1958

Christmas Greetings!

Here goes for the second annual mass-produced Christmas letter. Let’s face it--I can’t write nearly 200-odd individual letters, so it’s either this or nothing.

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Before I launch into this, let me say that I will be finishing this job in London at the end of March, and after a few last-minute travels in this part of the world, will be returning to the U.S.

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Last winter instead of going into hibernation as in previous years, I made a number of sightseeing expeditions with an American friend who was to leave England in the spring and wanted to see as much as possible before going.This was sheer madness, but fun in a way, because of course there were no other tourists about and we could see the places as they really were, and also the beauty of Olde England covered with snow (even if the physical suffering entailed did tend to obscure one’s appreciation of some). We went to York on the coldest, snowiest weekend of the year--and there was NO HEAT in our hotel room. Agony. In a way we were better off outdoors. At any rate, at one stage of the game, as we ploughed doggedly along through slush and mud, bundled in numerous layers of woollen underwear, sweaters, scarves, wool socks, fleece-lined boots, mittens and heavy coats, purple and raw and chattering with cold, we were recognized as foreigners in spite of this disguise by a hearty man coming along the street, who beamed cheerfully at us. “This is England at its best!” His timing couldn’t have been better. I think our laughter helped keep our circulation going the rest of the day.

We also made a trip to Chester in the snow, although it was somewhat less cold there, and we made a specific point of booking a room with an electric stove in it. Both York and Chester are extremely interesting and picturesque “Olde England” cities with medieval walls and lots of old Tudor buildings, and look more like what-the-foreigner-thinksEngland-should-be-and-mostly-isn’t. We also took cold oneday trips to Lincoln (made no impression on me, cathedral withstanding) and St. Alban’s (noted for its Roman ruins and dreadful hodge-podge-of-architectural-styles cathedral). I was dragged round Ipswich, which has a number of interesting old buildings, by an English friend--in pouring rain.

In the spring and summer I made a few trips including Ayot St. Lawrence to see Shaw’s Corner, the home of G.B.S. Pewtheaud in Wales to visit friends, and Bath, the attractive Georgian spa town (where I had been several times before).

There was of course the usual round of theatres, concerts, etc., and the Old Vic Shakespeare Birthday Party in April and sherry party in the fall. At these functions one gets a good look at various actors and actresses. One evening during the winter I was sitting next to Charles Laughton at the theatre (at “Epitaph for George Dillon” to be exact); this gentleman is so corpulent he bulged over the edge of his seat into mine. I enjoyed eavesdropping on his comments on the play, and was highly amused when during the course of some jazzy music on the stage he started jumping and jiving around in his seat.

The chief event of the year was a 16-day “Hellenic Cruise” to Greece and Turkey. We went from London to Venice by train, and there embarked on the T.S.S. “Mediterranean,” a Greek ship of the Typaldos Line, rather ancient, but fun. There were about 300 passengers. We had a number of leading authorities on board to lecture us, so it was something of a floating education. For classical topics, Sir Maurice Bowra of Oxford, Prof. W.B. Stanford of Trinity College, Dublin, and F. Kinchin Smith, University of London, did the honors. Mr. Michael Maclagan of Oxford expounded on Byzantine matters, and Lord William Taylour gave us the word on Mycenaean archaeology, having done considerable “digging” in this field. The Rev. G. Pentreath, Headmaster of Cheltenham College, filled in with miscellaneous bits, showing colored slides each evening of sites we were to see the next day. It was a very strenuous trip, what with getting up at the crack of dawn, eating, piling overboard (usually into small boats which took us ashore to the different sites), clambering all over ruins and up and down acropolises all day, returning quite bushed to try and clean up, dress for dinner, listen to more lectures, eat dinner, and collapse into one’s bunk.

First we attacked the Peloponnese with a bang: Old Corinth, which has not much left in the way of classical period ruins except the temple of Apollo, but its Roman area offers the rostrum from which St. Paul is supposed to have addressed the Corinthians. Then we roared across the countryside by bus to Mycenae--the Palace of Agamemnon, in an impressive setting, with its famous Lion Gate, “beehivetombs” and secret underground cistern. Tiryns, another fortress-city of that period, was nearby, but not so impressive. Thence to Epidauros with its marvelous theatre--perfect acoustic--from the very top at any angle you could hear someone speaking in a low voice from the “stage” area. Epidauros was the first “Asclepeion” or health resort where people went to be healed by the god Asclepios, perhaps with the assistance of snakes (whose licking was considered beneficial) and in the course of the rest-cure, enjoy the theatre, music, dancing, and athletics, all in a very lovely and peaceful setting.

Our next day was less hectic. We visited the lovely “sacred island” of Delos, where the god Apollo and the goddess Artemis were born, and where masses of fascinating ruins, both ancient Greek and Roman, are beautifully surrounded by a carpeting of wild flowers, and there is no modern settlement whatever apart from a museum. Nearby Mykonos, next, offered no ruins or anything to distract one from the enjoyment of the beach. It is a most charming island with neat, spotless, whitewashed, flat-topped houses. Even the stone-paved alleyways were whitewashed.

The island of Rhodes next: The city of Rhodes is primarily a medieval city, having been the stronghold of the crusader Knights of St. John, and has a more European flavor so did not appeal to me as much as the purely Greek places, although it was chiefly Greek in population. There is also a considerable Turkish element here however, as evidenced by the sprinkling of mosques. But the village of Lindos about 35 miles away was utterly charming, nestled round a lovely beach, with a gorgeous acropolis on a steep hill just above it, on the edge or a sheer cliff dropping to the sea below. One speculated on how many ancient laborers must have been lost over the edge in the course of building. In addition to the temple of Athena and other typical acropolis ruins, there was an intriguing relief of an ancient galley ship carved right into the rock wall at the entrance, no doubt done at the behest of an earlier Onassis-type.

We now left Greece for the time being to venture into another civilization altogether. Greece and its heritage belongs to us all and we feel at home there. But Turkey was a different cup of tea (or should I say coffee..) altogether--really foreign.

The outside, Western world seemed never to havetouched Kusadasi, a tiny, obscure seaside village where we first landed in turkey. Women wafted along with veiled heads and baggy trousers (perhaps following the lordly husband at a respectful distance) or peered furtively out of doors andwindows at the strange outsiders who had suddenly descended on their soil. There was a great silence one  hesitated to break by speaking above a whisper. Not hostility exactly, but definitely “otherness” you might say. Occasionally strange, snaky music would be heard coming from some crackling wireless set. (My great regret is not having tried to buy some Turkish records! The music was fascinating.) Eventually, we “shoved off” in vintage buses, grinding over twisted mountain roads enveloped in clouds of chalky dust. Suddenly ahead of us out of the cloud loomed a fierce galloping figure with robes flying, whom we could not overtake, chills ran up and down my spine and I expected to see a whole horde of warriors charge down the slope at us brandishing scimitars. We subsequently reached more placid surroundings, where storks nestled cosily on the housetops and one splendid bird stalked majestically in the wake of a ploughing farmer, picking up overturned bugs.

We reached the site of Priene, ruins of an early Greek colony, the first example of “town planning” with its orderly terraced, criss-cross geometrical layout. Here we noted that schoolboys have not changed much over the centuries: Masses of Greek lads’ names were carefully carved into the stone walls round their gymnasium washbasins.

You really haven’t meandered, may I say, until you do so along the Meander River! In the course of its meandering, it so silted up as to leave both Priene and the nearby and even greater Greek city of Miletus high and dry. The latter was once one of the richest and most important of the Greek Cities in Asia Minor, but now there is nothing but a tiny Turkish village and herds of sheep with pleasantly-tinkling bells and a few heavily-laden camels lounging about the ruins of a great theatre and several other remnants of marble and stone. I was rather unnerved when some Turkish men came out and decided to shoot crows willy-nilly in our midst.

The next Turkish port we hit was a fairly large village called Dikili, and we gathered quite a crowd of native gawkers on our arrival and departure, particularly children in their national black school uniform with white collars. Following a hectic bus ride, punctuated by frequent breakdowns which the driver could not overcome despite repairs with assorted spare parts carried along, we were rescued by another bus and tackled Bergama, for a look at the ruins of the ancient Greek city of Pergamon. Drank from the sacred spring at the Asclepeion, which had a nice little theatre, and the world’s first public toilets, built by the Roman Emperor Vespasian as a means of raising revenue. Learned that a member of his court told him that was an undignified and unworthy operation for an Emperor, whereupon he retorted “Mind your own business!”

Zeus apparently began to look on us with disfavor by the time we got to the top of the acropolis at Pergamon, unleashing thunderbolts and torrents of rain. (Turkey is altogether colder, rainier, and also more fertile than Greece, anyway.) Soaked and chilled to the bone I could not work up much enthusiasm for this site, spectacular though its theatre was, reaching up an almost perpendicular cliff wall, and important though the place may have been (“the capital of an Hellenistic Kingdom, inferior in importance only to Macedonia and Egypt….famous for its school of sculpture and its library second only to that of Alexandria!!) We consoled ourselves with the museum in the modern town of Bergama, and wandered about buying sticky sweet Turkish confections, one of which drooled honey all over me and my friend the entire journey back to the ship, and continued to drool from the shelf on which I set it over my bunk. When I decided to put a stop to this nonsense the following day by eating it, I thought surely it must have drained itself dry by that time, and was somewhat miffed to say the least when it continued dripping all over the bunk and on me when I attempted to eat it.

The magic of the name Istanbul, or Constantinople, is somewhat shattered for me in that as a city, despite an attractive situation, it is what one would call “a real dump” - terribly dingy, dirty and dilapidated, and its overrated Bazaar is full of second-rate, rather shoddy and not very exotic gods. However, the “architectural gems” such as St. Sophia Byzantine cathedral (which was later converted to a mosque by the Turks and is now just a museum), the Sultan Ahmet (or “Blue”) Mosque and the Suleymaniye Mosque were the most impressive, and the museum of priceless china and all kinds of jewel-encrusted treasures in what used to be the Sultan’s Palace were absolutely fabulous, like something out of the Arabian Nights, to be sure! I was particularly struck by one emerald on a turban belonging to one of the Sultans, which looked about 3”x4” in size. One section of the museum held a terrifying collection of frightful looking weapons which gave one a pretty good idea of how the Turks managed to sweep across so much of the Mediterranean area as they did one time--particularly in view of the extremely fierce eyes these men still have today. Another item, in the Archaeological Museum, which was impressive was a beautifully carved sarcophagus intended for Alexander the Great (which he never used, however).

I think the thing that fascinated me the most in Istanbul was going to a service in a mosque--which I did with a small party led by a Turkish lady guide in the evening. We left ourshoes at the door, shuffled, awe-struck, over the carpets inside, and sat quietly listening to the priest chanting from the front, the muezzin chanting from his perch near the back, and watching the huge congregation go through the assorted motions peculiar to their worship as one man. The sight of all those bodies “bottoms up” simultaneously was quite something. The congregation consisted almost entirely of men, and the few women were segregated in a small space at the back.

During the day an interesting sight is the men busily washing their face, hands and feet in special fountains outside the mosques prior to going inside for prayers.

Heading back for Greece again, we landed at Mytilene on the island of Lesbos, which was the home of the poetess Sappho and the scene of the romance of “Daphnis and Chloe.” It was a lovely spot, mountains covered with silvery olive groves and colorful wild flowers. We went to a mountain village called Ayasso to look at a celebrated ikon (supposed to have been painted by St. Luke) in the local church. The natives of this village found us particularly fascinating and lined the streets as we went past. I felt as if I were in a parade of freaks or something. Which I suppose, in fact, we were! They put on an exhibit of folk dancing for us in return, however, outside the local taverna!! When this assemblage broke up and I was wandering around trying to find the right bus, I became separated from our crowd and found myself suddenly surrounded by excited Greek youths and accosted by a large handsome Greek woman dressed in red, who chattered excitedly, obviously exclaiming over my size. Apparently I was the first woman she’d ever seen as tall as she was, and she carried on at a great rate, measuring herself alongside me, etc., all this to the delight of the lads standing around us laughing and throwing in their two-cents-worth (or two-drachmas-worth). Not being able to speak Greek, of course, I couldn’t readily communicate, but managed to look amiable (I hope) and shook hands vigorously. If I had had my wits about me (too flustered by all the attention) I should have got someone to photograph us together.

Our next island was Aegina, a sort of resort-escape for tired Athenians, with one ruined temple (not badly ruined at that, however), beaches, and numerous open-air tavernas for light refreshment.

By that time we reached Athens I think I was so saturated with ruined temples, acropolises, etc., that I was not as bowled over as I might otherwise have been on seeing that great city; nevertheless it was a thrill to see the things I’d read about, to reel off a few--the Temple of Athena Nike, the Parthenon, the Erechtheum, the Theseum, etc., and the Theatre of Dionysus, where we sat spellbound by one of our lecturers, Prof. Stanford, on the Greek Drama, in the very spot where Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, and Aristophanes put on their plays (Approaching the Acropolis, I was quite charmed by a small plump man festooned with sponges for sale near the entrance. These sponge men seemed to appear conveniently wherever suitable crowds might be.) We also raced round the National Museum (with many lovely sculptures and other relics) and the Byzantine Museum, and were treated to a surprise performance of a ballet on a theme from ancient mythology, performed in the open air by the sea at nearby Vouliagmeni, with the sun just setting in the background….really lovely. An additional excursion was to Daphni to look at a noted Byzantine church, and Eleusis, at the ruined site which was the centre of the old Eleusinian Mystery religion. (Factory smokestacks now seem to be of more importance there.) I should add here that the modern city of Athens struck me as most attractive in architecture - even its ultra-modern designs seemed extremely harmonious and pleasing to the eye - so the Greeks have not lost their early gifts at all.

Our last stop in Greece was at Olympia here theancient Olympic Games were held every 4 years for over 1000 years. The site was silted over by a nearby river, and excavations are not yet completed, so if any would-be athlete now tries to take off from the runners’ starting line, he will plunge headlong into a 12-foot bank of soft dirt. There are the usual lot of temple and other ruins here, and a museum with some wonderful sculpture, including the famous Hermes by Praxiteles.

When we arrived back at Venice and did a quick tour round there, I was so full of the wonders and beauties of Greece that Venice and things Roman and/or Italian just left me cold. They looked so “new” and “upstart-ish.” I did the glass-factory interesting, however!

It was a considerable come-down to return to smogcovered, rain-soaked England after all the warmth and sunshine of Greece (which in its climate, geography andplants reminded me very much of home, i.e. California). Ireally loved it, and thought the people most charming, courteous, pleasant, and had an outstanding dignity. And of course it was the thrill of a lifetime to see so many of the famous places, ruins, and statues that I had always heard about, to see these beautiful examples of architecture and sculpture that the rest of the world has been copying ever since. I felt I had seen “the real thing” and that undoubtedly no trip would ever equal it, wherever I might travel.

This cruise was televised by the BBC, incidentally, and later in the summer I saw a special showing of the films at the BBC studios. Pangs of nostalgia! I even saw myself on the screen - rear and side view! (in the course of going through the Corinthian Canal, standing at the front of the ship)

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The “summer” in England was like winter anywhere else - cold, cloudy and rainy. I made an escape to the sun the latter part of September to the Spanish island of Mallorca.  This is a sort of international Coney Island type place, terribly commercialised “tourist trap,” filled with holidaymakers from all over Europe frantically trying to have a good time and all getting in each other’s way. (There are more isolated spots one could stay, but too isolated, and local transportation is almost nil.) The only “sight” really noteworthy, to my mind anyway, was the Carthusian Monastery at Valldemossa, where Chopin spent a winter with his mistress George Sand; it was cold, rainy, and uncomfortable, and in this atmosphere he composed some of his famous “melancholy preludes.” They should have gone there in the summer (but the who knows what kind of hot jazz he might have composed?!) It was scorching hot. The sunny climate, parched earth and familiar plants and trees reminded me of California, plus of course the Spanish-ness--I never realised how great the Spanish influence on California was, in fact, until I had this look at Spain.* I was particularly interested to learn that the “Founder of California,” the Franciscan Father Junipero Serra, who built all our “mission” churches, was born in Mallorca. I went to a bullfight, exciting but gruesome, and was lucky in seeing two of Spain’s leading toreros, a glum-faced lad named Chamaco (nicknamed rather), and a proud, elegant gentleman named Angel Peralta, who fought bulls from horseback, on beautiful and beautifully-trained horses, which is apparently more of a skill and rarer than the usual groundfighting method. It was a wonderful show of horsemanship.

The brilliant colors of the stained glass in the cathedral in Palma were noteworthy, and I found the Chamber of Deputies, which is the seat of government for the 3 Balearic Isles (Mallorca, Menorca, and Ibiza) most interesting in its samples of local handicrafts - lovely wrought-iron light fixtures and hand-carved olive wood furnishings etc. Indeed, the handicrafts were the greatest draw in Palma, to my mind, and I had a wild shopping spree amongst the handembroidered linen blouses, table-linen, attractive wroughtiron decorative items, leather goods, tiles, etc. - all extremely reasonable.

*In fact, I really got no feeling of being in a foreign country at all--I might as well have been right at home!

Jumping from sunny Spain back to the now smogchoked England (we’re getting off early from work frequently now as the fog gets so thick it takes some people hours to drive home)....the last big news item I can report to you is the dedication of the American Memorial Chapel at St. Paul’s Cathedral here in London on Nov. 26th. This was built by contributions from British people in memory of American servicemen stationed in this country who were killed inWorld War II. The English are good at colorful and impressive ceremonial affairs and this “do” was no exception. It was a lovely service. I had an excellent seat and got a good look at the Queen, Prince Philip, the Queen Mother, Princess Margaret, the Princess Royal, the Duchess of Kent, Princess Alexandra, the Prime Minister Mr. MacMillan, Vice Pres. & Mrs. Nixon, the Lord Mayor of London (bearing a “pearlsword”!) and his entourage, the Archbishop of Canterbury,and assorted other ecclesiastical and political and military dignitaries. It was quite a treat to see so many famous people concentrated all in one spot--particularly as an invited guest! (Having over the years spent many weary hours standing in crowds out in the cold just to get a distant glimpse of some celebrity or other, I fully appreciate this privilege!)

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WELL! If your eyeballs haven’t either fallen out or capsized into your head by this time, let me wish you a happy Christmas and New Year, which is the whole point of this anyhow!

And do let me hear your news, whether potted like this or otherwise!