Perfect Family Tales And Other Trivia

The art of the short-story writer is that of the cartoonist. It is the magical craft of creating entire worlds with a few simple strokes of a pen. Tales told by an idiot? Maybe! But my tales are also a mix of reality and fantasy; truth and lies; some based on my own family; others, not. Readers must guess which characters are real; who are inventions - and who are an amalgam of both. Please draw the boundaries for yourself.

Monday 27 August 2012

‘What Made Jimmy Run’

Jimmy was puzzled. He couldn’t stop flailing his legs or cease swirling around in the strange, grey gloom. Had Jimmy.Savile.04he been here forever? It was difficult to tell.

Then someone came to help.

“Hello“, said the newcomer. “You may remember me. We have much in common.”

“I used to be in show business – and charity. Now, I’m just plain Jimmy Savile from Leeds in Yorkshire, England. But stone me, y-you must be  …!”

“That’s right,” said the figure. “I’m Ludwig Guttmann. I founded the Spinal Injuries Centre at Stoke Mandeville Hospital in Buckingham.

“I don’t believe our paths crossed there as I finished my clinical work in 1966 and your best days were during the 70s and 80s. Anyway, I’m your ‘mentor’ here, so I’ll look after you while you’re still on probation  – having your first taste of ‘eternity’. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”  Sir.Ludwig.Guttmann

“Thanks Poppa,” replied Jimmy, easing  back into the familiar, fond hospital nickname. “Can I see my mum – ‘The Duchess’?”

“Not yet, Jimmy. We’ve got some explaining and thinking to do now. To begin, we’ll chat. You must know that the London 2012 Paralympics start this week.  To think that we arranged them in 1948 to coincide with that year’s Summer Olympics - also in London – and that the interest in and enthusiasm for them is greater than ever. They’ve now become so ingrained in people’s minds, many wrongly believe ‘para’ is shorthand for ‘paraplegic’ instead of ‘parallel’  like the term ‘para-medic’.”

“Quite wonderful,” said Jimmy. “As I’ve always loved sport, I’m also thrilled about the games. I was really lucky to suffer no more than a bad back from my days as a wartime  ‘Bevin Boy’ miner, just at the time you started to treat men who’d never walk again. It must have been my destiny.”

“I’m pleased to hear you say that. But I bet that like me, you’re also furious about the rumpus which cast a shadow over this year’s main games.”

“Umm…”

“Y’know? How Jacques Rogge, the International Olympic Committee  President, prohibited a public silent tribute at the opening ceremony, marking the 40th anniversary of the massacre of the eleven Israeli athletes at the Munich  Games. Believe me, Jimmy, as a Holocaust refugee, I boiled with rage. I was still alive when those fine young people were murdered and even then I recalled that Bavaria had always been a hotbed of Nazism.

“Now as more of the truth of what happened in ‘72 is uncovered, it hurts like hell  that the world has forgotten that Israel stepped into save the paralympics in 1968.”

“Er, I think I do remember, Poppa.  Weren’t they still then called the ‘International Stoke Mandeville Games’? And yeah, I‘m still deeply upset myself about what happened this year. If only I’d lasted a few more months, I’d have given Rogge such a hiding …”

“Oh, we wish! My belief is that finally it had little to do with widows, politicians or even the opinion of the Moslem world. I think Rogge simply didn’t want to give way. So he just dug his heels in and refused to budge.”

“Not good athletics, eh?”

Ha, ha! By the way, you were spot-on about the 1968 paralympics. The Israel Government offered to help as Mexico City – that year’s hosts -  felt it couldn't cope. Although everything felt strange, all went like clockwork at the Ramat Gan stadium near Tel Aviv.

Paralympic.Games.Israel.1968

“What’s more, Israel wanted to make the games part of its own 20th anniversary of Independence celebrations, so the Opening Ceremony was held at the Hebrew University stadium in the presence of the-then Deputy Prime Minister, Yigal Allon. More than 10,000 people turned up along with 750 athletes from 29 countries. It was a marvellous moment for me as Jew, a keen amateur fencer and of course, as a medical man.”

“Great days, Poppa. I was also then living life to the full  and you may know that one of my favourite boasts is that only a little later,  I found myself telling the entire Israeli Cabinet how to behave!”

“Yes, ‘young man’, I know about that! But now for some more serious business. Are you aware that the restless fidgets you’ve experienced are a metaphor for your less savoury activities on earth? Before you go further here and meet someone really important, you must start telling yourself the truth.”

Jimmy blushed. “You mean those stories about me and young girls? Or that the radio psychiatrist, Anthony Clare once said I had no real feelings? Both are unfair because they’re barely half-true.

“I’ll explain. I’m a fella who liked being the centre of attention in public but preferred his own company at home. The Duchess was the only one who understood. So I used  ladies – often young ones - for ‘animal warmth’.  Look how much society has changed since I was a youngster. At the time you began your work, the world regarded disability as shameful and the disabled as  second-class.

“In the same way, people living in community homes and such were often dismissed as rubbish to be used as we liked, even if we secretly knew it was wrong.  I couldn’t help myself. It was an addiction. So I took ice-cold showers. They weren’t enough. Then  came the charity work and the portering  stints at hospitals like yours and Broadmoor. People thought me weird. I was punishing myself. But mostly I ran - up hill, down dale - trying to banish the demons. Still  they stayed. Right to the end. Then I came here.”

“Very honest,” said Sir Ludwig. “But I think people ‘downstairs’ won’t consider that enough. So let’s take everything a step at a time.

“Now, if you fancy a break, there’s someone new here you might like to meet.”

“Wow!,” said Jimmy, feeling quite deliciously free. “If it’s Neil Armstrong,  I’d love to help him. After all, he’s made the biggest leap ever. But this time, just for himself!”

Natalie Wood

(Copyright, Natalie Irene Wood – 27 August 2012)

Friday 10 August 2012

‘Birds On A Wire; Songsmiths Unbound’

Remember the time you said you’d never heard of Leonard Cohen?

 Jerusalem.Woodstock.Revival.IV

(A remark much repeated with most horrid glee at every music festival between here and Galilee).

 

You made things worse by carolling, “Hallelujah! He’s probably never heard of me! Unless you mean Lenny Cohen from round the corner. The same Lenny who was chucked out of synagogue when the rabbi discovered his family could never have been from our Kingdom of Priests, as his mum had been a Reform convert who’d married at the Progressive congregation in town.”

Then when we went to Jerusalem’s own Woodstock,  you began all over again –  a doleful chorus, sadly out of tune.

All I’d said was, “Isn’t Maya Johanna Menachem sweet? She can’t stop dancing. She’s got happy, pretty feet – and keeps them naked – just like Sandie Shaw.”

“Don’t be silly!,” you retorted. “It’s just bloody hot here. Maya Wotsit Thingy  won’t know about Sandie Shaw. What’s more she’s probably never heard of …”

“Oh, for God’s sake! Shut up! Maya’s a consummate musician with an innate understanding of her art. She describes how lyrics have patterns; change shape, like poetry on the page. If she knows Donovan – the U.K.’s own Dylan - then she’ll ….” Maya Johanna Menachem.Shay Tochner

“Always have something there to remind her?”

“Very droll. Anyway, here’s tonight’s big challenge,” I crowed. “Maya’s only three – no, make that two – feet away from us on stage. If you want to understand things better, go, ask her yourself.”

Scaredy Cat! Of course you didn’t! So I had to explain everything in hurried whispers, between the songs. But you’re right. Donovan  seemed one hundred per cent obsessed by ‘yellow’. Something to do with banana skins and vibrators …

But Maya went much higher ( ‘Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre’ ), sang Bird On A Wire which she dedicated to Moshe Silman and other souls in ashes. This, I said, was the  reality of the new Woodstock. Remembering great music in Israel to make it holy. Not just an international political pariah; an unhappy place of social unrest.

Then you wised up.

“Is this why Cohen’s treated like some sort of  Jewish saint in Ireland?,” you asked.

“ I’ve been studying him - and the local population – very hard indeed. It’s odd how so many have a love-hate thing going with Jews and Israel. They’re fairly drenched in bible, understand the prayerful allusions in Cohen’s songs – and seem almost transfixed, nigh seduced  by his  tender ardour for the work of William Butler Yeats. Then, there’s everything else.”

“Not bad for you. I’m quite impressed. I never thought you’d get beyond Freddie and the Dreamers.”

“You know how to hurt a guy,” you said, pulling me towards you.

“But there are times, even now, when I can make him feel rather good. What, for instance, would you say to a nice cuppa tea?”

---------------

*Maya Johanna Menachem appeared last weekend with guitarist, Shay Tochner and Maya Johanna Menachem.Shay Tochner.02violinist Yonatan Miller, at the WOMINI (World Music & Arts Institute of Northern Israel) studios in Shorashim, near Karmiel, Galilee. This picture was taken  by Yishay Sklare at the Kraft stadium, Jerusalem.

Natalie Wood

(Copyright, Natalie Irene Wood – 10 August 2012)

‘Grilled in Burgas’

It was ninety degrees in the shade. But Eli Lobel couldn’t stop shivering.

 

 “Look at me,” he demanded as he and his wife, Anelie, waited for the plane from Bulgaria to arrive. “I’m not a religious man – and I’m not superstitious. But that string of nasty coincidences is giving me the shakes.”

 

“Maybe it’s something you’ve eaten. I’m not keen on the shawarma place  where you and Yossi like to nosh.”

“This not about food. It’s what happened last month – and because we’re here at Ben Gurion Airport waiting for our boys to return from Burgas.”

The Lobels’ sons, Natan and Izzi had insisted on going ahead with a long-planned trip to Bulgaria despite what had just happened to other Israelis there.

“I won’t be happy until I see our boys come through customs,” continued Eli.

“Nearly every day we hear about modern versions of the ancient tragedies we are supposed to remember at this time of year.

Burgas.Coffins.Explosion.Victims“O.K., we no longer  have a temple to be destroyed. Instead, we’ve had two desperate people burn themselves to death – and several more try.  Then just as we learned about the terrorist murders at Burgas, the news stations began reporting the death of the Torah sage, Rabbi Yosef Elyashiv.  They say he left one thousand descendants. I don’t suppose any of them will ever visit former Nazi Europe on a pleasure trip.

“I’m telling you, Anelie, our boys have the whole world to explore – they didn’t have to go to Bulgaria. Remember what my father always said?”

 “Wow, that’s a long speech. You don’t usually say that much all week! I know you’ve never been happy about Israelis visiting Bulgaria after the effort your family made to come here in the 50s. And yes, I know your father made you promise you’d never go back. But that was then and this is now. Anyway, it’s said that compared to most of Europe, Bulgaria treated its Jews well during the Holocaust.”

 

”That’s not entirely true. Do you also  remember what we read when we took our London cousins to the Ghetto Fighters House Museum in the Galilee?”

“That was quite a while ago but I do remember their visit. Your Dad was still alive and the little one – Alex – made him laugh by calling him ‘Great Uncle Bulgaria’ after a character in a British children’s TV show.”

Eli grinned despite himself. Great.Uncle.Bulgaria

“But I’m making a serious point here. The popular – I consider - fanciful - version of events implies that the Bulgarian nation led by Czar Boris rose almost as one to save the Jewish community. While German-allied Bulgaria did not deport its Jews, it did institute the usual anti-Jewish laws restricting all normal activity.

“But much worse was that it also deported about 11,000 Jews from annexed territories in Macedonia and Thrace. They mostly perished at the Treblinka death camp.

“However the historians see it, I insist that we Jews in Bulgaria ‘proper’ were  – well, bartered - for those in the other territories. Far worse for me was that I never found out what happened to my dear boyhood friend, Manny who had been in Thrace looking for work just before the war broke out. I’m left to  guess that he was swept up with  the mass of non-Bulgarian Jews who were captured and then deported. I try not to think about it and then, during a restless night –"

Eli’s reverie was cut short as Anelie glimpsed their boys strolling towards them.

“Hi, you two! You must have been busy. No time even to send us a picture or call us on Skype?”

“Sorry, Mum. Don’t be too annoyed. We have been busy – you won’t guess how …” said Izzi.

“We only spent a couple of days at Burgas. Y’know I’m not much good at grilling myself in the sun so we hired a car and …”

“Yeah,” added Natan, helping his brother to stash their bags into the boot, “as you’ve told us so much about Sofia, Dad, we decided to visit  the city and surprise you with some great pictures.”

“But we got the shock – huge!” said Izzi.

Sofia.Synagogue“When we arrived at the  main synagogue, we managed to make ourselves understood to the security guard using a mixture of Hebrew and the little ‘Djudezmo’  you’ve taught us.

“But the guy  – about your age, Dad – and a little like you and me in shape - kept looking at us very hard. Then he gazed at me even more closely,” said Natan.

“’My Hebrew is not good,’ he said. ‘But I want to say that my name is Manny Ishakh and with your build - silky hair - high forehead  - square jaw - you’re a perfect replica of my closest boyhood friend – my dear Eli Lobel and …’”

“You’ve got his picture?”

“’Don’t be silly, Dad! We’ve also got addresses - phone numbers – everything …

“But there’s more. Manny got really emotional. We became quite embarrassed. He kept pumping my hand,  stroked my arm – then realising my discomfort - backed off, apologised and invited us to his home. So using our touring schedule as an excuse, we said ‘no’, but of course promised to make sure you’d contact him.”

“We guess he’s very lonely,” added Izzi. He told us he’d never married and we suspect he doesn’t have much money.”

Eli and Anelie exchanged looks.

“Maybe I’ll call him when we get home,” said Eli slowly. “But it’s going to be a painful business.”

“Tell you what,” cut in  Izzi.   “I didn’t eat on the flight and   I’m starving! As we’ve got some spending money left, maybe we could talk about this at the nearest Burgus Burger Bar?”

“How sweet!,” said his mother. “It’ll make up for not hearing from you for ten days.”

“Sounds good to me,”  added Eli, suddenly feeling as light as air. Let’s go and eat!” Burgus.Burger.Bar

 

 

Natalie Wood

(Copyright, Natalie Irene Wood – 10 August 2012)