Letters from France - 2nd July 1947 - 1

chez Mme Durand
40 rue Pasteur

Pont-ste-Maxence

OISE

Dear Daddy,

Many thanks for your letter which was a very pleasant surprise. The journey was beautiful until I got to Paris - I will relate my activities in turn.

Pete [my aunt] took me to the Boat Train and there was no difficulty with customs, just a half-hearted questioning if one had anything to declare. Nobody did anything about my Ration Book. I could have had breakfast, but had already had some.

We reached Folkstone just before eleven, and after having our passports checked (where I made friends with another girl my own age travelling on her own for the first time) we went on board The Isle of Thanet. My knowledge of boats being confined to rowing boats, it seemed more like a luxury hotel than anything else. It was such a heavenly day that I disregarded all advice to get a seat on deck and stay put (so as not to be sick,) and wandered all over the boat, and then stood as far forrard as possible and let the wind blow away all the London cobwebs. It was simply glorious and I never had a qualm. The crossing took from 11.21 - 12.50 (i.e. 11.50 French time). There was some sort of reception for the boat, and God Save the King and the Marseillaise were played. It took an hour for us all to have our passports checked, declare our money and have our hand luggage inspected, and we left Boulogne in a very comfortable train at one o'clock. Sybil [Pete's friend] had made me some sandwiches which I consumed at once.

For the first hour I gazed enraptured from the window, noticing all the frequent level crossings (all operated by women it seems) with bright whitewashed houses. Everything about the railway seemed a great deal cleaner than in England. I could see that the French houses are different too, but in what way is difficult to say. It occurred to me to wonder if the cattle could distinguish between English and French etc. Unfortunately somnolence overcame me and for the next hour I slept.

All the stations that we passed through except Paris itself were clean and bright with trees and flowers. The majority of the French workmen seem to wear berets, and although the women seem to dress the same as ours, there is a definite distinction between the clothes worn by a good many of the French men and ours. Of course it is largely working class people that I have seen.

Well, we piled out at Paris at 4.21 pm and then the trouble began. I couldn't find Lucette's friend. I waited for some time, getting more and more bothered, and asking several people if they were Jaqueline, and then decided that I had better go and rescue my baggage from the "douane". Having paid a porter some colossal sum to transfer it from the customs (where they only went thro' one case, and I declared the food) to the cloakroom, I purchased a platform ticket and returned to the "quai" to wait for the next train from Pont, hoping Jaqueline would be on it.


While waiting I managed to buy myself a foul glass of coffee and a biscuit like wood. I had expected to feel as tho' I was in the Tower of Babel, but actually people's voices aren't so prominent even in a different language. Of course I was a dead loss with regard to tips, and I am sure I have handed out double what I need have done.

Well, the train from Pont arrived, and no girl. So I decided to make my own way to Pont, and with much help from the "chef du gare", at 7.30 I took a ticket, and got another porter to collect my luggage from the "consigne" and put it on the train for me. A local train, it rather resembled a tube train, and as the "fermeture automatique" of the doors didn't work, on crowded trains the men and boys sit on the floor with their feet dangling, inspite of the notice (more or less):

LES BEAUX JOURS SONT RETOURNĖS

ATTENTION AUX ACCIDENTS

Ne reste pas sur les marchepieds

I had to change onto a diezel at Creil, where I found that the sous-chef-du-gare spoke a little English. Various kind folk helped me in and out with my luggage, so I got thro' the day with only 2 porters. At Pont I left my "grand baggage" at the station for the night and with several enquiries in the growing dusk, peering at undecipherable numbers on the houses, I found my way to 40 rue Pasteur.

They (Lucette and her father, her mother is away) welcomed me with open arms, so to speak, and we discovered the mistake. My telegram had said I would arrive at 4.21, and they got it as 21.00 - that is 9 o'clock. So the poor girl waited for me till midnight and then gave up. I was to have stayed with her in Paris for the night and after looking about a bit come back this evening. However, I have met her now and she is very nice too.