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During the Second WorldWar a four-year-oldJewish boy was evacu-ated to Leicester fromLondon. After spending

nine months with five-year-old DavidHurwich and his family at a sprawlinghouse in Knighton Park Road, he re-turned to the capital and nothing morewas heard.

It was just the name of the little boythat David could recall as the yearsrolled into decades. Not a face. Nor amemory. Just the name – BarryIsenblatt.

Four weeks ago, the phone rang inDavid’s house in Leicester.

“Hello,” said David.“Hello, my name’s Barry,” said a

voice on the other end of the line.It had been 71 years since the pair

had last spoken and for Barry, who nowlives in Agoura Hills, a city in LosAngeles County, California, the call hadbeen a big event.

“His hand was shaking so much Idialled the number for him,” saysSherry, Barry’s wife, who is listening tothe Mercury interview on speaker-phone as plans get under way to unitethe former friends.

cute kid at that time. I remember theysaid, ‘he looks nice’.

“They took us to a red brick housesomewhere in Leicester and we stayedthere two to three weeks. We weren’tbeing cared for very well. My brotherwas 11 or 12 and he complained to anevacuation officer. And that’s when wewere taken to the Hurwiches’ house.

“I remember the journey. Theyopened the door and took me out and Ikicked and screamed and made a tre-mendous fuss about it – I was beingseparated from my brother.”

Horrifically for a four-year-old boy,who had just been parted from hisparents and transported 100 milesnorth to a strange city, Barry had to

endure being wrenched away from bigbrother Simon.

“It was just how they did thingsthen,” reasons Barry.

His new home was a sprawling prop-erty in Knighton Park Road, the homeof Dr Hurwich and his family. For a boywho had grown up in a basement flat inHackney, in the East End of London, itwas vast and overwhelming.

“They had a huge house, threeservants and they took me, kicking andscreaming, into the nursery.

“I hadn’t seen so many toys in mylife. It was stacked floor to ceiling withtoys. That calmed me down and theyput me to bed.

“I remember that first morning, when

I woke up, I could hear a boy singing. Idoubt very much whether David willremember that. Not in a bad way. Itwas as if he was establishing territory.‘You’re in this place and I’m the boss’.But we became very good friends.”

“I do remember he took me to a foot-ball match and it was Leicester v StokeCity. I think Stanley Matthews wasplaying at that time. I remember goingto a swimming pool and they gave me alittle girl’s swimsuit and there was achildren’s paddling pool and I remem-ber being too scared to go in the pad-dling pool.

“There was one occasion when wewere both punished and quite rightly,too, because there was a wash basin on

Reunited 71 years

The Second WorldWar brought 30,000child evacuees intoLeicester. Most neverforgot theirexperiences.Catherine Turnellreports on the phonecall in Decemberthat brought the1940s backinto thepresent

Real life

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one of the floors on the landing. We de-cided to fill the wash basin with soapywater. Then we plunged our hands inthe sink and covered a wall in wet handprints. I told David about this, but hedidn’t remember it.

“Dr Hurwich was a very dapper manin a dark suit. He looked like WilliamPowell, the actor. He would sharpenthe carving knife with a flourish andcarve the meat and distribute it aroundthe table.

“That was so much in contrast to myown family. We didn’t even have a kit-chen. We had a scullery.”

“It showed me how the other halflived. But there are some negatives inthere as well.”

Barry was put in the same bedroomas a maid. “It scared me to death upthere, there were mice in the room.”

But there are also cherished memor-ies.

“I remember my mother visiting onone occasion. I came out of school, andthere she was, standing there. That Iwill never forget. Running to my moth-er and jumping in to her arms.”

Barry left for the States in 1976. Butbefore then, on his way home from abusiness trip up north, he took a detourin Leicester.

“I stopped and I found the house,” hesays. “The Hurwich family had left andit had been turned into flats. A fewyears ago, I was in Leicester and I

couldn’t even find the house, so weleft.”

The breakthrough in locating Davidcame when a contact of Barry’s wastasked with finding him. The womanrang Highfields synagogue to see if theyhad a family there with a name likeHurridge – Barry couldn’t rememberthe exact surname – but because thereweren’t any similar names, she triedthe synagogue in Avenue Road, whichknew the Hurwich family and passedon David’s details.

Meanwhile, David, a retiredchartered tax advisor, had been lookingfor Barry. When he was in London onbusiness he’d make time to search forBarry in the phone book.

Significantly, Barry had changed hissurname. When Barry’s brother Simonwas doing National Service theIsenblatt name, which is GermanJewish, caused him a lot of grief. Simonchanged his surname to Spencer andthe whole family followed suit.

The Hurwich home was a busy placeduring the war years, remembers Dav-id. There were his parents, Jack andPriscilla, who everyone called Pet.David had two sisters, Betty who was 16or 17 in 1943 and Ruth, who was about12. There was also David’s aunt Jessie,who lived there during the war as herhusband, Simon, was serving in theforces. They also had three servants.

“Before Barry appeared we also had aKindertransport boy called Werner. Hearrived in 1939. He was about 15. Barryarrived in ’42 or ’43,” says David.

“We didn’t know anything aboutBarry except his family was very poorand I think it was quite a shock for himto come to a quite well-off family.”

“Funnily enough, I’ve almost forgot-ten everything,” David admits. “Barryseems to remember a lot more than Ido. As far as I recall, a little boyappeared in my house and then wentaway again.

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“The motivation for me for getting intouch was nostalgia, a certain amountof sentiment,” explains Barry, a retiredlawyer whose English accent belies 40years of living in America.

“You know,” he says, “I’m 75 nowand there were some loose ends in mylife and that was one of them. I’d beenlooking for him in a very desultory sortof way. I’d check here and there andleave it for a year or two and then tryagain.”

Barry was one of 30,000 young war-time evacuees brought to Leicester andtaken in by families across city andcounty. He arrived in 1943.

“As far as I can tell, I, my brother,Simon, and my brother’s friend leftfrom St Pancras station,” he says. “I doremember getting on to the train and itwas a restaurant car and the tableswere bare, so we sat around the tables.

“We were taken to Leicester – I hadno idea where I was at the time. Wewere herded into a school hall and allthe evacuees were there, around 100,and people came in and windowshopped. And that was not when wewere chosen by the Hurwiches – wewere picked by two women. I was a

‘‘I think it was quite a shock forBarry to come to a quite well-off family david hurwich

’’“For him, living in a strange city, in astrange family, there was a lot moreupheaval.”

Barry had returned home to Londonwhen the sky was still raining with V-1flying bombs, aka buzz bombs.

“I remember being under the stair-well with the buzz bombs coming overand I remember seeing a German planewith the Prussian cross on the under-side of the wing,” he recalls.

“One thing that happened when Iarrived home, literally a few days later,a letter arrived from David. I remembermy mother showing me it. I never re-sponded. It bothered me for 70 yearsand the first thing I did when I spoke tohim was apologise for not replying tohis letter. “And,” says Barry, with awell-rounded pause, “…he couldn’tremember sending it.”

The Spencers will be coming to theUK in March and plans are under wayto have a little tour of Barry’s very, veryold stomping ground.

“I’m really looking forward to it, toseeing David,” he says, as the transat-lantic call ends. “He was just a smallboy the last time I saw him. I wouldimagine,” he says with a laugh, “there’sbeen a few changes.” ●M:

‘‘The motivation for me forgetting in touch was nostalgia,a certain amount of sentimentbarry isenblatt

’’

on: the evacueeand ‘rich kid’ who befriended him

CATCHING UP: David, above,and Barry, below

FRIENDSHIP: During the Second World War, little Barry Isenblatt, left, lived with the family of David Hurwich, right SAFE HAVEN: Evacuees at Leicester Central Station in July, 1944