My Mother Goes to Europe

At the end of World War II, Europeans suffered severe shortages of everything.  When our cousin Mabel asked me to write to Billy’s pen pal in Holland, my mother also got involved.  She sent instant coffee to Kees and Marie and clothes for their baby.   

Many years later, the year my father died, David and I went to Texas for Christmas with my Mother.  Standing in Mother’s kitchen, I put my arm around her and said, “David is graduating from high school in May.   I plan to sell my house and go to Europe.  Would you like to go with me?”

“No,” she said firmly, “I don’t want to go to Europe.”  She thought for a minute, then added, “I would go to England.”

In May we flew off on schedule.  At Gatwick Airport I took the wheel of little red rental car with David beside me holding a big book of detailed maps and serving as navigator.  With Mother in the back seat, we took off for a month of driving around England, Scotland, and Wales, staying in farm houses and seeing country houses, castles, and cathedrals. 

As we drove down between hedges on a narrow country lane, I said, “Mother, it is too bad you didn’t want to go to Europe.”

My Mother said, “I didn’t want to go where they don’t speak English.”  

I should have suspected that.  When Mother came to visit us in Pennsylvania, I took her to Bucks County to look for records of her Quaker ancestors.  On Sunday I urged her to go with me to a Quaker Meeting.   She refused. 

I was disappointed.  Mother was a Baptist, accustomed to loud hymn singing and long-winded preachers, very different from the way her Quaker ancestors worshiped.  Quakers do not sing hymns or listen to long sermons.  They sit quietly and wait for the “inner light”.  Someone may stand up and make a brief statement.     

Over brunch, when it was too late to attend the services, Mother confessed, “I didn’t think I could keep my head bowed that long.”

“Mother!” I said, exasperated, “Quakers are quiet during their meetings, but they don’t bow their heads.”

In England I was annoyed.  I said, “Mother!  Most Europeans speak English.”

Mother said plaintively, “I would have liked to meet those people in Holland.”

My Mother was afraid to step out of her familiar “comfort zone”.  Not me.  I am always ready for a new adventure.

In the middle of our trip around Great Britain, I drove to Harwich.  We parked the rental car in the lot at the port and took the night ferry across the North Sea.  Mother and I slept in narrow berths in a tiny cabin shared with two other women.  David was down the passageway with other men. 

We spent a weekend in Rotterdam with the Bouw-Noest family.  Thus my Mother made her one and only visit to Europe.