Anchors Away to Amsterdam
There was quite a whirl of activities that proceeded our boarding the Queen Mary. Soldiers came from the base where daddy worked to load all of our belongings into a great big moving van. Once the house was empty, Mommy cleaned all day for two days before the inspection required by the army was scheduled. The sparkling clean house passed the inspection easily and we all piled into the station wagon to head for New York City.
Rachael and I played car-trip games all the way. We played the alphabet game, the find-a-Volkswagen game, and finally, a radio game that we made up. I would pretend to be a radio and I would sing a song. Rachael would tire of the song and pretend to change the station by gently twisting my nose. I would make static noises until she released my nose. Then, having been programmed for another station, I would start a news station, sports station, or sing a different song. This game went on for hours and became one of our favorites. Though I didn't know it at the time, it prepared me for many an improv once I started a Speech class in high school. For the moment, happy laughter serenaded us all the way to New York.
I don't remember boarding the ship or setting sail. My first memory of the Queen Mary was captured in a picture of our whole family dressed in life jackets on deck for a shipwreck drill. It was a cold, rainy and incredibly dull day. The picture reflects three happy family members and a sulky me. What a boring activity for a five year old!
Once out to sea, my little family became sea-sick. That is, all of them but me. They lay in their bunks throwing up and moaning. The attendants on board brought remedies and meals but Mommy, Daddy, and Rachael were sick for days. Finally, apparently pitying the forlorn un-sea-sick girl, an attendant asked to be allowed to escort me to the activities room. My parents agreed.
What a wonderful place the activities room was. There were tables everywhere loaded with crafts and other little girls and boys with whom to play games. My favorite thing was making clothespin dolls.
Seated at one of the craft tables, the pleasant attendant brought my supplies:
a round clothespin/doll pin
scraps of cotton fabric and felt
paper doilies
yarn or felt for hair
embroidery floss
ball point pen
school glue
scissors
pipe cleaner
First I drew eyes, a nose, and a smile onto the round top of my clothespin to make a face. Then I took the pipe cleaner and cut it in half. The attendant had already drilled two small holes in the clothespin for the arms. I placed a half of the pipe cleaner into each hole, securing it with the school glue. Using the embroidery thread I secured one end just under my dolls neck. I wound it around and around the clothespin which made a shirt for the doll. I cut a round whole in the middle of the paper doily and slipped it over the clothespin. Once I had it positioned correctly, I glued it to the doll to make a skirt. Finally, I cut some of the red yarn and glued it to the head for hair. Voila! ( a word I would learn upon arriving in France.) I had made a princess or bride doll.
I spent many days of the two week voyage in the craft room. I played with a few of the other children but, being shy, and without my sister to bolster my confidence ; I mainly made clothespin dolls. I left the Queen Mary with a whole family of clothespin aunties and uncles and cousins galore in a shoebox I had decorated to look like a house.
We went ashore in a place called Amsterdam. I liked the name because it allowed me to use my first cuss word: Damn. I sang it with total abandon, "Damn, Damn, Amsterdam!" No one scolded me. It became my only legitimate means of expressing my frustration in later years.
Amsterdam was strange. The people worn shoes made from wood and painted with local people dressed in bright colors. Daddy bought a pair for Rachael and a pair for me. Surprisingly comfortable, I wore mine with great pride and sheer joy. The ladies of Amsterdam were very colorful also. They dressed in bright colored dresses and white aprons and wore the same wooden shoes like the ones I now wore.One morning at breakfast I saw one lady with a bucket and a broom, vigorously scrubbing her front steps and the street in front of her house. Daddy said that that was one of a Dutch housewife's daily chores. I hate chores and this one seemed unusually awful. I was glad that I was not Dutch like the ladies in Holland. I didn't think I'd like to scrub outside as well as do all the housework that I had seen Mommy do.
We were only in Holland for a few days. We took a train from 'Damn, Damn, Amsterdam' to Paris, France. We ate in a car called a dining car. The waiters were very fast. Mommy said that they were efficient, whatever that meant. I remember one time at dinner, Mommy laid her knife and fork cross-ways on her plate full of food while she leaned over to cut my meat for me. Quick as a wink, one of the waiters removed her plate. This was my first lesson in the nuances of a different culture. After much discussion between Daddy and the waiter and the arrival of a new plate of food for Mommy, I learned that putting your knife and fork cross-ways on your plate in Europe was a signal that you were finished with your meal! I guessed that it was high time that I learned to cut my own food with a butter knife!
The army gave a nice house in DeGrasse Village to live in for the three years we were to live in France. Just a few miles from Paris, the little subdivision of cul-de-sacs bordered the quaint township of Feucherolles. It was very nice. There was a yummy bakery , a doll shop, and an open air market there. I liked the new house, the little town, and I loved the Eiffel Tower!
Then, I found out that there was SCHOOL even in France. My little bubble popped like a balloon on a cactus plant.
