We arrived that afternoon to a grey drizzle and foot-numbing chill. No one had prepared Mrs. Hudson's cousin's flat for us. The heat was metered. We didn't know how to turn it on.
“Can all of England be this cold and wet in May?” asked Mrs. Hudson, a Southern lady of 82, who had asked me to come as her companion to England.
According to the guidebook, a restaurant described as “in the wall of the cathedral” was within walking distance for an early dinner or late tea. We hoped that it would also provide a place to get warm.
In the narrow street between tall brick houses and shops, the light was dim, the fog heavy and wet. Mrs. Hudson and I shared an umbrella, which was useless against the damp.
I wonder what I don't see now. Columbus, Miss., was my universe in those days before World War II. A small town of maybe 13,000, it was pretty much evenly split between black and white. Columbus was home to the Pilgrimage, a tour of antebellum houses held early each...