HOW OUR PARENTS MET
Our mother, Ina Hendry, was born in Clydebank, Scotland in 1904,the second youngest of five children. She was the daughter of James and Margaret Hendry (nee Stuart).Her sisters and brothers in order of birth were, Jean, the oldest, who arrived at the very end of the 19th century, then Robert, the second born. He emigrated to the United States as a young man, tried to make a career in show business and then began working in the automotive industry. He settled in Chicago where he married Jeanie. Betty was the third child. She moved to England and married Bert Fay a chef in a London hotel. They adopted Bert's natural daughter, Cathy. They had no children of their own. The youngest was James. He married Nellie, considered by his family to be socially beneath him. Nellie was a Catholic. They had a large family and lived on a council estate near loch Lomond. James worked as a master butcher. He died of lung cancer in the late 1950s.
Ina Hendry moved to Manchester when she was nearly 18 and managed a sweet shop. It was here she met our father Joseph Horowitch who fell for her in a big way. He was the second of three surviving children of Meyer and Bella, Jewish Latvian refugees, escaping anti-Semitism and poverty at the turn of the century. They had intended to emigrate to the United States, but somehow, they ended up in Manchester. The family name in Latvia was either Einger or Unger. They acquired the surname Horowitch through a misunderstanding with an immigration officer in Liverpool.
Myer Horowitch started his own business, buying waste wool, cotton and scrap metal, sorting it and selling it to manufactures, where it was recycled and made into new products. Joseph left school at 14 and went to work for his father. Joseph had contracted Rheumatic fever when a small child. This damaged his heart, which caused his premature death when he was in his fifties.
Ina and Joseph married in 1922. Ina was not welcomed by Joseph's family. Mixed marriages were considered by both the Jewish and Christian communities as something to be avoided. However, over a period of time, relations improved and Ina converted to Judaism. She married Joseph in the Synagogue on July 26 1931.
They wanted children, but it seemed it was not to be. They considered adoption and then after being married for 20 years the miracle happened. Ina was pregnant. Myrna was born in September 1943 and 13 months later a second daughter Sandra was born.
Ina had become very fat, 16 stone in weight and she didn't even realise that she was pregnant, putting the pains down to heartburn! Maybe Joseph had impotency problems and that is why she never conceived earlier, or maybe he just didn't fancy her as her shape had enlarged considerably over the years.
Christmas time 'Mum had Sandra and me peering up the chimney of the coal fire in the breakfast room. Why? We had to ask Father Christmas to get us what we wanted.'
Of course we believed in Father Christmas; leaving a pillowcase out on Christmas Eve for him to fill. Then we discovered the truth. Dad was Father Christmas and not a man with a red hat and coat on with a beard, but Dad, swarthy and handsome even though he was old.
DO YOU REMEMBER?
I can remember when sweets were rationed, rice was only used for making rice pudding, olive oil was bought at Boots the Chemist in little bottles for removing ear wax, spices were limited to cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper and cloves, all vegetables were boiled to death, crisps only came in one flavour, garlic was the work of the devil and everything seemed so bland.
Being brought up in a Jewish household meant that some of the food we ate was more interesting than the usual British diet. Chicken then was a luxury food yet we ate on a regular basis, either made into wonderful chicken soup with mandels or alkies or roasted for Sunday lunch. Mum made the best chopped and fried fish. She always swore that a mix of hake and haddock gave the best and sweetest flavour. This would be chopped with onion, loads of eggs, matzo meal and seasoning then formed into generous patties and fried in oil until deep golden brown. I enjoyed them either hot or cold, served with the beetroot and horseradish relish called chrane. Myrna didn't like that sauce!
I still hanker after the black bread of my childhood. It doesn't seem to exist anymore, or at least I can't find it. This was a crusty sourdough bread made with rye flour and caraway. It was wonderful, as were, and still are, proper Jewish bagels, hard and chewy, nothing like the soft US version sold in most supermarkets today.
We would enjoy salt beef, pickled brisket, worsit and the deep red savaloys served with potato latkes and sweet and sour cucumbers. This was the kosher food of the Ashkenazi Jews of Eastern Europe, hearty, full flavoured and very different from the cuisine of the Sephardi community. We would go to Lapidus's, a local Jewish delicatessan and take away, have a salt beef sandwich at the same time as eyeing up the young men also buying food there.
Our first days at school
When we were about two years old and three years old respectively our mother found it far too hard coping with her small daughters and arranged for us to attend a private Jewish school, Cassel – Fox, about quarter of a mile from our home.
On their first day there Sandra can remember crying when mummy walked away from them, but she was lucky having her big sister taking care of her. Myrna had to be strong and brave for her little sister.
We would go to school first thing in the morning, have lunch there, then be collected by our mum in the afternoon and walk home. The teachers were very strict about not wasting food and would be angry with any child who left food on his plate. We learned tricks such as wrapping the food we didn't like in our handkerchief and hiding it in our pocket. Sandra remembers that she really liked the lochen pudding and never had a problem in eating it all up.
When a child had been tearful, he or she would be sent out of the classroom and not allowed back until the crying had stopped. Sandra can remember being filled with righteous indignation when on one occasion the teacher came out of the classroom to see if she had stopped crying, which she had, but wouldn't let her come back because her breathing wasn't yet under control after expending all that emotion.
The children were not allowed to use their fingers as an aid to counting. Sandra got round this prohibition by leaning on her elbow and counting with her fingers on the side of her head. When challenged by her teacher as to what she was doing she replied that she was thinking.
Myrna remembers hating the food. It was after the second world war and food was still rationed, choice was limited and you had to take what was available. But, as a child Myrna didn't know, care or understand the situation: she just hated the food.
Joseph Tishler a fellow pupil aged five or less kissed Myrna up and down her arms and in his strong passion pursued her relentlessly....to no avail.
It was at Cassell Fox that we started to learn the Jewish rituals, stories and Hebrew with no understanding of what the words meant. Yet Myrna and Sandra felt guilty if they failed to say their prayers in Hebrew at night before going to sleep. Deeply disturbing questions Sandra and Myrna and friends asked each other were..Who do you love more, God or your mummy or daddy?'
MUM'S PROBLEMS
Mum and her 'Problems'
Our mother enjoyed a drink and a smoke whilst watching TV. She would have a glass of whiskey and orange. When she and dad came back from their dinner dances she sometimes had a problem keeping her balance, drunk almost falling down when getting out the taxi. This didn't become a major problem until in 1954 she had a really bad accident falling down a long flight of steep stone steps outside Joan Lakes house. She claimed she felt all right and drove herself home in her Ford Console.
Later in the day she felt very ill and called the doctor who diagnosed concussion and told her to rest. He missed the point that she and she was in fact bleeding into her brain and a blood clot was forming. This necessitated an emergency operation to remove the blood clot or she could have died. Roughly the same time her youngest brother James was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. She was flying backwards and forewards to Scotland to see him. She felt she had to go and visit him. She seemed to take the news really hard, yet we didn't know she cared that much as we had never met him or his family. He died within a year of the diagnosis.
She started drinking secretly and heavily and became a danger to herself and others. She was falling around all over the place. Her voice was often slurred. She made pointless and senseless demands and became extremely difficult to live with. She hid her alcohol, brandy anywhere in the house. Many times we came home from school she was drunk, her voice was slurred and the gas poker was on but not lit. She kept saying that she wanted to die. We used to call Dad when we felt we couldn&..39;t cope. He would come home and help us manage her. We missed a lot of secondary schooling thorough having to be at home to keep an eye on her. We didn't want anyone to know outside the house. It was difficult for girls, pre teens to cope with. That fall and subsequent drinking exaggerated who she was already, Myrna thinks. We couldn't bring friends back to our house after school in case we found our mum drunk. The shame and embarrassment would have been too much to bear. We had to take on the responsibility of the cooking, cleaning and looking after the house. We were only eleven and twelve at the time. Also, she never liked our friends. She would verbally pull them to pieces and tried to stop the friendships in this way. Mum's problems continued to dominate our lives through all our teens and into our twenties.
Her emotional manipulative manner continued to have a power over us for years even after she stopped drinking. However, we both have ended up creative, warm women so we have surmounted the effects.
Even before she had a drink problem she made us curl up in embarrassment. On social occasions she was seen by many as good fun, 'the life and soul of the party'. She loved to be the centre of attention and would dance the highland fling. She was a huge woman and to us she looked ridiculous and we felt that people were, in fact, laughing at her and not with her. The more extrovert she became the more introvert we became. After all she was old enough to be our granny and maybe that was why we felt so self-conscious?
Secrets were a part of our way of life. Secrets that she hadn't been born Jewish, secrets that we ate bacon behind closed curtain surrounded by Jewish families. Secrecy about her drinking and suicidal tendencies. Dr Levy our family doctor gave her far too many prescribed drugs barbiturates which she became addicted to for many years. No-one was there to support us two young girls. Dr Levy and Dad would say that we had to care for our mum, our duty was to be there for her. It affected our schooling, our social life, our confidence: it put a huge strain on us.
We were part of a cover up to keep up pretences about what really went on behind closed doors. However we learnt to be ultra sensitive to drunkenness, emotional blackmail and manipulation.
STORIES FROM OUR CHILDHOOD
We were still at primary school in 1953. It was near to the end of October. Children were collecting firewood for their bonfire celebrations. The local children called at Aunty Rosie and Uncle Morris's house in Brunswick Street. Aunty Rosie gave them an old broken down armchair she wanted rid of. They hauled it away and took it back to their bonfire site. As they were breaking it up, to their amazement inside the wadding, they found about a £1000 in old and out of date bank notes.
This would be the equivalent today of perhaps £40- £50,000 in terms of what it could buy. The excited children took some of the cash to Heighways, a local toyshop in Cheetham Hill Road, to spend it. Having made their selections they handed the money to the shop assistant who in turn called the police. The money was traced back to our family and returned to us.
Our Granddad, Myer, never fully trusted in banks and liked to have cash hidden around his house in tins, cupboards and under mattresses. He had come from Dvinsk in Latvia to England as a penniless refugee and hadn't adapted to the new country. He was illiterate in his own language Yiddish as well as English, so he had to sign his cheques with a cross. Myer a religious Jewish man wore a yamulka and prayed, (yet our mum told Myrna that his fly was often left undone). One Sabbath evening during the war he just walked out of the house in Brunswick Street. As it was Sabbath he wasn't carrying any money in his pockets and was never seen again. Mum and dad checked with the police, hospitals and the morgue to no avail. The most likely explanation was that he was killed during an air raid and maybe blown to bits. Of course he never made a will and for over twenty years the family solicitor was trying to sort out Myer's estate. 'Next year god willing Joseph, it will be sorted.' Myer treated our Dad badly he obviously didn't love him as he wished our dad had died from the fever instead of his beloved youngest son Simon.
He asked god why he hadn't taken Joseph instead of Simon. After dad left school at the age of fourteen he was employed by his father but paid poorly.
Even after he was married he was still on a low wage and he would often walk home from work to save his bus fare so that he could take Mum to the cinema. Myer would put a piece of coal on the fire, decide it was warm enough without it and take it off again rather than let it burn away.Sandra and Myrna loving sisters
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XMAS
Sandra and Myrna and family at Xmas 2006
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BIRTHDAY PARTY WITH PUNCH AND JUDY
When we were living at our house in Stanley Road and aged about three and four years our mother decided that as our birthdays were only just a month apart she would arrange a joint birthday party for us and as a special treat would hire a Punch and Judy man to entertain us and our guests.
The great advantage of our house was that it had been built over three floors and the top floor, which was a huge room, was our wonderful playroom. It was the place where our imagination could run beyond any limitations. It was our space and it was in the playroom that the puppet theatre had been set up.
After the usual birthday tea of egg, tinned salmon, cheese and tomato sandwiches, chocolate biscuits, jelly, and birthday cake we all trooped upstairs for the live entertainment. At first everyone was having a great time until the crocodile made his first appearance. This was all too much for Sandra who immediately burst into tears. Luckily for her, Myrna was at hand to comfort and protect her.
THE MARRIAGE OF AUNTIE ROSIE & THE BIG FELLAH
Dvinsk, in Russia is a long way from Manchester, in England. Meyer Horowitch and his family made that journey, in a cattle ship, and train, together with other Jewish immigrants. They left the Old Country, Russia, to make a new life in the New World.
Meyer, his wife, sons Morris, Joseph, and his daughter Rosie settled in a cold, damp house in Brunswick Street off the Cheetham Hill Road, a part of Manchester. In a short time, Meyer and sons set themselves up in business as 'Metal and Waste Merchants.' Meyer only spoke Yiddish, was illiterate in any language, but managed to make money, despite the fact that he had to sign his cheques with a cross.
Even though the family now had money they still lived as though they hadn't any. Ripped old lino lay on the floor. Dotted around the rooms were sprung, cheese laden, mouse traps waiting to catch the hungry mice. In one room there was an enormous bed. The rest of the house was bare. In the dining room a blackened kettle hung over an open fire. In the middle of the room there was an ugly table and only enough chairs for the family. The drabness and dampness was not helped by the permanent smell of pickled herrings.
Meyer's daughter Rosie, a pearl in his eyes wanted to get married and her parents had to make a suitable match. Every day Rosie would sit staring out of the front room window engrossed in her dreams, of 'her man', her future husband. "My man will be tall with curly dark hair, and handsome like a Prince in a fairy tale," she told herself, "He will whisk me away to a palace soaring up into the clouds. I will lay on a velvet sofa and he will drop succulent grapes into my mouth."
But a match was proving difficult to make for unfortunately she wasn't an attractive girl. In fact she looked older than her years, with a raw peasant face and strapping figure and although she had qualities, conversation wasn't one of them. She had the habit of repeating the trivial bits of gossip that fascinated her but left others yawning. Every year at the Jewish Passover feast she would ask her sister in law, our Mum, "What Matzo have you bought this year, Ina?" Sandra and I, waiting for this ritual conversation had to stifle giggles,
The man her parents found for her wasn't at all what she expected. He wasn't handsome, though he was tall and large around the middle, had rough hairy hands. He was going to be her husband, she his bride. Her parents had heard that he was eligible, from the grocers next to the fresh fish shop. Everyone said about him, "He is a good fellah, won't do anyone any harm," so who was she to complain?"
A marriage date was set and a wedding dress made for her, out of yards of white lace that hugged her ample figure. On the wedding day she looked like a huge mermaid with a frothy tail that trailed behind her. He looked decent in his hired suit. Even the photographer said they looked a handsome pair. Meyer and his wife cried at the ceremony, but the brothers didn't. They were pleased to have another pair of hands around the house, for the newly weds were going to live with them. Also they fancied help in their father's sorting yard where old rags and clothes were bundled off to be recycled into paper.
After an insignificant party in the front room, the family retired to bed leaving the newly weds to have a night of love and passion in the small room next to the kitchen.
Rosie lay on the bed in her negligee and bed jacket waiting for him to come her. He had gone to wash and undress. Memories of her romantic dreams danced before her eyes, the velvet sofa, and the luscious grapes. She was oblivious to the dampness, the drabness of the room she was in. She was in her castle and soon her Prince would come. She waited for him barely breathing, so as not to blow the dreams away. But his voice brought her back sharply to where she was.
"Oh, damn it, I've forgotten my Woodbine's (cigarettes). Instead of his nightclothes he was standing in the doorway. Instead of his pyjamas, he had his overcoat on over his wedding suit.
"I'm just dashing off to the pub at the corner to buy some. See you in a moment." And he went out after blowing her a kiss.
She was to remember that kiss. It was the first and only kiss she had from him, for he never came back.
For years later after the shock and embarrassment had dulled, the family tried to initiate reconciliation. After all they were married. 'The Big Fellow,' as he came to be known sat and chatted with Rosie while the family hid behind the door listening for signs of love in their voices, but he would always, after a very short time stand up and leave.
The gold - framed wedding photograph was the closest she got to her husband. Rosie never remarried. She died in her seventies, a virgin.