Mother, dear, suppose I send you my diary from the British Isles in this form, recounting to you our experiences, beginning this morning and continuing them at intervals throughout the following days …

The incidents attendant on our new life are crowding one another rapidly; we find ourselves working every minute, just getting organized so we may know where to begin. … Officially our new life began the first of last week, when Hubert reported at his office at the Embassy, leaving me to my own devices …  

I’m happy to tell you this morning that we have secured the lease on the house and yesterday with much trepidation, I engaged my first servants: Tyler the cook, a small chipper little person, reminding me of an English sparrow (I’m uncertain about her ability but I am sure she will be cheerful and responsive).

I thought I heard [a meadowlark] the other day and a wave of longing for home engulfed me. I couldn’t get rid of it, or the imagined smell of sage …

In their gilt balcony … the red coated musicians interspersed genuine American jazz with more classical numbers. I was amused to find that our irresistible music had invaded this last sanctuary of British conservatism! … Hubert and I enjoyed ourselves so much that we almost forgot to leave!

At first we could only distinguish a faint blur. Gradually it developed into the escort of honor, perhaps seven or eight of the British Airways Ships, flying in formation. … When at last [Lindbergh] was visible (a tiny gnat amongst huge black beetles) we recognized his plane by its single wing. Nearer and lower they came, and at last swept over us with a thundering roar. The crowd went wild! Thrice Lindbergh circled the field to its outermost limits enabling everyone to have a chance at him. His plane seen from below reminded me of a bat circling in an enclosure …

“Honeymooners” are passing through London on their way home to the States. Hubert and I have great fun looking benevolently down on the foolish young things, from our accumulated experiences of seven months married life …   

Compared to the well trained “fight-to-the-finish” football matches we are used to, this one seemed a friendly after-noon frolic. There was no special team work; no spectacular tackles; no rough and tumble scrimmages; no breathless conferences with heads bumped close together. Their tactics seem to stress the forward pass … The incessant playing without the thrilling moments of suspense to which we are accustomed, became almost monotonous … and pointless.

We want you to know that we are not sad – nor reflecting unduly upon past Christmases – far from that! … As we wrapped your gifts, we thought of you wrapping ours and as we open your gifts to us this evening, we shall be thinking of you all undoing ours, with (we doubt not) great curiosity and, we hope, great pleasure as the contents come to view. As for ourselves, we know happy surprises await us and the excitement of uncertainty helps to cheer the crowding thoughts of Home – and my first Christmas away from it …

I confess we were overwhelmed with our Christmas from home – I’m sure we received more than our share of gifts – I confess, too, a lump rose up into my throat, but was heroically swallowed (without any tears being shed) aided by the nearness of your presence and because of so many evidences of your love!