Letters from the Italian Outback

By Bonnie-Jane Mason

Bonnie-Jane McCabe (now Mason) lived this book. She wrote these letters to her family during one exciting year in her young life. Years later, she started the book, collected the letters, copied them to her computer, and organized her book in her computer. It always needed just one more editing pass to make sure its error-free. Before she was finished, a disastrous computer-crash appeared to her, to have ended her book project.

This version, published from a recently rediscovered, early paper preview draft, is my gift to Bonnie, my daughter.

Prepared for publication by: Selden P. McCabe, Jr. 2009

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 27, 2009
• ISBN: 9781465328199

Bonnie-Jane Mason

Bonnie-Jane McCabe (now Mason) ‘lived’ this book. She wrote these letters to her family during one exciting year in her young life. Years later, she started the book, collected the letters, copied them to her computer, and organized her book in her computer. It always needed “just one more editing pass to make sure it’s error-free.” Before she was finished, a disastrous computer-crash appeared to her, to have ended her book project. This version, published from a recently rediscovered, early paper ‘preview’ draft, is my gift to Bonnie, my daughter. Prepared for publication by: Selden P. McCabe, Jr. 2009

Book preview

Copyright © 2009 by Bonnie-Jane Mason.

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This book was printed in the United States of America.

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65901

PROLOGUE

To get you up to speed, there are a few facts and certain characters I should tell you about.

Me: Almost 19 years old when I left for Italy, I was a psychology major at UCLA, with an emphasis on child development, looking toward a possible career as a nursery school teacher. I looked at the chance to care for three small children a golden opportunity for a year of lab work. That it would be in Europe only made it that much more exciting.

My Employers: David Haines (not the real name), a Ph.D. in computer linguistics, assigned to work at EURATOM, a six-nation union exploring peacetime uses of atomic energy (located in the small, rural village of Ispra, in northern Italy), for a year; and his pregnant wife, Rita, a doctor, who had been doing medical research at UCLA before our trip. I lived near the Haines in Santa Monica, and had been babysitting for them quite regularly for some time. This was how I happened to be invited to go along, in the capacity of an au pair. (This is a French phrase, and refers to a girl from one country, who becomes a temporary member of a family in another country—not a nanny or mother’s helper, more of a big sister. This practice is extremely common in Europe.)

Their Children: Dorothy, age 3, who never stopped asking Why?—which I never stopped looking on as a precious opportunity to help mold a young mind; Warren, not quite two, who would define the Terrible Twos for me on a very personal level, but whom I had great affection for anyway; Tommy, not born until several months after we arrived, the one who really seemed almost like my very own that year.

My Family: Mom and Dad, both in their early 40s, who would unexpectedly have a new addition to our family while I was away; Selden (also called S III because Dad was Selden Jr.), 16, an antisocial intellectual; Vicki, 11, to whom I was especially close and with whom I was used to sharing a bedroom back home; Casey, 9, the baby when I left, and everybody’s darling; Tallulah, also called Tallu, the beloved family dachshund. My new sister, Caroline, would be two months old before I ever got the chance to meet her.

My Stateside Boyfriends: Lyle, my high-school sweetheart and fellow student at UCLA, with whom I had been going steady two years when I left; Bill, a very clean-cut, extremely artistic boy from Northern California, whom I had met four years earlier at an American Air Force high school in England, where my entire family lived that year; Mike, a sweet but somehow dangerous boy I’d also met at the same school in England, also from Northern California; Jim, a boy who was in my class all the way through high school (except for my year in England, of course), very devoted to me, but he really didn’t excite me.

July 3, 1962

Dear Mom and Dad,

First off, I’m here and NOTHING went wrong! I’m so glad you finally came to that window. I couldn’t see you from the plane at first, and that was awful. I sat alone but noticed that there was another girl in the window seat across the aisle. The stewardess asked her to move so a woman with a baby could have more room by using all three seats. So the girl came and sat with me, and was she nice! Her name is Joan. She’s from Santa Barbara and is going to England (!) for the summer with the Experiment in International Living. She’s 19, tall, tan and blonde—really pretty. We were both so glad to find each other. We even got the same porter in New York and split the tip. I’ll never see her again, but it was a most welcome friendship while it lasted.

There was no limousine to the hotel, so I took a cab. It only cost 85 cents. Big deal.

Before I go any further, Pop, I want to set your mind at rest. I REMEMBERED TO RECONFIRM MY RESERVATION for tomorrow. I did it first thing when I got to my room. I got an outside line and dialed myself, so doubt if I’ll even be charged.

The air conditioning here consists of windows and the soundproofing consists of nothing. Every time a plane comes in, it sounds like it’s dropping an A-bomb! I won’t complain, though. I’ve got a double bed and a bathtub so I’m happy.

I’m sure sorry I had to take all your money. (Good grief! I hope you’re not stuck in the parking lot!) But it may have been a good thing I did, from my point of view. For example, here at my modest hotel a plain, ordinary hamburger costs $1.50. For dinner I had a turkey sandwich (I thought it best to eat light), which consisted of two slices of bread and two slices of turkey, period. This was in the coffee shop, however, not the dining room. I finally got some mayonnaise, but brother!

I’m having a ball. I gave the taxi driver $1 and told him to keep the change. He sure looked mad. That was funny. So was that stupid turkey sandwich. The boys in the coffee shop ran around and got their busboy friends from the dining room to come and check me out, as the college kids say. (It wasn’t my imagination either, Mom!). That was funny too. And a very old, very skinny, very kind colored bellboy has taken me under his wing, so I’m well taken care of.

It sure was hard to say good-bye to all of you. Boy! When I saw old, hard-hearted (she’d like us to think) Vicki cry, that REALLY DID IT!

Thank you so much, Mom and Dad, for bringing Lyle to the airport. I know you must have had to swallow your feelings, but it was a real treat for me. It made the goodbye worse but better, if you know what I mean.

Tell Selden good luck on his audition for me (ahem!). I love you and miss you very much. Tell Dad to relax, Mom. You take it easy too. I left you with a lot to do, but take your time. Nothing’s more important than your health. Don’t worry about me.

Love,

At the hotel in New York

Dear Vicki and Casey,

I sure hated saying good-bye to you two . . . my favorite brother and sister. It was a rather weepy affair, wasn’t it?

Thank you very much, Casey, for the beautiful cards you made me. Because of them I felt less lonely on the plane. I sat with a very pretty girl who liked them too!

Vicki, you’re a doll. I’m sorry you were sad at the airport, but it showed me that I’m your favorite sister too. That made me feel very good. (I hope you weren’t crying just because Casey hit you or something!)

I miss you and love you both.

Love,

Vicki’s P.S.: I’ve got a double bed at the hotel!

Casey’s P.S.: In answer to the question in your card, I love you very much.

July 5, 1962

Dear Mom and Dad,

Since I last wrote a lot has happened. The night in the hotel was pretty rough because I was so keyed up, but the next morning at 9:30 the phone rang. When I answered it and heard Lyle’s voice . . . Wow! I was very surprised. It was so wonderful—felt like old times. After we talked I had just enough time to do what I wanted to before it was time to go to the airport.

While waiting for the plane (which was 15 minutes early!) I bought Light in the Piazza for 50 cents. I haven’t finished it yet but I love it. Just the ticket for a teenage girl about to go to Italy for the first time, huh?

Mrs. Haines and I found each other easily. Everybody was very glad to see everybody else. Warren still had his rash from the German measles, which both kids got in Indiana. Mrs. H doesn’t know whether she’s had it or not, but is quite unconcerned—something I cannot understand since she’s pregnant. It seems to me that a medical doctor should know better. Everybody at the New York airport was very rude but we made it to the plane just fine.

The flight to Milan was pure and simple hell. The food was so rich that nobody ate much (the kids none). It was very crowded and the kids screamed and wiggled constantly. Neither Mrs. H nor I got a wink of sleep. (I’ve had four hours in the last 32.)

We got here OK. After we arrived we couldn’t find my hatbox at first and I panicked, but finally discovered it stashed in a corner, away from all the other luggage. (Someone must have liked it!) The Customs inspection consisted of asking Mrs. H if she had any liquor or cigarettes!

Mr. H met us OK, but it was just luck that he did. He woke up at 5:30 (the plane was due to arrive at 6:30!) and he hadn’t bothered to find out whether we’d land at the airport on one side or the other of Milan! Oh, well. The new Volkswagen is nice, but indisputably green. Mr. H loves it, and drives like an Italian!

It was cold when we arrived. Was glad I had a coat. The ride home was neat—everything looked so European! I had no lipstick on and Warren was in my lap, but I still got many passionate looks from darling boys. The countryside is unbelievably green. A nearby river reminds me of the Seine.

There have been no arrangements whatsoever made for my lodging. That was a terrible disappointment. The only option seems to be a hotel room, which means I couldn’t cook for myself and I’ll have to learn lots of Italian fast. But anything would be better than nothing.

The EURATOM houses are on a beautiful hill. The Haines’ is pretty bad, though, because some slobs were the last ones to live in it. It’s very dirty, but a woman comes once a day to change the linens and do the floors so things should look up tomorrow.

There is a certain humor in the basic provisions in the house: nothing you need and everything you don’t. Our toilet consists of a bowl sans seat and lid, but we have dishes, silverware and glasses for 20 people. We have cruets for vinegar and oil, but one bath towel for the five of us (and that’s standard procedure: one to a family).

When we got here, we had a breakfast of milk and rolls. Then Mr. H went to work while we slept (from 10:30 to 3:30—the four hours I mentioned). Then Mrs. H had a bath and inadvertently used all the hot water, so I boiled water for my bath and bathed the kids in my same water. At 4:00 Mr. H came home and took Mrs. H to Varese (the provincial capital, 20 minutes away) where she could shop while he ran an important errand there.

After bathing the kids, I fixed dinner. We had paper-thin veal (fried), milk and biscuits. And did my Lawrys salt ever save the day! We were so hungry that anything would have tasted good. Mr. and Mrs. H came home with food and other necessities (bare ones) and Coke. Now I’m alive again! The food has been so scarce and strange that I may lose all the weight I want in the first month.

So far my address is the Haines house, but Mr. H says that mail is much more dependable at EURATOM and is delivered to his office four times a day! He says airmail takes a week. Lyle was told by a Santa Monica postal worker that it takes two and a half days. So who knows? But at any rate, it’s best to keep using the address I gave you, at least until I get settled somewhere else, which I hope will be sometime in the next three or four days.

That was just while I thought of it. Now back to my original train of thought.

The Haines went out again to dinner, to save the food that’s here. I put the kids to bed, put the groceries away and washed all the dishes in the house to be helpful, because everything was so dirty that we’ve been having to wash the dishes before as well as after meals. They came home just as I finished, talked a while and went to bed. It’s now 10:30 here, but I had to take the time out to let you know I’m here, and I sure needed somebody to unburden myself to. I’m very tired and we’re really roughing it, so things are at their worst. The next letter will be much happier, I promise.

Please send my box right away. If you haven’t sent it already, remember that you have to specify the material of the contents. And please send a wash cloth (an old one is fine). Once I’ve cased the joint I’ll be able to tell you what else I need.

I’m sorry this letter is such a mess. Nobody’s got a ballpoint pen and I had to squeeze everything in. As soon as I locate the post office and/or set in a supply of stamps, I can use stationery instead of these tiny biglietti postale areo [air letters]. I hope reading this hasn’t given you a headache.

Please don’t worry about me. It was dumb to write such a complaining letter, but I needed to vent. I’m well looked-after, and my lot is no worse than the Haines’ and is bound to improve.

Love to everybody,

July 9, 1962

Dear Mom, Dad, etc.,

What a lot I have to tell you! First of all, though, I want to know what YOU have to tell ME! I haven’t gotten any mail yet and I’m sure aching for some. I want to hear all the news about all of you.

Well, for a start I’ll be practical. My salary consists of 31,650 lire and $50, to be paid in advance; the lire to spend and the dollars to save. Advice about how to send the money home would be greatly appreciated. My days off are Sundays and Mondays. This suits everybody because Mr. and Mrs. Haines can do things together on Saturdays, while I can have Sundays to rest and wash my hair, and Mondays to scout around.

Making my living arrangements has been a something of a problem. The dorm down the road is no longer available for EURATOM folks. So the choice, as far as we know, is a hotel room with a bath near here for the rumored price of $35 a month(!), or another dorm about five miles away. We have discussed my purchasing a second-hand bike or a Vespa (wouldn’t THAT be gay?) so I could commute. I would rather have a kitchen because the food’s so strange, but investing in a Vespa would be a big financial drain. I may not find room in the dorm, in which case my decision would be made.

There is room for me here, at least until October, but my days off have been no different from my days on and you know how I like my one-hour baths. So I’m anxious to find a place. There was considerable talk of it tonight and tomorrow we go to check out the hotel. So the problem may be resolved quite soon. If I have to wait awhile for a vacancy that would be OK. Saturday Mr. Haines leaves for a two-week lecture tour of Venice (sigh!) and, if the children are sufficiently adapted by then, Mrs. Haines wants to join him for a few days. So I’d have to be here for that anyhow.

Now I’ll try to start at the beginning and tell you what I’ve done. Friday Mrs. Haines, the kids and I went shopping in downtown Ispra (a really small town). What an adventure that was! I’m quite sure that Julius Caesar left those buildings on his way through . . . one-lane winding streets, ladies with mustaches. Believe it or not, we leaned on MY vocabulary and did remarkably well. (I had made a shopping list in English and Italian first, which helped.) Wine is in grocery stores, pepper in liquor stores, and salt at the tobacconist! We have a good, inexpensive dry-cleaner and a camera store with Kodak in the window. At the other end of the spectrum there are drawers of various pasta shapes in one shop, which are emptied by means of the shopkeeper’s grubby hand!

There is a post office for stamps, and a mailbox. I have discovered that airmail to the U.S. is 130 lire for five grams. I fear that’s not much (weight, not postage) and I don’t know the rates for more, so I’ll try to have this weighed when we shop tomorrow.

Saturday we had breakfast about 11:30 and then went south along our lake (Lago Maggiore) for a lovely ride. I’m so glad to be a girl! The passionate looks I told you about on our drive from the airport are still coming, supplemented with waves, smiles, the works. And all this when I’m squeezed in with two kids in the back seat of a Volkswagen.

Speaking of enthusiastic guys, it turns out that I could have a room (without bath) at a hotel near here with which Mr. Haines is familiar, but he wouldn’t hear of it because I’d have to walk through a bar filled with young men to get to my room. (I’m glad he’s worried about me. I guess somebody should be. I think that’d be great . . . provided I could run fast enough!)

Sunday we got another late start but very much worth the time and trouble. Believe it or not, we all went to Switzerland! We followed Lago Maggiore north, stopping for lunch en route, passed the Swiss frontier and went Alp exploring.

Oh! Also en route we stopped at the Monastery Santa Caterina, which we reached by climbing down to the shore of the lake on old, worn stone steps. The friars showed us their restaurant, which was restored in the 1600s (?!), a neat wooden winepress from the 1700s, the dressed skeleton of a famous hermit in the chapel and, in the back of the chapel, a three-foot-high, shallow cave where said hermit had lived.

We were in line an hour to get back into Italy and sat down to dinner at 10 p.m.! The jet lag is slowly melting away.

Friday night a French colleague of Mr. Haines, M. Yves Lecerf, came to call. C’est si bon! [It’s so