Attended the shiva tonight of the last surviving sibling of my beloved departed grandfather Sydney Greenstreet Sherbourne. Uncle Mick, otherwise known as Michael Sherbourne ha-Levi. My grandfather was more of a Jimmy Stewart to Micks Harry Bailey. He was a quiet man whose dreams were subordinated to his younger brothers. Worked in Radar during the war, and afterwards sold whippersnappers car aerials from his electronics shop. He was a carpenter and liked a spot of calligraphy. We have a table or two that he made, and some illustrated copies of the Desiderata. Their youngest brother was Cyril, a part-time teacher, and the third brother, Louis, who didnt have any progeny in the end, was a diplomat for HMG stationed in Brazzaville, Honduras (Tegucigalpa I presume), Managua, Mexico City and San Francisco. His first posting was Brazzaville. My mother asked him to bring her back a monkey, but a picture of a primate on a postcard had to suffice. Louis was captured by the Germans at Dunkirk in 1940. He was set to work as a translator for the censor at his P.O.W. camp. One day, Louis was shocked to be left alone with the mail. There was a letter addressed to him at the top of the pile. Out of instinct he opened it. It was a letter from some relatives in America commiserating with him that a nice Jewish boy had been captured by the Nazis. They were evidently the official registered brains trust branch of the family. Louis stuffed the letter into his mouth and the censor, whoever he was, I suppose that right there is an example of the romantic saying that whoever saves one life, it is as if he saves the world entire. Martha Benjamin was the name of Sydney, Mick, Louis and Cyrils mother. She was of Sephardic origin and through her I have a line of residence in Britain going back to the time of the re-admission of the Jews in the seventeenth century. Martha died two days before her hundredth birthday, and was buried two days after she died. We received a letter of condolence from the Palace instead of a centennial congratulatory telegram. I think that I only met Michael three times, and pretty much the same for Louis. Maybe once or twice more for Cyril. The last time I met Michael was on February 16th this year. When reading his obituary and reflecting on the self-effacing nature of heroism, the words of Gad Beck come to mind. The Americans in New York called me a great hero. But I said no. Im really a little hero. I didnt spend too much time with Michael on that Sunday in February because my brother-in-law Jason had sorted me out with a ticket in with the Mickey Mousers for their FA Cup match at the Arsenal. But I did stay long enough to meet Michaels daughter Nor(m)a who lives abroad; and I did elicit a decisive answer to the question of just what it was that drove Michael to help those untold numbers of people when nobody else would. It was Louis Renault. https://vimeo/98871010
Posted on: Wed, 25 Jun 2014 21:38:59 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015