This is Leicestershire -- During the Second World War a four-year-old Jewish boy was evacuated 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 returned 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, 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. "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 wartime 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 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 tremendous 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 property 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 football 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 remember being too scared to go in the paddling pool. "There was one occasion when we were both punished and quite rightly, too, because there was a wash basin on one of the floors on the landing. We decided 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 kitchen. 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.""I remember there was an American soldier, a Jewish guy, who visited the family and took me out for the day. I remember going up to a grassy area, like the Downs. I just remember being with him, he was in uniform, and it was around the time of the Normandy landings. I don't know what happened to him or what his name was. "There was another friend of the family. I just loved the time he was there, he was such a kind person and he used to dance with me. I'd put my feet on his feet. I always looked forward to seeing him, I knew it would be fun when he came. What do you call it when you fold paper? Origami, that's right. He would do that. "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 mother 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 David. There were his parents, Jack and Priscilla, who everyone called Pet. 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 forgotten 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. "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 stairwell with the buzz bombs coming over and I remember seeing a German plane with the Prussian cross on the underside 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 responded. 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 Transatlantic 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."
Reported by This is 22 hours ago.
This is Leicestershire -- During the Second World War a four-year-old Jewish boy was evacuated 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 returned 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, 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. "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 wartime 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 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 tremendous 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 property 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 football 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 remember being too scared to go in the paddling pool. "There was one occasion when we were both punished and quite rightly, too, because there was a wash basin on one of the floors on the landing. We decided 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 kitchen. 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.""I remember there was an American soldier, a Jewish guy, who visited the family and took me out for the day. I remember going up to a grassy area, like the Downs. I just remember being with him, he was in uniform, and it was around the time of the Normandy landings. I don't know what happened to him or what his name was. "There was another friend of the family. I just loved the time he was there, he was such a kind person and he used to dance with me. I'd put my feet on his feet. I always looked forward to seeing him, I knew it would be fun when he came. What do you call it when you fold paper? Origami, that's right. He would do that. "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 mother 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 David. There were his parents, Jack and Priscilla, who everyone called Pet. 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 forgotten 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. "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 stairwell with the buzz bombs coming over and I remember seeing a German plane with the Prussian cross on the underside 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 responded. 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 Transatlantic 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."
Reported by This is 22 hours ago.