This is from a letter sent by diplomatic pouch to Hugh H. Bennett the Chief of the Soil Conservation Service. Walter was nominally second in command. The letter was sent somewhere around December, 1938, while he was in Fascist Italy. He champs at the bit to do fieldwork, but alas, “our time is not our own.”

We arrived in Rome about noon amidst many surging ideas and impressions. We proceeded directly to the American Embassy where we were expected. We found a big batch of mail and also to our keen regret that Cohee had left only a few days before. We had hoped to see him in Rome, and would have done so had we not been delayed by the slight accident with the car in France, mentioned in my last letter.

We called on Mr. Clyde Marquis at the International Institute of Agriculture and found a warm welcome. Mr. Marquis furnished us an office so that we could have a place to open out our papers and do some work. The Embassy began negotiations for our visit to typical areas of reclamation and torrent control indicated in our itinerary.

A new rule has gone into effect in Italy which requires that outside contacts shall be made through the Ministry of Popular Culture. We found the Minister Alfieri very cordial and willing to make arrangements for a visit to typical works with officials of the Ministry of Agriculture. It took three days for this to be worked out. In fact a man was sent to North Italy to work out a schedule for my visit. With the writing of this letter we are setting off by train to meet the Presidente del Magistrato delle Acque at Venice tonight.

We have had to fit our plans to the customs of the country. The eating habits of Europeans does not fit field work. For breakfast one has a cup of coffee and a roll, a little butter, and a dab of jam if you insist on it. When one tries to get more it causes a commotion in the management. One morning we attempted to get some eggs in addition to our breakfast. The waiter had to go to see the manager about them; the manager came to us and after considerable discussion we finally got boiled eggs, so we have dropped into the way of the country in taking a very meager breakfast. When we go out to the field we are not well fortified for mountain climbing. But then the continental makes up for it by making sure you arrive at a restaurant to his special liking at noon or one o’clock. Then he insists on a lunch which in reality is the heaviest meal of the day. To this important repast he devotes not less than two hours, and usually three; thus in these short days the very heart of the day, and the best time of the day for photographing, is used up within the walls of some restaurant. I would prefer to have a heavier breakfast and take sandwiches out into the field, or even do without lunch and make up for it at the evening meal. It would not be worth the effort, however, to bring about such a change of custom of the officers with whom we have been making our field trips. For once we have placed ourselves in the hands of the officials responsible for conducting us to places of special interest – our time is not our own. From early to late we are in the hands of officials who feel it their duty to entertain us to the limit. So by the time we get to bed at eleven or twelve at night we are pretty well worn out. We do get a large amount of information this way, but we would much prefer to have our evenings so as to write up more of the information, and prepare for the following day. But this is a part of the game which we have to play and we do not complain about it.

Traveling with French and Roman officials has its thrills. Never have we traveled so fast by automobile. Several times we have been driven by the officials in their cars or by their drivers, at more than 80 miles an hour on roads that I would not think of driving faster than 50 miles. The driver blasts out the way for his car with his horn. With an almost continuous hooting of his horn he warns numerous pedestrians and cyclists of the oncoming car. I am yet unable to explain why more people are not killed on these highways. One driver had two horns on his car, each with a different pitch; his one ambition in life was to travel as fast as the road would let him; he warned pedestrians and cyclists by hooting first one horn and then the other, and if necessary both at the same time, to blast the way for his speeding automobile. Some of these drives have been really breath taking as we have whirled around curves over precipitous slopes overlooking valleys or lakes far below. We must say that these professional drivers, or chauffeurs, do manage to make time over the highways.

January 19, Thursday—Wrote. Mdm. and monsieur Aubere had lunch with us and we afterward down town and shopped. Aunt Inez bought a zircon ring that looks like a huge diamond. Mac bought a beauty of a real diamond for some girl in the future and Wester, Billy and I acquired a puppy. A ragged Arab was holding a tiny little puppy which was shivering and trembling and we were so taken with a little thing that we bought him for Fr.30 ($.90). I don’t think he is more than a week old but he knows how to lap up milk. We have called him Mecktube which is “it is written” in Arabian, and it certainly fits this little baby. He is adorable. Even Uncle Walter succumbed to his charms. We got a bottle and a nipple and so far Billy M Wester have helped write well in looking after him. Dinner was quite hilarious for Aunt Inez flaunted her new brilliant ring under Uncle’s eye and quite caused a scene of surprise. Uncle knew Aunt Inez had been looking at diamonds and pricing them, so he was quite floored with what he saw. However, a zircon, while a real stone, had no words at all compared with the diamond. After dinner I read for quite some time and gave Mecktube some “doodies” when I came up. Wester and I had him in our room and we were up several times in the night—I hope it doesn’t keep up too long.

January 18, 1939

January 18, Wednesday—at last up in my diary.Mr. Albury arrived this afternoon. Lunch and still no sign of Uncle. Those of us left put on our “glad rags”, took a taxi to the orphanage and met the Algerian missionaries and Bishop Wade, (just off the Empressof Britain for the day.) They Bishop is large around the middle and quite genial. Of course for little babies sang a couple of songs and they are always adorable.

We had a tea engagement at the home of the vice consul at 5:30 and he was to stop at the hotel and pick us up at 5:15. We figured that leaving the orphanage at 4:30 would give us plenty of time to get back to the hotel, and it would have if we hadn’t hopped into the first bus saying “Algiers” on it. However, Mack said “Hotel Bellevue?” And the man replied, “we, we, we, we.” I was keeping out of the conversation for it had been against my better judgment to get on the bus in the first place. However, from all reports we were going to Hotel Bellevue. By this time it was almost 5 and we were way out in the country passing fields of daisies. All of us were quite aware of the fact that this was the wrong bus, but by now the end of the line had been reached, and all of us hopped out to find we were in the little one-force village off Bou Saaria. Nothing was open except for the small Hotel Bellevue and its saloon (imagine coming to this hotel way out in the sticks.) Aunt Inez immediately rushed in and began talking English to all that bewildered curious natives, and Mac finally got a message to the vice-Consul, Mr. Crane, that we were stranded and would be late. There were no taxis to be had. The nearest place was El Biar, about five miles back, but the 5 miles might just have well been 25 as far as we were concerned. One Arab in the saloon saw we were having a pretty awful time of it and asked in broken English, “What is it you want?” Aunt Inez immediately poured forth our predicament and wondered if there wasn’t someone with a car that we could pay and so get back to El Biar. The man didn’t know of anyone. Then Aunt Inez pointed to an old ramshackle delivery truck across the street and wanted to know who’s car that was. The man replied that it was his and Aunt Inez practically embraced him. So we all rode back to El Biar in a delivery truck. Anti-Narrows Road up in front with a driver who spoke only French (and the owner couldn’t go with us) and both carried on a steady stream of conversation, from what Mac, Wester and I could hear from the rear. (Aunt Inez speaks no French). Here I was in my good black dress, shoes, hat with veil, best sheer stockings and fur coat curled up on the floor of a bumpy, rattling, noisy, uncomfortable truck with the wind whipping around (and it had rained during the afternoon.) Well, we reached El Biar, paid the man, hopped in a taxi and were soon back at the Hotel Bellevue and then at Mr. Crane’s lovely apartment on the seventh floor of one of the new modernistic buildings, furnished with Persian rugs and antiques (both he and she lived in Persia many years) and sipping tea. Mr. Crane has certainly good-looking, but I am afraid that is all I can say for him. Uncle still hadn’t arrived when we reached the hotel at 7:25, but, having been delayed by a sandstorm and much rain, he appeared at about 7:45 and all of us had a hilarious dinner together. Mr. and Mrs. Aubere arrived as we were finishing the meat course and we had a nice visit together. We had met them and had them at our hotel for lunch in Paris. They’re coming to lunch with us tomorrow. After they left at about 10:30, Mac, Mr. Abry, Aunt Inez, Uncle and I went for a walk.

And on—days or in a muddle now. Sunday morning, Wester, Billy, Mr. Abry and I went for a long walk down the quay and into the Arab quarter—horribly dirty and smelly, and climbed endless dirty stone steps to the kasbah, which is the highest land in the native city, and was it high! It turned out to be an old fort. The climb up was one reeking with local color, dirty ragged children, and gave a chance for me to peek into the black dismal hovels in which only a tiny fire furnished light or heat to the miserably poor inhabitants. A very great contrast to the beautiful clean modern civic and apartment buildings which rise throughout Algiers and command a picturesque view of the bay below. Of course there was school for Billy and Wester and writing which I did off and on. Wrote a poem for mother’s birthday and on a couple of evenings took walks with Mr. Abry down by the harbor, further up the hill to see the gleaming lights of the city below, and down to the city itself. Uncle had the authority on Mediterranean soils at the hotel for dinner one night—a M. del Villars. Didn’t get much done except some letters. Uncle, Billy and Mr. Abry off for several days inland. (Morocco) off at noon and Aunt Inez, Wester, and I often visit Miss Van Dyne, after we had taken the fox furs to be mounted. Her assistant Miss Whiteley was there and after visiting some moments we went downtown to meet Miss Van Dyne coming out of the post office. All of us shopped around for a while and I got a perfect white-hooded cap of hand woven wool with turquoise and blue silk embroidery on it—also some of the plain light wool yardage. The next noon we had lunch at the student foyer of which Miss Van Dyne is in charge. The girls are all French from different parts of Algeria and are attending the University. After lunch we went down to the docks and watch the ship carrying about 1000 Mohammedans leave for the yearly pilgrimage. It was quite interesting—all the natives out and quite expressionless. They believe that to reach heaven you must say your prayers everyday at 5 different times facing the West; obey the fast (you fast all day and that sun-down start eating and eat all night and then stop); say that there is but one God Allah, his prophet Mohammed; go to Mecca, and there is one more point which I don’t know.

Sunday morning we went to church but were so late we only got in on the sermon and the last hymn. In the afternoon we all went up to Miss Wolfe’s orphanage for tea and dinner. The little children were adorable. The youngest was 2 1/2, smart as a whip and as cute as a trick. She looked like a Dionne Quint. The children just love to run to mama (Miss Wolfe) for kisses and hugs and Auntie and I came in on that score later, too. At bedtime we went into their dormitory, heard them say their prayers (the Lord’s prayer in French) and kissed them good night. These children originally came from poverty-stricken homes, and under the excellent care in the orphanage, have developed a spontaneous happiness. Another afternoon we were driven out to the Mission Beach Villa, right on the sand, with a forest down one way and rocks up the other. It was a lovely afternoon on the porch with fruit for the tea. These missionaries have done everything to make our stay a happy one. We have been loaned tennis rackets and books, they have gone shopping with us, and taken us out, and given us a lovely time.

Wrote all day yesterday in my diary, except for some shopping in the late afternoon. Got some lipstick and embroidered Arabian slippers—white leather with silver.