Note: This is the second chapter of a book my father, Rev. Matt W. Leach, wrote in 1955 about a miraculous trip to the Holy Land.
-Michael Leach
The Trip Begins
Sometimes I wonder if it isn’t harder to just get away from an army post when one’s leave starts than all the paperwork and red tape involved in getting clearances, passports, and visas for the places one wants to go.
On paper our leave was scheduled to begin at midnight Sunday night, but in actuality it was Tuesday night before we finally left — and then only after I had pulled guard duty on Sunday night.
An all-night train ride saw us in Frankfurt, Germany Wednesday morning. A snack, a few questions, and a little sightseeing later, we were ushered into the Secretariat of the Egyptian Consulate. Here we applied for our visas, and with directions to return in the afternoon to pick them up we set out to see more of this city.
Frankfurt, the home of the frankfurter (the only place where frankfurters eat frankfurters), is one of the more modern German cities. Its buildings reflect much of the great architecture. Many of the streets show the great love of beauty of their builders: wide, spacious avenues adorned with beautiful trees, flowers, and sculptures.
We visited a little botanical park that runs along the side of the river. Imagine our surprise to find that the curious-looking plants that might have been overgrown pineapples were banana trees. Here also was a gigantic sundial in the shape of the world, with a rotating band by which you could determine what time it was in any part of the world.
Ferris can’t justify the eating of German food when there is American food, so we ate lunch in the EES snack bar.
On our way back to the Egyptian Consulate we stopped to climb the tower of an old Catholic church built in 1237.1 We climbed a total of 325 steps to bring us to a height of 300 feet, and well worth it, for from there we looked out over all of Frankfurt as it stretched out into the hills.
Here also the destruction of the war is very much in evidence. Below us the Main flows, ducking under bridges, lapping lazily at the shore, picking up ships and carrying them along on its shoulders, and holding its pockets open for swimmers to dive in and out.
Waiting for a Hop
With passports and visas tucked safely away we headed for the Rhein-Main Air Force Base, but no encouragement here. Not to be undaunted, we picked up our bags — which by now appeared to have gained considerable weight from all our carrying — and caught an Air Force bus going to Wiesbaden Air Force Base.
Here the people at least tried to help us. We put our names on the waiting list and sat down.
Well past 9 PM, nothing had as yet come up. Calling it a day, we caught an Air Force bus to the city of Wiesbaden. The bus halted for 15 minutes in front of a large park.
Around the park ran a small stream, and in the stream at about 15-foot intervals were fountains. But not ordinary fountains, for these were illuminated. In the bottom of the fountains, surrounding the water jet, were waterproof lights, giving the fountains the appearance of white-hot, molten fire issuing forth — “fountains of cold fire.””
Thus to bed, and the end of our first day of leave — a very full day, satisfying and rewarding. God had certainly taken care of us.
It wasn’t until about 7:30 PM the next day that we caught our ride (we call them “hops”). Constantly seeking God’s will, finding nothing else in the offing, we took a hop to London. Our plane was a C-47, and we sat along the side in bucket seats. For the take-offs and landings we had to wear parachutes.
A trip at night can be as rewarding as any taken in the daytime, and I thank God we had this opportunity. I have never before seen such a display of color and patterns of light as those given by Brussels and London. Blue light, red light, yellow light, green light, white light, running every which way, crossing itself, looping the loop, doing barrel rolls and turning somersaults.
It was very late when we arrived in London, but with God pulling for us there was no difficulty in getting a room.
London
You can tell me that London is a very modern city and that the people are on the average well educated. Well, if that is the case, then why do they drive on the wrong side of the road? Not only that, but they put the driver’s seat where the passengers are supposed to sit! And they put doors on the wrong side of buses! (Oh, my aching head!)
That trip from the airport to the hotel was one of the most hectic hours I have ever spent! I don’t know how many times cars came at us and just missed! And the driver stubbornly refused to get back on his own side of the road.
In London I would look right before crossing a street, and some joker would come along, cross from his side of the street to mine, and hit me on the left.
Everything else considered, I think the best part of England is that they speak English. It seemed good for a change to see familiar surroundings, in the sense that the buildings resemble our own and all the signs are in English.
Walking along the river the next afternoon, I came upon several men who were drawing chalk pictures on the sidewalk. Some of the pictures were very beautiful. “Begging Artists.”
While walking along, curiosity about the buildings I was passing overcame me, and I asked a man what they were. “The new Scotland Yard,” he replied.
Further on I saw Westminster Abbey, but I did not have the time to go in.
A Corner Where Anyone May Speak
Walking at night, Ferris and I came upon a very interesting corner. Here were all sorts of people with all sorts of things to talk about, standing on some sort of platforms, talking to whatever people would gather around them.
There was one man talking about philosophy and probably some new way of life. There was another man arguing for the freedom of Ireland. There was a man speaking for racial equality.
There were a couple of people leading little street revival meetings, with a group of hecklers standing to the sides trying to drown them out. I wish I had had time to stop and take in each one, to see just what each had to say.
I asked a policeman about this corner, and he replied, “This is where anyone who wants to let off steam or talk about something can come and do it.””
While walking along I noticed a sign on one house that read “Methodist International House.” Curious, I walked in and asked if someone would tell me just what it meant. Here I found a rich welcome. I learned that to this house come students from all countries and places to stay while they are going to school.
Visiting missionaries come here to stay. All races and religions are welcome. They arrange for tours and find homes for you to visit in. It is a wonderful Christian fellowship. Here people were doing something. I left with an invitation to stay there whenever I return.
When we started out we never dreamed that God would include London in our itinerary — but, God that He is, He did. We arrived on Thursday night and left Saturday. Our hop to London was unscheduled, and so was our hop Saturday that took us to French Morocco. Someday I would like to return to London.
When God said He would provide, He certainly meant it, for the Air Force not only gave us a ride but we stopped in France to eat a free supper.
Note on Frankfurt Cathedral
My father’s reference is to the tower of the church he climbed in Frankfurt. The church is the Kaiserdom St. Bartholomäus, commonly called Frankfurt Cathedral. The tower and church had been damaged during World War II and were being reconstructed when he visited in 1955.
The 325 steps and the 300-foot height are my father’s own figures.
Frankfurt Cathedral — the Kaiserdom St. Bartholomäus. ↩
