1 the Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training Foreign Affairs
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The Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training Foreign Affairs Oral History Project BESS FORBES FRANKLIN MACDONALD TURK With Susan D. Brandenburg Copyright 2013 RAINBOW’S END Acknowledgements To my treasured children: Claire, my firstborn, the gifted graphic artist whose ability has contributed to this book. It is heady stuff to be the recipient of her talented love. Ken, my second-born, who climbed the tree and took the cover photo. With his wife, Hilary, he has graced my life with my two grandchildren, Caden and Tiger. Lisa, my youngest, “the caretaker” who saved all the pictures years ago by making a scrapbook for me and, because of their preservation, they are ready for use in this book. My never-ending gratitude: To Jim Macdonald, my dearest husband and father of my three treasures, shared with me a fascinating life before he died too early. To Fred Turk, my second husband, picked me up and put me back on my feet a few years after Jim’s death. To Joe Bracewell, who is sharing with me the burden of old age and because of Joe’s biography, I was led to meet Susan D. Brandenburg, who is also my Scribe and now dearest friend; and whose talent to “keep me at it” is phenomenal. To Susanne Schuenke, whose extraordinary artistic talent enriches my life and who is the one who said, “Start writing now!” and I did. Rainbow’s End … The Story of Bessie Forbes Franklin Macdonald Turk Rainbow’s End 1 I want to see the world from far on high Over the rainbow and into the sky I’ll spread my wings and simply fly From icebergs afloat in blue and white Moonlight a beacon keeping watch by night Over chalklike Cliffs of Dover Formed by fossils of ancient life On to Irish shamrocks and purple Scottish heather Their modulating hues vary in changing weather Dunes of the African desert, shifted by sands of Pink Dry avalanches sliding, taking life to the very brink As I circle the earth, passing seven seas and more, Yearning to fly to places I’ve yet to explore… A sparkling splash of color I’ve never seen before, Transports me to the rainbow at my own front door! By Bessie Forbes Franklin Macdonald Turk TABLE OF CONTENTS Chapter 1 - Fall Hill Calls to Me Still Chapter 2 – Amoy, China Chapter 3 – Barcelona, Spain Chapter 4 – Marseilles, France / Bordighera, Italy Chapter 5 – Stockholm, Sweden Chapter 6 – A Terrifying Trip Chapter 7 – Niagara Falls, Canada Chapter 8 – St. Anne’s Chapter 9 – New York City Chapter 10 – A Coldwater Flat in the Village Chapter 11 – Aix en Provence Chapter 12 – London, England Chapter 13 – Long Island & Back to England Chapter 14 – Paris, France & Genoa, Italy Chapter 15 – First Time in Lisbon, Portugal Chapter 16 – Return to Paris Chapter 17 – New York City Again Chapter 18 – Carcavelos, Portugal Chapter 19 – A Sad Homecoming Chapter 20 – Miracles Make Way for the Future Chapter 21 – 210 Brooke Drive 2 Chapter 22 – Cameroon Chapter 23 – God says Florida? Chapter 24 – Cypress Village, My Church Family, My Now! Chapter 25 – Bessie’s Poetry RAINBOW’S END Chapter 1 Fall Hill Calls to Me Still … I was born in Saltillo, Mexico on March 11, 1929 with my little heart and soul firmly planted in American soil. My father, Lynn Franklin, was in the U.S. Foreign Service, a diplomat who was regularly sent to the world’s trouble spots to calm the winds of war. My mother, Butler Brayne Thornton Robinson Franklin, owned Fall Hill, a 3,000 acre estate in Fredericksburg, Virginia. She had inherited the estate at the age of twelve from her grandfather. Fall Hill, deeded by land grant to the Thornton family of Virginia by King George in the late 1600’s, was to become my American anchor during a childhood spent in a whirlpool of foreign adventure, conflict and intrigue. Construction of the big house at Fall Hill was probably completed around 1740. Beneath its Mansard roof, Fall Hill had four large bedrooms upstairs, a huge central hall and bath, and the same layout downstairs with two parlors on one side and a dining room and smaller bedroom on the other, plus an enormous basement with a fireplace big enough to cook an ox. A wing was later built to house a kitchen and dinette, and this was always dubbed “the new wing” despite the fact that it was at least a century old when I was born. As with many old historic homes, a ghost is said to roam the halls. An Indian maiden, her name is Katina. She was brought as a teenager to Fall Hill by Governor Spotswood after a skirmish with Indians and remained with the family for the rest of her life taking care of at least three generations of children. My mother saw her many times. She was slender with long black braided hair, patient and loving, a true caretaker, and visited my mother, my grandmother, my father and my uncle. I never saw her. My father saw her walking down the hall. He turned to call thinking it was me, but I was in school. Recently, the new owner/caretaker of Fall Hill, Maureen Kefauver, was suffering from migraines and she talks of Katina coming in to gently stroke her brow. The migraines went away. There is a book in Fredericksburg on Katina for people who are interested in ghosts. Once, when a couple of “ghost busters” came to the house and offered their services, I politely informed them, “Gentlemen, you may leave. We love our ghost.” On the grounds are two cottages. One was used as the school house and the other, much nearer the house, was the summer kitchen with the ubiquitous huge fireplace that could roast an ox, although I do not recall ever having an ox to roast in either fireplace. The cook lived upstairs in the kitchen cottage and later, mother added an annex to make a bath with running water. 3 Wherever conflict arose in the world, my father (who was of Quaker heritage) would arrive like the knight in shining armor on a white horse, brandishing the banner of the United States of America. It was fortunate for us that he was a family man as well as a patriot and peacemaker because we were privileged to travel with him to many exotic and wonderful places. Fall Hill was our family’s foundation, patiently awaiting our return from wherever in the world we traveled. It is filled with treasured mementos of those travels, even today. For instance, upon my birth, the mayor of Saltillo (so grateful for the resolution of a conflict over oil rights) presented my father with an iron munitions trunk from the Battle of Santa Anna, made to be carried between mules. Subsequently, we took the trunk to Fall Hill and used it to store all of the flags flown at each consulate where my father served. The trunk signifying my birth still remains at Fall Hill with the American flag stored in it. Today, the 3,000 acres has dwindled to 22 and Fall Hill has been designated a Landmark of Historic Places (both in the National Register and the Virginia Register). The estate stayed in the family for 250 years with a short hiatus of fifteen years when a family called Hillier bought it. During that time, my great-grandfather, Fred Robinson, was manager of San Simeon, the Hurst estate in California. When he retired, my great-grandfather was asked by Phoebe Hurst to tell her his heart’s desire, which was to buy back Fall Hill. He was then given a check in the amount of $25,000 to buy back the estate, which he did. Reminders of our many travels became familiar parts of our childhood visits to Fall Hill. For instance, we were in Spain as World War II was looming and my father was reassigned to Sweden, but while still in Spain, my father was asked by a wealthy Spaniard, Mr. Miro, to help secure a visa for him and his family. The Spaniard, who was facing death due to his status, assured my father that he had skills to contribute to America, and my father was thus able to acquire the visas. On leaving Spain, the man came to the consulate and handed my father a small sack of exquisite jewels, including two cameos and two pairs of diamond earrings. He then handed him a larger parcel containing an opera length mink coat with hood. Further, he instructed my father to go to his villa when he was transferred out of Spain and take with him all the furnishings he might want for his home in Virginia, because if the Spaniard had not returned, he would probably either be dead or have escaped with just the clothes on his back. Father and mother did take the furnishings to Fall Hill and they fit in it splendidly, as one can imagine. The bed set that my sister, Jenny, and I lived with as children visiting Fall Hill was wooden, painted blue with gold raffia inserts, all from Miro’s villa. The matching armoire was a work of art – a beautiful European design with one full-length oval mirror in the center and two attached shelved areas on either side, decorated with garlands of carved gilded wood. Inside, the tables, drawers and armoire were lined with curly maple veneer – such a pretty wood. 4 Another spectacular piece from Miro’s estate was the Spanish Boat Bed where our parents slept.