blackie parlin

In 1948 my father went to Amsterdam for the founding of the World Council of Churches which Dad believed would help to bring peace to the world.  Mother, Camilla and I accompanied him.  We crossed the ocean by steamship; the Holland America Veendam to Europe, the Noordam to return.  Mother and I travelled to France, then Switzerland before the four of us flew across the Channel to Britain.

 

In Paris I enjoyed most the nude statues in front of the opera house, although it was difficult to seem not to notice the statues.  In Switzerland we went high into the Alps to visit Dora DeVargas, a friend from Mother’s days teaching in China.  I remember Dora telling Mother that the local people believed that dishes would be tainted if washed with soap.

 

I hated the trip because it meant leaving my beloved animal friends at Silver Bay.  Despite my annoyance, I realize I learned a tremendous amount.  The trip made World War II, which had ended only three years earlier, much more real to me.  In France it seemed like cripples stood on every street corner…men without arms or legs or with heads completely bandaged.  And in London, while the bombing debris was gone, many craters existed where houses had been bombed.

 

Our family traveled north to visit Reverand Wade, a friend of my Father.  Mrs. Wade served us dinner which included ham.  When the first course was over, Mrs. Wade offered me seconds of ham.  I eagerly accepted.  At this juncture my Mother kicked me under the table.  Mother was not the kicking type; I had no idea what was going on.   In time Mrs. Wade offered me a third slice of ham.  Again, I eagerly accepted, and again Mother kicked me under the table…a quite vicious kick.

 

As we left the Wade’s house, my mother said to me, “Do you realize that you ate the Wade’s yearly ration of meat?”  The realities of war and the stringency of the past World War became clear to me, as did the meaning behind my Mother’s vicious kicks.