Patrick’s entry of 25 August 1962, in Wiesbaden, as found in pages 4 and 5 of his diary.
Today we had lunch in a small café on Goethestrasse, our first wienerschnitzel and bratwurst. Afterwards we climbed winding streets and the steps cutting between the streets above the city. From there we finally got a good view of the city lying in the valley, lapping a little onto the surrounding hills, the spires of three churches visible from the garden where we stood. On the far side the mountains were washed in deep blues and purples, like tempera Mari said.
After sleeping at the pension for a couple of hours, we woke at dusk to the sound of the church bells. The little skylight was open and bells wer clear and sweet. First a great drone, hesitant, began, growing gradually insistent, the smaller middle voice and two high pitched bells joined in. The sounds grew fuller until it seemed I could almost see it rebounding throught streets straggling through the small valley. Then, as the sounds died, the momentum of the swinging kept tones reverberating. Our little concert done, we feasted on bread, cheese and the last of our French wine..
We wandered a while in the cold streets, hearing the laughter the biergarten down the way, then taking a welcome hot coffee at our favorite spot around the corner from the Pension Reiss.
Patrick Meadows 1934 – 2017.