Although this part of my father’s unfinished autobiography introduces
Gudrun, there
are no details about how and when they met, nor is it covered in his journal of
that period, nor in letters. Presumably the omission would have been corrected
in a subsequent draft.
There are notes, though, that indicate that he met Gudrun in early May
of 1963. My parents would remain separated for the entire summer, from May 13
to August 27. When reading these Cambridge chapters, it’s hard to believe he
had a wife and two small children, since there is scant mention of us.
The next event to have an impact on my life was on my birthday, May 7th,
of 1963. We decided to host a party at our house on Panton Street. The usual
bachelorish crowd had been invited—Ray, Pista, Dick, Ib, Sam, Charles the
Hungarian weight-lifter, my new friend Anders from Sweden, who would go down to
Pamplona with Ib and me in 1966. The little place was nearly full to the
rafters by 8 p.m. It was then the front door-bell rang and opened it to find
the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. With shoulder-length blonde hair, in
a medium blue one piece dress, tanned and beautiful, she wore a 4" wide
red ribbon, from her right shoulder to her left hip. She was holding a single
red rose in her clasped hands in the middle of her chest. Her head was tilted
down sniffing it when I opened the door. She looked up and said, “Are you
Peter?” When I acknowledged that indeed I was, she added, “I’m your birthday
present.” I stuck my head around outside to see who was playing what I thought
obviously must be a joke. She commented that it was no joke, that she was for
real. I looked heaven-ward and mumbled “I believe in you, big fella!” I was in
shock.
Just at that moment, who but my buddy Anders, the Swede, jumps out from
behind a bush in the front garden shouting “Happy Birthday, old man! Do you
like my present?” Looking hungrily at this goddess incarnate, I could only mumble
“I’ll say!” and ushered them into the house.
It turned out that Anders was stuck for a possible birthday present,
when he stopped in town before coming to the party. He stopped at the Kenya
Coffee House, one of our old stomping grounds, for he knew he could always buy
a box of fancy chocolates there. He was having a coffee when he overhead
Swedish being spoken at the table next to him. There were two tall beautiful
Pan Am flight attendants talking at the next table. They had flown in on a
Charter to Mildenhall, a USAF/RAF base some 11 miles away, and they had about
14 hours to kill before heading back. Clearly, they were looking for some night
life and were presently at a loss to figure out how they were going to find it.
They were happy to find this engaging Swedish fellow, Anders, at the next
table; especially when he told them that he knew of a party—which was just
where he was heading. They agreed to accompany him; but first he stopped at the
counter and bought a box of chocolate with a big red ribbon on it. He got the
counter lady to remove it and substitute a much bigger one, which he promptly
hung around the beautiful blonde. Michaela
was her name; she was half-Swedish, half-German. She agreed to come as my
birthday present, so they were off in a cab to my house.
I was beside myself with
glee and couldn’t take my eyes off this girl. Mind you, hairy, muscle-bound,
dark and sinister Charles, the Hungarian weight-lifter also had eyes for “Mike”
and was making the big moves on her as well. It was hard being the host, a
married one at that, and keeping up a conversation with this ravishing
creature.
There was something about that party—and not Michaela—that told me that the days of my marriage were over. Mary
Ann could sense that as well. The loveless days of my youth were ended, and now
something inside of me wanted to make up for it all. I had insufficient moral
conscience, plus no desire to act on what I had. It was only to be a matter of
days before I would meet Gudrun, and that would clinch it. Mary began to talk
about going home, and I made no efforts to stop her. Sometime before the end of
May, Mary and the boys left for Michigan.
I decided to vacate Panton Street because the rent was more than I
could afford on my own and some drinking mates of mine at the Spread Eagle
around the corner on Lensfield Road, who were also students, invited me to stay
at their place in Waterloo House, next door to the pub, for free!
It was a big house, having four floors and included the flat of the
owner and one English working girl, in addition to four University students. I
would be replacing one of those four and would therefore have one room, and
would share a bath, sitting room, and kitchen. I moved in on June 1; the other guys
left about two weeks later.
During the month of May I finally finished my thesis, handing in the
typescript volumes around mid-month. I expected my oral examination around the
first of June—and planned accordingly.
So enamored of Gudrun had I become as the result of that first long
evening we spent together, that all I could focus on was the opportunity of
seeing her again. After my oral dissertation defense, I would be finished with my
graduate career—only having to be notified of my passing and the date of the
awarding of my doctorate. I would be expected to be home—though I wasn’t sure
to where I would be returning—as soon as I was done. I had accepted my first
job offer—at the University of Hawaii—which Sydney Smith had been instrumental
in getting me—even though it only paid $5000 a year and the cost of living in
Hawaii, beautiful and desirable as it was, was reportedly 20% higher than the
mainland! Then, as luck would have it, an offer came through—this time partly
due to my friend Harry Woolf, then Editor of ISIS—from the University of Washington, in Seattle, at $6400. I had
been morally obliged to accept the latter and had dispatched a letter of regret
to Hawaii. I had been in correspondence with the History Chairman at U. W. and,
through him, had arranged to rent the 4-bedroom furnished house of a professor
who would be away for a year on sabbatical. It would be available on September
1. Since Mary and the boys were separated from me, It looked as if I would
return to my mother’s home in L.A. for the balance of that summer. I arranged
with my good friend and travel agent, George Abbott, to sail home to America in
early July on the S. S. France
There I was with what seemed to be two weeks on my hands before my oral
exam. I decided to make a trip to Sweden, on the Tilbury-Gothenburg ferry to
see Gudrun who was a student in Gothenberg. I decided this would only take
about a week or less, and planned to return on the last day of May. I reasoned
that my dissertation readers would have to receive and read my dissertation (and its lengthy appendix, the critical
catalogue of the Darwin Reprint Collection) all within about 10 days and then—since there would be at least
three of them—set a mutually-convenient time and date on which to examine me.
I decided to leave Gudrun’s phone number in Gothenberg and a tip with
the porter at the Porter’s Lodge in my college and told him that, when the
postcard came from the Board of History setting a date, time, and place for my
oral examination, that, if the date was earlier
than June1st, he should immediately call me and tell me. I would be back on
May 31st and would stop by the college then. With that, I booked my ferry,
called Gudrun to tell her, and took off on my scooter for the ferry to Sweden.
When I returned from Sweden, physically and emotionally tired out, I
went directly home to Waterloo House. The next day I slept late and finally got
around to St. Catherine’s a little after 1 p.m. The porter told me that a card
had only just recently come for me—I would find it in my box. I turned to the
letter boxe and retrieved the card. It stated that my oral examination would
take place on June 1st, at 1:00 p.m. at an address on Grange Road—the house of
Professor Carter. I looked at my watch, it was about 1:15! I couldn’t believe
my eyes. I yelled at the porter—why hadn’t he called me? He reminded me that I
had said “if the exam date was earlier
than June 1st” then he should call me—the date on the card was June 1st. Fine.
I was already 20 minutes late, it would take me another six minutes to get to
the address. Off I zoomed, hell bent for this crucial meeting.
I found the house, was directed to a room inside and told by Professor
Carter that I had missed the exam. Dr. Wilkie had to be back in London and,
after 20 minutes of waiting, left to catch his train back to London. I was
instructed to call Dr. Hoskin for a new examination date. When I did, I was
told that Dr. Wilkie was leaving for his summer holiday shortly. I gulped; I
had really screwed up! I commented that I was due to sail back to America on
July 4th and, hopefully, a new date could be set before then. Dr. Hoskin said
he would try. Eventually, all three would get together—with me—in another ten
days. They knew I would not miss that one!
