3rd April 2022

When I wrote An Englishwoman in America (scroll down to the image on the right), I was struck by the strength of family connections. My late father sailed across the Atlantic to NY at the age of 16, before returning to England in the 1930’s Depression era. In 1922, his older sister Babette was sent to the US from the back-to-back houses of inner-city Birmingham in order to improve her chances. On arrival at Ellis Island, she told immigration officials that she was a lady’s maid. It clearly worked because she lived in Brooklyn until her death there at the age of 90. Today, we haven’t seen our children, each married to an American, for over three years. So, this week I’ve been arranging our trip to Maine in the summer. I’d forgotten how difficult all the procedures are, from finding a travel insurance firm dealing with the US who include those over 70 with pre-existing conditions, to completing the fiendish US ESTA form to gain entry. To be honest, following a recent illness I don’t have a lot of physical energy, and even trying to get my printer to talk to my Microsoft Surface S laptop is still proving impossible. Ah well, at least I won’t need to tell US immigration I’m a lady’s maid! But, above all, family is everything. So, if not now, when?