My maternal grandparents lived in Czernochovice, which, in the early 1900’s, was in Russian occupied Poland. This little town was completely obliterated in WW2. My zaida-to-be was a boot maker, not a cobbler. He made high-class leather boots for the local gentry but mainly for the officers of the local detachment of the Tsar’s army. One day, he came home, having made a delivery of boots and bought leather, and found his wife, my booba-to-be, being assaulted by a Tsarist officer.

My grandfather was not a big man but he was very strong and he picked up the officer and ducked him head first in the water butt outside the door. He then collected together whatever he could and fled, knowing that retribution would not be long in coming. My grandmother followed suit soon afterwards with five or six children in tow. They finished up in London’s East End like so many other Jews at that time. Nobody there wanted high grade leather boots, lots of people could hardly afford shoes, and so he set up as a cobbler. He was too good for the locals so business wasn’t so good but eventually he and my grandmother opened a sweet-cum-grocery shop with some shoe repairs. I can remember helping to make up paper packets of cube sugar from a large crate of sugar, weighing out half and one pound amounts on grocers’ scales. I can also remember him repairing a pair of shoes for me, and beautifully done they were, far superior to our local repairer. We lived in Kilburn, N.W. London at the time.

My mother came from quite a clever family. There were three boys and three girls and my mother was the eldest. The oldest brother trained as a doctor and eventually became a professor. The next sister down trained as a nurse and became the matron of a nursing home. Another graduated and became a teacher, a younger brother trained as a lithographer. He emigrated to Canada but sadly died of pneumonia in the late 20’s. The youngest brother was a truant and a lay about. My mother, being the eldest was sent out to work as soon as possible to augment the family income and support the others’ studies. This left her with an everlasting chip on her shoulder. She had a good singing voice and was quite good with an artist’s paintbrush but had no opportunity to develop her talents.

The doctor uncle after qualifying in the 1920’s set about trying to find a job. There was no money to set up or buy into a practice so he tried to become a ship’s doctor. However, although he haunted all the shipping offices in London’s Cheapside and thereabouts, no London based conservative shipping company wanted to employ a doctor with the name of Mendel Berkofski. So he decided to change his name. The first office he then went into was quite happy to employ the young Dr. Martin Burns. The shipping company was the Blue Funnel Line. It did not run dirty old tramp steamers but ran well found cargo liners to and from the Far East. The officers all wore white uniforms and very handsome my uncle looked in his white tunic with red and gold shoulder flashes and gold rings on his cuffs. I can remember seeing him on leave and also a number of photographs my grandparents had.

The language spoken by the family was of course Yiddish. My booba had been in London for about 30 years and was 70 years old before she decided it was about time she learned to read and write English, so she taught herself, making a Yiddish – English dictionary on the backs of old food packets. Her English was totally phonetic and the results were sometimes hilarious.

My uncle related a story about a time when his ship was docked in Shanghai. There were two gangways from ship to dockside, one for boarding and one for landing. There was a uniformed officer at the head and foot of each gangway. The object was to prevent crew members from deserting or going ashore to be literally “Shanghaied” and also to stop undesirables such as prostitutes going on board. My uncle was on the dockside at one gangway when he was approached by a filthy old woman with a basket of odds and ends with which she wanted to board ship and sell. My uncle wouldn’t let her pass and kept shooing her and pushing her away. In the end she turned to go and as she did so shouted at my uncle “A choleyere un kliles oyf du” (literally:- Cholera and curses on you) to which he replied “A choleyere un kloles oyfn du oykh. Gey avek, farshtinkene” (Curses etc on you also, clear off, stinking one}. The old crone nearly fell of the dockside in amazement. What was this white officer doing answering in her own language?

When she realized what my uncle had said she fell on her knees and clutched him round the legs begging for his forgiveness and apologizing, crying out in Yiddish that she didn’t realize who he was etc. All the while my uncle was trying to dislodge her from his legs with some difficulty. He happened to look up and saw the ship’s rail was lined with his fellow officers who were laughing their heads off. He eventually got rid of the old woman and then had to go and change his uniform which had become badly soiled and reeked.

I can remember some beautiful souvenirs he brought back from China made from bamboo. I had a gruesome one of a Chinese torture, a man being sawed in half and a nicer one of two coolies carrying a lady in a sedan chair, both about 2 inches high. My grandmother had a Chinese junk about 18 inches long with sail, crew and oars and cargo, all made from bamboo and coloured brightly. These were all very fragile and couldn’t be dusted so didn’t last very long.