On July 19 our touring Girl Scout group had left London and a madcap sightseeing itinerary behind and settled into a hostel of sorts at Hemsby Beach in Yarmouth, England. July 20 was a day of rest and recreation for us, for which I was grateful, as there was a television set in the camp on which we were able to watch the Apollo 11 moon landing. Not well, because it was a small TV, almost certainly black and white, and the room was packed—but we saw it.
My journal tells me just those bare facts, because I poured my stream-of-consciousness "live" reactions into a letter that I sent to my family. It's possible I have that letter somewhere, and if so I hope to unearth it in my lifetime. But sadly, that time is not now. As a long-time science student and science fiction fan, with grandparents who lived in Daytona Beach and an uncle who worked as part of the space program, this was a big moment for me. I'm glad my once-in-a-lifetime (or so I thought) trip to Europe didn't cut me off completely from the joys and triumphs of the moon landing.
Mrs. B. made us all go back to our rooms at midnight, so I was once again grateful to have my contraband radio. Several of us huddled together in the tiny, one-room "chalet" I shared with my friend Laurie, and stayed up all night following the coverage so as not to miss Neil Armstrong's first step onto the moon.
