The Crossing

November 1962

I was about to take a ship from New York to Le Havre, France to join my husband who was stationed in an army band in Germany. A year before, I was a college freshman not allowed by my over-protective mother to even visit a friend in Attleboro, MA less than an hour from my home.

I had met my father's family for the first time at a shower where all my aunts, uncles and cousins gave me cash-filled envelopes attached to a model ship. As I opened each envelope and said thank you to Uncle...and Aunt...I scanned the faces until someone reacted.

My father and stepmom drove me to New York City from Scituate, MA. My dad was so excited. He adored boats and was building a 38-foot cabin cruiser in his back yard.

As was the custom of the day, everyone was dressed up. My stepmom even wore her mink collar. Heels and stockings were required. 

My dad saw that my much-traveled trunk, a gift from my stepmom's father, was properly stored aboard. I knew as we walked the deck, looking for my economy stateroom, he would give anything to be going too.

Once installed in my stateroom (no window) my dad left me with my stepmom . He reappeared with a German passenger, about my age. Heidi was an army wife going to join her new husband. She had moved from Germany to live in America and was less than happy at going back. I noticed she wore white shoes, something that was a no-no after Labor Day where I grew up.

My dad had arranged the table where we would eat and made sure I knew how to reach the lifeboat that I was assigned to. Heidi and I chatted through the drill later that afternoon.

Reluctantly I had a final hug with my parents, the parting whistles blew, the tug boat pulled the ship, and I watched the Statue of Liberty disappear.

Meals were wonderful. The other people at our table were older, but not old. We would share all meals with them.

There was a library where I selected reading matter. At the movie theater I watched Gypsy. A number of young officer wives were traveling first class but snuck down to economy to join us because we were more fun, especially at night when a band played. We danced and danced. A German young man named Dieter feel in love with Ellie, an Army wife, who didn't reciprocate. I listen to him describe a broken heart.

A woman, maybe in her sixties who got so drunk each night that she had to helped to her stateroom. I felt sorry for her while relishing my youth and future.

A storm hit on our third night. The band skidded across the dance floor. We were told to return to our cabins. We needed to hold the side ropes as we made our way. The next day I was sea sick, but when we outran the storm, I recovered.

Coming to the green Irish coast, row boats met us with Irishmen selling Irish knit sweaters. I did not have the funds to buy one.

A stop in the U.K. was followed by crossing the English channel and lots of tossing, but then all was calm in the Le Havre port. Economy passengers were the last ones off, but the boat train taking us to Paris waited.

The train ride to Paris was exciting as I imagined what it had been like when the Allies fought their way through the German troops. 

I managed to buy train tickets in Paris and then in Nancy before I stepped off the train in Stuttgart into my husband's arms. 

For someone who wasn't allowed into Boston, who didn't speak French, who didn't understand the 24-hour clock, who had a six hour wait in a train station, and said no to a Frenchman who wanted me to go home with him, I managed it all, although the Englishman, who worked with baggage in Paris, put me in a taxi with directions to the driver to take me directly and not run up the bill was a help.

For the rest of my life whenever I see movie or a TV program on a luxury liner, I realized that I had lived the experience and was grateful. All other crossings of the Atlantic have been by plane.

Visit D-L's website https://dlnelsonwriter.com
 

Demonstrations-YES!

 

In the mid 80s when I was writing The Card, a character was caught in the 1968 student-led Parisian riots. I spent hours and hours at the Brookline, MA library going through microfilm (pre-internet) trying to glean enough information on the riot. I used my imagination to write it.

Today, I was reading Paris Notebooks by Mavis Gallant who wrote a day-by-day account and mentioned Daniel Cohn-Bendit, a red-headed instigator of the demonstrations. Last night Cohn-Bendit, at 79 and white-haired was on French television. He'd been active in politics throughout his life. Part of me felt smug that everything I wrote could have happened, but had I had Gallant's first-hand accounts, I could have added so many details.

The 1968 demonstrations were a watershed moment in French politics. 

April 5, demonstrations are scheduled all over the U.S. Find one near you and go. The only way to stop the destruction of the good things in the U.S. is with action. Make April 5th a watershed moment in the U.S.

 

 

Free Write - Empty Chairs in the Sun

 

This week's Free Write still has three writers in two different countries. Rick's prompt was a photo was taken in our small French village, but the country isn't important. It is the chance to poke one's creativity encouraging it to slip into other aspect of our  creative lives. Anyone reading this might want to try a Free Write. If you want to share it, please do.

Rick's Free Write 

Empty chairs, empty tables.

Reminds me of a Les Miserables song after so many young men had died in a failed revolution.

But these are peaceful empty. A Sunday afternoon in a quiet village in the south of France. Normal. Tranquil.

The next morning these chairs will be filled with people talking, sharing their lives over café, thé and chocolat chaud. If the wind is down and the sun is out, the umbrellas will be up.

Sundays are my favorite in the village. Fewer people, fewer cars. Mostly dog walkers. Maybe kids playing football on the church plaza (unaware it used to be a graveyard).

Sunday afternoon used to be the time we caught up on news from our birth country through the talk shows. But they have become nauseating since the election as we witness the country’s accelerating destruction.

We think we are ‘safe’ in our little out-of-the-way enclave. But are we? Will there be war in Europe? Will the forces of evil stimulate civil unrest that reaches even us?

It would be wonderful to imagine we are immune, living in a bubble of the past, carefree… but is there any such place on the earth anymore?

Will these tables fill with happy people again? Or will they remain empty through intimidation and fear?

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com 

D-L's Free Write

Toni walked by the tea room's outdoor chairs and tables. The sun was bright. No one was sitting there. The tramontane was blowing at full force sending leaves racing down the street. 

It had been five years since she been there. She and Paul had had coffees after their divorce hearing.

It had been a friendly divorce, if such a thing was possible. She and Paul had thought they'd found their life's partners in each other. The problem was they wanted different lives.

Paul loved his florist shop, owned first by his grandparents and parents. It was part of village life. Toni found herself sneezing when she was near many of the flowers.

She wanted to be a game develop and when she had a chance to work with two friends from her tech school, she couldn't pass it up,

Unfortunately the job required a move to Paris, or made not unfortunately because she loved Paris.

Today, she had not planned to get off the Paris-Barcelona train where she'd left her marriage. Something seemed to propel her when the train stopped at the station.

In the last five years some stores had changed. Some were the same. So many espressos had been shared by her and Paul while sitting on those chairs as they people watched.

She peeked inside. She saw the back of Paul's head. He was holding the hand of a very pretty woman as he used to hold hers.

On the way back to the train station she felt sad at what wasn't yet happy they'd made the right decision.

D-L has had 17 fiction and non fiction books published. Check out her website at:. https://dlnelsonwriter.com 

 Julia's Free Write

It was a beautiful sunny day.

The terrace lay waiting, every chair and every table still empty.

Who would come to sit and enjoy a coffee or tea?

Who a snack and a glass of wine?

Who perhaps a full meal?

It looked to be a great place also for people watching – a small Pedestrian zone.

Oh, here comes the first client of the day: the chap in somber clothing, always with a hat on his head, never a smile for either

The waitress nor the waiter – and just barely a word either, simply the strict minimum: “a glass of white wine, a Chablis, please”.

He is soon followed by the second – a woman in her 50ies, wearing a lovely spring dress, the appropriate handbag, shoes and jewelry,

In truth a bit fancy for this part of town. She orders “a small glass of red wine, the pinot please. And settles in to await a friend.

Her friend duly arrives – an indeterminate 40-something, dressed in very casual slacks, but a nice blouse. She turns out to be a teetotaler so orders only a coffee.

Then comes the young couple, so much in love that they have only eyes for each other. They order a sandwich (after consulting their change) and a soda.

The family is next: loud, boisterous – they order a small meal.

And so it goes until the lonely terrace is full of various individuals

All enjoying their time in the sun in this small town in Southern France.

Julia has written and taken photos and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/