16th February, 1933, The Mission Inn, Riverside, California
Beloved Parents,
What do you think of this for notepaper? (It’s decorated all round the edges). We’re staying in the Mission Inn which is one of the most famous and remarkable in America, and which I can’t describe adequately, so I won’t. (But it’s worth googling). Perhaps I may be able to collect some literature about it to send you.
It’s too marvellous getting letters again now, and getting comparatively quick answers, after the awful Christmas delays. We’ve just come from Santa Barbara, which I shall tell you about in a minute, as there I had a letter from Daddy about his Paris doings and how the French ministers fell on each other’s necks and said NEVER, NEVER, NEVER would they fight, and what humbugs they were, and this morning a long typewritten one from Mother answering my Briarcliff and Kansas City ones, and telling all about the Swiss doings and Bill’s tails. How terrific that he’s 5 ft 5 ½ already. That’s only 3 inches smaller than me and practically the same height as Biddy, from whom incidentally I had a letter from Klosters. I’d forgotten she was going there, but I was awfully glad to hear from her. It was the first I’d had.
Well now I wonder when I wrote last. I sent something off from Los Angeles I know (by the way the inhabitants pronounce it Lahs Angles), but I forget when. I fancy it was just before we went yachting round the harbour. That was pleasant and restful, but not exciting and I think the next day we went to Santa Barbara, or rather 18 of us did. That was on Saturday, and we stayed there till Wednesday – yesterday. Santa Barbara is a small town, quite a little village, as one of the Americans said, only about 40,000 inhabitants, and we stayed in the most wonderful hotel by the edge of the sea, and it was more like being back in Colombo again than anything you can imagine. We arrived towards sunset, and there was the sun going down over the Pacific, and all the Palm trees along the shore, just like Mount Lavinia, even the sands were the same, and there were bougainvilleas , and blackish men sweeping the leaves off the lawn, and I felt I was being wafted rapidly about 8 years and if Sec or Flags or someone had walked up, I shouldn’t have been at all surprised.
There isn’t really much to tell about it, because we were only there four days, but we woke them up a bit I think. It’s a holiday resort and most of the people there spend their time drinking and playing golf, mostly the former, and some have hardly realised there’s a depression going on. Others though who used to be millionaires are living with no servants in their millionaire houses with absolutely no income at all, just selling odd things at intervals to keep going at one of the big shops. In fact the big shop in Santa Barbara closed down when we were there, and people like you and me are living on charity. Ken Twitchell and I went to what is called the Community Chest luncheon, which was the opening day of the big Charity week. Over here they don’t have flag days and odd bazaars all through the year for charity but they have one week of concentrated money collecting for all the different charities in the place. They work in teams and take a different section of the town, going from house to house, and this year they were aiming for $179,000. There was also a big picture of a chest, with the front marked off into sections, and every day they mark up how full the chest has become through the day’s work, thus (she has drawn a rough picture of a chest with the markings on the front). The team who gets to the 100% mark first wins. It was an amusing ceremony to watch, and incidentally talking of wealth, Mrs Edward B Harkness, the wife of the Pilgrim Trust man, was there, and we were introduced to her, and I said something about Durham to her, but she was quite vague. Of course I suppose she doesn’t know exactly where everything goes, or every institution in England that has been helped by them.
I met another woman called Mrs Seamans (?) who’d met Grandfather at an Industrial Luncheon once, and knew about Auntie Gertrude, so was very excited at meeting me in such an unexpected place as Santa Barbara.
We left that very pleasant little backwater, to which we’d gone by the way, because a great many influential people live there, on Wednesday morning. Yesterday, as I said, I went into Hollywood to lunch at the Fox Studios. It was very thrilling seeing all the film stars coming in to lunch in their make-up which looks extraordinary as it’s orange with brownish lipstick, because pink and white make up photographs grey. There weren’t any of the very well-known ones there, because Maurice Chevalier and Marlene Dietrich and various other ones belong to different companies and Harold Lloyd has a studio of his own, but Biddy and Val will recognise the name of Laurel (of Laurel and Hardy), Edmund Lowe, Genevieve Tobin and Heather Angel, probably. Some of them were at the luncheon and some just came in and were introduced, and after lunch we were taken all over what are called the sets, namely the scenes – which were extraordinarily interesting – whole streets looking perfectly real, but actually were nothing but fronts. We went from China to the Bowery of New York, from Alaska with its imitation snow covered huts to Paris – a complete replica of bits of Montmartre, and finally strayed to the set where Cavalcade had been filmed. There was the dear Nelson Column, with its lions, a square garden with its railings and Please Keep off the Grass, the troopship the soldiers all left in, and little bits of London streets. I suddenly saw Freeman, Hardy and Willis looking at me, and an English pub. It really was very remarkable.
They couldn’t take us to see a picture being taken, because none were being made in that studio just then, and the nearest was about 10 miles off, but even so it was thrilling.
Godfather and Hallen Viney managed to oil themselves into another studio a day or two ago though, and saw one being shot. Godfather said it was very curious to see the heroine registering emotion and loneliness under about 6 arc lights with several hundred men all round shouting instructions at her and each other.
That over we, or some of us, motored out here, and on the way I saw a sign saying ‘New York, 3000 miles, London 6,036’! So that was as we were driving due east, and Kimble is about 40 miles from London, and we drove about another 18 miles on from that notice, I must be roughly 5,978 miles from you now. Funny thought. I wonder if you’re looking up my travels on a map; it really is rather interesting to see the amount of territory we’ve covered in 2 months. Toronto, Montreal, Ottawa, Lucerne-in-Quebec, New York, Briarcliff, Princeton, Louisville, Kansas City, Grand Canyon, Phoenix, Los Angeles, Santa Barbara and Riverside. Our next move will be to San Francisco, after which I’m not quite sure.
Later
I’ve just heard that someone has tried to murder Mr Roosevelt, but only succeeded in nearly killing the Mayor of Chicago and 3 others. So things are lively. All the banks in Michigan have closed for a week, which has caused a certain amount of consternation I believe.
Love from
Mary
Please give Janet and her son my love.
English