Open Writing

1932 - 1940
35 Knights Hill, West Norwood, SE 27 (continued)

The children of the area at the rear of where we lived were considered by my mother not the kind of children I should associate with, and so it was that I had little to do with them. However, our paths did cross from time to time and, occasionally, we did play – sometimes a bit of harmless football or cricket on the waste ground at the rear of where we lived.

The ringleader of those children was a rather tough boy about my age with the name of Reggie Challis. He had no mother and lived with his father in a small two-roomed hut on a poor estate of similar properties near the waste ground behind us. One night I was making my way to the rear entrance of our home through an unlit area with another friend when, out of the dark, a voice said “Stick ‘em up!” Without hesitation I hit out at the voice and my fist hit a face, apparently causing pain and doing considerable damage, since the voice ran away screaming. I am pretty sure it was Reggie Challis having what he would have called “fun” with me. However, he never bothered me again.

When I was about nine, my parents bought for me an adult size bicycle, with low slung ‘sports’ handles, a bag at the back to carry things in, a bracket at the front to hold a lamp and, most excitingly for me, a milometer which recorded the number of miles I cycled. And, during the school holidays, I did go everywhere. I discovered local places that previously had always been that bit too far to walk to, Brockwell Park with its swimming pool, not that I ever went in the water, Dulwich Park with its little zoo and aviary, the Recreation Ground with its swings and roundabouts to play on, Streatham Common with its mysterious secluded and shaded areas. And a bit further afield to Croydon Aerodrome to watch the airplanes coming in and leaving. Once I even went to Redhill, which was about half way to Brighton, but I gave that up when I realised how far I had gone and would have to go to get home. Also, for about the first time I found out that roads that you travel on in a car don’t seem to have as many hills as when you cycle along them. Obviously I was getting tired when I discovered that!

In 1936 my mother opened a dress shop a few doors up from the hairdressing shop and the local people said we would soon own all the shops between, a most unlikely thing to happen, but nevertheless an acquisition that was noted locally. This rather changed my routine in that my daily lunch time meal was no longer prepared at home by my mother and was usually had from one of the local eateries of which there were three, Beales the fish and chip shop, Charley’s the local café and another cafe the name of which I do not recall. And, in the evenings before my mother closed her shop, I would do a little preparing of things at home, such as laying the table for our meal and peeling the potatoes ready for cooking. I also did a little ironing, but only the easy things like handkerchiefs and tea towels. I would also do a little shopping in the local food shops for whatever my mother required. It was a good system and, as far as I know, we worked together satisfactorily.

Between 1934 and 1936 my father exchanged his car several times, always getting something a little better and more powerful. And in 1936 he bought his first new car, a ten horse power Hillman Minx registration number CYE 68. He boasted that he had money lying idle in the bank and what better way to spend it. The bodywork was light grey and it had a red leather upholstery interior. It was his pride and joy and, in those days of almost only black cars, it really was a head turner.

Also, in the summer of 1936, my father arranged for me to go and stay with his Parisian friends for the summer holidays. I was being very fortunate but far too young to appreciate it. We left home on the Saturday evening after the shop closed and motored down to Newhaven and the 10.00 pm cross Channel ferry. The crossing took four hours and at 2.00 am, when the boat docked at Dieppe, and we made our way to the train taking us to Paris, I was not really awake. We were met by the family I was to stay with, Alba, his wife (I forget her name), Henrietta – their daughter aged seventeen, who was going back to London with my father, and their son Richard aged twelve with whom I was supposed to become friendly. That never happened, as we seemed to take an instant and permanent dislike for each other.

Bastille Day occurred during this period and my father and I went to a huge public area where there was a lot of marching and cheering, with people making speeches to the crowd – I learnt in later years that one of those making a speech was Leon Blum the famous French socialist. At the time I was wearing a brace over my teeth to straighten out some that were growing out of alignment. I was supposed to wash it after every meal. Of course in this complex there was no running water and I washed the brace in a bucket of water I found at the rear of a beer tent. I did not realise that it was being used to rinse the beer glasses in, and shall always remember the foul taste in my mouth when I replaced the brace! My father left for London on the following Thursday with Henrietta, and I was alone with a family who spoke almost no English, and I spoke no French.

This French family lived in a tiny one bed-roomed apartment, with their two children sleeping in bunk beds in a room that during the day was their dining room and kitchen. There was no bathroom, and other than a separate toilet and washing facilities in a cupboard in a passageway in which there was a basin, there were no other conveniences. I was not used to such primitive conditions and did not like it one bit, but I was stuck there.

After two weeks it was announced that we were going on holiday and, the following morning I found myself on a train heading south. That night we arrived in Beaulieau, a small seaside town on the French Riviera, in a small hotel. I had my own room and the use of a bicycle with which I could explore the district. Right opposite the hotel was a little dairy with about ten milking cows and, each day, the proprietor would take his small van with several milk churns in it and make deliveries to customers. I soon befriended him and, although we could not converse, he seemed to enjoy my help and company. I also soon got friendly with the men at the local railway station, and helped open and close the manually operated level crossing gates and watch what they did in the signal box, although here I was warned in sign language not to touch anything. I did not enjoy the beaches however, which I suppose I should have done as a ten year old. But it really was the people I was with that I wanted not to mix with and had nothing in common with. Nevertheless, I did explore the district and discovered several interesting little villages in the hills and semi derelict places, probably abandoned by owners who could not afford their upkeep, as well as one or two private beaches. I don’t think I was doing any harm, but I suppose my hosts were getting worried about my attitude.

Alba always insisted in reading my letters from home – not that his knowledge of English was good enough to understand what he read. In one of those letters was written the word ‘nice’ and he said “Oh you have a town in England also called Nice?” He had mistaken the word for the name of the nearby city of Nice. This annoyed me and, grabbing the letter, I ran off with my bicycle for the day. On another occasion Alba came to me and, in his broken English, said something that I understood to be that my father had arrived. Of course I was horrified when I was shown into a room with three complete strangers looking at me. I was, perhaps understandably, quite upset and ran away again, not to return until the end of the day. By now Alba must have thought I was mad or something and probably contacted my parents and, a day or two later, my father did arrive. It turned out that the strangers were my father’s brother Zeilig, his wife Anka and son Slav who were on holiday in Alassio, northern Italy, not far from us in southern France. I now realise that Alba had probably tried to explain that it was my father’s brother but, because of his lack of English, had been unable to say so properly. Soon after the arrival of my father, we went on to Alassio together and spent a very pleasant week there with his brother and family before returning home to London.

Soon after our return to London and upon my return to school I, together with my whole class, sat an exam. I had no idea that it was meant to be one of such importance and one upon which my future was supposed to depend. It turned out to be a matriculation exam for which I had not been scholastically prepared and, together with several others of my class, were told we had failed. Even then I did not understand the ramifications. But my parents did and, shortly after, I was taken from the Jewish Orphanage and started at a superior private school, St Josephs College, where the teachers were Catholic priests and were known as Brother this or that. It was certainly a place of learning and I soon found myself studying many subjects of which I had no prior knowledge, such as French, Latin, Algebra and Geometry etc. I also soon found I was the only Jewish boy in the school and, at times, found myself being singled out for what today is classified as anti-Semitism. One boy told me that the Jews had killed Jesus. I didn’t even know who Jesus was, never having heard of him, and that the Jews killed Christian babies and used their blood to make our unleavened bread for our Passover ceremony. That did upset me however and, upon telling my father, he complained to the headmaster, Brother Superior, and the whole matter was quietly disposed of.

I think I must have been quite a good student since I got good marks for my work. I also think I was quite popular with my classmates, in that I learned and recited all the Catholic prayers and did that homework too, which was necessary for me to gain good marks for my tests and exams. I was also good at sports and was used as the goalie in the class football team, and the wicket keeper in the class cricket team. I got a medal for those activities.

About this time too, my parents became very friendly with a pleasant couple, Sarah and Lou and their grown-up sons Sam, Alf and Charlie and young daughter Rene. Lou and his sons were in the waste reclamation business in a big way, and Rene who was about four years older than me, was still at school. Socially we all met quite a lot and, because our parents considered Rene and me of a similar age, we were often left to amuse ourselves alone. Rene was a very modern young lady with strong views and opinions. On one occasion when departing for an evening out with friends, her parents refused to allow her to go because the dress she was wearing could be seen through and she adamantly refused to wear a slip. On several occasions when she and I were chatting in her room, she would instruct me to turn my back to her and look out of the window whilst she changed her clothes, or put on night attire. She would often nonchalantly reveal a naked thigh or shoulder to me when she draped herself on a settee and, to me as a very innocent youngster not yet in my teens, it was all very exciting. She would often ask me questions on sexual matters and things over which I had very little knowledge, and seemed to treat me like an adult. I was very flattered but realised much later that, with three older brothers, she probably knew all the answers and just delighted in being able to “turn me on.”

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If you wish to make a donation to the Elsa Benedyk Memorial Fund, set up by her friends and colleagues entirely without Raymon’s knowledge to provide funds to support the children's ward of the Shaare Zedek Hospital in Jerusalem to commemorate her life of work with children in her nursery schools, it would be most gratefully received. The amount that you give will not be revealed to Raymon. He is not a trustee of the fund. Your cheque, payable to the Fund, should be sent to the fund's Treasurer Mrs I Dokelman, 14 Charville Court, 30/32 Gayton Road, Harrow, Middx HA1 2HT.