DECEMBER 17, 1951
LONDON, Sunday—Since I had no committee meeting on Friday afternoon, Miss Mary Hoyt Wiborg undertook to show me a little shop on a narrow street back of the quai where she lives. Two old ladies keep this shop and, I gather, live in the back part of it. They have some delightful old French provincial plates that are not unlike some that were given me a number of years ago and which not only I, but many other people get a great deal of amusement from examining. The ones I saw on Friday are decorated with a different series of pictures, but are quite as interesting as those I have, and I will return and buy them after the Christmas recess.
We looked into another old shop where a man has an extraordinary collection of old clocks, but he was not there and we could not get in. By that time, in any case, I was in a hurry to get to the hotel, for I had an appointment there with someone from the office whom I had to see before taking the plane for London.
Once at the airfield, we were informed that we might not get in London at the regular airport because of fog. About 90 miles away there was an airport that was rarely fog-bound, they said, but that would mean at least a three-hour drive to London. But we were able to make it, being the last plane to land.
After dinner, my granddaughter and her husband and I walked around Grosvenor Square and the young people have already decided that London is a fascinating city. My granddaughter would like to see some of the London slums, but I doubt if that can be accomplished on this trip.
We did a great deal of sightseeing on Saturday and saw a great many friends as well, particularly the Dowager Marchioness of Reading, whom we always want to see at once and who is always the greatest help.
It is interesting to see the London papers again. In spite of the shortage of paper, they manage to get in a remarkable amount of news and still to put in columns and human interest stories. There is a nice story in one of them about a woman who has regained her sight, after 28 years of blindness, through a cornea operation.
I was grieved to see a story about Walter Wanger from which it looks as though he had suffered not only from financial troubles of late. The courts of France probably would not punish him very severely, for they have a rather soft heart for jealous husbands. But what may happen in our country is another story.