The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street

The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street Read Free

Book: The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street Read Free
Author: Helene Hanff
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came from an Englishman who had written me a fan letter after he read 84, Charing Cross Road and had asked when I was finally coming to London. I wrote and told him, and he wrote back:

    I am a retired publisher now working at London Airport. Please, if I can be of help, USE ME! I can meet you off your plane and see you through Customs and Immigration. Any friends meeting you would have to meet you AFTER you leave Customs. I would meet you off the plane before your dainty feet touched British soil.

    I hadn’t the slightest idea how he expected to manage it but I was counting heavily on his getting my dainty feet off the plane. What did I know about Customs and Immigration?
    There was a fan letter from the wife of an American professor working at Oxford for a year, inviting me to visit them at Oxford. There was a fan letter from an Americanliving in London, who wanted to take me on a walking tour. And there was a letter from Jean Ely, a retired actress in New York whom I’d met as a result of the book:

    Dear Helene:

    I’ve written to a friend in London about you. He’s an Old Etonian who knows London better than anyone I ever met. I’ve never imposed on him in this way before but I wrote him you were one visitor he must take on a tour of London. His name is Pat Buckley. He’ll get in touch with you at the Kenilworth.
    I won’t tell you to have a wonderful time, you couldn’t possibly have anything else.
    Jean

    PS. Keep a diary. So much will be happening to you, you won’t remember it all without a diary.

    I read all the letters over several times. I checked my passport and vaccination certificate several times; I studied an English Coins card somebody had given me, and I read a BOAC booklet I hadn’t had time to read before, on What to Take With You on the Trip. It listed twenty-three items, fourteen of which I didn’t have:

    3 washable dresses
    2 vests
    2 pair gloves
    small hat(s)
    twin set
    wool stole
    evening dress
    evening bag
    evening shoes
    girdle.

    I’d brought three pantsuits, two skirts, several sweaters and blouses, a white blazer and one dress. The dress was silk, chic and expensive, it had a matching coat and was intended to cover large evenings.
    I got out my Visitors’ Map of London and pored over it. I can read maps only in terms of Up, Down, Left and Right, but I’d marked key places—St. Paul’s, Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London—and I’d charted walking tours all over the map. The key places would have to wait till the end of my stay, when I hoped to be able to stand still for long periods, but meanwhile I could walk the city end to end. (I’d discovered I was all right as long as I kept moving.)
    I was perfectly calm and happy until a voice announced over the intercom that it was 9:50 P.M. British time, we would be landing at Heathrow Airport in five minutes and it was raining in London.
    â€œDon’t panic,” I told myself. “Just decide now what you’ll do if Nora and Sheila aren’t there and that nut at the airport forgot this is the day you’re coming.”
    I decided I would look up Nora and Sheila Doel in the phone book and call them. If they didn’t answer I would look up Carmen of Deutsch’s. If she didn’t answer I would go up to an airport official and say:
    â€œExcuse me, sir. I have just arrived from New York, I have a suitcase I can’t budge, I don’t know where the Kenilworth Hotel is and I am Not Well.”
    The plane began its descent and the passengers moved about, collecting hand luggage. I had no hand luggage. I sat frozen and told myself that if nobody met me I would sit in the airport till the next plane left for New York and fly home. At which moment the voice spoke again into the intercom:
    â€œWill Miss Hanff please identity herself to a member of the staff?”
    I leaped to my feet and held up my free hand (one hand being permanently attached to

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