non sibi sed toti	Parsons Family and Friends

Emily Index Chapter One: Her parents Chapter Two: Growing up in Wicklow Chapter Three: The Years of the Great War Chapter Four: Boarding School Chapter Five: The Idyll Ends Chapter Six: The Morris Minor - and Poland Chapter Seven:January 3rd or My Journey to Warsaw Chapter Eight: Sewerynov 3 Chapter Nine: Love in a cold climate Chapter Ten: Escape with a baby Chapter Eleven: Dubliners Chapter Twelve: Post-war London Chapter Thirteen: In Metroland Chapter Fourteen: Dreaming Spires Chapter Fifteen: Sheffield Chapter Sixteen: Gold and Diamond Chapter 7: January 3rd or How I set out for Warsaw 1934 Leaving Kingstown (Dun Laoghaire) on the morning of the 3rd January 1934 by the R.M.S. Scotia I arrived in due course at Holyhead having had a good crossing with only some slight rolls. I was fortunate in finding a companion as far as Chester, Kitty Wills, with whom I exchanged remembrances of Alexandra College. We also shared some grapes. The writing of four letters, and having tea, passed the time till London, and having posted the letters I proceeded to Victoria where I left my luggage. Driving across London was most delightful as it was more than two years since I had been there. I must say there is something about London which I find exhilarating. I then repaired by underground to West Kensington where I was most hospitably entertained by kind friends. My appetite had not suffered from the journey and I did ample justice to the good fare provided at a delightful old monks' refectory table, with shining surface. Kindly interest was taken in my ticket and travelling instructions and hints given and the wireless tuned in to Warsaw for a while. A hot bath and so to bed - forgetting that I had promised to keep this journal evening by evening before going to bed. Jan. 4th. Woke early after a good sleep and noticed the difference in the light, being so much further east. Not too hearty a breakfast and then packed up my attaché case and set off to visit the friends at 16 Lincolns Inn Fields [Headquarters of CMJ]. Saw Miss Symmonds and then Miss Lings, Miss Cleeve, Mr. Gill and Mrs Carter. A pleasant interval and then off to the Polish Consulate. I asked a post man on the way to direct me to Montague Street Upper, and he replied: "You might have asked a thousand people and they would not have known where it was. It only has about four houses in it. I took five years to find it. I expect you want No. 2?" and with that he set me on the way. He wore spectacles. I am struck with the number of postmen and taxi drivers in London who wear specs. Arrived at the Polish Consulate, I spent about half an hour - not cooling but very much the opposite - my heels in the hall. There was a stove, I suppose a la Polsky, and one youth who was also waiting asked the porter why he had it lit on such a mild day; to which the reply was that it could not be put out. It did not take long to get the visa once I obtained an audience, but it cost 23/4. [£1.16p] then to a telephone kiosk to tell my hostess I was free to meet her, and of course forgot for a few frantic moments to press Button A although I had placed my thumb upon it from the start. [Pay phones at the time allowed you to hear the person at the other end answer, before you pressed Button A so that your coins fell through and you were able to speak. If there was no reply, or the wrong voice answered, you could press Button B and get your coins back.] We met, and she helped me to choose a most warming-to-the-cockles-of-the-heart fur coat. It really does make a difference to one's poise to trip along in a fur coat, and it certainly is the right thing for warmth. After a light lunch at Stewart's in Regent Street my kind hostess saw me into a bus for Victoria, and with my heart full of warm gratitude to her I went off in a No. 138, which deposited me at Victoria Station, where several friends would be surprised to hear I arrived with 40 minutes to spare. As I was standing outside my carriage, who should I see appear but Mr. Gill, who had come to see me off with what I consider the greatest kindness. We had a pleasant talk, and then Joan Crossleigh also came, and after a few minutes the train glided off at 2 p.m. Joan's kind thoughtfulness in saying she was going to write home to tell that she had seen me go safely off, also appealed to me greatly. [Evelyn wrote on Friday thanking her for "your darling letter posted at Euston and I got a card from Joan C. this morning saying she had seen you off in good spirits and a pretty fur coat."] I then turned my attention to stowing away my tweed coat, re-labelling my suitcases, ate a few biscuits and choc., and started to read 'Almond, Wild Almond' by D.K. Broster [a romantic novelist]. Somewhat weary after trotting about London with a heavyish attaché case. Boarded the Ostende boat about 4, and, as it seemed fearfully rough rounding the pier head, flew below and lay down; but almost directly it smoothed down and we had a lovely crossing. I got up and had tea, and then we reached Ostende about 7. I appeared to be the only one getting off by the special gangway for the Nord Express, and very quickly passed the passport and customs people. They opened nothing when they heard my destination. I seemed to be expected when I reached the train and was shown into carriage. Then - such excitement, never had I pictured such a cosy and delightful little compartment. Upholstered in blue, with shining mahogany woodwork, a table and a little seat facing the engine, and a spotless washstand with l'eau froid et chaud within a glass and blue velvet door. I was much intrigued and felt it was anything but a hardship to spend a night and a day in such surroundings. Then a large form was presented which I had to fill in with such things as my passport number and how much money of various nationalities I had. Then off to supper in the dining car, another 'devarsion.' Fillets de sole meunier et potatoes naturels, followed by cold water an orange and green grapes. A slight disappointment to find when I returned to my blue room that a second berth had appeared as if by magic above mine. However, no one came in at Brussels, so I daresay no one will get in at Cologne either. A delightful journey so far. Bon nuit. 5th Jan. I must take up the thread of my narrative about midnight. The train stopped two or three times at dimly lit, unimportant seeming places and once we bumped into something very hard when shunting. However I though I should know when we reached the frontier and would get up and don my coat before the customs officials appeared. But no, all of a sudden there was a rattling of the door and voices without. I fumbled with the chain, the light was switched on and in came a very charmingly mannered, blue clad German, followed by my good friend the Conductor. He produced the form I had filled in and gave it to the official who read it, glanced at my suitcases, and departed. I congratulated myself that the frontier had been so easily passed, when again rattling at the door, and again I opened it, to admit a grim visaged official in black who held a few old newspapers in his hand and addressed a somewhat lengthy oration to me in German. I was completely at sea, but my kind Conductor again came to the rescue - I think he speaks all languages - and explained that newspapers were the subject under discussion so I was able to say I had none, but a further question led to the statement that I had two books - at the moment I forgot my Bible, testament and grammars. What were they? I got very mixed and began to describe them as a funny book (P.G. Wodehouse) and a story book. Fortunately he was soon appeased and after some rummaging beneath the bunk for contraband departed. I wondered what further excitements were in store, but nothing else happened and I spent the rest of the night resting if not exactly sleeping. About 7.20 it was light enough to see the telegraph wires through a chink in the blinds and about 8.30 we came to a great city which I thought must be Berlin, whereupon I got up and dressed with all speed, and was just in time to see the very wide, comfortable station, before the train went on again. It stopped again at a smaller station and waited about 10 minutes and then we started off and travelled through Berlin for quite a while. I went off for breakfast which I found was under different auspices from the supper the previous night. In fact it was a different coach, which probably accounted for the nocturnal bump. We travelled for miles through a somewhat thick wood of Scotch firs and very flat land, so flat it seemed as if it had been ironed out by a most careful giant. There was a thin sprinkling of snow in places on the ground. It was flat for miles and miles. After an hour or so there were slight undulations for a short way and then again flat until it was too dark to see. About noon we came to the frontier. First we stopped at the German side and my passport was examined and the form about money given up. After an interval of perhaps 15 minutes we went on to the town on the Polish side, which the Conductor called Spongen. Again the passport was looked at and one case taken down. I declared my V.P.K. But could not find it but they signified it was no matter, asked if there were clothes in the other case, peeped into my attaché case and departed. Once more my kind friend helped me by going and changing my German money into Polish. Soon after we started again, dejeuner was announced and once again I made the quite lengthy journey to the dining car. The menu began with hors d'oeuvres varies, cod steak fried in oil I think, veal garnished with fried bread and truffles and roast potatoes followed by a remarkable sweet consisting of a slice of pineapple placed on a slice of fruit cake and covered with a kind of red jam sauce. Some grapes and cold water completed the repast. The only other diners were to Frenchmen, a little man with a flattened head and a habit of clearing his throat, and a large and rather discontented lady with red finger nails and redder lips. As far as I could see they were the only other passengers on the long blue train, from Berlin onwards. I must now confess that when I returned to my compartment I lay down and began to read but I think instead I closed my eyes .... At Kutno I went out into the corridor and found the scene was changed and it really did look like the Poland I had expected. Men in curious fur caps and big boots were going about and a woman with many layers of coats and jackets and a shawl tied over her head to keep her ears warm. Then when we left the station I saw children with little sledges and others skating, while there were horses drawing long carts. Darkness soon fell and I pictured those at home being at the P.M [prayer meeting] at 16 [Lincoln's Inn Fields]. I had kept my watch at Irish time and was now about 1 hour and five minutes slow by local time. About 5.40 the lights of Warsaw came in sight and three minutes before our time we drew into the terminus. There was a row of little men in fur caps, short thick coat and big boots, and one took my luggage and as I was looking around there was Mr. Carpenter coming to meet me. A few paces behind him was Miss Keith and a friend and I had reached my friends and my destination. My first impression of Poland after the row of – to me – quaintly clad porters on the platform, was the huge hall we passed through with rows upon rows of benches all filled with people – waiting I was told for trains. I had never seen the like before. Then we took a taxi and driving in what seemed a fairly reckless manner and leaving pedestrians to look out for themselves, we reached the Mission House in a few minutes. Miss Wrice was on the stairs and I needed no introduction to her though we had not met before and then Mrs. Carpenter welcomed me and then I was shown my flat of a lobby and two rooms and soon was sitting down to supper with Miss Keith and Miss Wrice. How much we had to hear and tell and then I was shown the Church, the rooms on the ground floor, introduced to several of their occupants and then right up to the top and introduced to Dr. and Mrs. Prentki in their flat. Then prayers and so to bed, but I must not forget to mention that I found a very warm welcome letter awaiting me which had been written ere I left home. A most thoughtful deed. So far the journal. Before we continue with it and with the letters that Emily sent home to her mother in Foxrock, this is the place to explain where she was going to live. Ul. Sewerynow is a short road leading off one of the main throughfares in central Warsaw. Nearby on the main street is a (Roman Catholic) church outside which is a statue of Christ carrying his cross, and the words "Sursum corda", "Lift up your hearts". Not far away is a statue of Copernicus, who was born not far from Warsaw. This main street soon becomes Nowy Swiat (New World), the main shopping street of the city. The houses in Ul. Sewerynow (which means the Street of the Severins) were high, with several storeys and balconies, and an entrance which Emily called a 'brahma'. I don't know how the word is spelled, but it seemed to be a feature of such Warsaw houses. CMJ owned the whole of number 3, with the ground floor used for English classes for Jewish people, and flats on other storeys for the workers. There was also a small church on one floor. With the 90% destruction of Warsaw by the Nazis, the whole building, probably the whole street, vanished. The CMJ showed, during the war, a model of the ruins of the CMJ building. During the 1950s the Poles, with Russian help, rebuilt the Old Town exactly as it had been, an almost miraculous achievement. The rebuilding extended to the church and statue near Sewerynow, but, I am almost certain, not to minor roads off the main streets. When I visited in 1990 or 1991 there were some solid houses of the type that were there before the war, but big gaps and a building site as well. Neither Emily nor Martin ever returned to Poland after 1939.