Lowdermilk’s niece’s diary entry: Algeria January 18, 1939

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 song 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.