Leicester article
1
22 more : saturday, february 1, 2014 LMM-E01-S2 LMMO LMM-E01-S2 LMMO saturday, february 1, 2014 more : 23 D uring the Second World War a four-year-old Jewish boy was evacu- ated to Leicester from London. After spending nine months with five-year-old David Hurwich and his family at a sprawling house in Knighton Park Road, he re- turned to the capital and nothing more was heard. It was just the name of the little boy that David could recall as the years rolled into decades. Not a face. Nor a memory. Just the name – Barry Isenblatt. Four weeks ago, the phone rang in David’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 now lives in Agoura Hills, a city in Los Angeles County, California, the call had been a big event. “His hand was shaking so much I dialled the number for him,” says Sherry, Barry’s wife, who is listening to the Mercury interview on speaker- phone as plans get under way to unite the former friends. cute kid at that time. I remember they said, ‘he looks nice’. “They took us to a red brick house somewhere in Leicester and we stayed there two to three weeks. We weren’t being cared for very well. My brother was 11 or 12 and he complained to an evacuation officer. And that’s when we were taken to the Hurwiches’ house. “I remember the journey. They opened the door and took me out and I kicked and screamed and made a tre- mendous fuss about it – I was being separated from my brother.” Horrifically for a four-year-old boy, who had just been parted from his parents and transported 100 miles north to a strange city, Barry had to endure being wrenched away from big brother Simon. “It was just how they did things then,” reasons Barry. His new home was a sprawling prop- erty in Knighton Park Road, the home of Dr Hurwich and his family. For a boy who had grown up in a basement flat in Hackney, in the East End of London, it was vast and overwhelming. “They had a huge house, three servants and they took me, kicking and screaming, into the nursery. “I hadn’t seen so many toys in my life. It was stacked floor to ceiling with toys. That calmed me down and they put me to bed. “I remember that first morning, when I woke up, I could hear a boy singing. I doubt very much whether David will remember that. Not in a bad way. It was 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 Stoke City. I think Stanley Matthews was playing at that time. I remember going to a swimming pool and they gave me a little girl’s swimsuit and there was a children’s paddling pool and I remem- ber being too scared to go in the pad- dling pool. “There was one occasion when we were both punished and quite rightly, too, because there was a wash basin on Reunited 71 years The Second World War brought 30,000 child evacuees into Leicester. Most never forgot their experiences. Catherine Turnell reports on the phone call in December that brought the 1940s back into the present Real life more : Life one of the floors on the landing. We de- cided to fill the wash basin with soapy water. Then we plunged our hands in the sink and covered a wall in wet hand prints. I told David about this, but he didn’t remember it. “Dr Hurwich was a very dapper man in a dark suit. He looked like William Powell, the actor. He would sharpen the carving knife with a flourish and carve the meat and distribute it around the table. “That was so much in contrast to my own family. We didn’t even have a kit- chen. We had a scullery.” “It showed me how the other half lived. But there are some negatives in there as well.” Barry was put in the same bedroom as a maid. “It scared me to death up there, there were mice in the room.” But there are also cherished memor- ies. “I remember my mother visiting on one occasion. I came out of school, and there she was, standing there. That I will never forget. Running to my moth- er and jumping in to her arms.” Barry left for the States in 1976. But before then, on his way home from a business trip up north, he took a detour in Leicester. “I stopped and I found the house,” he says. “The Hurwich family had left and it had been turned into flats. A few years ago, I was in Leicester and I couldn’t even find the house, so we left.” The breakthrough in locating David came when a contact of Barry’s was tasked with finding him. The woman rang Highfields synagogue to see if they had a family there with a name like Hurridge – Barry couldn’t remember the exact surname – but because there weren’t any similar names, she tried the synagogue in Avenue Road, which knew the Hurwich family and passed on David’s details. Meanwhile, David, a retired chartered tax advisor, had been looking for Barry. When he was in London on business he’d make time to search for Barry in the phone book. Significantly, Barry had changed his surname. When Barry’s brother Simon was doing National Service the Isenblatt name, which is German Jewish, caused him a lot of grief. Simon changed his surname to Spencer and the whole family followed suit. The Hurwich home was a busy place during the war years, remembers Dav- id. There were his parents, Jack and Priscilla, who everyone called Pet. David had two sisters, Betty who was 16 or 17 in 1943 and Ruth, who was about 12. There was also David’s aunt Jessie, who lived there during the war as her husband, Simon, was serving in the forces. They also had three servants. “Before Barry appeared we also had a Kindertransport boy called Werner. He arrived in 1939. He was about 15. Barry arrived in ’42 or ’43,” says David. “We didn’t know anything about Barry except his family was very poor and I think it was quite a shock for him to come to a quite well-off family.” “Funnily enough, I’ve almost forgot- ten everything,” David admits. “Barry seems to remember a lot more than I do. As far as I recall, a little boy appeared in my house and then went away again. more : Life “The motivation for me for getting in touch was nostalgia, a certain amount of sentiment,” explains Barry, a retired lawyer whose English accent belies 40 years of living in America. “You know,” he says, “I’m 75 now and there were some loose ends in my life and that was one of them. I’d been looking for him in a very desultory sort of way. I’d check here and there and leave it for a year or two and then try again.” Barry was one of 30,000 young war- time evacuees brought to Leicester and taken in by families across city and county. He arrived in 1943. “As far as I can tell, I, my brother, Simon, and my brother’s friend left from St Pancras station,” he says. “I do remember getting on to the train and it was a restaurant car and the tables were bare, so we sat around the tables. “We were taken to Leicester – I had no idea where I was at the time. We were herded into a school hall and all the evacuees were there, around 100, and people came in and window shopped. And that was not when we were chosen by the Hurwiches – we were picked by two women. I was a ‘‘ I think it was quite a shock for Barry to come to a quite well- off family david hurwich ’’ “For him, living in a strange city, in a strange family, there was a lot more upheaval.” Barry had returned home to London when the sky was still raining with V-1 flying bombs, aka buzz bombs. “I remember being under the stair- well with the buzz bombs coming over and I remember seeing a German plane with the Prussian cross on the under- side of the wing,” he recalls. “One thing that happened when I arrived home, literally a few days later, a letter arrived from David. I remember my mother showing me it. I never re- sponded. It bothered me for 70 years and the first thing I did when I spoke to him was apologise for not replying to his letter. “And,” says Barry, with a well-rounded pause, “…he couldn’t remember sending it.” The Spencers will be coming to the UK in March and plans are under way to have a little tour of Barry’s very, very old stomping ground. “I’m really looking forward to it, to seeing David,” he says, as the transat- lantic call ends. “He was just a small boy the last time I saw him. I would imagine,” he says with a laugh, “there’s been a few changes.” ● M: ‘‘ The motivation for me for getting in touch was nostalgia, a certain amount of sentiment barry isenblatt ’’ on: the evacuee and ‘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
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Transcript of Leicester article
22 more : saturday, february 1, 2014 LMM-E01-S2 LMMO LMM-E01-S2 LMMO saturday, february 1, 2014 more : 23
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
more : Life
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.
more : Life
“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
