Chapter 3 — My First Visit
The journey begins
Catch up on previous chapters
For as long as I can remember it was always my fervent hope that one day I should be able to settle, with my family, in the Holy Land. And it was in January 1920, that I took the first step.
I was 35 years of age, full of vigour, and burning with zeal for the Zionist cause.
At the time I was in partnership with my brother Aleck and it was with his agreement that I found it possible to embark on my adventure.
I bought woodworking machines with which to set up a cabinet-making business in Palestine, together with a petrol engine to operate them, earth closets such as are used here, in England, where there is no main drainage and many other items of equipment.
We had everything delivered to Kingsland Road, where we packed it for shipment and made the necessary shipping arrangements.
And so it was on 17th January that I said to my dear wife “I am going to book my tickets today,” and I set off for the travel agency.
It was in Cook’s office in Bloomsbury that I made all the arrangements and whilst I was there I fell into conversation with a Mr Gardner, who asked if I was going to Palestine.
He said that he was, and so we decided to travel together. I felt it would be nice to have company on the journey, which in those days was a very considerable undertaking, especially to one who had never been out of England before.
Until then, my travels consisted of delivering furniture by horse-drawn van, although now that I look back, I covered a lot of England on my journeys!
Mr Gardner took me round to meet his brother, who lived in Philpot Street. Whilst my new companion was out of the room for a short period, and in conversation with his brother, I learned that Gardner was married with children.
His brother knew that he was going to Palestine on business, but didn’t know what kind of business. When we parted that day it was arranged that Mr Gardner would buy train tickets for both of us, for the first stage of our journey from London to Dover.
On the fateful morning, the whole of my family came with me to Victoria to see me off. As departure time drew nearer, I began to get worried about Gardner’s failure to turn up, especially as he had my ticket. Finally, when there were only a few minutes to go, and I had sent someone to buy me another ticket, he came rushing up.
In the panic I didn’t, despite all the build-up of excitement and anxiety, say farewell to my family when we left Victoria, which is one of the things for which I have never forgiven Gardner.
I asked him why he was so late, but he snapped my head off, and all I could learn was that he was hungry and had eaten nothing.
So I offered him some of the sandwiches that my wife had prepared for my journey, and he attacked them like a starving animal. I do remember that it was foggy that morning, and the engine was whistling almost all the way to Canterbury?
From then on to Dover it was clear and bright.
After Customs and Passport inspection, we went aboard the Channel boat, and Gardner wolfed the rest of my sandwiches. We had a good smooth crossing and in little more than an hour, we disembarked at Calais and boarded the train which was to take us on to Paris, where we had to change.
We sat in opposite corner seats, and it was not difficult to see from his eyes and his manner that my travelling companion was a very troubled man.
I asked him what was wrong, and tried to cheer him up, pointing out that we were, after all, on the way to our beloved Palestine, but the way he looked at me, and his surly answers, decided me to dispense with his company at the earliest opportunity.
Our journey from Calais passed through some lovely country, although it was not long after World War I and there was a good deal of devastation to be seen in places, with war debris littering what must have been battlefields.
After a stop of half an hour at one station which was badly battered by shell-fire, we finally completed the journey to Paris, arriving just before nine at night.
I found a courier on the platform, wearing the familiar Cooks’ cap, and when I found he could speak English, I asked him about our train for Italy.
To my dismay, he couldn’t tell me anything except that a railway strike had started in France, and the only way to find out was to go to Cooks’ office the next morning. When I gave this news to Gardner he ridiculed it, but I told him to ask the courier for himself, which he did, and seemed a little sorry for his behaviour.
I wasn’t very pleased with the prospect of having to spend the night in Paris, but Gardner said that he expected it, and had booked, whilst in London, at the Grand Hotel.
When we arrived there, it was to learn that they had no accommodation, as a consequence of the railway strike, and other people finding rooms.
We had quite a job finding another hotel room, but eventually, we did, in a suburb, or so it seemed to me, and I was glad to get to bed.
The following morning, after I washed, I put on my Tallis and Tefillin to say morning prayers. When Gardner looked at me he said “You’re not for Palestine, they don’t say prayers there!”
I told him to mind his own business and to be a little more civil.
Later we set off for Cooks’ office to make enquiries about our onward journey to Italy. It took us a good hour to get there because the hotel was a rather long way from the centre of Paris.
To my horror, it turned out that no trains were leaving Paris for Italy that day, and that it wouldn’t have made any difference if there had been, because we had missed the ship, which had already sailed from Taranto.
Since the ships only sailed fortnightly, I realised that I was going to be stuck in Paris for two weeks, until the next sailing. I didn’t find the hotel at which we had spent the night to my liking and wanted to change, but it suited Gardner, and he refused to move to another.
I didn’t know my way to Cooks’ because we had previously gone together, and I couldn’t converse in French with the hotel porters, so whilst Gardner was out I took a taxi to the Cooks’ office and asked for directions to the Jewish quarter.
When I finally found my way there, it reminded me a great deal of the East End of London.
I went into a shop with Hebrew books in the window, feeling that the bookseller would be able to guide me. I went in and told him my story, how I was going to have to stay in Paris for two weeks, and wanted to be amongst Jewish people and have kosher food.
He asked me where I had stayed last night, and when I gave him the hotel card I had picked up at the reception desk he seemed shocked at the address! I don’t remember after all these years where it was but, apparently, it was not the place for a respectable Jew!
I asked him what I could do, pointing out that Gardner had booked the room for both of us, that he held the receipt, and that I couldn’t speak a word of French.
Mr Samuels very kindly called his son, who returned with me to the hotel in a taxi and spoke to the Manager, explaining that Mr Davis wanted to pay his own bill and leave.
There was some argument, but finally, they agreed to release my luggage, and young Mr Samuels took me back to his father. I had a very nice meal with them, and they wanted me to eat with them for the whole of the fortnight, but I couldn’t agree to that.
They booked a room for me at a hotel nearby, and they did insist that I have meals with them on Shabbos.
Thus it was that I was free of Gardner all the time I was in Paris.
The Samuels were very nice to me, and their son took me around and showed me a great deal of Paris. One Shabbos he took me to the Rothschild Synagogue, which is very beautiful, with everything ornately carved and gilded. I have never seen so much gold and silver in a Synagogue, it was more beautiful than I can describe.
For all that, I thanked God when I was finally able to leave Paris, and Mr Samuels saw me off at the station.
To be continued
You can listen to episode 3 of the podcast here:
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