delicate finality.

You know what the trouble with me is, I am not doing enough work. I’m building up & am near explosion point. The absorption rate is high & I guess, apart from the London galleries, I have seen almost every picture worthy seeing or which has been reproduced. The Louvre gives me the flaming horrors. I have been there four times without decently seeing a picture. It is so dismally dark. So is Paris this time of the year – Gives you the thing. Spent another quid having a look at Odilon Redon exhibition (plus catalogue) this morning. Only vaguely knew of him. Beautiful lovely work. So many of the masters are disappointing in the original. By and large, you could give me the early Italian and or Christian painters for my cup of tea.

This is becoming a long letter, my darling and is like my reactions to all external stimuli. I like getting letters from you but I would rather be home. I find the idea of spring hard to conceive. Really the weather here is the end! I’ve seen the sun twice. They tell me the grey of London is worse.

Please don’t expect much from me from London. I shall write only when I madly need you. Not that, that wouldn’t be every day I could make it. But I have had sending news reports, and would as soon be home. The winter 1956 timetable says my plane will get in at 7.20pm on Nov. 25. I do not want you to meet me. I would really much rather get a cab from the city and walk into my home with my people there. I do very really mean this. I would rather kiss you in Northwood than in Mascot or Sydney. I can take you both together in my arms at home. Please let me come home alone. I don’t want anyone else to help me see you all for the first time after all this much of the world. I don’t mind that vulgar Trellie being there. Will you please get this into your thick head? Also, please don’t write any letters I would miss. I can’t stand it. Save your affection up for my arrival. The letter I got today was dated Mon 29 Oct. That is a week’s delay. So don’t write anything I wouldn’t get by the 18^th. I might have to go to Zurich by train. Anyway, I’ll let you know pronto. Seems very sad that the last letter I’ll get from you will just about answer this. Please tell me you love me. Tell Graham I’;; send a post card from London, or Calais, or Folkestone. Tell him I’ll only have about half an hour to nick up the Eiffel Tower. Tomorrow I’ll be awful busy. I love you, and miss you, my dear wife.

Bill

P.S. That letter from Orasul Stalin – Stefanie registered it – I didn’t tell her to – perhaps she had no faith in the post.

P.S.S. No man in his youth would be so dependent on a fickle – unpredictable woman – and what is more – shall not be! XXXXXXX

Margaret Murray at Roley Pullen’s apartment, 31 Quai des Grand Augustins, Paris; 3 November 1956

Bill Pidgeon (Wep) at Roley Pullen’s apartment, 31 Quai des Grand Augustins, Paris; 3 November 1956

October 23, 2016October 22, 2016

Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 22-23 Oct; Vienna to Paris on the Orient Express

Mon 22-Oct-56: Cashed £15 in French Francs. Got Alberg Express at 9:10 am arrived Innsbruck 5:30pm. Wonderful Tyrol!

Tue 23-Oct-56: Arrived Paris 8:50am. Very foggy, couldn’t find Roley Pullen. A trying morning but all clear at 2pm.

On the Orient Express – the Arlberg Division

Just past Salzburg – on the way to Innsbruck

2pm on Monday 22^nd Oct

Dearest Girl,

I can’t write this too well, the train is jiggling around quite a bit. At the moment we are traveling alongside a mountain stream, with great sharp rocky peaks on either side. There is no snow about but all the trees, save the pines, are in many shades from light yellow to red. Really – very colourful & dramatic. I am drinking a bottle of beer & have just finished two very indifferent frankfurts & a roll. Looks like my last food till I get to France. I shall spend my last money – 20 or so Austrian schillings – about 3/6 on beer – it will make me happier to be without food. I have French francs but can’t do much with them here. Just imagine – we have just passed below a castle perched high up on a great 200-300 ft high rock. How they get there – or built it I don’t know. It is quite warm and the sun is streaming in the carriage window. The beer is making me sleepy and I am missing the scenery. I think my darling, I had better continue this letter tonight when there is nothing to see. We still have 18 hours to go.

My Darling girl – We are just pulling into Basle (or Basel) on the northern corner of Switzerland – it is the border of France & Germany I think. It is midnight and I am missing you like mad. It seems like the near full moon which accompanies us has had many trips since I left Mascot. I do hope you are both alright. Am pretty tired now and would like to be actively in your arms. Then deep sleep – A great curse! I had this compartment to myself for ¼ hour. With doors open & heater off. Now in comes a bloody French couple with a child & shut the door. These flaming Europeans can’t stand a bit of air. Give you the hump – However, I’ll go to sleep and rise above the sordid problems. I’ll tell you about the trip when I get alone in my room. Incidentally, this express is driven by electric motor – from overhead wires – all the way from Vienna to Zurich. Just had my passport stamped by the French control officers. Child now blowing horrible raspberries – in French I presume. May as well give it away. Good night dearest. I know my intimate feelings will be too stale for immediate benefit for either of us, by the time you get this letter. But despair not – they, Phoenix-like, are being continually re-vitalized. I get very loving towards you both when I think of the letters I collected from the Hotel Austria. Selfishly, I loved them. Does the solitary soul good to feel that it is needed somewhere. You are my own dear people. I suppose this parting helps in some way, to make for closer union – for love and dependency from us all. At last we are off again. Paris! Have I come!

Tuesday [23 Oct 1956] 7.15am. We are only about ¾ hour outside of Paris and a heavy fog practically obscures any vision of the countryside. Had a pretty good night – the French couple must have got out shortly after we left Basle – I was alone from there on. I think I will stay in Paris till the 2^nd of November then go on to London for a week & a couple of days. I’ll have to leave London by the 19^th November to get to Zurich where I get my plane on the 21^st. So any letters you may send after you get this should be sent to Clarrie McNulty, London – get address from Eleanore [Watson]. It is Consolidated Press something or other, Fleet St.

5pm. Am at last resting in Roley Pullen’s flat after a very trying morning. He received your letter in this morning’s mail. That’s very good going, my darling. I had no expectation that I would get a reply to my phone call only 5 days after I made it. Thanks a lot dearest. I arrived in Paris at 8.50am & no familiar faces to behold. I got a taxi to the address I had of Roley’s – No one had heard of him. More than a little dismayed I staggered with the weight of luggage into a nearby coffee shop where I had hopes of mapping out an attack on the city. Could find nothing in the phone book but an entry for Agence Francaise de Press. Hoping to find some clue from the address listed, I began a back breaking search for a bookshop where I could get a map of Paris. Miraculously, I noticed an Agence Francaise name over a doorway. It wasn’t the address but I asked & finally found an English speaking girl who gave me an address of Australian Associated Newspaper Service. I lugged the cases about a mile (with the aid of an uninformative map) till I came to the address. This was an hotel. I could have wept. Anyway, I went in & somehow or other whilst asking if they knew anything about any Press service in the vicinity a girl’s name who is the representative was mentioned & they said she lived there but was out & not back till 1 o’clock. I left a pitiful note & said I would return & would they mind if I left my big case there for the hour & half. Then wandered up the hill towards Montmartre. Came back – girl gone – but note with Roley’s address and Phone no. They told me where it was & how to get there by underground. I got the train (about 6 stations) & when I got out realised I didn’t have the number of the house. Couldn’t ring either. Got train back – retrieved note – and as it was nearly 2 o’clock asked hotel to ring for me. Luckily I got him & hence here I am – buggered but unbowed. He has a fine view of the Seine & Notre Dame. His rooms directly overlook the river. And just opposite is the Palais de Justice & behind it, the Louvre. He is being very kind to me – wouldn’t think of me going to a hotel. (Naturally with my wrong address – he didn’t get the telegram). But was not quite so surprised to hear me on the phone, as he had received your letter. He is working now – so I am writing this to keep out of his way. Paris seems to be a huge place, and very beautiful. I’ll get up early & start my dutiful tour then. Couldn’t dream of it now.

Lots of love darling – I hope Graham’s got some new pieces for me to hear. Ask Graham to give Trellie [Corgi dog] a man’s hug for me and for himself 2 heavy handshakes – bye – bye – Bill

33 Quai des Grands Augustins 75006 Paris, France

75001 Paris, France

75018 Paris, France

6 Parvis Notre-Dame, Parvis Notre-Dame - place Jean-Paul-II, 75004 Paris, France

France

Austria

Switzerland

Austria

Wed 14-Nov-56: Walked shops & booked in Debenham Court [Granville Place]. British Museum, saw sculptures of Egypt, Greek, Hindu.

Tuesday 9:30 p.m.

13 Nov 56

London

How do I recall-

Lips parted

In a crimson pleasure

Of love?

How do I recall-

Their pearly packets

Piercing irregularities into

My willing limbs?

How do well recall-

The tiny, ardent breast

When my lips

With full of her,

And love?

How do I recall-

I, Pygmalion,

When her limbs

Came to life

In warm embrace?

How do I recall-

The liquid anguish

Through which we fired

A smouldering sleep?

How do I recall-

My Dorothy?

Tue 13-Nov-56: Great pleasure, National Gallery morning & afternoon.

12 Nov 56

9 PM London

Sun 11-Nov-56: Went 11am ceremony at the Cenotaph which Queen attended. Hyde Park & Pall Mall in afternoon.

Mon 12-Nov-56: Chelsea by bus – walked to Battersea & to Tate Gallery – got Dorothy’s Rumanian letters.

1 PM, Sunday 11 November 56

London

Fri 9-Nov-56: Saw Lord Mayor’s parade [Lord Mayor’s Show]. Went up Bloomsbury to British museum – had lunch with Peter Gladwynn & co. Went to BOAC looked at more shops.

Sat 10-Nov-56: Went to Beacontree Heath on bus. Looked round city – Westminster Abbey & Parliament – went Chelsea at night, met Rex Reinits

9 Nov ‘56

London 9.30pm

Tue 6-Nov-56: Dashed around frantically shopping. Took Margaret to cheap eating house & on to a Spanish turn place

Wed 7-Nov-56: Caught 11:51am train to London. Couldn’t see any country for fog – arrived Dover at dusk & London 7pm, Howard Hotel

Thu 8-Nov-56: Collected 4 letters from Consol. Press. Roamed round shops – Piccadilly Strand, etc.

[Norfolk St, Strand]

Thurs 8 Nov ‘56

London 2.30pm

Sat 3-Nov-56: Day at the Daily Express while Roley worked.

Sun 4-Nov-56: Went to Embassy church & dinner on pig. Went to concert. Roley went to Vienna.

Mon 5-Nov-56: Weary, Odilon Roden exhibition, later to the Louvre – too dark to see the Rembrandts etc.

Paris

Monday

5th Nov ‘56

Mon 22-Oct-56: Cashed £15 in French Francs. Got Alberg Express at 9:10 am arrived Innsbruck 5:30pm. Wonderful Tyrol!

Tue 23-Oct-56: Arrived Paris 8:50am. Very foggy, couldn’t find Roley Pullen. A trying morning but all clear at 2pm.

On the Orient Express – the Arlberg Division

Just past Salzburg – on the way to Innsbruck

2pm on Monday 22nd Oct

5^th Nov ‘56

2pm on Monday 22^nd Oct