TAFF - pg 42 Cheltenham is a hundred miles or so from London and the trip was soon over. We got out of the station and Bobbie gave the taxi driver, instructions on how to find the way to Eric Jones' house and then she left, saying she'd call the house that night. I was quite confused with the twistings and turnings of the route to Eric's. When I got there Margaret was home and said Eric would be along very shortly. He soon peddled up on his bicycle and supper was ready. We talk- ed until quite late and kept ringing Bill & Bobbie Gray's phone but no answer. We listened to tapes and the evening was soon gone. Margaret and Eric both work and they said no use in me getting up early. Eric gave me a key to their house and said just be sure to lock up when I left. He drew a map of where & what bus to take into town and I planned to go in to look around and then visit Bobbie and Bill. Tommorrow night was meeting night, too. Tony Walsh had in- vited me to the atomic power station where he worked, but the trans- portation difficulties presented too great a problem without a car. Wednsday, April 20, 1960 Eric had awakened me when he and Margaret left for work and I was shaving when the telephone rang. It was Bobbie and I told her I'd be on over before too long. She met me at the bus stop and we hur- ried on over to the bus terminal. It started out as a frantic race to meet deadlines until I begged her to let's slow down a bit and after all I could always find somewhere to go or do. We then took a bus to nearby Tewkesbury, a small town a half hour's journey away. It is one of these old English villages with crooked streets, leaning houses, a variety of architecture and a photographer's paradise. At lunch time we ate at the Ancient Grudge. In the window were numerous types of pastries like cakes, scones and what have you. I asked the waitress to bring me 4 different kinds. She said, "But they're sweet, sir!" I said, "Fine. Just what I like." All heads in the restaurant swiveled in my direction with an acusing stare. I said "They're for sale aren't they?" "Yes" was the reply. "You don't mind if I eat them here, do you?" "No." "Well, then bring them to me...l'm still hungry." The stares now changed to looks of awe. This mad American must be hollow. I topped off the meal with Hellygog Puding and felt contentedly full. We walked about the town while I photographed away. Bobbie want- ed me to sec the O.D.T.A.A. Garage, which translated meant: "One Damned Thing After Another." Next stop was to visit her mother-in- law at the hospital to drop off cigarettes, etc. I strolled about the grounds and ended up in the back talking to the gardner about the vegetable garden he was working in. It turns out that what we call green beans are called french beans in England. I came back to the waiting room and had just sat down when Bobbie got back, apologising for keeping me waiting. I said that was all right, I didn't mind.