Tuesday, January 8, 1929
Yesterday was a swell day, not a cloud in the sky. At ten the great band of picnickers, Mrs. Yarde, Miss Culvert, and Miss Wright (who is leaving Sunday for Alexandria) and lastly the chief cook and bottle washer that failed to function, set sail for Algeciras, and arriving there proceeded up the railroad track for a short distance, then took to the fields. After a swim through the mud (it had rained the night before) for nearly an hour we arrived at Elcobre in a fair state of preservation but with a nice collection of real estate on our shoes. Elcobre is a club belonging to the Eastern Telegraph Co. for which both Mr. Yarde and Mr. Bailey work. It is rented from some marquis or duke. Situated at the entrance to a narrow, winding valley and by a dashing stream, it commands a fine view of the rolling fields and the high scrub- and tree-covered hills to the north and east. The house or villa is large, roomy, open and comfortable. It is surrounded by a wow of a garden of flowers, vegetables, and fruits including orange and banana trees and date palms. There is also a shelter house and small swimming tank. After the great fatigue of the swim, it was necessary to immediately have tea. This over, the women tackled the lunch in the kitchen while I burnt up the Victrola because there were some good old American jazz pieces there. All during lunch I kept it going and I fear I shocked the two Misses with That’s a Good Girl, which I claimed was all O.K., and some Charleston.
After lunch it was necessary to have tea again. The we walked up the stream a ways to an old mill where the woman explained how it worked, croaking in Spanish. It was an old primitive one run by water power from the stream. Leaving the women, I followed the boulder-strewn stream up to the first falls, leaping from stone to stone and only going in once. More luck than sense, though. My watch didn’t get wet, but it got nasty and refused to travel. It is still sour grapes. After finding a lucky penny on the path, we returned to Elcobre for the third round of tea. Met some younger folks there, three boys from Gibraltar and a couple girls from Tangiers. At five we hit the trail home, though by a road which was less muddy. The boat arrived at Gibraltar late and I didn’t get to the hotel to dress for dinner till ten of eight. However, I got to Rev. Brown’s 25 minutes later and we had a dandy dinner and talk afterwards. He is a wealthy bachelor and has a beautiful house furnished with rare antique pieces beautifully carved and some inlaid with ivory and ebony. He has lots of personality and knows Southern Spain like a book.
Today I slept late because I sat up reading late the night before. Mrs. Yarde got me up and I had to dress in nothing flat to get down to the phone. She wanted me to come out for a little while, which I did, stopping at the shipping agency and the romantic old shoe shop en route. Mrs. Bailey and my nephew and two nieces were there in the garden, so that’s where I basked in the sun for an hour till they left. Mrs. Yarde, Mr. Merrick, and Mr. Sprague, the American Consul it seems, are or were at least somewhat worried over my deck passage to Alexandria and also because I wanted a job. There is really nothing to worry about. I’ll take food enough for 3 or 4 meals aboard. Then if I can’t arrange for food there, I’ll go dry for about 3 days to Malta—but I’ll fix it up all right. If I can’t get a bunk or a cabin, I’m s.o.l. and will drape my bones over a vacant hatch or any other equally soft place.
Lunch at the hotel and then I broke down and had my ears set out—way out. The way that bird ran those scissors through my hair made me uneasy, but he left a little, which was OK with me. I got my 12¢ worth all right. While at lunch the party from Elcobre came in and a couple of the boys invited me to drop around to the office about “gin time.” I asked what time that might be and it seems to be about six. That reminds me that Rev. Brown served coffee. 6 cups of tea and 4 of coffee (2 at breakfast) isn’t so bad for one day.
But to get back—after the haircut I called on Mr. Sprague. He is certainly doing his best for me. Spoke of an American girl painter from Toledo by the name of Williams who has cycled down from Paris to Algeciras and all along. Lots of nerve for a girl to do that in these countries, Spain especially. I actually got mail today from Mother and Uncle Billy and a card from Pat and an Xmas present from Aunt Katie. Just 14 days to reach here. Wrote Uncle Billy a letter and packed a box of films, etc. to ship home. Have but 16 more letters to write this week.
Tomorrow eve it is dinner with Mrs. Yarde and then to a lecture by Rev. Brown on “Ants.” Sunday it will probably be an all-day picnic with the Baileys. There were a bunch of sailors in the café below tonight turning on. I think they must have been American from the way they sang. A Britisher never pronounced words like that. I have an annoying hunch that I’ll have to play washerwoman again tomorrow. Gosh darn, but that hombre sure lopped my hair off, but I’m proud of it because it shows up Gus more, Gus being les moustaches, singly and collectively. My 7½-year-old niece Kath surprised me by quizzing me on Spanish today and durned if she doesn’t know more than I do.