The Greyhound Diary (eBook)

Judy Montagu (Autor)

Anna Mathias (Herausgeber)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025
472 Seiten
Zuleika (Verlag)
978-1-7398212-7-2 (ISBN)

Infos

Judy Montagu spent her late teenage years and early twenties directing anti-aircraft defences during the Second World War as a Captain in Gunnery for the British Army. Demobilised in 1946, she set out in search of fun and freedom in America and found herself swept into a bright and glamorous social circle. She soon counted Joe Alsop and the Cushing Sisters among her new friends and even began to consider becoming a US citizen.
In 1949, determined to understand America more deeply, Judy embarked on a three-month tour of the country by Greyhound bus. Letters of introduction opened doors to a range of encounters, capturing an extraordinary moment at the height of the Anglo-American alliance. At each stop, Judy met newspaper editors, political leaders, and celebrities. In Texas - where she rode in a rodeo - she was the guest of Jesse H. Jones in Houston and Amon Carter in Fort Worth. In Hollywood, she had tea with Mary Pickford, and by the time she reached Illinois, her final state, she met and fell in love with Adlai Stevenson. As a cousin of Clementine Churchill, Judy's travels attracted regular press attention, adding another dimension to the diary.
The Greyhound Diary, edited by Judy's daughter Anna Mathias, is written in a snappy, well-paced style that reveals Judy Montagu's fascination with people and politics. She is generally generous in her portraits of fellow travellers, while offering a more caustic, often witty, take on her grander hosts.

Textauszug

First Day

Monday 25 April, 1949

I left the Bohlen’s,1 feeling as Marco Polo must have felt as he waved goodbye to the old Venetian chums.

Round to Joe’s house, but was frustrated here, as after repeated knockings, Maria announced he hadn’t been called – this delay later led to panic, as passing the Statter, I saw a clock which announced ominously that it was 8.28 – my bus was due to leave at 8.30.2 Faced with ignominious alternative of either having to hang about until 11.45, since I obviously could not retrace my steps without extreme anti-climax, or catching a prosaic train. As the taxi pulled up at the depot, I plunged out, over-tipped the driver and, gripping my suitcase, stumbled forward asking all and sundry in an agonised way, ‘Which bus for Charlottesville – PLEASE, which is the Charlottesville bus?’ Finally, two bored officials pointed in a languid way to a bus misleadingly labelled MIAMI and told me there was 20 minutes to go. I dumped my case and bought a ticket (2 dollars 73) and on returning saw an aggressive looking lady in a lot of feathers picking up my luggage. I afterwards found she was only bossily, though kindly, moving it out of the way of an oncoming monster bound for New York; however, she obviously thought, rightly, that I thought she was stealing it.

After about 10 minutes’ wait in line, the great moment came when I boarded my first bus. I found a good seat in the middle but couldn’t remember if I’d been told it was good, or bad, to sit over the wheels. The seats were comfortable, tilting back like those in an aeroplane, with a good foot rest. The driver was exceedingly helpful and nice and helped me with my bag.

In a few minutes, a youth in a white coat bustled in with a pile of pillows, announcing ‘Pillow service 20 cents’ – he was about to go away unsuccessfully after plying his wares in a most determined fashion, when I realised that part of my comfort was due to the fact that I already had a pillow left by the previous occupant wedged behind my back. Alternatives – to shout hysterically at his retreating back, own up and pay up, or else hang on to my bonus and be silently accused by my fellow travellers of cadging an unfair advantage. Parsimony and shyness won and I kept my pillow for free, but was later served when after a short snooze with my face buried in it, I discovered sinister grey oily marks, obviously caused by a former owner’s hair.

At last the door slammed, someone made an unintelligible announcement and we were bowling off through Washington (more waves of Marco Poloism) – over the Potomac and into Virginia.

The day was ideal, sunny and clear, making the country very beautiful. Dogwood and Judas trees, and all kinds of blue and yellow flowers were out, but it was difficult to see much, as the bus plunged along at such a petrifying rate, especially downhill, that one felt the driver had lost all control. My only minor disappointment was that the seat next to me was empty and I had no one to chum up with. My only minor discomfort was the rather overpowering smell of petrol, which made me feel slightly sick at one point, though I afterwards recovered. Fellow travellers at first looked all very chic, later some more dowdy groups joined.

After two hours we had a ten-minute stop at Culpepper. As I didn’t want to go to the loo, buy a paper, or have a cup of coffee, I wandered aimlessly until it was time to leave. On getting back to the bus, I found to my joy that the next seat was being occupied by a somewhat scruffy looking young man. He was clearly less anxious for acquaintanceship than I, but eventually I got him into a conversation, which was a bit of a let-down, as he turned out to be rather a jelly-like creature. He told me he came from the state of Washington and was in pre-medical school at the University of Virginia, also that he was ‘on probation’ having already cut 14 of his classes. This information, added to the fact that his fingernails were the most funereal I’ve ever seen, made me doubt if he would ever turn into much of a medical giant.

In another hour we were in Charlottesville, where my companion dashed off so as not to miss his 15th class. I got off at the bus depot. Here supreme folly was shown. First, I put 10 cents in a locker, only to find it was too small for my suitcase – I then found another for 25 cents, locked it, only to realise I didn’t need my coat – unlocked and in general confusion, put in another 25 cents. Total cost 60 cents, total waste 35 cents.

Conquered shyness and cold feet and rang Mr Colegate Darden,3 President of the University, to whom I had a letter from Mr Krock.4 Was told he was rather occupied, but would I come up to his office anyway – felt I was being a bore, but caught a taxi, driven by a man with a cleft palate, who didn’t remotely know the way. Finally located the Administration building and went on by foot.

The whole college layout is enormously impressive with a quality of solidarity as well as prettiness which I found very attractive. The newer buildings have been done with taste and blend well with the Jeffersonian ones – overall, there is a feeling of strength and sense.

Waited in an outer office, eyed by two very crusty looking individuals, and was ushered into the presence after about five minutes. Very cordial reception, though Mr Darden has a disconcerting way of looking at anything but one when he talks. We sat down and he led off on modern youth (drinks too much), the gravity of the age, and his life at Oxford (the whole room was crammed with mementoes of this). Then a few questions were fired at me which I bluffed out, though each answer sounded smugger and duller than the last – he asked me what I wanted to see, rather pointedly, and my reply ‘Everything’ was obviously and justifiably considered feeble. Emboldened by being asked if I had any questions, and wanting to retrieve fallen stock, I said in a sententious way ‘is the liberal tradition of Thomas Jefferson still a vital thing in the life of the university?’ Mr D looked slightly sick (can’t blame him) and said stuffily, ‘There are no subversive elements in this faculty’ (afterwards found out the enormity of my faux pas as CD is a main cog of the Byrd machine).5

The Dean of Women6 then appeared to take over – charming and pretty, kind but not gushing, with clearly lots of nous. She also asked me what I wanted to see and was also dissatisfied by my ‘Everything’. She whisked me off round the campus, explained Jefferson’s architectural plan and introduced me to some professors, the Dean’s wife and some garden club ladies who were hanging about. I tried to ask about co-eds, but was sternly told that all her students had had at least two full college years before being admitted to the University of Virginia and were above any frivolity. I was greatly impressed by Miss Hollingsworth, whom I contrasted favourably with her counterparts at Oxford or Cambridge, but even she was slightly tarred by the feminist brush and talked vigorously about MEN and A MAN’S WORLD (didn’t dare breathe a word on bedchamber influence).

We drove off to Monticello – here, except for the magnificent view, I was disappointed, as the house seemed to me to sadly lack grandeur – not a patch on the campus. Badly planned inside, this not helped by a rather slipshod arrangement of furniture; lots of tourists seeming only interested in relics.

On to rather a grand country club7 for a bad lunch. Miss H clearly not too enthusiastic about CD, though loyal (first hints about Senator B).

Back to the campus where I was shown the library – beautifully organised by a nice female librarian – with an excellent collection of books. Met a GI bride (rather refined lady from St John’s Wood) who worked there while her husband studied law, and obviously loathed life and suffered from nostalgia for St John’s Wood.

A delightful and earnest youngish professor of English came to hold the fort and showed me something of the lives and activities of the students. He was tolerant and intelligent about everything and described the problems very clearly. We toured the clubhouses, gymnasiums, college radio station and newspaper, stadiums, lecture rooms and finally the married veterans’ housing lot – government huts and an efficient self-organised community complete with mayor. Great impression of a pleasant life. Talked to several students, all keen and polite, though seeming very young.

Back to Mr Darden and some more chat – parted on good terms, although I didn’t feel I’d made much of a hit.

Brief and very enjoyable interlude with a Dr Lewis8 about Jane Austen – definite hit this time, which helped deflated ego – then the kind Miss Hollingsworth drove me to the bus depot for my rendezvous with John Dix.9 I’d always thought him a moron when I met him in New York, but on second thoughts, find he is a rather sad giant with lots of natural sharpness and frustrated poetic impulses.

Out to the Dix’s house – a pretty white colonial house which looks deceptively small, but actually has a great many rooms with nice, comfortable, old-fashioned furniture. Heavenly tidy-up and then some super welcome marts. Two neighbours arrived, friendly and nice, though the wife...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 23.10.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• Themenwelt: Geisteswissenschaften ► Sprach- / Literaturwissenschaft ► Literaturwissenschaft
• Schlagworte: America • Diary • Gift • gift for christmas • lady in waiting • Princess Margaret • Royal
• ISBN-10: 1-7398212-7-0 / 1739821270
• ISBN-13: 978-1-7398212-7-2 / 9781739821272