Granny Sybil Goes West.

After I had been living in New York for a couple of years, my mother expressed interest in coming to visit.  She was already 68 and had never been further away from home than Italy.  I could find a good airline deal for families of airline staff, so getting her here would be easy.

First things first.  A passport and a visa (these were the old days). Fortunately, her passport was up to date, so I told her how to go to the American Embassy in London to obtain the visa application form.  This she did and returned it, along with the necessary picture.  She was told to return the next day (see, it was really long ago!) and when she got to the window, was told that someone had to come and have a word with her.  So, she sat to the side and soon “a nice young American man” (she reported) came to see her.  He needed some clarification on an answer.   There were questions on the form that would never be allowed today, including ‘color of skin’.  My mother had never been asked that question.  She was renowned for having what we would call a ‘high’ color.  She never looked pale and if caught in the middle of cooking something involved, she would be scarlet.  Thus, when faced with a direct skin-color question she put down what she thought was accurate.  That was the problem for the nice young American man.  She had written PINK.   Having ascertained she was not spreading the word of Lenin, her passport was returned to her.

Then came the day of flight.  I was, of course, convinced she would never cope with Heathrow and being pre-cell phones, there was no way to know what was happening.  I could only call TWA for an ETA and stand outside the customs doors and wait.  The time dragged and dragged and hundreds and hundreds of passengers from all over Europe were disgorged, some being much greeted by probably their offspring, but no sign of Granny Sybil.  I had an awful sinking feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.  Oh You of Little Faith!  Out she came, looking very spry and my relief was enormous.

At home, with a restorative cup of strong tea, I asked her how she enjoyed the flight.  I knew it was on a B747, which is pretty intimidating when you have never been inside one.  She thought it was fine.  Was there anything she would remember about it?  Yes … she had something to drink for the first time in her life.  Whatever could that be, I thought?  Some fine Italian wine or a rare liqueur? She had had a Coca Cola!  Did she like it?  Oh yes.

Since organizing this trip had taken months, she was also planning to go to visit two women, one in Chicago and one in North Carolina. Contacts from the small ladies’ magazine that Granny Sybil edited. I managed to get them both on the phone and reconfirmed her flights and times and made them promise on a stack of bibles they would be right there at the gate to collect her.  They said they would.

Being also pre-credit card days, travelers went around with either cash or traveler’s checks and I had thought it would be much easier if these checks were in USD rather than UKL.  She had managed that by going to a branch of Thomas (Thos.) Cook, so there would no problems getting conversions made.  Next day we went to the one bank in Long Beach NY, where I lived.  It was Chemical Bank.  The teller behind the counter stared blankly at the check as if she had never seen one before in her whole banking career.  “Whose this guy Toss Cook?” was the question. A kind of difficult one to answer, so I mumbled something about it being a global travel company which issued millions of pounds/dollars travelers checks every year.  We were just cashing $20, so hardly likely to bring the Chemical Bank business to its knees if it was duff.  Having held it up to the light and also stared overly long at my mother’s passport, she was finally awarded $20.    First hurdle over.

Granny Sybil was far more curious about things than I remembered, but I realized we had hardly traveled together before.  A big supermarket had to be really investigated, as of course there was a lot of new stuff to see and be examined or commented on. (This is something I inherited.  I say you can get the vibes on a country by going to a supermarket).  The Green Acres Shopping Mall was like a day at Disney for her.  She could not imagine so many different stores under one roof.  I almost had the idea to say I will drop you off here at 2pm and collect you at 6pm.

She stayed 5 days and we did it all.  I’m not sure who was more exhausted, she or me.  And soon we were at La Guardia for her TWA flight to Chicago.  I stayed until the aircraft was airborne and crossed my fingers.

Ten days later, I am back to meet the flight from Charlotte.   She is still running at high speed and the color in her cheeks was intense.  She had seen so much and done so much and eaten so much.  It appeared that both her hostesses lived in big houses and didn’t often have visitors from the UK, so all the stops had been pulled out. She had been feted nonstop and many folks came round just to meet her and have their semi-royal audience.

The best bit was her contact in Charlotte was very well known in many circles and a great repository on local customs and such and was going to be interviewed on a morning television show about how to wash pillows… I kid you not.  Of course, Granny Sybil went too and was soon, I imagine, taking over. I expect all sorts of subjects were covered, but when asked, she could not remember.  “It was very hot and a lady kept coming over and blotting my face with a tissue”.

She was in the pink, for sure.