HOMEWARD BOUND
The journey home was a repeat of the outward trip in reverse, sailing across the Indian Ocean into the Suez Canal westward bound, and was uneventful until we reached the Mediterranean Sea which is not known for bad weather. We were unlucky. A storm blew up soon after entering the Mediterranean. I was sent down below to sort out some life-jackets that were kept in the bow of the ship, probably the worst place to be in a ship in a storm. I was as sick as a dog. All the way from leaving Rangoon I had no sign of being seasick until that storm hit us. The storm blew itself out as we sailed towards the Straights of Gibraltar and out into the Bay of Biscay for the last stretch of the journey disembarking in Liverpool. April 1947, one of the coldest winters for some time greeted us as we stepped off the ship that had brought us from the tropics. We shivered despite the heavy greatcoats we were wearing.
From Liverpool to the demob centre at Warton near Blackpool. The first thing to do is phone home and tell Clare where I am and when I will be home. As we were near Blackpool I told her that I would be on the train from Blackpool. She got Linda out of bed and dashed down to Victoria Station to meet the train. Picture the scene, hundreds of men in Royal Air Force uniform pouring off the train from Blackpool but no sign of me. The only picture Linda had seen of me was one in RAF uniform, so to a little girl not quite three years old it was a case of running around the station pointing at every airman she saw and saying "Is that my daddy? Is that my daddy?" Clare was getting quite worried by the time I arrived on the train from Preston. Still, all was forgiven in the euphoria of that first embrace.
Clare and Linda were staying at my brother Leon's house whilst we looked for a place of our own. As there was very little in the way of rented property, either private or Council, we looked for a house to buy. Before long we found a small, two bedroomed semi-detached house in Prestwich. Russell Street is a few hundred yards from Heaton Park on the Western side of the Park, and could be reached by bus or train as the main road which runs north/south along the boundary of the park is Bury Old Road, which had in those days a good bus service into Manchester from Bury through Cheetham Hill Road and into the city centre. On Bury Old Road opposite the entrance to the Park is Heaton Park Station which was served by an electric train service from Bury into Victoria Station, Manchester.
We had no money to put down as a deposit on the house but fortunately Clare had made friends with a family called Leibovitch. They had a daughter also called Clare and the two became very close friends. So much so that when my wife (Clare) mentioned to her friend (Clare), that we needed money to secure the purchase of the house she approached her father and asked him to lend us the necessary cash. Without the slightest hesitation the old man agreed and we were able to buy the house and move into our own place. Needless to say we worked hard to repay Mr Leibovitch as soon as possible. I well remember the time when I was able to settle the debt, that lovely old man told me that he never had any doubt that I would repay him.
As soon as possible I found a job in my trade as a gent's hairdresser with a man who had a barbers' shop at the bottom of Waterloo Road near the junction with Bury New Road, only a few yards from where I went to school. So I found myself back in the environment that I knew so well. Bury New Road, Strangeways, Broughton Lane, all full of nostalgia, still a centre of Jewish life with the butcher shops selling kosher meat, the bakers producing all the Continental breads and buns. In particular the delicatessens with all the delicacies they are famous for like pickled cucumbers and herrings; sides of smoked salmon, cream cheese, the various types of sausage or vorsht. Each one a veritable haven of delightful aromas and tastes. And, on Bury New Road, a shop that became famous for the delectable food served by its owners, the Lapidus family. Laps, as it was known, was a small delicatessen and snack-bar that was patronised by the local business community, the shop-keepers, and those who worked in the area. They served up lunches and snacks of the various meats like pickled brisket, salami and the always popular, hot salt beef sandwiches served with the best chips in the area, and always the ubiquitous pickled cucumber.
So I started work for Issy Wise in his barbers' shop for the princely sum of £4 a week plus any tips given by satisfied customers. Clare of course was at home with Linda who by now was 3 years old and not yet at school. I immediately got involved in the activities of the local branch of the Communist Party of Great Britain whose members were Aubrey Lewis, his brother-in- law, Pinkie Jacobs, Teddy Samuels who had married my cousin Ada Edels and was now a doctor, having passed out from Manchester University whilst I was away, Ada's brother Harry, Albert Polick, Stan Grundy and a couple who had recently moved into the area, Charles and Bess Bescoby.
Charles and Bess were both teachers, she came from Bristol and Charles from Sheffield, two lovely people who became great friends.
Life was full of Party activity, holding meetings, selling the Daily Worker which at that time was still the property of the Party, and taking part in all the campaigns around local and national issues. Many of the branch meetings were held in that small house in Russell Street.