Helen Pierpont was a second cousin, once removed, of mine.
She was born in Waterbury, CT, in 1905 and was a teacher in NJ. She didn’t
marry until she was 40, but spent many years traveling the world in the 1930s.
Her trips included: France in 1930, Cuba in 1933, Bermuda in 1935, Japan in
1937 and France in 1938.
On the cruise to Japan in 1937 she met another single lady,
Ella Miller, a teacher from Syracuse, NY. Ella was 20 years older than Helen,
but was a similar world traveler, having gone to England in 1925 and 1927, Turkey
in 1930, Mexico in 1931, Germany in 1933 and 1934, Gibraltar in 1935, Japan in
1937, and France (with Helen) in 1938.
In 1939, they decided to take another trip together. They
left New York City in July by train across the US to San Francisco, then by
boat to Japan and thence to China. Being in China in the fall, and knowing that
Christmas was approaching, they each wrote a letter to their friends back in
the US. It appears from this letter that they may have been intending on
continuing around the world together, although I have not been able to verify
their itinerary. However, by the following April Helen was back home in New
Jersey and Ella was back in Syracuse.
I recently came into possession of their letters written for
that Christmas of 1939. Helen’s letter is in the form of a poem of her
impressions, where Ella’s is a more thorough itinerary of what they had been
doing.
XXXXXXXXXX Letter from Helen Pierpont XXXXXXXXXX
College of Chinese Studies
Peking, China
Christmas, 1939
Merry Christmas, Everybody!
I’d like to
see the hustle and bustle of Christmas at home, the gorgeous decorations,
shops, Christmas trees, heaps of gifts, and everybody busier than at any other
season. But here at the Antipodes filled with wonder at this great, strange,
beautiful world. I’m very glad that the wars in 1939 have allowed us to come thus
far, and hope that they won’t prevent our coming back home in 1940.
Here is a
thought about Peking that I have cudgelled from my brain:
CAMBULAC CORNUCOPIA TO FRIENDS AT HOME
We’re here in Cambulac (as Marco called Peking).
And we’re dazzled by the facets of its art and life.
Temple of Heaven, august and white, with blue sky canopy;
Hutung, pai lou, orange-robed lama priests;
Pomegranates, persimmons, Peking dates and ducks;
Lily feet, an occasional queue, babies swathed in Chinese
red;
City gates securely locked at eight; walls to foil
Chinese guerrillas raiding from their mountain hideouts;
Jade Street, Lantern Street, Little Embroidery Street,
Treasures of emperors in finest craftsmanship,
Aladdin’s wondrous hoard of radiant jewels;
Rickshaw coolies running their lives away,
Peking carts, long-eared burrows, straining human horses,
Camels somber, aloof, treading in misanthropic dignity;
Flaming sunset sky above rich golden tiles
Of six hundred imperial roofs in the Forbidden City;
Street cries, musical and strange; tantalizing
Odors of roasting pork, hot chestnuts, sesame cakes; stalls
Spilling out chrysanthemums white, red, and gold;
Stories of evangelists, doctors, soil chemists,
Epidemiologists, refugees, and sinologues;
Turbaned Moslems, temples of chanting Buddhists,
Gregorian music sung in Chinese words,
Marco Polo’s Cambulac, gateway to Cathay.
Helen
Pierpont
XXXXXXXXXX Letter from Ella Miller XXXXXXXXXX
College of Chinese Studies
Peking, China
Christmas, 1939
Dear Friends everywhere,
Blessings
on the ancient Chinese who first invented printing! There’s so much to see and
hear and do in Peking that we begrudge every minute devoted to correspondence.
Hence this Round Robin in lieu of person messages, a stream-lined account of
our wanderings to date.
On July 13,
1939, Helen Pierpont and I started westward round the world, leaving New York
City on the All-American sleeper bus for San Francisco. We enjoyed every mile
of the ride, realizing anew how vast and rich and beautiful our country is. The
desert especially fascinated us with its every-changing, light-effects on
cactus, yuccas and sage brush. One afternoon we even beheld a delectable
mirage.
The
six-hour stop-over in Dallas passed all too quickly at the house of Helen’s
friends, the Banks Upshaws. Our one day in Los Angeles was hectic. First we had
dinner with “Cousin Carrie” at San Fernando; in the afternoon, thanks to the kindness
of Lenore Llewellyn, we saw the high spots of Hollywood: Grau’s Chinese
Theater, the Brown Derby, the Inn, the Bowl. After a visit to Aimee’s Four,
Square Temple we “did” Mexican Olvera Street, mingling with the crowds, eating
tamales, tacos, enchiladas, and at 10.45 P.M., attending the Puppet Show “For
adults, Only.” Helen slept through the Strip Tease act.
July 18-27.
In San Francisco. Fortunately we got rooms in the steam-heated Sutter Street
Y.W.C.A. San Francisco is incredibly cold, even in summer. But we put on all
our woolies, sweaters, coats, and ferried to the Fair. Aside from the cold, we
liked everything on Treasure Island, its location in that magnificent harbor;
the architecture, ramparts, towers, castles right out of fairy land; the
gorgeous flowers everywhere. Pacific House with the Covarrubias maps, the Palace
of Fine Arts with Old Masters lent from all over the world, etc. etc.
Reluctantly,
we tore ourselves away from it all when our ship sailed at noon on the
twenty-seventh. Nathalie Sacket and Helen’s friends, the Kwiciens, saw us off.
July 27-August
10. On board the Tatuta Maru. Delightful southern crossing. Every morning we
looked out of our port-hole and repeated, “Lo, here hath been dawning another
blue day!” There were so few passengers that food and service in second class
were deluxe. We had the run of the ship at all hours, the decks for promenading
and games, the tiled swimming pool, the gymnasium, movies, dances, a show by
the stewards, pottery painting. The suki-yaki dinner on deck was unusually
jolly because of the spontaneous entertainment by passengers: Japanese folk
dances, a Siamese love song, Aloha in Hawaiian, rollicking singing by a
Mexican, recitation of the “One-Legged Duck” by our own Professor Cochran.
The
Cochrans, our table-companions, were planning to celebrate their wedding
anniversary on the fifth, but they reckoned without the calendar – just then we
crossed the International Date Line and lost that day. We went to sleep on the
fourth and woke next morning on the sixth.
We were
disappointed because the United States Shipping Laws forbade passengers on
foreign vessels to stop over in Hawaii. But we made the most of our few hours
shore leave, shopping in the Kress Five-and-Ten, feasting on luscious pineapple,
papayas and avocado and sipping cocktails on Waikiki Beach at the Royal
Hawaiian. To insure our return to the balmy isles we threw overboard, on
sailing, our fresh fragrant gardenia leis.
August 10.
We landed in Yokohama, minus our copy of “Inside Asia”, Bon Voyage gift from
Libbis and Mary. The censor insisted that it was “no good for Japan”. Having
suspected this we had Transferred to our heads most of its “dangerous thoughts”
on shipboard. What did come as a shock, however, was the refusal of a
landing-card to Mr. Lee, a United States citizen, from Hawaii. “You are an
enemy. We don’t want you on shore.” His parents were Chinese. Asia makes short
work of the American illusion that the state is anything but Naked power.
August
11-27. In Tokyo, at the Imperial, the favorite meeting-place of Westerners in
Japan. We chose this hotel because of its historical associations. Wright had
designed it to be earthquake-and fire-proof. It stood through the holocaust of
23.
With Dr.
Austoni, Dr. Rojanavongse, and Mrs. Keck, friends from the boat, we had a round
of theater and dinner parties, sampling Kabuki plays, Takarazuka opera, Osaka
Puppets, tempura, sukiyaki, and grilled eels. Miss Ando and Miss Nakamichi,
genial nurses just back from a year in America, generously served as our guides
and interpreters.
Meanwhile,
there was difficulty getting passage to Peking. “Impossible,” said N.Y.K. officials,
“there is a flood in Tientsin”. Nothing daunted we set sail for Kobe on the Hakozaki
Maru, favored on the way with magnificent sunset and moonlight views of Mt.
Fuji.
At Kobe
after much argument, we finally obtained reservations for the fourth, and went
off to Koyasan to spend the intervening time. Our three days at Shojo-Shinn-in
(Pure-hearted Temple) were an interlude in Never-Never-Land. The Buddhist monks
served us vegetarian meals in our exquisitely-painted room which opened on a
Japanese dream garden. We attended the sunrise service in the gold-and
red-lacquered chapel, had Ceremonial Tea with our Japanese neighbors, and took
long walks under the ancient cryptomerias. We’ve seen Nara and Nikko and Kyoto:
Koyasan surpasses them all.
On
returning to Kobe we learned that Britain had declared war, and that “The
military prohibits people from going to Peking by rail or water or air.” None
the less, we sailed, on the fourth, on the Oryoku, for Dairen. Our Special
Suite was so grand, and the voyage through the Inland Sea so delightful that
even Helen, who’s none too fond of boats, was hoping something would happen to prolong
the trip. But we docked at Dairen on schedule on September 7, visited Port
Arthur by bus, and at 5 P.M. took the express for Peking, via Mukden.
Towards
noon on the eighth, we approached the flood area. Ours was the first train that
went over the new bridges and the restored road bed, reinforced by millions of
sandbags. For three hours we cautiously inched along through the waste of
waters. Whole villages of mud houses had dissolved in the floods; countless
coffins, washed out of the burial mounds in the fields, were bobbing up and down
in the water; thousands of wretched refugees were clinging to existence on the
few feet of land along the tracks. A never-to-be forgotten experience.
At five we
reached Peking, rickshawed with our baggage to the College of Chinese Studies,
and snatched up the last available rooms! Dumb luck! For Peking is full of refugees
these days – some from the flood, other driven from their missions by the
Anti-British Campaign. And all of them, refugees, vacationists, students,
vastly interesting, with stories of their experiences and observations.
We are
seeing Peking at an interesting time, the capital of a vast empire under the
heel of the conqueror. Already a hundred thousand Japanese are in the city,
soldiers with bared bayonets, officers in speeding limousines, camouflaged
armored tanks rumbling down crowded thoroughfares, bombers roaring overhead.
And the Chinese are going about their endless toil in seeming indifference. At
first, Helen protested, “Something is wrong! In Japan we saw a nation of
soldiers; here a city of ricksha coolies!” Just dumb cattle? Or are they wiser
than the rest of us following sound instincts of survival? Time will tell.
Meanwhile,
the Chinese strike us as anything but decadent, and we like them, their
frankness, their democratic spirit, their good nature, their never-failing
humor.
Thanks to
the favorable exchange, 10 to 14 Chinese dollars for one of Uncle Sam’s, we afford
all sorts of luxuries; stalls at the Chinese Opera, donkey rides over the
Western Hills, Feasts of Peking Duck and Mongolian Mutton Grills, and best of
all, day long ricksha rides through the kaleidoscopic city with its rhythmic
medley of street cries.
We like
Peking and suggest that you all come to “look see” for yourselves. Meanwhile, Happy
Holidays.
Ella
Miller
