Part II: Carolyn Ayars' 1927 Trip to Europe

June 29. Two boxes of flowers greeted us in the morning when we arose, one from the Pollocks and one from the Puffers. The day was spent in promenading, eating, and looking at streams of people promenading past our steamer chairs. We became acquainted with a Douglas Gribble, a friend of the Pollocks, who is crossing with her aunt. Dinner at night was very colorful and attractive with all the evening dresses and tuxedos. My time at meals is spent in counting up the various dishes which an enormous Jewess near us eats. Coffee in the lounge and dancing at ten furnish the evening’s amusement.

June 30. A little more roll than yesterday, but not enough to be unpleasant at all. Packages from Puffers and Hustons and a Radiogram from Mrs. Puffer were on the bed when we opened our eyes at 12:00. At dinner, water unthoughtfully dashed in some open portholes drenched some of the diners.

July 1. Late arising and usual ship routine: Breakfast, promenading, boullion [sic], shuffleboard, games, lunch, tea, dinner, dancing, evening snack.

July 2. Pleasant sea - no seasickness - usual late rising and equally late retiring.

July 3. Same “sea life” – Sea beautiful.

July 4. Much gaiety at dinner with little cotton balls and paper rackets with which we bounced our fellow diners – hit their eyes, or splashed their soup. Dancing very entertaining as we slid from “side to side” or “wall to wall” due to the roll of the ship. Our first American menus on this British ship – due to July 4th. – As our waiter said, “George Washington Soup”. Who he was, the waiter scarcely knew until dad gave him quite a history lesson.

July 5. Cherbourg reached at early morning. Quaint place – green hills, a gray stone wall, blue-green, glass-like water spotted with little yellow-sailed fishing smacks. Much to father’s delight and personal chagrin, one of the fishermen threw in his line and immediately pulled it in with a shining fish on the hook. Passports ok’d and admittance slips signed and Southampton reached. After standing for an interminable time while baggage was gotten off, we finally stepped off the ship on to English territory. The usual rush of claiming and inspecting baggage and then we boarded a low car which read, “First Class” – ours was a small compartment for six – three facing the other three- an aisle on the left for “waiters” and walking space – windows on the right. Much to our surprize [sic] hot dogs and popcorn were not sold in the cart by the station, but afternoon tea, cakes and buns comprising the refreshments. From our window, and as we drank our strong tea, –bread, butter, and jam – cakes and water-cress [sic] – we received a flying impression of green fields, green trees, red brick houses, slate roofs, many, many little chimneys, some thatched roofs and glorious red poppies sprinkled along the various fields. At the station we barely escaped being trampled down by the ten porters quarreling over the possession of our bags – at last the victor emerged and we sat looking at the dark derbys, the ruddy cheeks, and black umbrellas which passed by in hundreds while we waited for our trunks. Then, in two old taxis with a 2x4 window in the back, we arrived at Hotel Russell for a week’s stay in London.

THE PLACES

July 6. Early in the morning, after chasing a “Canterbury” Bus for 15 minutes in a taxi, and ten more minutes in another bus, we set out for that city amidst a group of true cockneys, who seemed to be general workmen and women with a holiday to spend. After stopping twice for our travelers to get a longed-for glass of DublinStout [sic] or beer, we got to the County Hotel to eat lunch. Our other travelers disappeared to another Ale House for the day, perhaps. After lunch a guide took us through a quaint old monastery belonging at one time to the Grey Friars. A small brick building, encircled by a wall, and surrounded by gardens of Canterbury bells, California poppies, smapdragons [sic] and mimosa and other colorful flowers in neat rows and bordering the paths. A lazy, green stream ran through the yards and under the Abbey – one special feature which pleased Dad was the little door opening from the floor of the dungeon, and where the friars used to fish in the stream beneath. From here we went to St. Thomas’ and the Dominican Friars’ Chapel. Alice had the distinction of bumping her head rather badly on some stone archway in the dungeon of St. Thomas. About here live several old brothers and sisters of the order.  After seeing the Black Friar’s Monastery, we sat in the Cathedral while our guide, a layman of the church, sang in the choir of the afternoon service. The Cathedral was beautiful, with tall slender columns, arches of both the Norman, Roman, and English periods. Here we saw the spot where Thomas-a-Becket was murdered, the various chapels (the Hugenot [sic] and Our Lady’s Chapel – very lovely), the grave of the Black prince and his helmet and the window of the Miracle – showing the fear of the child. Dozens of little school boys in their tiny blue caps were being led through the various rooms by one of the church members. The cloister and outside meditation windows where the monks studied, had their lockers and played marbles was very picturesque. We also saw the grave where a 19-year old youth died instead of going to Oxford. We then took a hansom through the city, visiting England’s oldest church (St. Martin) and Westgate Towers. After dark we got back to the Hotel, having stopped only once at the “George” for our Ale friends.