By November 1977, Dick had been in Saudi Arabia for several months without us. We missed each other! His letter said I should meet him in London and fly back home with him for Christmas. No actual travel instructions, but hey.
I was really busy managing the children, finishing my degree, sorting things for our upcoming move, and getting ready for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Not knowing where to begin (it took 3 days to reserve a phone call to or from Dick in Saudi Arabia), I called our travel agent and booked a flight. Then I called the British Consul in Dallas and asked if I needed a visa to go to England. They said "new," Brit for "no." I figured visa = passport, so I think there, that's done, cool on the paperwork. Mama said she'd come over and stay with the children, Dick had the hotel, I had the tickets, bang.
When we disembarked the plane at Heathrow, all us passengers were herded into a huge waiting room by a gentleman who told us to get in line and disappeared. Under each of the two signs, "UK Passports" and "Other Passports," stretched a very long line. There wasn't a sign that said "No Passport," so neither sign really fit me. The man had disappeared and I didn't see anyone to ask, so I got in the "Other Passports" line, which seemed more like me. About 45 minutes later, I was at last face to face with Her Majesty's customs official, Mr. Marley, a bespectacled young man in his 20s, wearing, of course, a tweed jacket and standing behind a little podium.
"Pahsspoht, please." I smiled and explained,"I don't need a passport. I'm an American." He stared at me for a long time. We each repeated our lines once more. Then he said, "Are you trying to take the monkey out of me?" That was a new one for me, but I got his drift. "No, no," I said. "I'm telling you the truth." He stared more, still politely but seeming incredulous.
He: All right. Let's ask this: why are you here without a passport?
I, excitedly: I'm meeting my husband, sir! I haven't seen him in months!
He: And where is your husband now?
I: He's at Claridge's, waiting for me. I'm to call him when I get through here.
He: And where did he travel here from?
I: Dammam, Saudi Arabia.
He: I see. Is he an American too? Does he have a passport?
I: Of course, yes. The Saudis are strict about letting people in.
He: May I see some form of identification?
I: Sure. Here's my driver's license.
He: OH. You're from Texas.
I: Yes sir, Dallas.
He: Do you have any other identification?
I, rummaging in billfold:
Yes, here's my Dallas Public Library card.
He: I'm afraid that won't help us. Anything else?
I: Well, here's my student ID from the University of Texas.
He: (Semi-eye roll) And what are you a student OF?
I: I'm getting a degree in Classics.
He: (More incredulous staring; jaw drops.)
He: !!! Really?! I'm doing Classics myself at London U. In fact, one of my professors, Kagan,will be on BBC telly tonight.
I: You're kidding! You mean DONALD Kagan? I just finished one of his textbooks!
He: (Beaming!) Oh, he's brilliant. You will love the program. Do you read Ovid, my favorite?
Suddenly we both become aware of the impatient catcalling and foot-stamping in the long line behind me.
I: I'm afraid I'm holding up the line. What should I do? Can I come in?
He: Oh yes, yes, of course. Here (scribbling on a scrap of paper), this is the name of the program tonight. And here, I've filled in a form you'll need when you go thru customs back home. DON'T LOSE IT. You won't be able to get in without it. Next time, get a passport. And bring it with you.
I: OK, thanks SO MUCH!!! . You are very kind. I had no idea ... but I won't lose this paper and I will get a passport.
He: Have a lovely visit.
Which we did.
This is totally a true story. And the reason I wrote this is that the story got around to the point that I'd sometimes have to step in when I'd hear people telling it wrong.
Discretion forbids me to tell how my husband sometimes interrupted: "And meanwhile, I'm sitting in Claridge's with a bottle of champagne, a dozen roses, and a (H*** O*)"
No comments:
Post a Comment