Binder2

This Is Us!
Copyright ©
Sheila Deitch and Corinne Deitch 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or
transmitted in any form or by any means graphic, electronic, or mechanical including
photocopying, recording, taping or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the authors.
The authors would like to acknowledge that some dates, times and locations in this memoir may
not be entirely accurate and they apologize.
©ozyright
Corinne’s bank account number is: 890 7982. Just kidding that’s our phone number from
Manchester.
If this book should gain any beneficial profits then the proceeds belong to Sheila Deitch and
Corinne Deitch. If they are no longer with us then profits must be distributed evenly between
Sheila’s grandchildren: Jonathan Deitch, Samantha Deitch, Kelly Deitch, Mor Deitch, Daniel
Deitch, Tom Deitch, Ron Deitch, Guy Deitch, Ofek Deitch and Omer Deitch.
* All the grandchildren’s phone numbers are at the back of this book.
1

This Is Us!
Acknowledgements
This book is dedicated to Dorit Edlestein –Deitch
for the simple reason that without her persistence,
these stories would never have been written down.
Thank you Dorit!
(Sheila)
I (Coz) would like to dedicate this collection of anecdotes to all the members of
the family that became a Deitch in marriage and those who are currently partnered
or even remotely related to any Deitch family member. I offer this book as
“The Deitch Survival Manual.”
If you have managed to survive till now then this book may help you understand
why we are the way we are - This is us!
2

This Is Us!
Contents
Introduction ........................................................................................................................ 4
Preface / Prologue .............................................................................................................. 5
Sheila introduces the story makers ................................................................................... 12
What’s In A Name ........................................................................................................... 20
A Grave Situation .............................................................................................................. 21
The Name Of The Game Is ............................................................................................... 22
The Grand Old Duke Of York ......................................................................................... 23
The Eifel Tower ................................................................................................................ 24
Rocket Man ....................................................................................................................... 25
Stick In The Mud ................................................................................................................. 26
Black Eye .......................................................................................................................... 30
Curiosity Did Not Kill The Cat .......................................................................................... 31
Shirley Temple Tap Dancing Shoes ................................................................................. 32
Tap Dancing Shoes -Part Two ........................................................................................ 33
Cat-Astrophic ..................................................................................................................... 33
The Apple and Orange Of One’s Eye ................................................................................. 34
Where There’s A Will There’s A Milky Way and Mars Bars ........................................... 36
Gleaming Healthy Hair & Shiny Teeth ............................................................................. 37
“A Dogs Breakfast” ........................................................................................................... 39
Private Lenny Saves The Day On A Shoestring ............................................................... 40
Another short animal story ........................................................................................ 41
On A mission form God .................................................................................................... 42
Animals Are Great – Hierarchy & Sheila’s Family Tree ................................................... 44
Undercover - Code Red ……………................................................................................. 46
Mum Was Gutted ............................................................................................................... 47
Typically and Famously Broken .......................................................................................... 49
Winnie The Pooh Adventures ............................................................................................. 51
A Wee Bit Pissed Off ........................................................................................................ 53
Eau de Toilette ................................................................................................................... 53
L'eau Dans Le Camp .......................................................................................................... 53
Automatic Plumber ........................................................................................................... 54
Camping from Manchester to the Middle East .................................................................... 54
Next Chapter...Land of Milk and Honey ............................................................................ 64
Gail took the saying “land of milk and honey” a bit too literally ...................................... 66
Coz and Ray at school: Television Time ....................................................................... 67
Jaffa Orange ....................................................................................................................... 67
Aeroplane ......................................................................................................................... 68
Still Laughing At Life. Damn You Saddam Hussein ......................................................... 71
In Our DNA To Be Suspicious ......................................................................................... 72
sometimes things get blown out of all proportion ............................................................. 73
Life Is A Funny Old Thing ................................................................................................. 75
Travelling is No Picnic - A day out for the “Oldies” ..................................................... 75
Forty Four Years Later .................................................................................................. 77
Grandma Winston’s Tea and Grandpa’s Whiskey ............................................................... 79
Safekeeping ...................................................................................................................... 83
Red Chair .......................................................................................................................... 83
Deitchonary ......................................................................................................................... 85
Epilogue .............................................................................................................................. 86
3

Introduction
Sitting round the table, eating, chatting, and reminiscing has always been our way of meeting
members of our family from time to time. On birthdays or festivals, we “catch up” on news,
activities, trips and of course “family gossip”. I am sure many other families go through the same
routine, which brings a lot of pleasure to the participants. Like us, they recall and re-tell stories
from the past that, in real time, may have been funny, but probably more likely to have caused
annoyance, anger or even distress. Yet now, in retrospect, we tend only to see the funny side.
“It’s always funny until someone gets hurt. Then it’s hilarious”. - Bill Hicks, American stand-up
comedian, social critic, satirist and musician.
What I am not sure about is, are we alone, or do other families share, the uncontrollable laughter
that accompanies much of this repetition? As the tales unfold, we collapse into laughter around the
table, tears streaming down our faces and holding on to our stomachs from the pain of laughing.
Why is it that if someone tells a well-known joke everyone says, “Oh! Not that one again. Hear it”
Next one!” Yet this does not happen during our family story-time.
I used to think it was a bit embarrassing laughing out loud about our family’s ‘dirty washing’ and
at our own bad behavior and ”political incorrectness” as expressed in today’s terminology.
Recently however, my grandson Guy commented “some things that happen or are said in our
family would be considered crazy by other people – but in the Deitch family, they are just normal,
the way it is and the way we are”. Compared to other families I think we may have more events
that cause these outbursts of hilarity than in the average family”. And yes, I do think there is a
quirkiness and uniqueness in the way some of the members of the family run their lives. That is
why I decided to take the plunge and do what my daughter- in- law, Dorit, has been insisting for a
long time, that these stories must be written into a book. I must admit I was skeptical at first
because I thought who would be interested in what may seem like a set of stupid pathetic stories
about people they had never known and would they really find them funny anyway? After all
humour, just like language, changes over time. Then I thought about how literature is full of
diaries, biographies autobiographies historical chronicles and family memoirs. So we would be
adding to that rich valuable, literary genre.
In conclusion I would like to pose the question: what is it that causes this spontaneous laughter?
One reason for the enjoyment of this particular story telling might be the nostalgia it initiates. A
general definition of nostalgia is: “a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time
in one’s life, to one’s home or homeland, or to one’s family and friends; a sentimental yearning
for the happiness of a former place or time” Perhaps for this reason, in spite of all the trials and
tribulations of child rearing and the struggles and challenges of life in general, humour softens the
journey by emphasizing the positive side of life: fun, happiness, a feeling of well-being and good
health. Thus, for that reason, in my opinion, the following collection of Deitch vignettes is worth
documenting for our family- the children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, as well as the
generations to come and anyone else who might be interested. I hope they will enjoy reading the
tales of their ancestors and also the brief history of our roots, which made the current generation
who they are today.
Sheila Deitch born
15/3/1938. photo taken in
the mid 70’s when she was
an infant school teacher.
Left: Sheila 2018 aged 80. Right: Sheila with her favorite children,
Sooty, Henry and Sandy photo take in Tel Aviv approximately in
2016.
4

Preface / Prologue
“A preface or prologue is the section included in the front matter of a book. This is the author’s
chance to speak directly to the readers about why they wrote the book, what it's about, and why
it's important to them.” Google Search.
This book is co-written by Sheila Deitch and Corinne Deitch and Gerry Deitch has done the
illustrations. The following email quoted from Sheila to the family is how this project started:
“Hi everyone I have to tell you all about a project that Dorit keeps telling me must be done, that
is, writing up all the stories we tell around the table about antics (clowning) that Deitch children
and the adults seem to be good at and there are already two generations of them. So, having heard
Dorit’s request umpteen times, I decided to put pen to paper and begin. Please send your title
suggestions and of course your cooperation will be needed as I write the stories for other versions
as there is more than one version of a story. As Guy pointed out recently when I was telling the
story about how we lost him in the natural science museum, there was of course a discrepancy
between Gerry’s version and Guys version.
Regards, Sheila
We don’t have the exact time stamp on this but I would say it was sent about four or five years
ago perhaps in 2014. Since then I have completed a Master degree in Art Therapy. During my
studies, we were constantly reminded to ask questions and wonder about the meaning behind why
we do stuff the way we do it, such as choosing creating and making. This got me wondering what
it was that stimulated us to write this book and why was it so important for us to do so other than
Dorit’s persistence. I came to the conclusion that we are not only preserving our family history
and legacy, but we have an obligation to give an in depth meaningful rationale to the book. I
believe the urge stems from our individual childhood backgrounds, our upbringings and our
personal life events as Sheila describes, how some of these have influenced our temperaments and
personalities. Let’s not forget though that hereditary and genes have a part to play as I mention
below. We have all heard the saying ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ or 'there's more to this
than meets the eye'. Throughout my study time I had these expressions drilled into my thought
processes. So without going into too much Freudian Psychology but as a result of lot of pondering
on my part, if you are intrigued to know more about us and why we are the way we are, continue
to read the following “spiel”.
I understand that some of the Deitch mob doesn’t like reading much, especially long drawn out
texts such as the one below. I am happy to say it is a small number of family members who do
have this Deitch ‘gone wrong’ gene running in their blood, you know who you are, so you can
skip this part if you like and come back to it later. However, it is an important part of our story of
who we are and why we are the way we are.
Sheila’s World
Sheila was a very popular, out going and friendly young girl who grew up in Leeds with her
parents Sam and Betty Winston (formally Wineberg, more about the name Winston in later
stories). Betty and Sam both were born in England to Russian migrants. This made Sheila the
second generation to be born in England. Although she has had no siblings alive during her
lifetime, she is Betty and Sam’s second child and was born on March 15th 1938, ten years after
the traumatic death from diphtheria of Sam and Betty’s first child, a baby girl, called Audrey. She
was born in January 1930 and died in September 1930. It is awful for any parent to lose their
child, possibly as a result, this caused Betty to suffer from depression. She suffered with mental
health issues throughout her life. Perhaps it was a genetic disorder or as a result of the trauma or a
5

combination. Her condition prevented her from socializing with the large extended family on her
side as well as Sam’s side. Betty was one of eleven children in the Lipsidge family (Betty’s
maiden name). She even had a twin brother but was never friendly with him. Unfortunately, she
wouldn’t or couldn’t face her family for the most part of Sheila’s childhood. Evidently Betty’s
misfortune caused exclusion from a lot of family gatherings, Sheila, missed out on many family
interactions causing a sense of loss of family closeness for her. However Sam was Sheila’s rock,
always there for her and they had a great relationship because they were similar in personality.
Sam had eight siblings and he was a shining star for them too. He was a kind hearted, charismatic
man and successfully built a business, in the centre of Leeds called “Sam’s Snack Bar! This was
something else that Betty didn’t approve of, yet it gave her a very comfortable life. He was a man
who sought to find the positive in everything including trying to cheer Betty up by sending her on
holidays to Blackpool. He treated her to nice things and was very generous. All he ever wanted
was to be surrounded by people and family. He enjoyed their company and he cared about his
siblings and his parents by visiting them and also helped them financially. He travelled regularly
to Swansea in Wales to visit his elder brother Maurice and his family even though it was a 13-hour
train journey from Leeds in the 1950’s. Yet again Sheila was prevented from visiting Sam’s
family as much as he would have liked to take Sheila with him, however Betty disapproved.
Swansea was a place that had unhappy and somewhat frightening memories for Betty because
Audrey died there and is buried there. Sam and Betty had gone to Swansea for a wedding and the
photo of Audrey was taken at that time probably a short time before she died. Unfortunately
Betty’s association with Swansea and the large Wineberg family who lived there were a constant
reminder of her terrible loss and consequently making her “overprotective” of Sheila.
Coincidently, Betty’s sister Hetty married one of Sam’s siblings Archie - evidence both families
enjoyed each other’s company before Betty fell into depression. Mental illness is overwhelming
and hard for those who suffer from it and try to overcome it. Unfortunately it can be
overwhelming and hard for other family members too.
The impact of all this on Sheila’s childhood meant she grew up in a quiet and somewhat lonely
household. She relied on her outgoing personality and became a “social butterfly”- a slang term
for a person who is socially dynamic, networking, charismatic and personally gregarious. She
created close friendships that have lasted throughout her life. When Sheila married and started her
own family, she made a commitment to carry out two things. One was to reconnect with some
family members and learn more about them and their lives thus staying connected with the family
she had “lost” as a youngster. Second, Sheila would be the exact opposite of her mother. She
would have a large family and was determined to change things. She and Gerry had four children
in five years!! She left the past of a “[L]only childhood syndrome” behind. I would say, writing
this book for Sheila is her way of keeping her legacy alive, it is her way of staying connected to
family ties. This book will keep us connected amongst ourselves and especially to our roots. The
past became the foundation of doing things very differently for Sheila, Her immediate family
might not be exactly what she had planned, perhaps somewhat louder and more boisterous than
expected, but nonetheless - this is how we became us!
Gerry’s world
One day I had to do an assignment for the Counseling Unit at University. The assignment was
called “The Family Genogram.” I was required to collect information going back 3
generations about family stories and find out what sort of things might have been generated from
their past [hi]stories. The purpose was to find out more about trends, actions and personalities
through the generations that have similarities or differences to me and discover how people
followed or broke away from trends including myself. In other words I had to track what it was in
the family history that has made me into who I am today. Sheila’s story is a great example of this,
how she changed her attitude and turned her own life around as a consequence to how she grew up
with an unsociable mother.
6

This assignment forced me to learn more than ever before about Gerry’s world. Grandma Deitch
(Celia) was Gerry’s mum and although we grew up most of our lives living with Grandma Deitch,
we knew very little about her family. There was no mention of her husband, there was always a
vague story floating around how he ‘ran off with another woman’ or he left the family stranded in
bankruptcy and was never to be seen or heard of again. Gerry’s sister Zena was also estranged
from the family and it was never spoken about. We had only seen pictures of her but had never
met her and never knew why she was ‘not part’ of the family. We always assumed it was because
she had married out of Judaism to a Christian. Since the Genogram days I have heard dribs and
drabs of Deitch history, all strange and weird and not conclusive. I heard Zena was sent to a
Catholic school as a child because they offered a good education. I couldn’t help but wonder how
odd that the family put her in a situation with double standards. She can go to Catholic school but
she can‘t marry a Christian. Our Ray was traveling to England in 2016 and tried to reconnect with
Zena after all these years but she declined to meet him and frankly I can’t blame her! I discovered
Gerry’s father, Jacob was a carpenter, and he made furniture. This came as a shock to me because
prior to going to University, I decided, for the first time, to delve into making something out of
used wooden pallets. I ended up making a cabinet! This is just a thought for you to delve into as
well. Have you ever done any woodwork or made something and wondered how did I know how
to do that? I always thought our family structure was the same as Gerry’s, Three older boys, Cecil,
Gerry and Norman and the youngest a sister Zena. Just to confuse things, I was wrong. There is
another untold story of a boy called Roy who was born before Cecil. Roy was either born with a
mental or physical disability, possibly both. From a genogram perspective these are important
facts that help future generations know their hereditary genetics however unfortunate they may
be. We do not have a concrete story here, but the story we heard vaguely was that Roy was
dropped as a baby, therefore he had a disability, and we believe he grew up in an institution but
know nothing about his life or death and how long he lived. We do not know who and, if ever, he
was visited or in contact with the family at all.
These disconnections and interrupted relationships indicate why Gerry would be interested in a
permanent form and concrete way of documenting stories for our family and hereafter. Gerry will
literally be illustrating the Deitch shenanigans in our life stories. I did not perform very well on the
Genogram assignment because at the time I didn’t understand the extent of it. If only Penny my
lecturer could see me now ... she would be delighted to see how that assignment planted the seed
for me to write this preface. Gerry decided to leave England at the age of 39 taking his wife Sheila
and their children Leonard, Martin, Raymond and Corinne with him to do the Zionist deed
and ‘Make Alia’, that is immigrate to Israel. The characteristics of emigrating back in 1975 before
the world “got smaller” with technology, meant the remaining family and friends in England were
left behind and we became quite isolated, remote and somewhat estranged once again from the
family.
Corinne’s World
I was born in England, making me the third generation to be born in England. Just before I turned
11 years old I immigrated to Israel with my family in September 1975. Being so young this was a
choice made for me; I was uprooted from my short-lived English life and plonked into a new
world. I am not sure exactly how this was explained to me but I do remember something that
caught my ear “you only go to school for half a day” dad said. I was delighted at this, as I wasn’t a
good pupil and didn’t like school, I thought this was a good exchange rate and was encouraged
about the move to Israel. I must have miscalculated the part where you only get “one day for your
weekend” instead of two! Mathematics has never been my strong point, and I don’t think I ever
got used to a 6-day week instead of 5 days. Even years later it felt as though I had ‘pulled the short
straw’, feeling betrayed, while the rest of the world lives with Sunday off as well as Saturday. My
world had turned upside-down. I had left behind toys, places like the “muddy-way”, friends, pets
and neighbours. I traded it all in for new friends, new adventures and a new language. I was
7

heading off to a new life and I swapped the reality with a fantasy based on a TV show called ‘The
Swiss Family Robinson”, adapted from the classic book by Johann, D Wyss. I loved this program
on TV. It was all about the adventures of a family with four young sons who became shipwrecked
on an unexplored tropical island. My favorite part was that they lived up high in the treetops in a
tree house, and the boys were home schooled on the beach. I fantasized my family was going to be
similar and we too would live by the sea go to school in ripped shorts ready to dive into the water
till sunset, just like the Robinsons. I daydreamed about a carefree lifestyle without any homework
and I was excited about how I would even go to school on a donkey!!
At such a young age I did not take much notice of what an impact it could have on me moving to
Israel. It is only in recent years since I immigrated to Australia did I realize I had packed up my
life into 5 boxes, with only the bare essentials and had them shipped to a new land and my new
life. This is a trend I inherited from Gerry; take note of this if you ever need to do a genogram
yourself one day. Every time you move you leave “stuff” behind and you are left with mostly
memories. I have relocated many times to different cities homes and schools, each time this means
I have left a part of myself behind. It is important to have these memories finally put in a safe
place and bring back to life some of my lost [hi]stories.
I have now been living in Australia for 14 years. Unlike the rest of my family I don’t have
children of my own who would inherit my attributes and stories. Therefore, the significance for
me to write this book is to pass down my legacy or, at the very least, these skillful writing genes to
other little ‘Cozalike’ Deitches who will come along in future generations.
Definition of Haiku: a traditional Japanese Haiku is a three-line poem written in a 5/7/5 syllable
count.
Why We Write You Ask?
Safe place to put stuff
Safeguard for others to read
To keep and preserve.
Coz graduating with a
Masters from Western
Sydney University, 12 th
April 2017.
8

From left to right: Jacob Deitch, (Gerry’s father, this is the only picture we grew up knowing what he looks
like) Celia Deitch, Gerry, Sheila, Betty and Sam Winston.
Audrey, Sam and Betty’s baby girl before Sheila was born.
Audrey died in Swansea I would think not long after the
photo was taken - they had gone for a wedding there and
she is buried there Sheila’s mother Betty would never have
anything to do with the family in Swansea and of course
never ever went there.
From left to right: Bobbi & Zaide Lipsidge, Bobbi & Zaide
Wineberg. Four generations; Louis Lipsidge, Betty Winston (nee
Lipsidge) Sheila Deitch (nee Winston) Leonard Paul Winston
Deitch
9

North Pier Blackpool Summer
1946 Sheila aged 8. Below:
North Pier Blackpool Summer
1949 Sheila aged 11 with new
Allerton High School blazer
Top Right: Sheila and Sam at
Hinda (Wineberg) and Joe
Bolson ‘s wedding in Glasgow
about 1950. Below Gerry and
Cecil approximately 1950.
left to right: Mavis Addleman , Anita Levison (the picture is taken in her garden at her Bat MItvah party)
Sheila Winston , Maureen Wood , Valerie Cooke, Sandra 10 Gilston, and Linda Burton

Gerry aged 12 or 13 and Cecil taken in 1950.
Wedding photo of Deitchs. Zena above
Sheila, Norman to Zenas right, Celia above
Zena, Jacob Gerry’s father top row on the left.
In the top hats: Left to right: Gerry, Cecil,
Norman.
Right photo: Gerry, Zena, Norman.
11

Sheila Introduces the Story Makers
The stories that follow began in January 1960. That is when my first son, Leonard was born. His
brother Martin followed in 1961 and another brother, Raymond in 1963 and finally a sister,
Corinne in 1964. So these first stories revolve around my life with my four children, together of
course with their dad, Gerry. It doesn’t take much imagination to picture any day in the Deitch
household from 1960 until they finally “flew the nest”. It was noisy, full of activity and most of
the time an utter mess. Clothes toys, books and plates with dried up left -over food were all
scattered around the house and for some reason that I never understood the rule was that
everything must be on the floor.
So, without the benefits of social media and Google Search that permeates many people’s lives
today, life for a young mum in her twenties in the 1960’s was very much a private unfamiliar and
most of the time a hair- raising experience. The saying goes that “nobody knows what goes on
behind closed doors” but I can tell you behind our doors, a lot of the time there was absolute
pandemonium. And, yes I take the blame. It was my fault because I hadn’t a clue. Raising
children seemed to be a twenty-four – seven hit and miss activity and if there were any rules on
how to make a decent job of it, I wasn’t privy to them. If only I had had the smallest inkling of
what child development consisted of, I could have saved myself a lot of grief. But who would
think in their wildest dreams that such a small sweet baby could turn into a bigger bundle of agro.
And not only that – each had its own special brand of agro.
Recently, whilst helping Corinne with her studies toward a Masters in Art Therapy I have become
privy to the knowledge I should have had all those years ago and the following stories about my
four kids describe how and what makes them, and us, unique individuals.
Because of the closeness of their ages they grew up as a group but with different temperaments
and personalities.
Leonard - Len - Lenny
According to Alexander Thomas, Stella Chess and Herbert G. Birch’s theory, babies are born with
one of three types of temperaments (although they do point out that there are exceptions and some
babies or infants do not fit any of them) These temperaments are "easy", "slow to warm up", or
"difficult" - and they are part of the origin of our personality. Thus, a friendly easy going baby
probably will become an easy, out- going social adult, and a’ difficult’ baby perhaps might
become a more challenging adult. The fact that each child appears to have a characteristic
temperament from his earliest days has also been suggested by Sigmund Freud and Arnold Gesell.
Leonard my firstborn would be categorized as a “difficult” temperament baby, although at the
time, I just thought this was how babies in generally behaved. However It is only now as I relate
to you a couple events that happened that I see the reason for his behavior was part and parcel of
his temperament and personality.
Mother and baby afternoons were part of British culture at that time. On sunny summer
afternoon’s new mums invited their friends with their babies for a chat and afternoon tea in their
beautifully manicured gardens. I looked in amazement at all the other babies who either sat
quietly in their prams or crawled about on the grass playing with toys or interacted happily with
each other and ate all of the food they were given without complaints. My first-born did none of
these things. If he was in his pram, he rocked it until he tipped it over or he screamed to high
heaven when I offered him a toy to play and instead he flung it out of the pram or at me in a
temper. If he played on the grass with the other babies, he grabbed all the toys from them so they
all began to cry. I usually excused myself when teatime arrived. I didn’t dare let anyone see him
eat, complaining if I didn’t push a spoon of food in his mouth at break neck speed or spitting out
the bits he didn’t like and throwing the half chewed mush on the grass– or at me. He was good at
making a spectacle of himself and I could feel the other mothers thinking how inadequate I was as
a mother – and I really felt I was.
12

If only I had known then what I know today, poor Len would have had no need to constantly tell
me that nowadays in our politically correct twenty first century world that I would be in prison for
child abuse, citing the occasions when I got mad after he caused some fracas in the house and he
ran out of the house and I followed chasing him around the streets of Salford 7 in the pouring rain,
brandishing a big stick like a swashbuckling musketeer and shouting “wait till I get you home and
y’dad hears about this- he’ll have something to say to you !! Or when I banished him to the cellar
(basement) for fighting with his siblings, or snatching and breaking their toys or literally breaking
up the happy home during one of his tantrums. No, at this stage he was not two – more like
twelve. I did feel I was on the wrong side of religion and would never go to heaven, when my very
sweet unmarried, church going, humanistic, cat loving neighbour –Miss(ed) Wedlock knocked on
the door one day and suggested I let him back in the house. So embarrassing!
Yet for all that, nobody could persuade me that my parenting skills would produce a socially
misguided deranged, maniacal destroyer and loud-mouthed misfit. I was right. Instead he
transformed into caring loving son, brother, uncle, husband and father as well as a successful
highly commended international medical sales representative that has been his profession for the
past thirty years. Yet, he still displays stubbornness, loudness and quick-tempered characteristics
as his childhood personality suggested.
From Left to right:
Leonard, about 8 months in his
pram being grumpy, Len, the sailor,
Lenny the businessman.
Martin - Mart
There is only a 14 months age difference between Leonard and Martin. From the above
description you might be right to think that, as the time grew closer to the birth of number two
son, I was somewhat anxious about how I was going to cope with a double dose of the nurturing
nightmare I had been experiencing the previous year. However, apart from humour to soften one’s
journey through life, you also need a bit of luck and I was blessed with both. Martin was a quiet
sweet baby with fat rosy cheeks and narrow slit eyes who adored his older brother with whom he
played nicely until Len began to torment him. Martin ate all his food and was able to entertain
himself with toys when left alone. This continued through his youth, unlike Leonard Martin knew
how to be occupied alone in his own world keeping himself busy. He loved reading and making
models from ‘Airfix’ kits he made war ships, airplanes, trains and historical figurines. Basically he
was an “easy” baby but also he was quite shy with people other than the family and this is an
attribute associated with “slow to warm up” temperament babies. They are usually comfortable
left with other people to care for them once they have adjusted to them and also the same when
they are introduced to a new environment. On the whole they are ‘people person’. Unfortunately
Leonard had a bad reputation at school, this meant that Martin was starting school at a
disadvantage. When he was asked his name, a horrified infant teacher screamed” Oh! No! Not
another Deitch!” I suppose that could have psychologically injured Martin if he heard this or felt it
coming off the teacher’s attitude. Perhaps that is what transformed him later into a shrewd,
13

scheming, less than truthful teenager and adult with a very dry sense of humour. On the other hand
he is very charming with a brilliant mind who somehow smooches his way around people to get
what he wants. These are the exact attributes needed to become a lawyer which he wanted to
become but Tel Aviv University unfortunately did not recognize his massive potential and so he
turned to political science and as we all know politics and some politicians are very well versed in
presenting “alternative facts”. However the British Government opened their arms to this suave,
sharp-witted personality and the British Foreign Office awarded him a prestigious scholarship to
study at the London School of Economics (L.S.E.) where he completed his Master’s Degree in
Political Science. His knowledge and personality have allowed him to have a career in high-tech
although I am not quite sure what he does, not because I am not interested on the contrary, I have
asked many times. Similar to when he was a young boy and inline with “slow to warm up to”
temperaments attributes Martin keeps very much to himself. However he has successfully
charmed his way into a number of Israel’s leading innovative, hi-tech companies and has been the
sole provider for his wife and four children. He still has some characteristics of a “slow to warm
up” temperament, you don’t get a lot of information from him- he tends to keep to himself until he
feels safe to proceed and then there is no stopping him. He is also a “slow to wake up” person and
you cannot really have a conversation with him until about eleven o’clock in the morning.
From Left to right: Martin, 1 year old, happy little fella. Martin ‘proud as punch’ becoming a grandfather-
Maya born in 2016. ‘Suave’ Martin 2014.
Martin was soon to become “a middle sibling” which brings me to another psychological approach
“birth order” that researches the characteristics following the order in which children are born. The
second child has the advantage where they can “watch and learn” making sure they don’t make the
same mistakes as their elders. They are onlookers and have the best seat in town watching the
downfall of their predecessors. This may seem manipulative and devious but it is merely a
learning strategy. Is it any wonder Martin and has developed different attributes than his older
brother? The psychologist Alfred Adler (1870-1937) suggests that ‘Middle’ babies, soon realize
‘they cant always get what they want and are used to not getting their own way’ so they become
savvy, skillful manipulators. As ‘middles’ are neglected, both by parents and researchers,
however, they actually benefit from this in the long run. They become more independent, think
outside the box, feel less pressure to conform, and are more inclined to become a trendsetter and
innovator. Since there is always someone who was there first, the second child may grow to be
more competitive, rebellious and consistent in attempting to be best.”
Raymond - Ray
Things were really looking up by the time son number three Ray, arrived. According to his sister,
Corinne, his siblings perceived him, as “The Golden Boy” he could do no wrong doings ever, or at
least he was smart enough never to get caught. Raymond was classified as a very “easy baby”
in temperament, he was happy to play with his elder brothers and sure knew how to use those
“golden curly locks” and “cheeky bright smile” to persuade mum, dad and other adults that he was
an angel and he pretty much was as far as I was concerned. I really did not have to concentrate on
14

parenting and child rearing practices so much with him because I left it to the older siblings, even
though the age gap was only 2 and 3 years between them. If Ray wanted a biscuit they not only
could get it for him because they could understand his baby talk better than any parent. At least
that’s what they led me to believe but perhaps they just did this to get a biscuit for themselves and
I believed them because it kept everyone happy. So, raising Ray was a doddle. He was a very
“easy baby” by all standards. He wasn’t picky with his food, and he would play for hours with his
toys, or was happy to be entertained by his two older brothers’ “doings.” They knew when and
what his needs were and they would tell me. Or if he cried, I would ask them to find out what the
problem was. By the time he started school; he was stylish and liked to be immaculately dressed.
His hair was plastered down with water or hair-cream because he didn’t like his curls. His shoes
were polished so you could see your face in them and he liked to have the loops of his shoelaces
exactly the same length, there is a nice little story about that! When he was only about three and
he couldn’t get the loops the same length he came to his dad who was fast asleep and shouted
“Dad – can you do my shoelaces!” Half asleep Gerry fumbled away at these shoelaces finally
tying them and Ray pulled up his dad’s eyelids and said “They’re not the same length – look at
them Ray was always organized and reliable. He was the one who cooked breakfast or lunch for
his older sibling brothers they soon learnt to take advantage of his organizational skills and most
of all his tidiness. Picture this! The big ones are upstairs lying on their beds reading comics and
Ray is scuttling around to see the beds are made and there was no rubbish or bits of paper or toys
on the floor after a chance exhortation from me downstairs – “I hope it’s not a mess up there
otherwise there’s no ice-cream tonight” Today he is a superb house husband – he cooks extremely
well, does the grocery shopping, laundry, and the garden, as well repairs and maintenance to the
family home and he has still found time to bring in a salary and also to earn himself a Doctorate
in Industry and Management.
Ray was born 19/9/1963 on
Rosh Hashana as documented
in Jewish Gazette Newspaper
clipping. Notice the photo was
taken by Bunny Hudaly.
15

Left photo: Ray barely
two happy little
chappie. Right photo:
Ray cooking and
having family over for
lunch. 2018
Below photos: left photo taken sometime in 1963 from left: Len aged 4, Ray barely 1 year old
and Martin 3 years old. Photo to the right taken in Tel Aviv approximately 2015, left to right:
Ray, Len and Mart
Corinne – Coz
Finally, and it was finally, fourth time lucky, we had a baby girl!! Corinne was just adorable and
looked like a little dolly, and even her brothers liked playing with this tiny tot. This made her very
“easy baby” mostly because her older siblings took care of their new baby sister. She had it all
sussed out from day one. She picked up everything very easily especially talking so that she could
ask her brothers to bring her what she needed She was talking in whole sentences by the time she
was eleven months old and she has never stopped since. Walking could be put off for as long as
possible so as not to spoil this set-up. Why walk if you can just point your brothers in the right
direction and they were more than willing to keep her happy with toys, entertainment,
refreshments ‘all served on a silver platter’ with a smile. At some stage, as parents, her dad and
I probably thought, this little toddler needs to start walking. She was already sixteen months old
which is very late compared to her brothers so quite literally one of us yanked her up onto her
little pin like legs and held her hands or put them on the coffee table and said” Now walk!!” And
she did, her “game” was over!
Coz and her brothers were all highly energetic and sporty. Our house for them was a playground, a
football pitch, a gymnasium and our double bed in the kids' eyes was no more than a trampoline or
a circus pit where summersaults were turned and human airplanes would be bouncing up in
the air. These were all part of the daily routine. I suppose dreaming of becoming an athlete, a
gymnast or a footballer, one has to start somewhere!
As early as the 1900’s psychologist’s like Alfred Adler, Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung believed
that birth order influenced personality presenting an individual's style and way of dealing with the
tasks of friendship, love, and work. Since these pioneers, the influence of birth order and the
development of personality has become a controversial ongoing debate. In his 1996 book “Born to
Rebel”, Frank Sulloway suggested that birth order had powerful effects on the personality traits,
for instance; firstborns were much more conscientious and socially dominant, less agreeable, and
16

less open to new ideas compared to laterborns. Some of these theories have matched up well with
my children. It is also worth considering Charles Darwin’s theories and Sir David Attenborough’s
views on what happens in nature and the animal kingdom.
“The youngest child is often the rebel, the one who wants to change the world; youngest children
are more likely to break away from their family traditions, sometimes “settling down” later in
their life or exhibiting disdain for authority figures and just do things differently. They often have
a rebellious streak – perhaps from always being bossed by older siblings. The typical youngest
child is a persistent and outgoing charmer and often the family clown. Youngest children
experience far fewer rules and boundaries than the first-born did. As a result, they may have more
difficulty with self-control. The last-born is also likely to be an attention seeker, as they have to
compete with more siblings. Youngest children frequently avoid making decisions and duck
responsibilities.” Cited from Huggies website on Birth order theory.
And break away from family trends and traditions Coz did! She moved to Australia at 40, started
to study for a Masters degree in Art Therapy at 50, developing a new career path, and finally,
settled down much later in life with her female partner Jackie. As the right to marry same sex
partners became available in November 2018 in Australia Coz at the age of 53 married Jacki.
The rebellious streak and difficulty with self control can be seen threaded through the early
years of her life too. She somehow scraped through school by the skin of her teeth, barely ever
doing any homework, never really understood what was going on and found it difficult and
boring apart from sport and art. Once again a little bit of luck played its part. Having inherited
mega artistic genes from her dad, and the fact that the high school we chose for her had a strong
art department and a very dishy young male art teacher who believed in providing a relaxed
atmosphere to open up his students creative minds she was saved. She managed to matriculate and
went on to study graphic design. She worked as a graphic artist for a number of years even
opening her own office with Orit, a friend from college and together they won a National
Competition to design the first Telecard in Israel for use in public telephone booths.
Of course the above behavior may be explained according to some of the theories above, as
somebody who is seeking attention, which could be partially true. Actually I haven’t mentioned
that Coz is small in height as I am –we are very, very small. Coupled with the impact of
being small, she was the younger sibling to three elder brothers, who, when they saw her grow out
of the “fun toy dolly” became, in her eyes, her dominating rivals. Consequently her response to
that was that she became competitive, bossy and sometimes felt, psychologically, the need to fight
not only her’ bigger ”bully” brothers but also, throughout her life, to fight a “feisty
fight” against anything in the world bigger than her little self in order to find her own niche that
separated her not only from the older brothers but also anyone or anything representing an
authoritarian lookalike of them.
One of Corinne’s favourite books is Winnie The Pooh by A.A Milne. The author Benjamin Hoff
wrote two prized winning books on each of the personalities and characters in A.A Milne’s
stories. “The Te Of Piglet” and “The Tao Of Pooh” are incredibly insightful for a better
understanding of personalities, characteristics and temperament types I have tried to explain in my
four children. The below quote explains our little Coz ever so well “It is very hard to be brave,
when you're only a Very Small Animal said Piglet, sniffing slightly. Rabbit, who had begun to
write very busily, looked up and said: It is because you are a very small animal that you will be
Useful in the adventure before us.” - Benjamin Hoff - The Te Of Piglet.
In spite of the fact that Coz sees herself as a fighter, she is also loyal, responsible, determined,
empathetic and charismatic – all very useful attributes to have through the adventure of life.
17

Due to her inherited short stature, Coz was always trying to see things from a higher perspective. From left:
Hanging on 2 poles barley at arms length. Coz was always climbing up walls and doorways. Coz wanting
to feel taller by walking on stilts
Lastly but not least these lyrics from “Little People” as quoted from the musical adaptation of the
Victor Hugo’s novel Les Miserables are funny witty and true. Written by Herbert Kretzmer - sung
by the character, Gavroche, a young street-wise rascal.
“Little People”
They laugh at me, these fellas, just because I am small. They laugh at me because I'm not hundred
feet tall! I tell 'em there's a lot to learn down ‘ere on the ground. The world is big, but little people
turn it around!
Chorus:
A worm can roll a stone, a bee can sting a bear.
A fly can buzz around Versailles 'cos flies don't care! A sparrow in a hut can make a happy home
and A flea can bite the bottom of the Pope in Rome!
Goliath was a bruiser who was tall as the sky.
But David threw a right’er and gave him one in the eye. I never read the Bible but I know that it's
true It only goes to show what little people can do!
So listen here professor, with your head in the cloud. It's often kind of useful to get lost in the
crowd. So keep your universities, I don't give a damn for better or for worse it is the way that I
am!
Be careful where you go 'cos little people grow...
And little people know, when little people fight,
we may look easy pickings but we got some bite!
So never kick a dog because he's just a pup, you better run for cover when the pup grows up!
'Cos we'll fight like twenty armies, and we won't give up!
18
Coz trying to fit in with her brothers
playing with a huge football aged one or
two. Coz in Thailand 2016.

Given the explanation of why we are what we are, I pose the following question. Is it possible for
a parent or an educator to treat all the children in their care equally and give them the same
attention they are all striving? My experience tells me it takes a lot of patience, discussion,
understanding and love and there is no guarantee that it will work but it always worth the try. I
consider I have been very lucky and very proud of my children.
Left: Ray, Len, Coz, Mart 1965. Right: Len, Mart, Coz, Ray 2014
19

What’s In A Name
When you write a book you have the huge decision of what to name it. Mum and I knew what we
wanted to write about long before we could decide on coining the book with a perfect title. The
importance of naming this “baby” was no different to the all importance of naming the children
you give birth to. It took us forever deciding on the title of the book, chopping and changing it
with care many times. Starting with ”Table Talk” to “Growing Up With Humour” then “Lost and
Found” to simply “Deitch Vignettes” or “A Deitch Memoir.” After months or even years of debate
the title eventually sprouted from within the process of writing the stories. Towards the end, we
came up with “This Is Us!” which sprung from being a statement of who we are as well as a
perfect title for our book. I wouldn’t recommend this process when naming your child, however I
do believe a name is an evolving matter and a revolutionaring 1 progression. I know that isn’t a
word but like most words invented it has a useful definition;- ‘something that has developed in a
revolutionary, progressive way’. You can find new words and sayings in the Deitchonary 2 placed
at the end of this book. What follows next is a story about “the revolutionaring” of my own name.
I'm not sure where and when I started to be called Coz instead of Corinne. Perhaps it started with
Jane Collins mum, Carrie because she was called Caz or Angie Taylor might have been the culprit
because her dad always had funny names for all her friends. I much prefer to be called Coz
because it is easier to pronounce. There are so many ways of pronouncing Corinne, like Co-reen,
that’s how dad calls me or Coo-rin, how Guy says it with broad American accent, and then there is
the Israeli way which is probably most similar to the original French way, where the R is
pronounced predominantly in the back of your throat, like this CoR’inne. In Heb-French 3 it sounds
at its best and is the easiest when I say my own name because I don’t have to say the R at the front
of my teeth like in English which then sounds like I’m saying it with a V sounding like Coveen or
worse Colleen to some. However, here in Australia I have tried to adapt my pronunciation I am
now known as “Curyn” or “Curin” it seems to be a continuous work in progress. I think I have
finally put the pronunciation of my name to bed. With out further ado, and with no better way to
start this book here is our first story themed on names.
1 Revolutionaring a word coined by Corinne and can be found in the Deitchonary at the back of this book
2 Deitchonary a compiled collection of words or sayings Deitch family members have invented and used
3 Heb-French a Hebrew and French accent
20

A Grave Situation.
As a family, we traveled a lot and made many camping trips when we were younger. I am unsure
whether this was a financial decision or the embarrassing thought we would be too loud, too
energetic and most of all too boisterousness for other people’s calm, peaceful, blissful, tranquil
hotel holiday time. Surely we would be too intrusive on their little bit of ‘paradise’ and mum and
dad took pity on them.
On one of our camping trips probably the one we drove from England to Israel in
1973. We had stayed at this Italian campsite for a few days; I remember the
corner shop at the bottom of the hill where you walked through a curtain of
colourful plastic strips that flew about like floating dancers in motion from fan
inside the shop. Mum and dad would send us down with a note of Italian words
so the shop keeper would understand what produces we needed; uova (eggs),
pane (bread) latte (milk) formaggio (cheese) words that are familiar today but
back then they were literally completely foreign.
This particular morning we were moving to our
next destination, like gypsies our home consisted of two adults,
four kids, tents, inflatable “li-lo” matrasses, tables, chairs cooking
gear everything including the kitchen sink. It all had a special spot,
which needed to be packed with precise logistics in order to make
it all fit back into and onto the car looking something like this
photo.
Mum and dad always faffed about and argued a lot about these
strategies. For example, whether the tents had to go on the roof
racks last in a certain way, and how the table and chairs had to be pinned down so that they didn’t
move, rattle or at the worst fly off in the middle of driving (I’m sure they did). The gas bottles and
cooking equipment had to be available for quick access for when we stopped at the side of the
road to make meals. More organized people than my mum and dad would take note of the correct
and precise way of fitting it all back into the confined area of a Renault 16. Basically it was like
doing a three-dimensional puzzle each time and yet mum and dad never seemed to remember how
the pieces fit. I have never seen mum or dad do a jigsaw puzzle in their lives! Why they took on
such a task only they would know
This part of packing up was obviously a boring part for us the kids, so, screening ourselves from
the yelling and anger; we kept ourselves busy and out of the way by inventing games. This
specific game was a strike of gruesome originality. We decided to make our own graves and burial
tombs from piles of leaves, branches and rocks. The good old days did provide us with plenty of
time for great creativity and imagination. Can you imagine kids today being so inventive?
Anyway regardless of the yelling, I decided to make my "grave" close to mum and dad. I was
eight years old and so very proud of my tomb. It consisted of a humongous pile of leaves and I
even inscribed it with CORINNE made from twigs and rocks. I stood back and looked at the
grandeur of my creation and proudly thought to myself “I have made the best grave ever!"
The time came for us to drive away. We jumped into the car, loud and rowdy as per usual, excited
and ready for our next adventure. Unaware of where I made my tomb, dad reversed the car and
drove right on top of my creation. I was genuinely hurt by the fact that dad had driven over my
grave and ruined it by smudging my name and making a mess of everything that I had worked on
for so long and with such care. For my three elder brothers this was hysterically funny. They went
on to invent a far-fetched story that I was now “really” dead and driving over ones grave makes
one “doubly dead”. They decided I can't be called Corinne any more because she is dead but since
I was still there, they decided I had risen from the disturbed grave, like the story of Jesus
21

(interesting thought for a group of Jewish kids). My brothers came up with the idea of naming me
ENNIROC (pronounced ee-niroc), which is my name Corinne spelt in reverse (credit to them for
their imaginative thinking) and my brothers and dad called me this for the rest of the trip.
I didn’t mind being called such an unusual and unique name like Enniroc but at times the idea of
being “doubly dead” or being someone like Jesus was a traumatic thought for me as an 8 year old.
My big brothers caught wind of my sensitivity, and liked to stir the pot and wind me up like a
spring bringing me to tears on many occasions, still calling me Enniroc.
As gruesome as this story is, I am giving it “douze points” for resourcefulness and originality. The
name ENNIROC stuck with me for years afterwards and , on the odd occasions, even still to this
day, this story makes me smile. On reflection, I could correct all the wrong pronunciations over
the years being called; Colin, Connie, Colleen Carin, Karen, Corry, Carrie, Cory and even Coveen
had I kept the name Enniroc.
Left: The famous orange and blue tent, kitchen and dinning table. Right: a regular stopping spot at the side of
the road, dad cooking on a small gas camping bottle.
The Name Of The Game Is...
There is a name for a word, phrase or sentence which can be read in reverse with a different
meaning. In simple English it is called “back slang”, a process whereby new words are created by
spelling or pronouncing existing words backwards. In grammatical terms it is called a
“semordnilap”. Some semordnilaps arose by chance such as ”diaper-repaid” and “dessertsstressed”.
Others were created on purpose. Yensid, the name of the sorcerer in the movie ”
Fantasia” is “Disney” spelt backwards. “Yob” – boy in reverse - is a slang word that has been
used in United Kingdom English since the 1930s. The term denotes a loutish, uncultured person
and is published in dictionaries in the U.K. In Australia and New Zealand the word “yobbo” is
more frequently used with a similar although slightly less negative meaning. Gerry and I,
however, used the back slang for another reason. Parent’s will often used another language if they
don’t want their children to know what they are talking about– we could use French. So in the
same vein, Gerry and I promised we would take the children to “inim flog” if they behaved
themselves. We kept going on about “inim flog” and they had no idea what we were talking about.
We wouldn’t tell them but eventually, the penny dropped. Have you got it sorted? To my
knowledge neither “Enniroc” or “inim flog” are in any dictionary except the “Deitchionary”
22

The Grand Old Duke of “Fork
For those readers who know this nursery rhyme, it looks as if there is a mistake in the title, but all
will be revealed as you read this story.. The nursery rhyme is “The Grand Old Duke of York “,
and the words are as follows
The Grand Old Duke of York, he had ten thousand men.
He marched them up to the top of the hill, and he marched them down again.
When they were up, they were up, and when they were down, they were down.
And when they were only half way up, they were neither up nor down.
The origin of which Duke of York the rhyme is about is somewhat unclear but the popularity of
the song amongst toddlers and infants is undeniable.
So when my (Sheila) eldest granddaughter, Mor, was at three or four, her daddy, Martin, began to
teach her some of the popular English nursery rhymes including the example above and typically
she learnt it very quickly and sang it with him.
One day we were having a family meal and Mor was doing what many youngsters love to do, that
is, eat with their fingers. When her daddy cautioned her and said” Mor, use your fork”, in a
second, she sang “he had ten thousand men, he marched them up to the top of the hill and marched
them down again...”. We all thought it was very funny, and it is a family favourite. But I hadn’t
realized before the psychological connection of her response .Memory is defined as the ability to
learn and remember the relationships between unrelated items I could never remember the name
of the place called Binyamina until I associated it to Benyamin Netanyahu.. Something similar is
“mnemonics” (the first “m”is silent). This is a memory device that helps us retain and remember
words in the memory and then retrieve them when needed. New knowledge is connected to
knowledge already known – so in other words for Mor “fork” and “York had a connection.
Another example of memory association which for me (Sheila) seems to be associated with names
of people and, places is Jonathan’s friend ELIA whose name I never could remember until I
associated it to EL AL.
23

The Eifel Tower
We were traveling through Europe again on holidays. We had a metallic blue Renault 6. Most of the
time the four of us kids would be crammed in the back seat bouncing about trying to release our
energy in a very confined space for long periods of time. Needless to say we were noisy and naughty
all the time. It was a jungle in the back seat; I had the privilege of sitting in the middle of the front
seat with mum and dad sometimes but this time I was in the back doing gymnastics or something
while the boys were kicking dads chair playing back seat football. The next thing I remember was
dad yelling “right that’s it enough is enough, get out the car now!” Dad stopped the car. We were too
scared to budge, and hanging onto a thread of hope that mum will argue with dad and persuade him
not to leave us in the middle of a highway somewhere between Calais and Paris. Or maybe we were
hoping they would continue to argue between themselves and forget it was all about us, none of these
prevailed. We were forced out of the car left just like that at the side of the road. I panicked and
believed we would be stranded and orphaned forever, being lightweight and desperately resourceful I
grabbed hold of the outer door handle and hung on for dear life. I lifted my feet up so that I didn’t
have to run or be dragged, I thought I outsmarted my brothers leaving them behind and planned on
climbing back in through the window I could hear mum screaming at dad to stop the car because I am
hanging on the door knob and dad screaming back at her “get her off, they need to learn a lesson”
mum was hanging out the window by now yelling and screaming but I could no longer hold on and
let go. It seemed like I had been holding on for a mile, in real terms it was only a few inches away
from where the boys were. There we were the four of us standing by the side of the road watching
mum and dad drive off into the distance out of sight down a hill. I’m sure Dad planned to dump us on
the lower side of the hill so it would appear they vanish off down the road. Leonard must have known
we were on the way to Paris because his solution was easy, being the eldest he took control and said
“right lets get to the Eifel Tower that’s where mum and dad will be heading”. Thinking of this now,
Len you never were really good at navigating I mean seriously nothing has changed. We don’t call
you “Rocket Man” for nothing. In the story “Rocket Man” you will find the same characteristics of
Leonard appearing right in front of your eyes it appears to be a later version of this story. History
repeats itself and nothing really changed in our family!
24

Rocket Man
Len (Lenny or Leonard) was aged 18 years old and was doing an important exercise during his
compulsory army service, he tells the tale as follows:
We were a platoon of 30- 50 paratroopers carrying out a simulated attack on the enemy;
We were dressed to the nines, kitted out with ammunition, rockets flairs and survival gear
weighing more than 30 kilos. The mission was to creep up
on our enemy emerge out of the bushy desert, reach the
airbase and conquer the plane positioned on the tarmac.
Out of the blue and to my astonishment suddenly nature
called me with in (in simple terms, I needed to poo). In the
army they teach you to be reliable at all times, always let
someone know your position, situation or safeguard as the
military pledges to leave no soldier behind ever.
This is standard practice in the military and most
important when you are in the middle of a military
operation. I had my very own personal mission happening
with in the line of duty desperately needed to tell someone of my “position.” I asked the officer in
command something along the lines “permission to squat sir” the officer might have
misinterpreted the meaning of “squat” when he answered in the midst of things “yes of course
squat crawl or scramble do whatever
it takes to get the mission
accomplished”. Lets face it, the
success of this military operation
depended on being stealth and
incognito, already crawling,
scrambling and squatting in true
commando style like camouflaged
camellias. I scrambled my way to the
privacy of single very small
tumbleweed that had floated in from
the distance I then squatted to release and relieve myself. Suddenly and totally unexpectedly a fog
descended just as I completed my “personal mission impossible” I rose above the embarrassment
only to find myself alone in the mist, the platoon had left me behind. Still complying with protocol
I whispered out “pssst, psst, anyone there?” I mimicked some natural sounds and whistles trying
to catch somebodies attention but couldn’t see or hear anyone. Reminded by my historical
navigation scheme “when in doubt head to the Eiffel Tower” kicked in, so I took the initiative
once again, and headed towards the runway where the plan of attack was to take place.
Emerging out of nowhere I stepped quietly through the dust and mist reaching what I thought was
the tarmac, my excitement was abruptly interrupted when I heard an agitated voice say “Stop,
who’s there, what is the password?” I quickly put my hands up in the air to surrender and save
myself from being shot by a horrified soldier mistaking me for a truly dangerous well-equipped
infiltrator.
My platoon by now had long gone and was nowhere to be seen for all I knew they were up in the
air on the plane ready to jump out and continue with their commando rolls.
There I was “all revved up and no place to go” (meatloaf song) I was barely to be seen under the
amount of rockets, ammunition and equipment I had to lug about. As well as the military pledging
to leave no soldier behind, they also say you must never leave your gun or equipment alone treat it
as your wife you go to sleep with it, you wake up with it and, always have it by your side: “guard
your “wife” with your life”.
25

I am all of 18 or 19 years old and had this drilled into my head from day one in the military, so it
made perfect sense to me to get on a bus and head home “kit n all”. My line of thought and duty
was: “I will have a nice warm shower, home cooked meal and then I can think this sensibly
through in a comfortable environment.” I get on the bus to Beer Sheva. Well I have never seen so
many people so scared of me before, the look on their faces said it all as they rush round me like
headless chickens they were asking me if war had all but broken out and hadn’t yet heard the
news. Mum was startled by the sight of me as I walked through the door, and said “you’re not
bringing those rockets in the house what if it were to explode”
Today I might have done something different like take the equipment back to camp or go to the
nearest base and call my commander but you only become wiser as you grow older. I returned to
base the next day, the commanding officers thought the story was too funny to punish me and
agreed that being the laughing stock of the entire regiment was a well-suited punishment.
Lenny explains this story was well circulated through out the army for years to come as follows:
Whilst I was doing miluim (reserves service) in the Golan Heights, I met a soldier who did his
service in the Air force many years before now. We were talking army stuff, when he asked where
I did my service so I mentioned very proudly that I was a paratrooper. He was very impressed and
went on to tell me a story. “I had an experience once. I was doing regular guarding operations at
the airfield base, patrolling the grounds, listening and looking for signs of anything out of the
ordinary unusual or suspicious movement. Suddenly I heard fumbling sounds, I have never been
so scared in all my life, I took quick action pointed my gun, adrenaline was rushing through my
body as I was about to do what I was trained to do, I was about to kill a terrorist! As I yelled out
stop who’s that... unexpectedly a short guy appeared out of nowhere with his hands above his
head armed with guns, rockets and weapons galore...” The rest is history, we laughed it off and
counted our lucky stars none of us were injured that day. Call it what you like that day we were
either “trained well” or plainly “young and stupid”.
Stick In The Mud
If someone calls you a 'stick in the mud' - it means you are dull, unadventurous and unwilling to
participate in activities that could be enjoyable and fun.
The illustration bellow is how and why Sheila became her own version of a 'Stick in the mud',
adamant never to join in with anything that involved Gerry competing in an activity he has no idea
how to do or handle, sailing being one of them. She has never and will never go on a boat of any
kind with dad!!
On this occasion, we were travelling home from one of our continental camping trips and decided
to have a couple of hours in Cambridge on the way. The main reason was to show us the historical
buildings especially the university. It was a Sunday afternoon and people were enjoying the
quietness and beauty of this place. We made our way down the grassy banks towards the river,
and as soon as Gerry saw people punting on the river, he decided he must try that.
“Bye! Everyone. Enjoy yourselves “ said mum as she whizzed off for a pleasant, peaceful time on
her own. After a short distance, she saw a near by bridge and her curiosity got the better of her.
She peered down from the bridge where she saw people stopping to have a look at something that
was happening on the river. There seemed to be a commotion there and loads of people were
having a good laugh.
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As the crowds gathered, mum peeped through and could see the spectacle unfold. Dad was
hanging on the punt pole trying to get it out of the mud where it was stuck and spent the rest of the
time “sailing” around the punt in circles. As usual this included yelling blaming and outbursts,
completely disrupting the peaceful ambience. This is where mum did a quick left and disowned
her family especially when we saw her on the bridge and shouted up to her “Hey Mum! Look at
dad! He’s stuck!”
And this is how the River Cam and the bridge look without the Deitch family
So Serene!
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Actually Mum was used to mishaps during our camping holidays and dad’s cartoons below show
a couple of them. As I was young when we started camping and only remember the most
disastrous events, I will let mum describe the process whereby we progressed from complete
novice campers to not exactly experts or professionals but able to reduce the number of
misadventures
Cheap flights and package holidays were not widely available in the late 1960’s and 70’s when
our children were of an age that we felt it was safe to take them on an annual holiday. When I say
safe, I mean that we could almost guarantee that their robust behaviour could be controlled and
they would not intrude on the peace and quiet of other holidaymakers nor destroy any equipment
provided for everybody’s entertainment. Even the cheapest of hotels was not an option so we
decided camping was a great alternative and went about buying all the basic necessities. Our first
trip was to Anglesey in North Wales where we learned to put up a tent in the rain and the wind.
After about two hours of sorting through long black poles, an assortment of ropes and pegs and
deciding which bit of the tent was the door flap, we stood back smiling at each other as we
admired our accomplishment. One minute later, a strong gust of wind blew the tent over and then
it was bouncing and rolling along the ground for about two hundred metres before coming to rest
on a hedge at the other side of the campsite. Whilst all this was going on, we were all chasing after
our precious tent, before it disappeared altogether. Unperturbed, we started again and managed to
survive our first week of camping.
The following year we had another try- again in Wales- at a very up market holiday village near
Port Merion with it’s well to do campers displaying their posh tents and expensive cars. By the
time we arrived the campsite was chock-a-block full but there was an empty spot a bit lower down
from the other tents. We had no problem this time erecting the tent and even the weather was fine.
However, English weather can never be predicted, so when we went to bed, in the night, we heard
a bit of thunder and lightning and some rain falling and woke up to find all our stuff was soaking
wet. When we went outside, the sun was shining and all the other campers were brewing their
morning coffee, eating their croissants and relaxing in the warm morning sunshine while we
were all stood in a puddle of rainwater. As we looked around we saw we were the laughing stock
of the campsite because in our stupidity, we were the only campers on this low ground that we
thought was the best spot of the campsite and the water from the hill where all the other campers
were had trickled down the into our tent. Another camping lesson learned.
However, the history of our camping holidays continued with two trips abroad to France and Italy
followed by a hugely successful seven-week camping adventure to Israel, which you will read
about later in the book.
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29

Black Eye - Part One
I remember I was at school hiding in the cloakroom when I heard “Where is that little Deitch?” I
thought I was in trouble so stayed put for a while. When they finally found me; I sheepishly came
out of hiding from under all the coats. I was handed an envelope and was told to give it to mum
and dad. As luck would have it the letter wasn’t about being in trouble, it turned out a crew came
from Granada Television they were searching for young talent, small petite children for a role in a
TV show called “The Nightingale Boys”. They needed someone who would be able to manage
reading a script but looked and could act as a six years old. Everybody was shocked to find this
letter was an invitation to an audition at Granada Studios. Acting like a six year old at a ripe old
age of ten was not very hard and came naturally to me; however, I couldn’t believe my luck when
I was actually chosen for the part! I received the script and practiced reading it with mum for a
couple of weeks; we went to rehearsals at Granada Studios for a few weeks before the actual
filming dates. The week before filming I was playing “circus” with Len Mart and Ray. I was
standing on Lens shoulders doing summersaults onto the bed, twirling tossing and completing our
routine when suddenly and totally by accident (surprisingly) Len elbowed me in the face. I
remember the whole commotion; firstly Len shushing me to keep quiet and forcing me not to
whimper about it to mum and dad knowing he was going to be in big trouble. He always was no
matter what he did. Trying to keep quiet about it was an extremely difficult task when the pain
was excruciating, also it didn’t help when Martin took one look and chuckled how bad it looked,
struggling to comprehend how long Len could hide this one before mayhem would break loose?
Things started to go fuzzy for me I was panic stricken from all the kafuffle around me. The next
thing I remember is that I could barely see out of my right eye and thought I was going blind or
that my eye had popped out. Everyone came running to my rescue and was faffing around me
which was scarier then before. Morris Kaye who was visiting us was telling mum to flatten the
swelling with a cold knife and push down hard on the bump (Really?! I don’t suggest doing this in
this day and age) I was having no part of that! This sounded more painful than the knock itself and
scared me so much sending everyone into a frantic panic. Dad was asking me how many fingers
he is holding up, I answered two or three and wasn’t sure. To be fair this was a confusing question
because he held up a thumb and I wasn’t sure if to count this in. Off to hospital we went, where
eventually it was simply classified as a “whopping shiner”. Today with such awareness to what
happens behind closed doors and political correctness the authorities would have been onto mum
and dad quick smart vilifying the family, sending social workers in to check up on the ‘truth’. Had
I made it to the top becoming a child celebrity, the Paparazzi’s and media would have had a ball
with this story depicting me as a victimized adorable extremely young talented rising star, who
was a victim of child abuse and framing my family home as an unsafe place. Count your lucky
stars mum and dad we were born in a different era!
Mum was more horrified that they would have to stop the filming schedule because of me, but in
reality, she was worried how this reflecting on her as ‘bad parenting.’ Mum thought no makeup
was going to be enough to cover up this type of swelling, unless I was playing the Hunchback of
Notre Dame, which I wasn’t.. Eventually the swelling did go down, just in time for the next
scheduled filming session. My rainbow coloured eye socket however kept the makeup artist very
busy. She had her work cut out for the next couple of weeks. I am sure everyone on the film set
was wondering about the truth that lay behind this story.
During the days when I didn’t go to Granada studios I didn’t have the make up artist to “fix” my
face, call me vain but as 10-year-old girl I was terribly embarrassed. If I was brave I might have
been proud and told everyone how the other person came off second best, but back then, petite
young girls were associated with doing ballet and tap-dancing, which I did, and you will read, in
the next story. To hide my embarrassment, I preferred to go around with a big black eye patch like
Moshe Dayan or a pirate. In my ten-year-old mind this looked far better than a black eye. It did
not occur to me one bit this probably looked worse! Mum I really don’t know how you let me go
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around as a pirate for so long.
* Note from Sheila - It seems to me that you have pirate blood in your DNA!!
Left; Coz at 10 years old. Right; Coz at 40 years old
Black Eye - Part Two
Curiosity That Did Not Kill The Cat
There was never dull moment in our house. During my celebrity phase as a child star for the TV
series “The Nightingale Boys”. I was driven like royalty to Manchester Granada Studios every
morning. My acting brother was called Aaron Levy and he lived round the corner from us in a
new complex where there were huge white town houses, much “posher” (aristocratic) and more
modern than ours. Legend has it that Man’ United legendary footballer, George Best, lived in this
complex. We never did bump into him though we tried to entice him as much as we could by
playing football against his garage door hoping this would inspire him to come out to play or, at
the very least, that he would come out yelling and guns blazing at us for making such a racket.
When Aaron and I were scheduled for filming “The Nightingale Boys”, a taxi would pick us both
up very day early in the morning. We were ten years old so we had to be escorted by an adult,
both our mums alternated between days to be our chaperones. Depending on who was the
chaperon, the taxi would start the route there and go on to the next house. This particular day it
was mums turn to be our chaperone and it was pouring down with rain. As I was stepping into the
taxi I saw our cat Marmalade on the roof of our house meowing in such a pitiful way, poor thing.
She was soaking wet and howling for help. I refused to leave and dug my heels in like a two year
old having a tantrum. We were in a hurry to pick up Aaron and needed to get to the studios. There
were strict guidelines that had to be obeyed when filming. I remember mum trying to persuade me
to get into the taxi. She said she would call the fire brigade later but I wasn’t going to budge until
the cat was off that roof. There so happened to be a long wooden ladder next door, which
belonged to a window cleaner. Mum somehow put it up against the sidewall, and climbed all the
way to the top attempting to save Marmalade the cat. Now cats are smart but also cunning and like
to make their human masters do stuff for them probably just for “laughs” in their own cat world.
This was one of these days. As soon as mum got up that ladder Marmalade came up to her purring
all coy and cute pushing her head into mums hand prying for a pat and a stroke. But in no way was
a cat going to put any trust in a human two legged master to deliver a four legged, nine lives, furry
feline, safety to ground. No way! I don’t know how long this took and how late we were but by
now mum was looking more like a drowned cat herself.
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Mum called the fire brigade and when I heard her giving them all the information about rescuing
Marmalade, I agreed to get in the taxi. Marmalade was home by the time we arrived later in the
day, literally smiling like a Cheshire cat. She lived on for many years, eventually moving in with
one of our neighbors after we immigrated to Israel.
Shirley Temple Tap Dancing Shoes
I was good at everything creative when I was
younger, acting, ballet, judo, drawing,
swimming, I was especially good at ballet and
wanted to move on to learn how to tap dance. I
loved the sound of the tap shoes in those old
musical dance movies. I was jealous of Shirley
Temple who was an extremely talented child star
from the 1930’s, she was good at dancing
singing and acting. I aspired to be just like her,
minus the golden curls. I was delighted at my
brand new shiny red Shirley Temple tap shoes. I could not wait the get clicking.
Funnily enough having metal tips on the soles of your regular shoes, making clicking sounds as
you walked were the hype of fashion in Manchester during mid 1970’s. Mens fashion was all
about flared jeans, long hair, sideburns, big collars on flowery shirts and of course “Blakey’s”.
Blakey’s was just the brand name for these metal tips used in 1950’s to protect the heels and soles
from wear and tear. Tap shoes are basically shoes on steroids with lots of “Blakey’s” on the soles.
Being “groovy” and trendy has its price tags, one that teenage Leonard was not prepared to pay. In
desperate times one takes desperate measures. Leonard was renowned for being quite the scrooge
(inherited from Dad), and thought he had struck gold looking and my tap shoes, he saw how he
could save a few pence by taking one or two Blakey’s off my perfectly new tap shoes. I came
home to find him tugging away at the heels of my stubborn shoes, I have no idea how long he had
been at this, but it didn’t end well. The heels had been completely ripped off with Blakey’s still
perfectly intact. I am not sure what other lengths Len took to be trendy, but this is definitely how
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my tap dancing career came to an abrupt end before I had even stared. Lucky for Len, this time he
was let off the hook because we were immigrating to Israel which became a great excuse and
reason for many of my discontinued talents and opportunities.
Tap Dancing Shoes -Part Two
A dose of sibling squabbles occurred on a daily basis in our household. You probably realize by
now, Len was always in trouble. He was very clumsy with everything and when you combine this
with a bad temper, (inherited from Gerry) matters escalated very quickly into “things going
wrong”. Everything and anything Len touched seem to break whether it was intentionally or not.
He was the black sheep of the family, and was the cause of most fights in the family but even if he
wasn’t the “sibling revelry” meant we enjoyed blaming him for everything regardless. You would
think someone who had just been caught red handed in the act of dismantling my Shirley Temple
tap shoes would be smart enough to get rid of the evidence. Len was too scared to do so, he knew
he would get a good old walloping from mum and dad, therefore gave up on the idea and accepted
his fate. His only option was to delay his fate so he hid the shoes in a cupboard hoping no one
would notice till we moved to Israel. One day Martin and Raymond were arguing with Leonard
they were standing at the far end of the bedroom. Leonard was screaming his head off at them,
when he instinctively grabbed the first thing at hand to throw at them. You guessed it... the
leftover red heavy weighted tap shoes. They were soon on their way mid air ready to hurt Martin
and Raymond with those metal Blakey’s! Lucky for Leonard no shoes or person were harmed in
the making of this tantrum. Unlucky for Leonard his younger brothers outsmarted him and dipped
down in the nick of time as the shoes were coming their way, missing them by inches. The shoes
then made a huge impact with the window that was right behind Martin and Raymond, smashing it
to smithereens. The shoes landed on a flat part of the house, looking like wounded soldiers sad
tormented and hacked for the second time. The shoes and the window stayed like that for a long
time, needless to say the curtains were drawn for as long as possible too.
Cat-Astrophic
I found the expression “No good deed goes unpunished” most appropriate for this story. To
understand my story I will explain what this phrase means, especially to the non-English mother
tongue members of the family and the dyslexics amongst us. When an action goes unappreciated
or is met with outright hostility. Also when a good deed backfires and results in a negative
outcome, this is when one would use this phrase.
I am one of the world - wide group of “cat ladies” who feed street cats On this particular occasion,
I was out feeding the stray cats in the small park next to my home very late one night, and as
usual, the cats all surrounded me as I entered the park, rushing round to make sure they were first
in line and at the same time brushing up against my ankles to show me how happy they were that I
had finally arrived. In all the mayhem, I accidently trod on the paw of one of them and
immediately heard a screech. I felt something sharp on my ankle as if I had been scratched but
when I inspected it there was no cat scratch so I decided it might have been a bite. The following
morning my ankle was swollen right up to my toes. I had difficulty walking and I was in a lot of
pain. After a couple of visits to the doctor and some antibiotics, which didn’t seem to be working,
I was finally hospitalized for 10 days for intra-venous anti-biotic treatment and steroid skin cream.
I was suffering from cellulitis, an excruciatingly painful condition caused in my case but not all,
by a streptococcus bacterium presumably from the cat’s paw or mouth After two weeks I was
back feeding the cats but wearing long socks and plastic gloves. That didn’t last long but I am
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more careful when a cat scratches or bites me now I try to remember to immediately wash the
wound. Yes. I got a very painful punishment for my good deed!
Paw Sheila!
Before
After
Samantha could not resist
buying this mug for me in
Covent Garden, London
‘The Apple and Orange Of One’s Eye’
The phrase “apple of one’s eye” figuratively means someone or something is cherished above
all. In the Deitch family for those who know us well, this comes in one form and that is of
C h o c o l a t e ! We love it!! The only other thing that could come close would be our love
for animals. So if Chocolate was the apple of our eye perhaps the animals were the next best thing
‘the orange of our eye’.
As kids we weren’t allowed to eat sweets and chocolate frequently because mum and dad believed
it ruined our teeth. Nonetheless, we all loved it so much it was like an addiction; we craved for it
always, we were jealous of families like the Taylors who always had tins full of chocolate biscuits
and sweets, we saw chocolate as a commodity used for bets, debts and as a swap and exchange
bargaining tool. From a very young age we learnt to fight tooth and nail for chocolate. One prime
example is when Raymond was just a toddler, he was playing at our neighbour’s house with his
brothers Martin and Leonard and their friend Alan. Barely two
years old Raymond walked up to Alan’s mum, Helen Rubins and
announced “e yu gi mi a weet I gi yu a ki” which translated as – “If
you give me a sweet Ill give you a kiss.”
This is not to say we had a deprived childhood, no quite the
opposite, we had a fairly privileged childhood apart from the
CHOCOLATE! As you can see chocolate and chocolate biscuits
were always special treats for us so when we moved to Israel and
people came to visit us from England or if anyone in the family
went on holiday we made sure they had enough space and weight
left in the suitcase for chocolates. One year after we immigrated to
Israel in 1975 mum came back from England with six Terry’s
Chocolate Oranges, one for each of us. Terry's Chocolate Orange is
an orange-shaped ball of chocolate mixed with orange oil, divided
into 20 segments, similar to a real orange, and wrapped in orange-
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skin patterned foil. Just talking about it and looking at the picture is making my mouth water. As
you can imagine we were ecstatic with our gift, we gobbled the whole thing up all at once.
Surprisingly our parents were quite happy for us to do this because again their ideology was all
about preserving our teeth. They believed ‘if you’re going to do the damage, do it all at once’ then
you brush your teeth straight after ‘the fix’. Eating chocolate all in one stint would leave fewer
opportunities for the ‘bitter sweetness’ to sit in between our teeth which causes decay. This is the
“healthier” option to eating sweets they believed. Dad however did not practice what he preached
and always said ‘that’s way too much for me to eat all at once, I only need to eat one segment and
enjoy it with a glass of milk’. We hated milk, and wouldn’t dream of diluting chocolate with milk,
that would just be yuck and mostly wasteful, counterpoising the precious chocolate orange taste.
Growing up with dad felt like he based his educational knowledge on the ancient Greek
methodology known as the Spartans. They were a warrior society that believed in a life of
'discipline, self-denial, and simplicity. The word “spartan” means self-restrained, simple, frugal
and austere, in simple terms a “schnorer” the Yiddish word for a miser. Those who know Gerry
know about his frugal and stingy attitude, which relates to this story, and will help you understand
our distress from his prolonged eating habit of such a beloved commodity. Dads approach in
“disciplining” us meant instead of sharing he would eat his chocolate orange every now and again
in a long-drawn-out process, this was agonizing for the rest of us. We felt tormented over this
stern, tight attitude where sometimes he would tease us by simply putting the orange” on the table
in front of us kids and instead of eating he would stare at it and brag to us about how much is still
left, then ‘go on’ about his dilemma on whether today is the right moment to enjoy a nibble before
eventually storing it back into the cupboard untouched. This was tortuous and we were not
amused, we hoped out loud the damn thing would ‘go off” or melt to mush before he could finish
it. There are twenty chocolate segments to the orange meant this annoyance went on for a long
time!
Snoopy our black Labrador was “the orange of our
eyes”, She was probably one of our favourites
being the first dog out of a long list of dogs
thereafter. She fit into our family perfectly she was
like the fifth mischievous and naughty child. This
made it easy for us kids now to blame an innocent
puppy for many broken chairs, damaged walls,
cracked windows, or missing items and anything
“gone wrong” in the Deitch household! Snoopy
was always a naughty dog and acted like a puppy
even when she grew older, she had spent many
times in ‘puppy jail’ the pound for nipping at
people’s bums. Once we came home only to find
she had created a snowstorm throughout the house
as she had eaten her way through the pillows, and
when she grew taller she discovered she could
reach the kitchen bench top and frequently used
this as her private buffet to snatch freshly cooked
steaks and schnitzels. Every day we came home
Snoopy greeted us at the door excitedly showing
us how happy she was to see us. Today she was
extra excited and had a huge grin on her face running up and down the corridor wanting to show
off as she always did. Today we could not appreciate her enough as she showed off proudly how
she had sniffed out dads hidden chocolate orange and gobbled it all up leaving only a few traces of
the ripped box and bits of orange tin foil scatted about. Quite literally, that day was the most
successful ”sweet revenge.” anyone of us could have asked for, as quoted by Alfred Hitchcock
“Revenge is sweet and not fattening.”
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Where there is a will there is a
(Milky)Way and Mars Bars ...
Back in the “olden days”, when we were a lot younger, people didn’t call customer service to
get household appliances fixed. It was natural in those days for the “man of the house” to tinker
and fiddle about trying to repair everything. Today some men and women still like to DIY (Do
It Yourself) as a hobby and they may even be privileged enough to have a shed or a “man cave”
to do so. Us four lively kids had plenty of mishaps and breakages; we filled the house with
broken, smashed and unfixed items. Our whole house was dads domain to dabble about and do
his handyman stuff. One would regularly find a disassembled washing machine in the middle
of the lounge or a cupboard being glued together in the hallway. Our dad was and still is to this
day very ambitious and believes he can do anything and everything, but more importantly he
also believes that whatever he does, he will do it better than you will ever be able to. I’m sure I
have seen him wear a tee shirt with the slogan “Its not that you’re wrong its just that I am right”
or “I do love it when I am right, which is fortunate, since I so often am.” Dad put his ambitious
mind, body and soul into many things and he even got me at it at the very young age of 8 when
he said “Coz you have got the perfect “small” fingers that will fit in this narrow gap”. He was
talking about the washing machine wreck that was all in bits on the lounge carpet. He had
obviously lost some of the parts; literally he was “missing a few screws”, I put my hand into a
small dark space and suddenly I felt an electrical ZAP! That was my first lesson on how NOT
to fix a washing machine as well as taking dads words “with a pinch of salt”! Luckily I’m still
alive to tell the tale. Amongst the things dad tried were growing greenhouse veggies using his
natural home made compost of course and building a car, I am sure we still have those “how
to” car manuals somewhere. Making beer was another of dad’s missions. Of course, it turned
out to be disgusting and even as a ten year old I knew it tasted yucky, but regardless of this, not
one drop of it went to waste. Dad drank the thirst-quenching commodity, after drinking the
whole lot he would proudly sigh and say “Ahhh”. Renovating our home has always been a sore
point for mum because dad is an architect so he would design beautiful houses for everyone
else except for ours! “The shoemaker’s children go barefoot” or “a chef's breakfast is as plain
as boiled eggs” in our case “an architect's house is always crooked” was truly disappointing for
me too because I dreamt of having a loft as my bedroom like the one my friend Rowena Rose
had in her house. I was so jealous. Food is a very important part of dads’ life, some people live
to eat and others eat to live. Mum is the latter (she likes porridge!!) whereas dad is the former. I
must say dad is a good cook and likes “cordon bleu” cuisine. He has always been an
“adventurous foodie”. He will eat almost anything and then he will attempt to make it including
ridiculous ideas such as making our favorite chocolates; MilkyWay, Mars bars, Crunchies our
beloved English chocolates that we constantly craved for when we moved to Israel. Often his
36

attempts were all but failures and mishaps but he would NEVER dare own up to or admit to
any type of catastrophe because of his aloof attitude “anything you can do – I can do better”.
When dad does produce a delicious dish such as a tasty soup or an Indian curry that other
guests around the table complement him on, he always says. ”Its very easy, you just need
this...and then you do that ... and don’t forget to...and that’s it! To which we sarcastically say,
“You mean it’s as easy as making Mars Bars? Which of course we are still waiting patiently to
taste and yet to this day, dad of course still tells us “I will make them one day, you’ll see!”
And so it has become the traditional family phrase ever since we were very young until today
“It’s as easy as making Mars Bars” in answer to all of dad’s bizarre and outrageous ideas and
comments. However, regardless of our ridicules at him, it has never deterred dad from trying
new things, like starting to ski at the age of 50, or thinking he can easily sail a boat from Greece
to Israel with a bunch of “oldies” whose average age is 80! The list goes on...and yet we are
still waiting to indulge in Gerry’s specialty “home made Mars Bars”!
Gleaming Healthy Hair and Shiny Teeth
Who doesnt love to have a good hot shower, like after a day at the beach, or after roughing it in
nature when camping and one of my favorites is when I have been travelling half way around the
world on a cramped plane. On this occasion I had just arrived from Australia and was looking
forward to a refreshing shower, I had been on the go travelling for more than 24 hours. I couldn’t
wait to have “the best shower ever”. I was enjoying the water washing over me, getting rid of all
the feeling of the airtight infested tubular germ factory known as an aeroplane. Completely
exhausted I reach out for the big bottle that has huge letters SHAMPOO. I thought how
convenient, such a great idea making it so easy to read and distinguish between Shampoo and
Conditioner. I was really enjoying this shower, making lots of suds in my hair getting it extra
clean. Meanwhile I am pondering to myself how the shampoo is getting so very frothy and how it
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smells unique and quite strong, not my first choice of scent but nonetheless refreshing. I came out
of that shower squeaky clean. The very next day I was slightly more coherent in the shower, I was
reaching for the bottle of SHAMPOO again ready to do the usual ritual when I noticed behind
those massive letters SHAMPOO there was a distinctive picture of a happy refreshed looking
spotty Dalmatian dog! I felt sickened by the thought that I had washed my whole body in dog
shampoo and surprised my fine delicate hair didn’t fall out! I must admit it did seem to be lovely
and shiny. The hierarchy in our family is clear, here is a picture to prove it.
Not long after...
I (Sheila) usually have at least three toothpastes on the go, one for healthy gums called Gingi
Lacer, one for intensive cleaning called Parodontax and Aquafresh or Colgate for triple protection
that is, fluoride, whitening and fresh breath. A day after the shower incident above, when Coz was
less jet-lagged and more coherent, she happened to choose the Paradontax toothpaste – that is the
intensive cleaning type. I have to say it has the most disgusting taste ever but when you use it and
run your tongue over your teeth they do actually feel extra clean. I suddenly heard Coz screeching
out in a horrified high pitched voice “Mum, is this toothpaste for the dogs as well?” I came
rushing in to make sure, finding Coz, dry-reaching with a scrunched up face full of repulsion and
disgrace while yelling out. “It’s revolting!“ I confess we do have dog toothpaste but “No, no
you’re alright this time. The one you have used is for human beings not animals.“
38

“A Dogs Breakfast”
an expression for a poor piece of work; a mess or simply something
f***ed up!
Mum always stocked a cabinet in the lounge with afternoon snacks like Crisps, Bisly, Bamba or
biscuits, anything that couldn’t melt or go off for some odd reason unbeknown to me this
cupboard in the lounge was the chosen one. Perhaps the same reasoning for chocolate treats being
“hidden” in mums underwear draw? Occasionally mum would be adventurous and buy unusual
new treats, if they were successful we would gobble
them up if not they would go as treats or even food for
cats or dogs. I am sure this is the reason why Pesach
our cat would sit next to this cabinet all the time.
Pesach would sit at this cabinet staring
into mid air and meow fiercely until
she would be given her daily dose of
the BBQ Bisli snack. This particular
snack was shaped like the spiral shaped
pasta which made loud crunchy noises
as she devoured it down and then made
sure not even a single crumb was left
behind. I truly think we had poor
Pesach hooked on that Bisli snack like
a heroin addict.
Mum and dad travelled to America in the 1980’s on their return as usual they brought new
interesting items; clothing, gadgets, cassette Walkman, records and of course chocolates and other
treats and snacks. As usual the dried packets and non-malleable products were stored in the special
cabinet in the lounge AKA (Also Known As) “the cats cupboard”.
Ray was a student during this time and would wander in and out of the house commuting between
Dorit’s house and ours at all hours. One late night Ray thought he would treat himself to one of
these new mysterious American snacks. Chomping away at his midnight treat in the shape of a
Belgium waffle in a bowtie shape which at the time was hard to comprehend. Why on earth would
an American waffle treat company choose such a weird shape? Ray thought it was quite dry and
tasteless to be quite frank it was “shite”, regardless this was a treat from America, so scoffed on a
few of them, washed it down with a drink and went to bed.
The next day Ray commented how stuff from America is rubbish and said it tasted a bit like
cardboard and was hard as rock. Mum asked him which snack he was talking about and he said”
the waffles”. He brought out the half munched packet to show us. Mum said “those are for the
dogs” and when he looked closer he saw they weren’t called “WAFFLES” they were actually
called “WOOFLES”. It became apparent the weird bowtie shapes were actually shaped as bones.
Luckyly there was a substantial amount of leftovers that were then shared out between the dogs
Billy and Snoopy. They loved them unlike Ray they did not turn their nose up at American treats.
I wonder if those tough doggie treats contributed to the fact that Ray has always has had great
teeth.
39

Private Lenny Saves The Day “On A Shoe String”
On a shoestring is an expression used for doing something with very
limited financial means or recourses
Once we moved to Israel we stopped going on camping trips till many years later when the Boys
had kids of their own and they ventured into recreating similar experiences and memories.
However our camping experience didn’t go to waste, and we still went on outings and made
barbeques in the woods or in national parks. By now we were quite grown up, and mum and dad
had replaced their affection for us their kids with cats and dogs as you will, gather from a lot of
these stories. This story is about our second dog Billy. Billy came along after Snoopy and as you
can see in the photos he was a small little dog who felt safe having big black Snoopy as his
bodyguard.
On one of our outings to Nahal Habsor we took both Billy and Snoopy with us. They loved being
out for the day with their family and all those new smells to investigate and other dogs to sniff at,
they were so excited – chasing about at breakneck speed, wagging their tails and barking as well
as trying to get a quick snatch at a sausage or two from the barbeque. As usual we had a lovely
barbecue and after eating, we would take the dogs for grand walks in the countryside. We would
wander around enjoying looking at the flowers and plants and the dogs enjoyed the wonderful new
intense smells of nature that were completely different to their usual city walks. Billy was a
curious and confident little dog knowing he always had Snoopy to back him up. He wandered off
in front of us but also kept within hearing distance and turned his head every so often to see that
we were following him. After a while we hadn’t heard or seen him skipping back to us and started
yelling out “Billy, come on Billy where are you Billy”. People were curious and worried we had
lost a child but still became part of the search party once we told them we were looking for our
little dog. What actually had happened was that Billy had jumped over what he thought was a little
mound but over on the other side of this mound he ended up falling down a five metre hole which
resembled a circular smooth walled dried up well. Poor little Billy was stranded and yelping for us
to help him. Leonard had come home for the weekend; he was doing his compulsory army service,
and was training to be a paratrooper. How fortunate, we could now put to good use his military
experience in this dramatic rescue operation. We rushed off and got a bucket, some rope and lots
of bones and leftover meat. We filled the bucket with doggie goodies and lowered it down to Billy
hoping this would coax him into the bucket. We thought like humans and expected Billy would
too. We hoped he would understand that we wanted him to get into the bucket with all the goodies
and we simply would lift him out of his predicament. He excitedly would put his snout close to the
bucket and have a sniff at the bones but he wouldn’t dare go inside it as much as we begged him
to.
Plan B. It was going to be me, a fourteen-year-old lightweight or Len the army survivalist who
would be lowered down into this pit. I was too scared and mum wouldn’t allow it. She was
worried about me falling and then we would have Billy and me in this deep pit or lets just say in
deep shit! So it was Len to the rescue. We had to improvise in making a rope long enough and
40

strong enough to hold his weight. We gathered table clothes, ropes, belts and clothing. We knotted
and tied all these together to make it long enough to wrap Len and also around dad and a few other
helpful strangers who became an anchor whilst Len abseiled down the smooth walls of the pit.
Luckily Billy was only small so Len could tuck him safely under his shirt. Len and Billy were
pulled up to safety. Billy had all but a scuffed chin, Len had not yet earned his ‘red beret’ or his
‘wings’ as a paratrooper in the army but in everyone’s minds he was the true hero that day and
earned his ‘honorary badge.’
Another Short Animal Story
In our book we have included two stories about two of my grandchildren: Mor, whose parents
are Martin and Paulette, and Guy, whose parents are Ray and Dorit. So, it seems only fair to
include a story about one of Lenny and Karen's children and I have chosen one about Samantha.
Lenny and Karen lived in Tel Aviv with their children Jonathan and Samantha (Kelly was not
born yet) and Gerry and I lived in Be'er Sheva. They would visit us for a weekend quite often and
when Samantha was about three and Jonathan was four, one glorious spring day in February or
March, we took a short drive to see the glorious array of colourful spring flowers which grow
wild in fields and between rocks and at the side of the roads.
The children were racing about, climbing over the rocks and enjoying the freedom of the open
space and Lily, their large, black, Labrador dog was very busily engaged in absorbing all the
new smells amongst the grass, the flowers and the rocks .
After a short walk around the area, we sat around eating the picnic we had brought with us and ,
as usual, commenting on how the food always tasted better when eaten outside in the fresh air.
Th children ran off again to explore more places that looked interesting and adventurous. As the
41

sun went down, we called to Jonathan and Samantha that we were leaving. We picked up all our
stuff , threw the rubbish in the bin and began to walk to the car when Samantha said “What about
Miki”? I thought for minute that, when we arrived, we didn’t have a ”Miki” with us, so I
looked around thinking she had seen a stray cat or dog. Neither of these were visible and I said to
Samantha “ Where is Miki”? She stretched out her arm and pointed a finger at Lily who was
standing up very tall and still, but did look a bit odd. We called to her but she didn’t move and
continued to look at us. We all walked towards her and what had looked odd at a distance was at
close range a large tortoise that was trapped in her very wide open mouth. Lenny went up to her
and tried to prise the poor animal from Lily’s mouth whose defiant reply was to utter a few
deep growls and , to dig her paws into the ground just to show us that this prize was hers.
Anyone who knows anything about dogs will know that Laboradors have one goal in life and that
is to eat – everything and all the time . Remember the story abour Snoopy? So out came the
remains of the picnic which were dangled in front of her nose and it took her about ten seconds
to loosen her grip on the poor tortoise allowing Lenny to grab him as Lily snapped up the
food.
I think Samantha had thoughts about taking “Miki” with us , but I gently explained to her that
Miki’s mummy and daddy were probably looking for him and it would be better to put him on the
ground so he could look for them as well .She agreed!
"On A Mission From God"
“The Blues Brothers” is a 1980 comedy movie, which centres around the two main characters,
Jake and Elwood Blues who are members of a band but unfortunately Jake becomes a petty
criminal. The story is a tale of redemption for Jake, a paroled convict who, together with his
brother Elwood explain they are “on a mission from God” by staging a concert to raise funds to
stop the closure of the orphanage in which they grew up. “We’re on a mission from God” became
their mantra, which they repeated over and over again in the movie, and, years later, it has since
become a well-versed catch phrase. I believe that I was “on a mission from God” in the true story
below.
I was working for Israel’s Mental Health Organization called “Enosh”, which supports people
living with various mental issues and disorders such as bipolar, schizophrenia, borderline
personality disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) and depression. As a lifestyle coach,
my role was to make house visits to my clients’ homes, checking in on their general needs, their
mental and physical health and hygiene and that they were taking their prescribed medication. Part
of my job was also to encourage them to participate in social and cultural events within the
community where they lived and to give them confidence to do other everyday jobs such as going
shopping and paying their bills at the bank or post office.
42

On one occasion, I was driving to a huge shopping mall with a remarkable young girl who
suffered from severe schizophrenia. This is a mental health disorder that disturbs your thinking
and perceptions of life, which affects your interactions with the world. People with schizophrenia
may hear voices or noises; become very paranoid, believe they have unusual powers and that
world events are connected to them, sometimes thinking others control their thoughts, or viceversa.
As I drove, she was giving me directions because she knew the mall very well since it was
near her home but I was unfamiliar with the location as it was quite far from where I lived.
As my client told me to turn a corner, suddenly I heard a strange screeching noise. It sounded like
a cat moaning or meowing and I thought perhaps there was a poor cat lost on the side of the road. I
ignored it and continued to drive but I wasn’t really focused on where we were going because I
was concentrating on whether I could really hear meowing sounds or was it my tires screeching,
or even worse was it something in the engine like a fan belt rubbing against something. I was
worried but I didn’t want to alarm my client, but I was getting quite paranoid about these strange
sounds. I asked my client if she too could hear some cat sounds. She confidently answered “No,
what noises?” No doubt she was thinking I was testing her mental state when, in reality, I was
testing myself. We finally arrived at the mall, swiftly did the shopping and then I dropped my
client off at her parents’ house. I was still questioning myself as to what these strange screeching
noises could be. As soon as my client was out of sight, I thought it would be best to check the
engine and see if everything looked alright before I set off again and safely drive back home. I
lifted the bonnet and sure enough a horrified black cat dashed out from underneath, letting out a
shrieking meow. I was instantly shocked and relieved at the same time. It is utterly stunning how a
cat can survive a whole journey in my engine! Furthermore I was relieved that I’m not inventing
things in my own head!!
I drove home astounded by what had just occurred. It was 10 pm when I arrived home and I
needed to wind down from what had just happened. I was, however, curious to know how the cat
had survived for so long and where there was space in the bonnet safe enough for a cat to stay
without it getting shredded to bits? Once again I popped open the bonnet, and I pointed a torch
systematically all around the engine in search of a place the cat could have been. My jaw dropped
to the ground. “I nearly had kittens” when I discovered a litter of newly born kittens all curled up
on a small ledge near the water tank. I wasn’t sure if they were still alive, they had just been born
and looked like little furless mice. I gave them a poke to see if they would move, and then quickly
thought that they had better not fall through the hot engine now they have come all this way. I
rushed off to find a towel and a small box to put them in. I was quite focused considering this
astonishing situation. I wrapped my hands in plastic bags, like surgical gloves, so the kittens
wouldn’t be “contaminated” from human smells and touch. Keeping a clear mind, I planned how
to reunite them with their mother. I grabbed a tin of tuna, wrapped all four kittens in a warm towel
and placed them safely in a box. I secured them with the seatbelt in the front seat next to me and
drove off, all the while trying to retrace the journey and location where the cat had jumped out of
the bonnet. I was in a hurry because I knew mummy cat would start to stroll around in a desperate
search for her kittens. As if all that wasn’t enough drama, two police officers waved me down to
do a standard license check. They were asking unimportant questions like where I was heading at
this time of night. All that came to mind was the catch phrase “I’m on a mission from God” but I
didn’t say this to them because it just doesn’t sound the same in Hebrew, and thought they might
mistake me for being “loopy”. I told them the story; and sure enough they did think I was one of
the towns crazy cat ladies. Luckily, they didn’t waste too much time and let me continue on my
mission. I reached the destination and started to do the crazy cat lady sounds. “Psspsspss... here,
puss pusspuss...” I opened the tin of tuna and wafted it around hoping the black cat would catch
the scent of the food. I took the box of kittens out of the car, safely placing it in a bush and started
to poke them hoping they would squeal so mummy cat would hear them. I left the tin of tuna in
the box poked the kittens once more and hid quietly behind a wall where I could still spy on the
box. Shortly afterwards, I saw mummy cat approaching the box with caution. My heart skipped a
beat as I realized I had just accomplished what seemed like an impossible undertaking and I truly
had been “On A Mission From God”.
43

Animals Are Great – Hierarchy & Sheila’s Family Tree.
Animals Are Great – Hierarchy & Sheila’s Family Tree.
We have included a handful of animal stories in our memoir, here are a few more pictures of
We have animals included that a we handful have found, of animal cared stories for, in and our loved memoir, but unfortunately here are a few are more no pictures longer with of animals us.
that we have found, cared for, and loved but unfortunately are no longer with us.
Gerry
Sheila
Len
Mart
Ray
Coz
Bella
Marmalade
Snoopy
Billy
Pesach
Ginger
Fluff
44

Dolly
Panda
Henry, Sandy and Foxy
Socks Lucky and Diana Socks and Dolly Sandy and Socks Diana & Socks, siblings
George
Coz’s painting of Tom
(real Tom in top left
corner
Sooty, Henry and Sandy,
Sooty’s offspring’s
45

“Undercover - Code Red”
Leonard has been a great entertainer in this book for most of these, stories. There are plenty he is
to blame for but those that he wasn’t its probably safe to say, we blamed him anyway whenever
we could. His anger and clumsiness made it all too easy for us to do so and it was our job as rival
siblings to do this. However, here is one story in which Leonard was the innocent bye-stander,
although, had we tried harder, we probably could have come up with some way to blame him.
This is Martin’s time to shine. If you read the introduction you would know Martin was born with
a temperament called “slow to warm up to” some of the characteristics of people with this
personality is they can keep themselves entertained and are quite happy to do “there own thing”.
Martin was very much a child like this and still is
today. Martin’s hobbies were playing football,
playing house football, playing “Subbuteo” a
football game made up of tiny figurines with a
weight at its base to make them slide and move as
you flicked at them and lastly he loved making
“Airfix” models. He was very good at building and
gluing the tiny pieces and then painting fine details
on planes, tanks boats even historical figurines like
Henry VIII. He used special Humbrol Enamel
based paints, they were tiny little tins, which
contained lethal sticky paint that had to be diluted
and washed with methylated spirits. He would spend hours doing these models and kept very
much to himself, which was bliss for mum and dad because this was one less child making a
racket or causing a ruckus. Martin wasn’t like Leonard at all he was calm, quiet, responsible, and
patient, at this age. He definitely did not posses the ‘clumsy gene’, except for this day, where he
accidently toppled the teeny tiny tin of red gooey paint onto the floor. We had just had the
bedroom fitted with a brand new beige carpet, which was unfortunate because two weeks earlier
his red sticky paint would have blended in with the old patterned red carpet. Desperately wanting
to remove the stain he used methylated spirits but the new fluffy carpet sapped this up, the red
blob turned into a large smudged mess. The only way to fix this was to cover it up. Out came the
big piece of newspaper that covered all across the floor under the table where he worked. Mum
and dad were thrilled to see Martin being so responsible. All their hard work insisting to put down
newspaper had prevailed. Never once did they wonder why it was taking so long for Martin to
finish these models. Weeks later upon vacuuming the room out popped the truth. Lucky for Martin
this happened not long before we moved to Israel, the house was sold and Martin had left his
mark!
46

Mum Was Gutted!
(Sheila) I was in the kitchen. Suddenly I heard what the rain and, although it didn’t seem to be
overcast and cloudy, I could hear a gush of water pounding the ground. I shouted hysterically “is
it raining, quick bring the washing in!” Due to English unpredictable weather that’s what all
mothers yelled out in those days, this was long before clothes driers were invented. Coz writes
here the other side of the story about what happened on this occasion.
“I was part of a gang, made up from brothers and sisters most of whome were our neighbours.
There were my three brothers Leonard, Martin and Raymond. Then Neil and Jane Collins, their
cousins Russell Barbara and Beverly Weisberg. As well as Arron and Debbie Levy and Steven
Mervin. No one else would have all of us in there homes except our Mum. So we were playing
“bounce the tennis ball” on and off the small, slanted roof above the front door. It was a sort of
makeshift basketball game we made up whereby we would throw the ball on to the roof, let it
bounce and then you called out someone’s name and that person had to catch it from whichever
angle it bounced off the roof. Len’s name was called, the ball bounced and landed in the rainwater
gutter. He jumped up, and grabbed the gutter, like a basketball hoop, however the gutter ripped off
leaving him dangling precariously in the air on the piece of broken gutter. To add to his misery, all
the filthy stinky water full of dead leaves and muddy gunge which had accumulated for years,
gushed out and showered him! That was the “rain” that mum heard
The Gutter – Corinne giving instructions to
Barbara up the ladder and Ray seeing the
funny side. Because he knows Len is in
trouble again!
47

The Gang: Top row left: Barbara Weisberg, Russell Weisberg, Leonard, Neil Collins. Martin and Steven
Mervin. Bottom row: Beverley Weisberg, Jane Collins, Coz and Ray. Below photos: The Gang in the
park: Top row left: Barbara, Ray, Martin, Len, Russell. Bottom row left: Mark, Aaron Levy’s cousin, Aaron
Levy, Coz, Debbie Levy.
Coz
Russell
Ray
Debbie
48

Mum and dads visit to England August 2019
“The muddyway”, Cavendish Rd and the
power station also know as our “cricket
stumps”
Typically and Famously Broken
There were many broken and ruined things in our house. A typical picture of the boys’ bedroom is
emerging as the stories unfold – like the red paint on the carpet, the broken window and the
tattered gutter. Playing “Action Man” was another of our inventions and it started at a very young
age. Let me explain what an “Action Man” game is; the boys room consisted of a single bed
placed perpendicular to bunk beds. The top bunk was an imaginary high-rise building or warplane.
We would jump off the top bunk pretending to be paratroopers; we would land with a bounce on
the single bed below. Raymond, aged 3 persuaded Corinne barely aged 2 that jumping from the
top of the bunk beds was easy and fun! It probably was except if you fall “like a two year old” or
miss the landing point. This cost poor little Corinne a broken leg! Our little tiny tot spent a month
in hospital with her teeny tiny leg in plaster and hanging in the air in a sling. “I was in tears every
time I went to see her” remembers mum. Below is Corinne’s first glimpse of being in the spotlight
of fame, unfortunately for all the wrong reasons, and our Raymond the “Golden Boy” was to
blame! Little did this deter us from continuing to play “Action Man” for many years later,
49

although it wasn’t published in the paper we still managed to break yet another leg, this time it
was on the single bed. Afterwards, from that day every time anyone sat on the broken corner, the
bed would collapse. Eventually, instead of trying to hide it or temporarily fixing it we removed all
of the legs turning it into a modern low bed similar to a Japanese futon, not so familiar to the
Western world yet, so you could say we were the first to have one of these. Ray says “It is so
typical for dad not to fix the problem but to keep on living with it despite it being uncomfortable”.
Ray has always been very pedantic and productive; he fixes things straight away in his house.
Once a golden boy, always a golden boy, except for this one time, and we have the below
evidence to prove it.
50

Winnie The Pooh Adventures
in Giardini Papadopoli, Venice, Italy
Home schooling and taking kids out of the educational system to become ‘traveling families’ is
very much on trend these days. During the 70’s Mum and dad might have been a little ahead of
their time in their decision to always go camping for our holidays as they believed traveling is an
education and still hold this belief strongly. Not that we were home schooled, and not that mum
and dad would want our boisterous, rebellious company for that long on the road, as proven in the
story ‘The Eifel Tower’. No, on the contrary they were very vocal about their anticipation of us
fleeing the nest as soon as possible. They stuck to their words too, aged 14 and 15 Leonard and
Martin were sent to Hadassim a boarding school as soon as we immigrated to Israel. Raymond
quickly followed suit as soon as he became of age. Unlike the three boys, I (Coz) had the privilege
of choosing to go to the boarding school. By now it all sounded exciting and the boys appeared to
like it. We were left to our own devises a lot of the time, which probably gave us a sense of
independence and when camping this was no different. Camping education meant we were
learning other things and meeting with other people and about other cultures. Travelling and
camping wasn’t always “our’ thing mum and dad acquired their experience by exercising the
theory of “practice makes perfect.” Starting off with a few hit and misses (mostly misses, more
about these in edition 2) travelling around UK, and then venturing out to the South of France.
Before long we were to embark on a six-week adventure; a camping travel trip from Manchester
England to Israel.
This story takes place on our second continental camping adventure in 1971. During our first trip
we saw Paris and the South of France but just a little of Italy, which we liked very much especially
the food – pizza, and pasta are Deitch favourites. This time mum and dad wanted to see more in of
Venice and the following incident happened there in the Giardini Papadopoli.
I’d like to say we are quite a healthy family no major health issues but here in this book there have
been a few hysterically funny toilet episodes. You see we do like to laugh at our Len the Rocket
Man but Martin too has been caught short in a very desperate need of a toilet. Martin was 10 years
old when we did this trip. I (Coz) was 7 years old at the time and remember the situation as
follows. We were actually waiting in a very long queue to go to the toilets. Dad was looking
around to see how the queue was progressing and mum was in a panic and telling dad ”He needs a
toilet NOW.” Martin couldn’t wait and felt the bowel motion coming at 100 miles per hour,
Unable to wait any longer with a gush of loose diarrhoea running down his legs, Mum pushed
Martin into a near by bush. Before long mum was popping in and out of this bush back and forth.
We were left to imagine what mum was doing in and out of the bush with bottles of water
probably making some kind of a makeshift shower for Martin or washing his clothes. We knew
the situation was really dire when we heard mums voice coming from the bush telling dad ‘we
need some more cloths these need to be disposed of’. After a long display of sounds and literally
‘movement’ coming from the bush, mum stepped out first followed by a sheepishly looking
Martin, wearing a massive pair of shorts ten times too big and some ill matched ladies cardigan.
All our clothes were back at the campsite all we had were the cloths on our back. Mum and dad
improvised with what they had at hand. The shorts were dad’s luckily dad was wearing swimmers
(not the speedo type, there weren’t invented yet) under his shorts and Mums cardigan came in
handy. Dad’s shorts were far from being large but on Martin these shorts looked ginormous, he
looked like a scarecrow with his stick like legs.
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This is what the place was like but it was near some buildings and cars were parked there and there were
people walking around enjoying the atmosphere and probably wondering what this crazy family found so
interesting about a bush!
52

A Wee Bit Pissed Off
Raymond was the ‘golden boy’, he was tidy, helpful, he knew how to get along with his siblings,
and play nicely. He cooked and cleaned and never really got into much trouble with mum and dad.
In many ways Raymond was the perfect boy, apart from one issue, he was a bed wetter until quite
a late age. By now mum was getting better at raising children and was advised by doctors to
“toilet train” Raymond and his bowels with strict regime methods. Every night Raymond would
stop drinking before bedtime (whenever that was, I don’t recall having a set bedtime). Then he
would have to empty his bowels as many times as possible before going to bed. Then he would be
“sleep walked” to the toilet to do a wee. This was mostly done as he was still asleep propped up
under his armpits by mum or dad as he did the deed. Mum and dad would do this a few times
before they too went to bed much later on in the night. This ritual went on for years, every night
Raymond would be walked out of the bedroom led across the corridor and into the “little boys
room”. One night I was awakened to find him sleepwalking on his own, I didn’t realise this at the
time, I had never seen someone sleep walk before. Raymond had taken a wrong turn out of his
usual routine. He opened my cupboard door and started his nightly ritual taking his time to do a
long pee all over my things inside my closet.
Eau de Toilette
I was about 7 years old when the incident Raymond the closet pee’er happened. I noticed mum
had a little bottle of something called Eau de Toilette on her “dressing table” (make up and
jewelry table) in her bedroom. I was quite proud of myself for managing to read and understand
French when I recognised the word “Toilette”. I tested the spray scent in the air. I never thought
twice about why this nice smelling “toilet spray” was left on mum’s dressing table and thought it
would be far more useful to spray my cupboard quite frequently to give it a lovely smell of
flowers instead of wee. I then used it regularly in the toilet whenever I did a smelly one!
L'eau Dans Le Camp
I wasn’t the only one to experience Ray’s bladder problem. When we went on our camping trips to
Wales, it was much easier to de-urinate Ray than at home because all we had to do was open the
flap of the tent and he would tinkle away. Except, one night, he had an accident, and when
Leonard and Martin woke up in the morning, they found their tent awash but not from rain!
53

Notably, toilet stories are an ongoing theme in our childhood experiences we have entertained you
at large within them here. It’s there for no surprise that the next generation of Deitch’s continues
in our footsteps this next story introduces the next generation “toilets in a new era”
Automatic Plumber
This vignette happened when Sheila and Gerry, were on holiday in Canada with Ray Dorit and
their three teenage boys Guy, Ofek and Omer, in September 2003. We travelled via London to
Montreal. We collected our hire cars and arrived at our hotel. After getting our rooms and
freshening up we waited in our room for the others to knock on our door so we could take a
sightseeing walk together. It was a considerable time before they arrived
Apparently, it was due to Guy who did one of his explosions, which blocked the toilet, so they had
to ring to reception and ask for a plumber to come up to their room and free the blockage. Now
this was not a one-time event- it happened on other trips that Ray and Dorit made with the boys.
Strangely enough these bowel movements always seemed to happen on the first day of their
holiday, perhaps excitement or new food and new environment. Getting a bit fed up with this, Ray
decided to get it sorted. The next time they went on holiday, they arrived at the reception desk at
the hotel and did the usual filling out of forms, sorting out rooms, getting the keys etc and when
that was all done, the clerk asked “Will there be anything else sir?” to which Ray replied “Yes,
could you send a plumber up to the children’s room in about an hour”. The clerk was surprised
and said, “Is there a problem sir?” To which Ray answers “No, but there will be in an hour!
Camping from Manchester to the Middle East via the
Mediterranean Sea- July- August 1973
The outwards journey
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This is a long title for a long journey to Israel, which included travelling by road, railway, and sea.
The route was as follows Manchester to Dover in England by car, crossing the English Channel by
ferry to Ostend in Belgium, and driving through Frankfurt and Munich in Germany on to Salzburg
and Bad Gastein in Austria where we had another change in travel mode. Our car was loaded onto
the freight part of a train and we were in a regular train carriage as we travelled through a very
long tunnel to Villach. The purpose of this was so that we could avoid a long drive over the high
mountains (Alps) along narrow winding roads to arrive in Villach. Back in the car, our journey
took us through Bled, Lubliana, and Zagreb, which are all now in Slovenia but in 1973 were in
Yugoslavia, which ultimately was carved up into five separate states as a result of the horrific
Balkan Wars in the 1990’s. Belgrade was our next destination. Today it is the capital of Serbia,
but back in 1973 it was the capital of communist Yugoslavia. Travelling south we passed through
Skopje, now the capital of North Macedonia, and finally we entered Greece for the last lap of our
road journey. We camped for a couple of days in Thessalonica where we met a Brazilian family
who cooked a delicious chicken dish and invited us to eat with them. Then we travelled the last
400 kilometres from Thessalonika to Athens where we camped for two nights before setting out
on our sea voyage from Piraeus to Haifa. Ironically, after a successful ten-day journey free of
mishaps, the one event that could have upset all our plans happened on that day we were due to
embark on the ferry. On that morning Martin did not feel well and was vomiting and seemed to
have a temperature so we asked where there was a hospital and, leaving the other three to fend for
themselves at the campsite, we took Martin to hospital.
The doctors decided Martin was dehydrated and we told them we had to be at the port by six in the
evening. They were really wonderful, although somewhat slow and laid back but their
examination was thorough and included a lumbar puncture to rule out that he did not have
meningitis as the symptoms are similar. Whilst Martin was in the safe hands of the hospital we
took the opportunity to return to camp to collect our three other children and pack everything up,
collect Martin from the hospital and complete the last few kilometers to Piraeus. It was quite hairraising
and nerve racking driving through the Athenian traffic with its crazy drivers, but we
gallantly fought our way towards the port with one eye on the time which was fast approaching
“last passengers aboard” call. How relieved we were to find on our arrival that our departure had
been delayed and we could eat and relax after an unexpectedly anxious day,
When we finally set sail on the Arkadi, it was absolute bliss for me. The holiday had really begun.
The Mediterranean Sea was calm and we saw dolphins jumping high into the air. I spent most of
the two-day trip relaxing in a deck chair soaking up the sunshine whilst the children amused
themselves with games that were available.
As the Arkadi made its way towards its final destination- the port in Haifa – I woke up all the
children so that they could get their first view of Israel. But nobody was happy – it was 5am in the
morning
It is not my intention to write a travelogue on everything we did during our four-week stay in
Israel. The photographs below show us visiting some of the “must see” places in the country.
However, it is appropriate to explain here, why on earth Gerry and I decided to undertake this
mammoth seven week journey / holiday. In a sentence, in March 1970 Gerry went on a two-week
holiday to Israel with our neighbor Morris Kaye and on his return he announced to us that he
wanted to live there. The reason was that he thought it would be a more fulfilling life for all of us
and that we would be helping to build the country which was only twenty five years old at that
time. I decided that such a big decision should be thought through and I wasn’t so adventurous as
to pack up and move to some place I had never seen and hope I would like it. And thus, we
planned our trip so we could all see “The Promised Land” – “The Land of Milk and Honey”. Yes
we could have done it the easy way –a return flight from Manchester direct to Tel Aviv and back
and cheap accommodation in Israel for a month. But that would come with an exorbitant price tag
for six people that was not within our budget. Besides, as I said in the introduction, the Deitches
are somewhat different and a bit quirky and often, the norm is not their style. Also, I wouldn’t
have the following stories to tell you.
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Things we did.
Austria and Bavaria
One day we were travelling through Southern Germany and into Austria and it just rained for
hours on this journey. I don’t remember much of what we did or how we kept our four children
amused but eventually, we were hungry and decided to stop at some roadside café to eat. Well,
there were no roadside cafes, since we were travelling through a forested area but we did see a
number of roadside signs with the word “Fisch” on them and we kept wondering what it meant.
When we were really starving, we decided that at the next sign we would stop the car on the
roadside shoulder and Gerry would investigate. He had to walk along a path into the trees and he
soon returned with a big smile on his face and said: Come and see what I have found”. It was a
large wooden hut with a hole in the roof and, on the floor underneath this hole was a large
barbeque grill with a hood and a chimney and the grill was filled with whole mackerel fish on
sticks. We each had one served on a plate with a slice of lemon, a slice of black bread, and a drink.
We sat on benches which filled the perimeter of the hut, sheltered from the rain, and we were “as
happy as pigs in shit” as the saying goes. Gerry could not understand where they got the fish from
because we were in the middle of the countryside and nowhere near water. What we didn’t know
then, but do now, is that “Steckerlfisch” - wherever it comes from, it is considered a specialty in
Bavaria (Southern Germany) and Austria and is served in beer
gardens and especially during the Octoberfest. Eating out is
part of everyone’s holiday and especially trying out new
unfamiliar dishes in foreign places. For the Deitches, food is
very important and so this is one thing we did both on our
journey and in Israel– we ate a lot!
Yugoslavia - Our one luxurious night in a hotel.
When we arrived in Belgrade, we went to a campsite that was recommended in the Michelin
Guide Book but I hastily ran away as it was infested with flies and mosquitoes. It was getting late
so we decided to splash out and stay the night in a hotel. After all, Yugoslavia was a communist
country so it probably wasn’t so expensive - or five star. As it happens it was comfortable so we
booked two rooms and I can remember thinking that this was so great. We showered and went to
sleep. However, In the middle of the night, there was a loud clap of thunder. A swirling wind
followed by rain and huge hail stones hitting the windows. When we were fully awake, the room
felt as if it was moving, swaying from side to side. It was rather terrifying and I ran into the
children’s room and shouted, “Are you alright?” I think they were still asleep, but opened one eye
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and asked what was going on. I don’t remember how long the storm went on for but I do
remember wondering if there had been an earthquake or was it shoddy building. When we went
outside in the morning, there was a lot of debris on the ground that had been blown about but
worse than that, there were large dents all over the bonnet of the car from the hailstones hitting it.
And when we returned home we had to claim on the insurance for the damage to the car. Not
exactly a luxurious night in a hotel.
A very grey looking ‘luxurious
hotel’, look closer to see all the
broken windows.
Crossing the border from
Yugoslaviaa into Greece
The People We Met
I remember Coz, writing somewhere in the book that "dad and mum thought camping abroad was
educational -seeing new places and meeting people from different cultures. I remember at the time
chuckling to myself as I read this and thinking of the gypsy family in Yugoslavia who appeared
from nowhere whilst we were enjoying an afternoon snack of delicious fruit
The two boys (on the right of the photograph) appeared first and began to suss out what we had
that they needed. They were very interested in our food, towels and cooking implements. And then
the whole family arrived and would not leave until we gave them some stuff. See our blue Renault
car in the bottom left hand corner.
We met a Brazilian family whilst camping in Thessalonica and they cooked the most delicious
spicy chicken meal and they invited us to eat with them. On the Arkadi we saw from a distance
“The International Man” who was like a ’homeless’ you might see living on the street or in a
park. But he was very clean and when I took this photo I think he had just had a shower and his
wet hair was neatly combed back. We asked who he was because he was quite conspicuous since,
in the heat of the Mediterranean sun, he was wearing a heavy grey overcoat. Apparently he was a
well-known character because, somehow, he lived on the ferryboats travelling from place to place
but never got off, as he didn’t have a passport.
We also met an English guy Cedric and his Swiss wife Vreni and their two daughters. The family
had been holidaying in Europe but had immigrated to Israel some years previously. They were
living on Kibbutz Kfar Hanassi. And they invited us to visit them at their home whilst we were
travelling around Israel.
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Previous page; Gypsies. Next page; The Brazilian family whilst camping in Thessalonica
and The international man.
Our visit to a Kibbutz. Cedric and Vreni and their two
daughters at Kibbutz Kfar Hanassi enjoying the
Swimming pool. Martin always stood on one leg
pretending he had a “stump-leg”. Like we said he
was different to us hence we told everyone he was
adopted.
Places we saw.
When Martin was in the hospital, Len tried out his
culinary skills.
“Goating around”
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The Arkadi on her way to
Israel. That’s Ray in the
red T-shirt standing by
the rail. The two people
in the deckchairs on the
left are soaking up the
sun just like I was
We have arrived at our destination
But nobody was happy that I woke
them up at 5am in the morning to
have our first view of Israel as we
approached Haifa.
Wimpy Burgers in Hebrew
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Haifa halfway up to Hacarmel.
A view of Jerusalem -the Dome of the Rock is in the centre
A New Neighbourhood, The French Hill- Jerusalem
View of the Dead Sea from Massada
Aqueduct at
Caesarea
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The Homeward Journey
The journey home as I remember was going to be the same as the outward journey. The ferry
would pick us up at Haifa port and off we would go – “homeward bound”. Well of course that
didn’t actually happen. On the last morning in Israel, we arrived early in Haifa and I said to Gerry,
”Let’s go to the port, first of all and make sure the ferry has arrived”. Well, he thought I had gone
completely mad and said “of course it has” but after insisting, we went and of course there was no
ferry. Not only was there no ferry, but there wasn’t going to be one for five days and when it
would arrive, it wouldn’t be a ferry – it would be a cruise ship that would be stopping at the ports
of Antalya on the southern coast of Turkey, the islands of Rhodes and Syros, Athens, the island
of Corfu, Dubrovnik on the coast of Yugoslavia and finally it would dock in Venice. That trip
would take five days and then we had to add on another five days of free board in a hotel in
Haifa for our inconvenience whilst we waited for our cruise ship to arrive. After getting over the
shock of having an extra ten days free holiday, it began to feel that a disaster was turning into
quite a manageable situation. However, that doesn’t mean to say it was completely calamity- free.
But, fortunately, it was a case of lost and found that happened to Gerry’s camera. When we finally
set sail, we decided to take advantage of visiting some of the places the ship was calling at and
went ashore for the day in Rhodes, Athens and Dubrovnik. We enjoyed these sightseeing trips and
especially Athens because, the first time we were there, we only saw the campsite and the hospital
with Martin. We took our car off the ship at the port in Piraeus for the eight-kilometer journey to
Athens and then wandered around the Plaka, an historical and lively neigbourhood clustered
around the Acropolis and a well-known tourist destination. Late in the afternoon, we ate at one of
the many restaurants before making our way back to the ship, which would be departing at six in
the evening for the next stop. As we arrived and were getting out of the car someone and I am sure
it must have been Gerry said, “Where’s the camera”? You must remember we are talking about
the 1970’s and cameras were not built into hand held mobile telephones they were like this – a
camera and an assortment of attachable lenses they were in a box like
this. This box had been left under the table in the restaurant where we had
eaten So Gerry turned around to go back to the restaurant. Meanwhile
we rushed up the gangplank onto the ship to find the captain and try to
persuade him not to set sail yet and to wait for Gerry and hopefully the
camera to return. The punch line of this story is that as we watched Gerry
leave he shouted up to us “if you can’t delay the ship, I’ll see you in
Corfu”.
Gerry is somewhat of a fantasist and, as a realist; I could never see that
happening! Fortunately he found the camera and arrived back before the
ship departed and from then on, “see you in Corfu” became yet another
Deitch catch- phrase.
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However that is not the end of the story. After disembarking at the port in Venice, we set out on a
long drive to the port in Calais, which would take at least 15 hours. From Calais, we would take
the ferry across the English Channel to Dover and then continue the final leg of our journey home
to Cavendish Road. All went well except we had to spend the first night of the journey all of us
sleeping in the car in a car park because Gerry had wanted to continue driving late into the night
but I said it was enough travelling for one day. I don’t remember the details of this uncomfortable
event but we survived it and arrived the next evening in Calais.
We had missed the last ferry of the day across the English Channel but we were so exhausted –
remember we didn’t sleep much the night before, all crammed in the car - so we were very happy
to stay the night in a hotel close to the port. We quickly unpacked quite a bit of stuff from the car
that we thought might get stolen and then booked in, which took a bit of time, as there were
obviously other people in the same situation as us also booking in. Finally, we were all set,
collected all our belongings, which we had dumped in the reception area and traipsed up to our
rooms.
In the morning, feeling refreshed after a great sleep in a comfy bed followed by a shower and a
change of clothes, we gathered everything up ready to vacate the room when a voice said “
Where’s the camera”? There were two choices here – we had either left in the car or downstairs in
the reception area. I don’t remember if I went downstairs with Gerry or if it is just my imagination
but I have a picture in my mind of a lone black camera box on the floor, in the middle of the
reception area. Somehow we had forgotten it the night before and “unbelievably” it was still there
Excuse me if I digress here with some philosophical thoughts but you will see the relevance at the
end. Looking back over a long life, I have come to the conclusion that life is a concoction of the
decisions we make, the risks we take, the people we meet, the questions we ask, and the places we
choose to be at the right or wrong time All these are interconnected and wrapped up with a
smattering of good luck. Sometimes things happen in life that are totally unexplainable and thus I
am sure that the pictures in this story, taken with ‘The Camera”, are here either by a stroke of
good luck or because someone, somewhere was looking after us.
On the way home, in the background
Syros one of the many Greek Islands
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Rhodes Harbour and Dubrovnik
63
Nearly home, The White Cliffs of Dover and
Home at last having a cuppa with
Grandma Deitch.

Next Chapter...
Land of Milk and Honey
We immigrated to Israel in September 1975. None of us knew how to speak Hebrew in the full
sense of a spoken language. We knew how to read the blessings taught to us phonetically in school
in England. We knew how to say the words but didn’t understand all the meanings apart from the
main words like “Adonai” meaning “My Master” or “Elohaynu” Our Lord. We were taught to say
“Elo-K-aynu” or “Elo-K-im” using K instead of the H, and to write G-d as a gesture of respect to
ensure the name is not” taken in vain” which means you must not abuse, misuse or spoil it. The
other main difference was that words we used that ended in “ S” such as Shabbos, Shevuos or
Succos or Bris (Milah) in modern Hebrew end in “T” – Shabbat, Shevuot, Succot and “Brit-
Mila” meaning "covenant of circumcision.” and not to be confused with slang for a British
person. We discovered all of these differences once we moved to Israel. At the beginning, we felt
like aliens on another planet.
We arrived at the “Ulpan” also known as an “Absorption Centre” or in Hebrew “Mirkaz Klita”
which was in Netanya in an area call Even Yehuda. This is where we were to live for about five
months during which time the parents would be learning Hebrew and then, after a couple of
months, they would begin the process of looking for work and a place to live.
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Above is Gerry’s painting of the view from the outside porch of our little house. Being a family of 6 so we
were given two small apartments, or houses, next to each other. This painting was the view from mum
and dad’s balcony facing the home of an American family (person wearing blue shirt), and opposite
them was another English family. I want to mention here that living opposite us was a Canadian family,
Mackie, Freda, and their daughter Gail with whom we struck up a lasting friendship.
“The first night Ray and I slept in a little flat next door to mum and dads little flat, I remember
hearing a baby screaming and wailing it sounded like it was in pain and angry. Later, much later
in life, I realised this howling was the way stray male cats sound as they fight over territory and
the female cats they want to mate with” Coz’s memory, aged 10
Our first impression of Israel was from inside a communal gated community, similar to a Kibbutz
surrounded by “outsiders”. Life on the Ulpan was friendly and safe, families from all over the
world lived in little houses along small paths and lanes, there were classrooms along the main path
and a few other buildings used as halls for parties and congregations. The main attraction and
main congregation place was the public and communal dinning hall called “chadar ochel”. Here
we all ate together just like on a kibbutz. We met and mingled with other families and it was a
perfect little village immersed in an otherwise quite neglected “slummy” part of Netanya at that
time in 1975.
As I just mentioned it wasn’t exactly an up market neighborhood, and the people on the outside,
particularly, the children would look sneeringly at us and swear at us and we would look back at
them with some apprehension. This was a place where society on the outside was not kind
especially when my first and only bike got stolen the very first day it arrived from England. It was
here Gail and I (Coz) were walking home from the local shops happily eating our icecreams when
we saw a commotion happening close by underneath one of the buildings. Gail was 8 years old I
was 11 and it was nearing Pesach. People were using huge pots to boil the kitchen pots, pans and
tableware ready to make them ‘Kosher for Peasach’. This was all very new to us, we had separate
pots, pans and tableware just for Pesach and our ritual was changing over everything to our
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“pesachdiki” stuff. That’s how privileged we were compared to the Israeli life. On the way home
suddenly we saw people taking a pet sheep for a walk on a lead made from rope. We were
intrigued with all that was going on and thought how odd it was to have a pet sheep. Before we
could pat the sheep and make sense of it they suddenly threw it on its side and quickly slit its
throat. We had no idea this was a ritual taken from the bible, they had just sacrificed a sheep. We
were in shock and so disgusted at the sight of blood and guts spurting out we threw away our ice
creams and ran home to normality and the safety of the ulpan. We weren’t exactly welcomed in a
friendly manner into this new and different and, in some respects, primitive society. Nor could we
imagine ourselves merging into it. On the other hand, we did grow up fast and learnt quickly. The
first words I remember hearing from the “outsiders” were not even in Hebrew they were a bunch
of American swear words “Son Of A Beech” meaning Bitch. We had never heard this before and
didn’t know what it meant and it still doesn’t really make sense. We soon learnt in Hebrew the
word bitch is translated as “zona”, which means whore. We were learning two languages
American and Hebrew.
Gail took the saying “land of milk and honey” a bit too
literally
One wet, cold, foggy morning and as we arrived at the bus stop to go to school, Ray, Gail and I
saw ‘a full bag of milk’ on the ground. In those days, a liter of milk was packaged like a bag of
chips in soft plastic bladder- like bags. Naturally, Ray and I dared Gail to jump onto the pillowshaped
bag of milk and thought it would be fun to hear it pop. Gail jumped on it and bounced off
it a few times, nearly falling onto the ground but determined to pop this balloon and of course we
were spurring her on for a bit of fun. She eventually stomped on it
till it burst with a big bang squirting the white milk out so
furiously that it showering Gail from top to toe. She walked back
home and didn’t go to school that day. Gail would do
anything to get out of going to school.
Gail and Coz on Kibbutz Ha’ogen a
few years after the milk incident.
There is 3 years difference in age
between Gail and Coz , Gail is the
younger one!
One of our favourite photos
standing on a ladder behind the
bush. Gail 9 Coz 12 years old
Coz and Ray at their first school in Israel
While all the parents went to Hebrew lessons on the Ulpan during the mornings, all the children
went to a regular school in the neighborhood, and were placed straight away into regular classes.
However, for a couple of hours every other day we were assigned to Hebrew lessons regardless of
age or origin. It was the only time I enjoyed school because I liked learning the Hebrew language
and I liked the Hebrew teacher too.
We also had something in common with the other new migrant children, we were all in this new
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environment trying to become absorbed into a society totally different from what we had all left. It
was nice leaving the fast paced gobbledygook classes and getting away from the boredom from
not understanding what was going on in class and it was difficult trying to communicate with the
other Israeli children and become friends with them. Everyone spoke so rapid it sounded like
gobbledygook most of the time to us.
The Hebrew teacher was called Leah. She was very nice to us and in today’s terms she would be
considered “cool”. She was patient and understood that it wasn’t easy for children to be new
immigrants who struggle to learn a new language. We genuinely felt she liked us and wanted to
help us integrate. She also had a good sense of humour and we would make her laugh all the time
in the lessons. We were only a small group of students in a tiny make shift classroom but it was
bright and airy but also snug and comfortable for small groups. Leah would stay with us while we
played close by during the class breaks. She wouldn’t go to the teacher’s room like all the other
teachers. She would look after us and even joined in with our laughter. This is an example of one
of the games we made up which really entertained her.
Television Time
We made up silly games and one of our favorites was pretending the window inside the classroom
was a TV. The window was on a hinge so one person would stand behind the glass in the centre of
the frame and be the presenter on TV. The other kids were viewers who controlled the channels
the programmes and the sound by pressing pretend buttons on the window frame. The presenter
would have to adapt to what the viewers were deciding to watch and how loud it was. Leah the
teacher would be in hysterics at our imagination. She would hear us yelling at times when we
were pretending we were news presenters, and the viewers were adjusting the volume button up
and down .The person behind the screen had to do whatever the viewers were controlling. There
were many aspects to this game, switching from yelling to miming so we were mute or going from
talking to scratchy sounds when the screen is “snowy’” or talking very fast as if speeding through
the channels like searching for something on a radio. The curtain was used to simply turn on or off
the TV. It was really fun! All this activity would amuse us and keep us entertained for ages as well
as out of harm’s way. However Leah was not at all amused at what happened in the next story
Jaffa Orange
One day Ray was presenting on ”The TV” with Gail. They were standing by “the” window and
were teasing me and getting on my nerves. I was standing at the door some distance from them. I
was getting very angry and upset, I wanted to hurt Ray and Gail back, I was holding a huge Jaffa
orange so I threw at them hurriedly. I aimed it at Ray and threw it hard in a rage of anger. Ray
managed to outwit me. He ducked and pushed the window in front of him to protect himself. Well
let me tell you, this orange appeared to be moving in slow motion, it hit the window frame
bounced off in a 45 degree direction and built up more momentum just like in a cricket match.
Believe it or not, I had thrown the orange like a ‘googly’, which is a type of deceptive delivery,
bowled by a right-arm, leg spin bowler. The orange finally landed with all its force right on top of
Leahs head! She was very angry. This was the first time we ever saw her angry. I guess you could
call me a bit of a “tosser.”
One definition for “tosser” according to dictionary.com is British slang for a stupid or despicable
person and Collins English Dictionary defines a tosser as vulgar, derogatory slang for
a foolish or despicable person.
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Aeroplane
Ray me and Gail were peeping in through the window of the hall where there was an adult Purim
party in action. We eventually sneaked in to the party trying to keep a low profile doing
commando crawls and creeping under tables. People were dressed up as cowboys and Indians,
bank robbers or chefs, witches, queen, kings and clowns etc. We made paper planes from the
lightweight paper napkins and started to throw them across the room. You probably have realised
by now, in these ‘olden’ days we as kids were very creative and imaginative at inventing games.
This time we were playing ‘who can make their plane fly the furthest in this long room packed
with people. The napkins were made of very fine rice paper squares making the planes small but
fast. The rules soon changed once one of the planes accidently landed on a table. We were now
aiming at the wine glasses and the dips on the table and ultimately into glasses of red wine that
some people were holding. Never in a million years would we have expected that Gail would
throw a plane that would land inside an elderly lady’s ‘ beehive hair- do’. This is a hairstyle all
puffed up like candyfloss. Strangely enough this got stuck and did not budge. She didn’t even
realise it had nestled itself firmly at the back of her head. An ever-lasting memory for us, and quite
possibly a conundrum for others that night as they viewed this weird hair ornament!
Purim Party at the Ulpan
We stayed at the Ulpan longer that the original five months. In fact we were there a year until we
moved to Be’er Sheva .The finalé to our first anniversary in Israel was to celebrate Ray’s
barmitzvah at the Kotel (the Western wall) in September 1976 surrounded by many of the people
we had met at the Ulpan during that year.
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Photos from the Ulpan
This photo is taken on the main path in the Ulpan. Further down where the other people are standing is the front gate
and office. The block of flats in the background is the ‘outsider’ lived and is the building where Gail and Coz saw the
sheep being slaughtered.
This photo shows the little houses families lived in. All of these people are were Argentinean Back row middle
mum, front row left Coz far right Ray.
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Laughing At Life, Life Goes On In Israel
Israel is a conflict striven and complicated place to live in, a boiling pot of political and religious
beliefs and opinions as well as a constant mix of strong emotional interpretations of ownership
over this sacred and spiritual land. The results of these conflicting ideologies and sentiments, has
been and, continues to be, accusations, wars, military operations and terror attacks.
Since 1948, when the UN voted to recognize Israel as a democratic state and homeland for the
Jewish people, Israel has been involved in 15 documented wars and conflicts to date, as well as
other terrorist and suicide bomb attacks in cities and settlements within the country. If you stop to
think about it, this lifestyle is emotionally taxing on everyone. For example, the Gulf War broke
out in August 1990. Iraq invaded Kuwait and threatened to attack Israel with various types of
weapons, including non-conventional ones. For the first time in Israel's history, the entire country
faced a real threat of destruction when it came under attack from Iraqi Scud Missiles. The very
first night I was woken by sirens blaring out in the still of the night, which was followed by
frightening transcripts transmitted on the radio; “This is not a false alarm. Because of a missile s
attack on Israel, all the citizens of Israel please wear your gas masks and go into the sealed room.
After your family has entered the room, please seal the bottom of
the door with a wet towel and put duct tape on the doorframe.
Please turn off your air conditioners, and check that your kids
put their masks on properly. Please keep listening, this is not
false alarm, there is a missile attack on Israel.”
I was a student living on my own in Haifa. While other
concerned students and flat mates went to stay with close
relatives or friends near by. Mum and dad were living in Beer
Sheva and it was too far away for me to travel. I was so
frightened at the build up of these attacks that I went to stay with
my friend Orit and her flatmate. We became a wartime family
during these scud missile attacks. Literally masking our fears of
feeling like “sitting ducks” waiting in anticipation for an
explosion, but at the same time we laughed at how we looked in
our gas masks. The first scud missile fell in one of the suburbs
near Haifa. Thankfully it wasn’t a chemical missile, but we
continued the precautionary routine of sitting in our “protected room” for ages with our gas masks
on. We had been told before the imminent first attack how to make a “safe and protected room”.
This consisted of taping up our windows with heavy-duty tape and sealing the bottom of the door
with a wet towel! Years later you would still see windows taped with diagonal, horizontal, and
vertical lines. I realise this is quite a dreary narrative for a book that is all about humorous
anecdotes. However you need to understand the national state of security and safety to fully
appreciate the following stories.
Damn You, Saddam Hussein!
Life in Israel revolves around security awareness and being vigilant at all times. This first story
happened two years after those first scud missiles hit Israel during The Gulf War. By now Orit and
I had finished studying graphic design and we were both awarded scholarships, which included a
nice big cheque each. We decided to combine our financial prizes in order to establish our very
own graphic design studio. We bought our first Macintosh computer, a new innovative Panasonic
“phone station” including the latest integrated fax with answering machine and automatic dialing
functions. We bought a new ink jet printer and even had enough money for a Suzuki scooter. In
the first month we entered a national competition to design a “telecard” for use in public phone
booths, barely knowing how to use the computer or Photoshop. We submitted our design to
Bezeq, Israel’s national telecommunications company and to our surprise we won first prize! We
71

used this unexpected win to rent a trendy loft space in Florentine, South Tel- Aviv, an up and
coming hub area for artists and designers. One day we came to the studio early and turned on the
radio as usual. I was only vaguely listening when I heard the presenter giving those instructions
about what to do when sirens went off. Suddenly Orit came flying out of the toilet panic stricken
with her trousers still halfway down her legs and said, “not again damn that Saddam Hussein!”
She hurried me along telling me: “I don’t know where my gas mask is and we need to stop to buy
the heavy duty tape”. We whizzed off on our little Suzuki scooter in the utter most urgency. We
must have looked like “Chicken Licken” (European tale) about a young chick who believed the
sky was falling down and the world was coming to an end, because an acorn had fallen on his
head!
Orit was anxiously trying to remember where she had left her gas mask. I too started to wonder,
did I leave my mask in Haifa? As we were frantically driving along yelling and screaming our
heads off, we noticed people on the street and in their cars were looking at us in a strange way. We
whooshed up to the traffic lights in our frantic state, impatiently waiting for the lights to change to
green. We looked around at pedestrians and people in their cars, everyone seem to be unusually
calm and carrying on in a normal manner, unlike ourselves. It was at that moment we realised and
admitted to our failure; what we had heard on the radio was a replay commemorating the events
that happened on that first night exactly two years earlier. We giggled at ourselves and felt rather
stupid at this realization but when Orit and I meet these days 20 years on we always reminisce
about this amusing story, and have a good old hearty laugh at our young silly selves.
“If you don’t learn to laugh at trouble, you won’t have anything to laugh at when you’re old.”
- Edgar Watson Howe - American novelist and newspaper editor.
“As soap is to the body, so laughter is to the soul.” - Jewish Proverb
In Our DNA To Be Suspicious
The earlier description is typical of the strains on Israeli living. Since the establishment of the
state, attentiveness to objects or packages left unattended and caution regarding any suspicious
person or action seemingly has become part of Israeli’s DNA
It has taken me over 25 years to reach a professional fulfilling career and find my calling. After
my army service I Started off as a drafts person, making adverts in the local newspaper in Beer-
Sheva then I moved to Tel Aviv as an au pair (a fancy French word for a nanny who gets paid
minimal wage because they live at the employers residence). The husband was a photographer and
owned “Elul Hafacot “a Photographic Studio. One year later I worked in his studio in the graphics
department, again I was pasting the graphic components on his photographs. This was a terrific
time and a huge kick-start to my graphic design career. Through this experience I finally was
accepted into Wizo Haifa Design College. The previous story explains how winning a few prizes
helped not only to attract clients who recognized our talents but also to boost our studio’s success
with an array of interesting and novel designs and achievements. However, finance and
mathematics were never my strong points and together with the difficulty of staying afloat in the
relatively limited and competitive advertising industry, we closed the studio after four years. I
moved on to something that was more compelling where I could connect with people and make a
difference or change in some small part of peoples life. I took the plunge into a new direction -
teaching children in primary schools.
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Here I leant the value of personal influence, and the positive impact I can have on children. I was
now travelling to many different schools dotted all around rural areas surrounding Tel-Aviv and
beyond. At this point of my life I was still riding the Suzuki scooter, rain hail or shine I would turn
up to the schools either over heated and sweaty or soaking wet from the rain, holding handmade
smudged, crushed and soggy models to present to the children. One day I was assigned to be a
substitute teacher at a school I hadn’t been to before, I rushed into the class cold and miserable,
dripping and soaking wet with a droopy wet model in hand. The children looked disappointed at
the sight of me and tried to figure out what the model was, they said “What is that?!! You’re not
our teacher... we don’t even learn that subject!” I said sternly “I am the substitute teacher for this
class, so settle down and get ready...” The children were extremely rowdy and things were getting
out of my control, they were winning and I was losing this battle. Suddenly the children hurried to
their seats and hushed abruptly. Another teacher walked in looking at me in the strangest way,
they were telling the truth, she was their teacher. I explained I had been called upon to teach grade
5a. She answered, “this is the correct class but you have the wrong school, you need to go to the
school across the road”. From that day on I decided to buy a car where I could arrive respectably
to school and I would have plenty of space to store a years’ worth of models and examples
carefully on the back seat. The year was 1994, my first car was a 1982 beige Renault 5. I loved it,
except for the beige. I was living on the busiest main road in Tel-Aviv, Kaplan Street. One day as
I approached my precious car I was stunned at the sight of a huge dent, the size of football in the
drivers’ door. Nobody was kind enough to leave a note, I wasn’t earning enough money to have it
fixed and I was too annoyed to spend money on someone else’s mistake. My car was looking quite
the working vehicle, tattered on one side and jam-packed with “junk” to most people but was
actually boxes full of handmade models and equipment. I had boxes full of tin foil and wires for
teaching how to build an electrical circuit, or straws and balloons for building the likes of airbased
cars, cardboard, glue scissors and paints etc I was so pleased I had a safe and dry spot to
keep all of this equipment. Once I came back to my car only to find a ticket on my windscreen.
The strangest part of this was that the ticket was on the inside of my car! I checked all the doors
and windows which were still locked. I couldn’t understand how and why I could receive a
parking ticket that has been placed on the inside. I unlocked the door and found it wasn’t a parking
ticket; it was a notice from the police advising me that a member of the public had reported my car
as “suspicious” because of its unkempt appearance and boxes full of weird and wary equipment on
the back seat. Unbeknown to me, my car had a “fatal attraction” appeal to it specially being
parked on the main road leading into the centre of Tel Aviv. Looking back on this day, this did
warrant the distrust of the public because after all it has become part of our DNA to be suspicious,
vigilant and are alert at all times.
Being suspicious is one thing but sometimes things get
blown out of all proportion
Of course I too should have been more vigilant and put all my stuff in the boot of the car but I
didn’t . What I did do, with the help of Orit and Mark , her husband at that time, was to improve
the unkempt appearance of my precious car after the “suspicious car” complaint by taking the
misshapen dinted door off , laying it on the grass verge at the side of the road where I usually
parked, stomping on the inside of it with heavy rubber boots in an attempt to push out the dent
which was successful to a certain extent and finally , surprisingly, managing to get the door back
on! It still looked quite bad so we then decided to hand paint the whole car with a brush using a
revolutionary product called Hematite paint and out of a very limited colour range I chose Golden
Yellow and ecstatically said goodbye to the dull beige. Everything was looking up for me; my car
had character and was quite unique with its gold metallic paint.
73

I was enjoying teaching, especially now that I had a vehicle and I could arrive at school dry and
warm in the winter. One of the projects I was working on with the students was to teach them
how a light bulb works and that involved explaining what electrical circuits were, how batteries
work, what electrons are and how energy or power is then produced.. The class made little lamps,
electrical cars and, once they understood how the circuits worked, they built electronic quiz boards
that would light up with green lights for the correct answers and red lights when the answers were
incorrect. It was getting close to Israel’s Independence Day celebrations and then I decided to
make an electrical quiz board in the shape of the map of Israel. It looked incredible. The children
were very proud of all the questions and symbols they had glued on the face of the board and
especially pleased with their complex set of electrical circuits, with wires going everywhere at the
back of the board, and how, amazingly , it actually worked!
The school year ended about a month later and I decided I would do a complete clear out of
everything inside the car including all the models I had made which had been used and reused
many times and were quite frail. But I was hesitant to throw away the electronic Independence
Day quiz board, especially because the class had given me a small bunch of flowers as a token of
appreciation for the project. Nonetheless I decided to do a “Marie Kondo” recently known as “The
KonMari method” a system of simplifying and organizing your home by getting rid of physical
items that do not bring joy into your life. A method described in detail in her best-selling book
“The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up”. I grabbed everything out of my car and dumped it in
the closest bin, conveniently right next to my parked car at number 9 Kaplan Street where I lived.
Off I went home “full of the joys of spring” as the phrase goes, even though it was actually the
summer holidays. The next thing I hear is a commotion down below in the street - commands
being yelled over loud speakers, followed by screaming sirens and screeching cars. I went down
stairs to see what on earth was happening. I found the whole of Kaplan Street had come to stand
still. There was a swarm of army specialists, SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics) personnel
franticly waving their arms about and yelling at pedestrians, drivers in cars and especially me
with instructions “ stop there and return to your home...do not come out until further notice”.
Clearly there was a something “mysticous” going on. “Mysticous” is a Deitch word meaning both
mysterious and suspicious. I returned home feeling disgruntled. After being locked up for what
seemed a very long time, there was an eerie and unusual silence in the air. Even the people in cars
had stopped beeping their horns and turned off their engines. Suddenly there was a huge bang! I
almost jumped out of my skin. When I heard the cars starting their engines again, I walked
downstairs and peeped out through the hedge. What I saw was a member of the bomb squad
personnel, fully dressed in heavy armor and a helmet. He looked somewhat like an astronaut
walking with some difficulty and holding up a half blown up suspicious object. I had very good
eyesight at the time and what I saw in his hand at a closer inspection was a dangling piece of card
joined by a few wires floating about and some recognizable Israeli symbols and a massacred
bunch of flowers! I looked over to where there used to be a bin outside my house. I had learnt my
lesson that day, but was too embarrassed to confess. As the operation came to an end, people were
walking in the streets again all commenting and saying things like “who in the world doesn’t think
about the consequences of leaving suspicious objects in bins these days? Or “was that a real
bomb that didn’t work? How lucky these terrorist aren’t very smart”...I sheepishly agreed with
them all.
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Life Is A Funny Old Thing
This last story is more about luck than humor but I wanted to add it to the book because it’s a
great story about life. “When life gives you lemons - make lemonade” is a proverb used to
encourage optimism in the face of misfortune. Lemons suggest sourness or difficulty in life and
making lemonade turns it into something positive or desirable.
I had worked very hard to earn money to buy my very first second- hand scooter. However,
unfortunately, a few months later it was stolen and I was devastated. I kept the keys in my bag all
the time hoping I could hunt down the thief and “steal back” my own bike. Being red, the scooter
was easily recognizable and so I eagerly continued to be on the lookout for any red scooter I might
see on the road and at the same time desperately hoping that I might find it dumped in a ditch or
parked somewhere. Meanwhile I scrimped and saved until I had enough money to buy yet
another cheap, third- hand, black scooter. By now my anger had dissipated and I had forgotten
about my stolen red scooter. Then, one day ,out of the blue, I received a call; “Hi, I’m calling
from the garage, your bike is fixed ”. I told them confidently that they had the wrong number
because I hadn’t taken my bike in for any repairs and hung up the phone. A moment later they
called again: “Is your name Corinne? We have your name on the computer system registered with
a red scooter number plate....we have your bike here and its ready to pick up”. I was shocked; my
wish had come true! I quickly told the woman on the phone about how the red bike had been
stolen from me some months ago. We exchanged a few words, and then she hung up. The phone
rang again, this time it was a police officer, who told me to come to the garage for further
investigation. I arrived shortly afterwards and was escorted into a small quiet room. Two police
officers interviewed me for a while and then told me to wait there. An hour later they said I could
go and that I could take the red scooter with me, free of charge for the repairs that had been done.
I told them I had come on my current scooter so they then popped the red scooter in the back of
their van and escorted me home,, My red scooter was back in my hands, safe and sound. I felt like
I had gone from ‘rags to riches” having two scooters on my doorstep.
The police caught the thief, by surprise, when he came to pick up “his” scooter. Justice had
prevailed just as I had hoped - “I would hunt down the thief and steal back my own bike”
A day out for the “Oldies”
Lanos (Amdocs)- old car aged 19, Gerry, old driver aged
83, Sheila,old passenger aged 81
We were on our way to a funeral in Carmiel which was at 3pm. We had set out from home in
Tel Aviv at 11-30am so as to arrive at Ray and Dorit’s house before 1pm as instructed by Ray
.The plan was to travel with Ray and Dorit from there at 1pm for the rest of the journey to
Carmiel.[ which was another one and a half hour drive. At 12-05 pm, I looked at my watch and
was thinking how great that there had been no traffic jams and we were in good time and
the…..the car stopped in the middle of the road as we slowed down for the traffic lights . That
was it - the car engine died – kaput, finished, broken!
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I phoned Ray thinking he was waiting for us at his home but he actually was at work near that
building on the left in the picture above . I then phoned the insurance company for the name and
telephone number of the towing firm convinced they would be needed. I wrote in another story
that a bit of “ good luck” was essential for easing life’s difficulties and apart from Ray being five
minutes away from us , there was a garage on the other side of the road. So off popped Gerry to
get some water which he diagnosed as the problem and that wasn’t hard as there was a strong
smell of burning coming from the car.
The “What’s App” conversation below between the family sums up the situation quite concisely.
Ray – Coz, can you add another story to the book?
Car stuck in middle lane. Managed to rescue them (the parents}
Lenny - When was that? - Today?
Ray – Yep. No water, missing oil and no battery to ignite
Karen - Your parents? Or the car?
So after filling up the car with water and oil and recharging the battery with the pocket sized
battery charger which we did have with us , we were on our way again and arrived at Ray’s in
time for a strong “cuppa” (a cup of good English tea) before continuing our journey. And later in
the evening Lanos- Amdocs , performed brilliantly and the three of us arrived home , in one
piece, safe and sound .
As you can see a trend of unkempt cars unfold and our family’s “dirty
washing” is strung into a few more stories for the book. This is not the
only time and is quite typical of some Deitch members. It reminded me of
this funny story when I was in my first year of Graphic design at Wizo
1988.
Angie invited me to come and stay with her in London. Assuring me there
were plenty of cleaning and babysitting jobs on offer to earn my keep
during my stay. To save paying for my flights I found a note at the local
travel agency that said "we are looking for a responsible person who is
travelling to London, someone who is suitable to chaperone a young child.
Flight and taxi fairs will be included". Bingo! I had my journey paid for,
all I had to do was get a 6 year old boy to his grandparents somewhere in
the posh suburbs of London. I went to visit Shei, the young boy and his parents and vice versa
they visited me a few times so we would get to know each other. We spoke frequently on the
phone making sure we had each other’s details such as passports and documentation. I arrived
home that night ready to make a lovely meal to celebrate my departure with a couple of friends.
The phone rang, it was Shei's father; " how are you? are you all set and ready?" I answered "yes
Im excited, I'm just getting ready to eat dinner..." He said; "Shei is also very excited so we will set
off and come over in a little while" I thought to myself it was a bit odd that we had one last visit
now I was just about to mention it out loud when the penny dropped, we were travelling tonight, it
was one of those confusing midnight flights. I put the phone down and rushed abut packing like a
mad hatter. I tried calling mum and dad to let them know Im leaving but there was no answer. I
called Martin and Paulette, as a "responsible" person to let them know, Martin said he would meet
me at the airport and say good bye.
within 30 minutes I was packed and on my way to the airport. Michael father had a big fancy car
he was playing some of Michael favourite tapes (yes tapes before CDs and cell phones, Ipods) to
keep him awake. Suddenly we came to a traffic jam as we slowly made our way through I saw
Martin, Paulette and Mor who was still just a toddler they were stranded at the side of the road
with the bonnet of their car wide open. This was way before we had mobile phones and by the
time I recognised them we were passing through. I didn't want to mention that was my brother on
the side of the road causing this jam to Michael father because he was already panicking about
getting to the Airport on time.
76

We arrived and as I was about to go up the escalators to the gates I saw Martin hold Mor and
Paulette dashing about frantically behind him. We managed to bid our farewell and I took Shei by
his hand and off we went up to the departures lounge. Luckily, Michael father knew one of the
ground personnel, who helped with boarding the plane because by now I had lost the boarding
tickets.
Forty Four Years Later.
Making Aliya was a life changing experience for all of us. New places, a new life style and a new
language is a lot to absorb but we did it. The family went through the trials and tribulations of
becoming Israeli and 44 years on they are still doing it, except for Coz! Of course being whom she
is, rebellious, non – conformist and unconventional - once was not enough for her, and as you
have already read, thirty years later, in 2005, she did a second immigration to Australia. So far, I
have made five visits “down under” including a six-week working holiday from April to June
2016 to help Coz write some of her assignments for a Master’s Degree in Art Therapy. As I have
an M.Ed. TESOL (Teaching English as a Second Language) and because Universities don’t
accept “Deitch” vocabulary or grammar, I had the hair-raising job of transforming her slap dash
slang colloquial North of England literary efforts into formal academic presentations and research
papers. It was worse than teaching a class of thirty students, but I survived and enjoyed my free
time feeling more like a resident than a tourist.
My first impression of Australia was that it was quiet and less pressured than in Israel. Aussies
must be the most laid back, relaxed, informal population on the planet and the best part for me was
that they spoke English – well sort of! Like the Americans who cultivated a more simplified
version of the “mother tongue”, so did the Aussies. They love making words shorter. Being so
easygoing and relaxed, they developed a sort of Australian shorthand. For example they say,
“Why waste time on long words such as “ambulance paramedic” when you can say; “ambo”, or
“service station” when you can simply say “servo”.
“O” words Aussies like to add ‘O’ at the end of many words and names:
A Povvo is a poor or cheap person
A Garbo is a garbage collector
A Smoko is a smoking break while at work. Not to be confused with “ScoMo” which is short for
their current Prime Minister’s name - Scott Morrison
This Arvo – this afternoon
And you will know one Australian invention that has become international
“Speedos” the first lightweight Olympic swimwear
Have a laugh at more Australian invented abbreviations or “brevos” and take note that the
meanings of some of them are quite different from the original ones:
A Postie is a postman
A Chalkie is a teacher
A Chippie is not a fish and chip shop, in ‘Strine” or Straya’n (Australian) it is a Carpenter who
builds homes
Straya - Most native English speakers will pronounce all the syllables in “Australia”, but Aussies
say “Straya” instead.
Thongs are NOT what most people think they are which is ”G- String Undies, Thongs are what
Brits (or POMS) call flip flops ( shoes)
Pom or Pomie is an English person -A derogatory word used to refer to a Brit, derived from the
acronym POME – Prisoner Of Mother England. Or some say the British would go red like a ripe
pomegranate from the scorching Australian sun.
Sandshoe is a sports shoe
A snag is a sausage
77

A chook is a chicken
A stubby or stubbie is a small wide bottle of beer
An Esky is an insulated container or a padded holding device that keeps things cold, mainly beer
(Aussies hate warm beer, and say only POMs drink warm beer)
Good On Ya is good work
Hard Yakka is hard work
To be CROOK means you are really ill or sick. As an employee you would take a “Sickie” which
means you are off work for sick leave
Bruce is a bloke (man)
Sambo / Sanger - A sandwich
Schmick – Stylish
Settle Petal - A phrase used when someone is fired up, angry or otherwise upset. “Settle Petal! It'll
be right as rain”.
She’ll be right - Everything will be fine, don't worry
She’s CACTUS! - An item won't work
Shemozzle - A mess - “The whole thing is a shemozzle”
Slacker - Someone who is lazy.
Stick that in your pipe and smoke it!! – Ha ha I was right!- ‘Your wrong and I’m right so stick that
in your pipe and smoke it”
Sticky Beak - A nosey person also called “rubber necking”
Strewth - Usually an expression of surprise, disgust or amazement. “Strewth, you had us all
bloody worried when you did show up at the footie.”
Srike me pink means that’s incredible
And last but not least and most appropriate for the authors of this book:
A Sheila is a woman
A Cozzie is a bathing suit / swimming costume
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Grandma’s Tea and Grandpa’s Whiskey
Coming to the end of this collection of memories it only seems fitting to mention some of the
beloved memories of our grandparents who were mentioned at the beginning of the book. The
following story is hard wired in my memory as much as the one about dad walking into a really
expensive, posh jewelry shop in King Street, Manchester on a busy Saturday afternoon wearing an
adversely bright yellow, tight fitting tee- shirt and red hearts on it with “Love “ written in each
one. So embarrassing! Or the time dad dismantled a huge toy display in the middle of a very upmarket,
busy department store in Manchester called Kendal Milne. It was the last Saturday before
Christmas, crowded with people, and dad took it upon himself to try the swing on a cricket bat a
little too fiercely, and, the display crashed down, he then had the audacity to blame some kid
standing next to him by pointing a finger at him as if to say ‘now look what you’ve done! I think
the poor kid ran off crying to his dad.
Anyway back to the tea and whiskey. Remember this picture? ”Ray, Mum, and Dad! You have
seen this house for real just off the street where I live”, and it reminds me of grandma and grandpa
Winston’s bungalow with those two front bay windows. While writing this book the house in
Parramatta has since been demolished and a new development block of flats has been built on the
land.
The house that used to
be on Pennant Street in
Parramatta NSW
Australia.
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These are photos of Grandma and Grandpas house on 1 High Moor Avenue in Leeds. Grandma would send
us on our own down to the shops at the end of the street. They no longer exist. We would buy “choocky”
eggs, kippers for grandpa, “Tizer” fizzy drink and Kelloggs variety cereal pack, which was like a special treat,
because at home we would fight over the only box of “coco-pops”
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Left: Sheila, Grandma Winston (Betty) with Leonard Martin Raymond and Corinne posing at the front
of the house and part of the rose garden which grandma liked and I remember trying to make
perfume from the roses. Right: Coz sitting on Grandma and Grandpa’s wall, with the street view in
the background.
Fortunately number 1 High Moor Avenue in Leeds still exists according to Google maps. Looking
at these images brings this anecdote to recognition and appreciation of our visits to Grandma and
Grandpa Winston. Always on arrival, Grandma would ask us straight away “Would you like a cup
of tea?” Of course the answer was always “Yes please” We all drank tea the same way, strong
with very little milk and no sugar. Somewhere along the way we must have told her this, and you
would think this would be an easy task to follow. Yet, without fail, we all received weak tea with
plenty of sugar. We would be swapping cups around thinking we had the wrong cup but they all
tasted the same. I can still taste those special moments of Grandma Winston’s “weak sweet
cuppa”, I can remember dads face skewed up in disgust at the sweetness. I personally didn’t mind
it and thought it was grandma’s special way of making tea, which was tasty and soothing. Every
now and again, when Jacki or I are “feeling under the weather” I will make a nice soothing
“Grandma Winston cup of tea” - white tea with a teaspoon of sugar. So there you have it mum, a
warm childhood memory that has stuck with us for many years. Grandma Winston’s legacy lives
on in our house.
Of course we cannot talk about Grandma Winston without mentioning Grandpa. We called
grandpa “grandpa” without the Winston because he was the only one we knew. Ironically, it was
a shame, because I have always loved that it is such a good, old, traditional English name. must
Grandpas original family name was Weinberg. After World War II a lot of Jewish people changed
their foreign sounding names to something more English to help them integrate into the English
businesses, academic, political field and also into the local society beyond the Jewish community.
Grandpa was obviously a proud Englishman who admired Winston Churchill therefor chose to
change his name from Weinberg to Winston. Now that I am older, and know the origin of the
name Winston, it brings back nostalgic memories and appreciation. I sometimes wonder about the
similarities between grandpa and Winston Churchill. Both were quite small in stature but with
large stomachs and baldheads. They dressed well and I think grandpa copied his hero by always
wearing a bow tie. They loved a good Cuban cigar, didn’t mind a daily dose of
Whisky, both had bright eyes and a great sense of humor.
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My memories of grandpa are quite simply his breakfast: fried eggs, kippers and tomatoes - umm,
yummy, I feel like eating that now. Another of Ray’s fond memory is grandpa knocking back his
medicine, followed with a glass of whiskey. Then grandpa would lean back in his big comfy chair
and smoke his big fat cigar. We all remember very well the banker’s safe hidden in the hallway
cupboard we were all so curious about how it was always locked and never saw the stacks of
money in it, but we always let our imagination run wild thinking of wads of money like in the
movies. We would spend hours, days even years trying to break into that safe. We never did see it
open, but the suspense of wondering what was really in there, undoubtedly was part of the fun.
Occasionally we would see a wad of fresh notes and assumed they had come from there, I
remember grandpa handing lots of fresh notes to grandma who would then take me out for tea
with a bunch of old women whom I didn’t really know (maybe they were her sisters). They all
wore hats resembling the old lady actresses from Coronation Street.
Grandpa was always well dressed in three-piece suits. He would pat his little watch pocket in his
waistcoat in search of a key. Then he would hand me an old small key that opened the mahogany
cabinet behind his chair. That is where he kept his whiskey. He would let me open the cabinet to
fetch him his liquor. I was always happy to do this because it meant I could touch the miniature
glass cups, which I adored. I had no idea what they were used for and where they came from, but
they mesmerized me. I cherish those little cute cups. I have them in my own cabinet now, minus
the whiskey. Well at least not in that cabinet.
Left: Grandpas bell, and tiny cute glass cups and
Sheila’s silver thimble collection, Currently with
Coz. Below: Grandma Winston’s China tea service.
Even though it’s not Royal Dalton, it is called
Gladstone China – Made in England – Currently
with Ray.
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“Safe keeping”
Definition of safekeeping
1: the act or process of preserving in safety
2: the state of being preserved in safety
We decided on a date to finish writing this book and launch it by July 19th 2019 (dads birthday).
However, this got postponed until early September, firstly to allow Sheila to read and correct any
spelling and editorial mistakes, and secondly, because mum and dad had booked a nostalgic
family visit to England during August 2019. They saw a lot of people in Swansea, Manchester and
Leeds and visited lots of nostalgic places, which included grandma and grandpa’s bungalow in
Leeds. As they sat in the car looking at the house, mum saw the owner coming out of the garage
and asked him if he would mind if she took a photo of the house Mum explained to the gentleman
that her parents had lived in the house and told him about this book of memoirs, which includes
our fond memories of the safe in the cupboard in the hall. The owner said the safe is still in the
exact same spot ever since they bought the house 37 years ago. He explained how the previous
owners before him wanted to remove the safe but it would cost £100 to take it out which, in
1982, was a lot of money, so he also decided to leave it where it was. He was a bit perplexed as to
why someone would need such a safe and mum thinks perhaps he imagined grandpa as some sort
of gangster from the mafia. None the less, after hearing the [hi]story, the owner welcomed mum
and dad into the house for a tour and to inspect the safe. Mum declined, but dad went in just to
take a photo. At a glimpse, dad says the house is exactly the same apart from the front door. And
so the safe story is being preserved in safety and has become quite legendary!
Sheila 2019 in front of Grandma Winston’s
house and garden still looking similar to the
rose garden she had. 44 years on...
Grandpa’s safe, “safe and sound”
The Red Chair
It doesn’t seem fair to leave out Grandma Deitch from these anecdotes and the one that comes to
mind is the story of how the leg of the Danish red chair was broken. Grandma Deitch was small in
stature but large in girth (a polite way of saying she was fat) Possibly because of her weight she
had great difficulty walking as she grew older In 1960 she moved from Sheffield to Prestwich
which was near to where we lived. She bought a small grocery shop with living accommodation
and Leonard and Martin will remember going to the shop at the weekend with their dad to help
bring tins of food up from the cellar to fill the shelves in the shop and also to help themselves to
Mars Bars, Picnics, and other goodies. Around the year 1968 it was too much for grandma Deitch
and so she sold the shop and we put a “granny flat” extension to our house. Every Friday evening
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she would have dinner with us and also babysit for us. She would sit in an easy chair but because
of her weight and impaired movement she would drop herself into the chair. After a time I
noticed that, as I moved the chair to Hoover the carpet, one of the legs of the chair was not sitting
in its place. Well I admit I blamed grandma but she couldn’t help it and she herself began to sit on
a higher chair. Recently, after something like 40 years, the real story came out. As Coz writes
“modern designed Habitat Danish chairs” are not suitable for using as “islands” in a “don’t touch
the floor” game by jumping from chair to chair! They fixed up the chair and blamed grandma!.
Unfortunately, as the children became old enough to baby sit themselves, and it was enough that
grandma was downstairs in her studio apartment in case of an emergency, stuff was going on that
we did not know about!
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Deitchonary
Copets (pockets) Mor – loved putting her hands in her copets
Cuttened- A Jonathan special! When Gerry says he needs a haircut and Jonathan say I just had it
Cuttened last week
Deitchonary any type of misused or invented words by a member of the Deitch family. This can
include a saying or a sentence.
Griving wheel! We were playing eye spy and it was Jonathan’s turn to chose, he said something
beginning with G and we went through a few things and gave in and then he said 'griving wheel'
Hambungers Daniel used to love eating them!
I can do that, or I can make that! Typically said by Gerry’s ambitious attitude towards anything
in the entire world, to which the Deitch’s came up with the phrase “It’s easy as making a Mars
Bar”! to which the Gerry would say ”I will make them one day” – We are still waiting
“Is it raining quick bring the washing in”. This was said a lot in our house when we were living
in Manchester, England. This might is not a Deitch copyright, the expression is predominantly
used by English people due to the unpredictable weather.
Mysticious A combination of suspicious and mysterious “I think there is something mysticious
going on here” – Coz
Revolutionaring - meaning something has developed or transforming in a revolutionary manner.
Stop shouting and yelling! Typically shouted and yelled back at someone who is shouting at you.
Mostly Gerry and Lenny.
Sbatula – combination of spinster and bachelor a female person who is not married - Coz
Where have you put? Or What have you done with... Typically said or shouted to a spouse in a
blaming manner and usually referring to car keys, house keys or anything else Dad, Martin and
Len have left somewhere. Their spouses are left searching for items for them on their behalf.
And a few “backwards/ dyslexic” phrases
Par cark instead of Car park
Shedouin Book instead of Bedouin Shook
A freth of breash air instead of a breath of fresh air
A wheel with chairs on them instead of a chair with wheels on them!
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Epilogue
The word epilogue comes from the Greek word “epilogos” which means “conclusion word”. It is a
piece of writing that always comes at the end of a literary work but it is the choice of the author/s
as to whether to include one. It should only contain information vital to the main story, which the
writer/s feel ought to be introduced or included in the book. Writers often use the epilogue to tie
up loose ends and resolve any issues in the main story so the reader is left satisfied. Thus it is
usually used to bring closure to the work.
The information mum felt was vital to add to our book was some thoughts on humour especially
as her first choice for the title was “Growing up with Humour” before it was changed to “This is
Us” during the creative process and the writing of the stories, mum came across an article
by psychologist Rod Martin who identified four styles of humour: Affiliative, Self-enhancing,
Aggressive, and Self-defeating. She was fascinated with this information especially as she began
to connect the funny anecdotes we had written with these humour styles.
When she describes Leonard as a difficult child who was “good at making a spectacle of himself “
or when she was chasing him around the streets of Salford 7 like a swashbuckling musketeer, this
is “put down, aggressive humour” towards Len used in a critical, sarcastic teasing and ridicule
manner, which makes others look bad so you look good. On the other hand, when we have the
ability to laugh at our own imperfections and silliness, Professor Martin calls this “self –
enhancing humour” or “laughing at life humour”. People use this style of humour as a coping
mechanism to make light of difficult experiences or situations that may end in disappointments
and or failures as well as by taking a step back to laugh at the absurdities and frustrations, which
can be part of the challenges of everyday life.
Affiliative or “bonding” humour is used "to enhance one's relationships with others," and involves
engaging in banter and cracking jokes with family, friends or colleagues. This is the “table talk”
where we sit holding our stomachs from laughter while re-telling these stories over and over
again.
To explain these styles better, here are two memories of ‘self enhanced humour’. When we were
naughty we knew we would face the consequence of being punished with a ”belting.” Literally
being belted with a belt in those days was common in schools and amongst families. Back then,
the means of punishment ranged from the cane, a ruler, a belt, or a plimsoll (old fashioned
sneaker). The naughty corner had not been invented yet at least not at 67 Cavendish Road. We
always knew what to expect when mum said “wait till your dad gets home” Once I witnessed
Raymond being walloped so hard he was yelling louder than usual and bawling into his pillow.
When dad left the room Ray turned to me, chuckling away saying “ha ha it didn’t even hurt!” and
started to unload heaps of padding made up of extra layers of underpants and socks he had stuffed
down his trousers prior to the event. Another memory is of mum trying to smack me (Coz), but I
was too quick, and athletic for her, and every time she swung at me she missed. Jumping on their
double bed from side to side like a gymnast on a trampoline made me giggle mid-punishment
because ‘she was missing me every time and I was winning’. I think mum eventually gave up on
trying to catch me. Having a sense of humour helps a lot in these situations.
“A well developed sense of humour is the pole that adds balance to your steps as you
walk the tightrope of life” - William Arthur Ward, a writer and poet.
Perhaps the best part of living life with humour is one finding of a Norwegian study, which
ascertains that laughter might even help you live for longer! The study found that people with a
strong sense of humour out lived those who didn’t laugh as much. Laughter also burns calories, so
if you are trying to lose weight, laughing 10-15 minutes a day can burn about 40 calories!
Hence humour and laughter are fast, powerful tools that keep your mind and body balanced,
lighten your burdens, and connect you to others, downplaying anger and making you more
forgiving. Nothing diffuses anger and conflict faster than a shared laugh. I remember once I had
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an argument with Jacki and we were both very grumpy and giving each other the cold shoulder,
but hating every minute of the “silent treatment”. I suddenly found a large oblong Fijian mask
hanging on the wall, I walked up to Jacki behind this mask which covered half my body and asked
“why the long face”? Needless to say we both burst into laughter and all that anger disappeared.
“ A day without humour is a day wasted” - Charlie Chaplin, English comic actor, filmmaker
and composer
An epilogue to the epilogue (Coz)
My version of an epilogue was to keep it short and simple, as I have had ample opportunity to
write as much as I can talk and after all, it has been a long educational combined effort bringing
this project together. My idea for an epilogue was simply to quote one of mums many emails she
wrote to me at the end of writing all the stories and after we had decided on the epilogue format.
Below is mums message, the perfect epilogue to our book.
People often talk about the purpose of life and one day dad and I were talking about
his buildings and he said "Yes when I'm gone I will leave some good buildings
behind” and I thought -"what will I leave behind?" I began to think what I could
leave behind and so now I have our book! “
- Sheila Deitch, Wed, 14 Aug 2019 (email)
Sheila’s Afterword or PostScript or Addendum
(Mothers always have the last word)
What did writing this book do for me? The long journey to complete this book has done five
things for me.
1. As I approach my “dotage” (old age), creating, writing and compiling the materials into a
readable book has helped me to keep my brain and fingers active.
2. Looking through all the old photographs has brought back vivid memories of the years I spent
raising my children; visiting parents, family and friends, and participating in celebrations and
vacations. Photographs are as precious as diamonds because without them, your family history is
confined to your memory and unfortunately that might fade with age.
3. It was also therapeutic, especially the roots part, laying bare some of the threads of family
relationships and piecing together bits of information which had not been spoken about let alone
written about before.
4. It was educational or rather revealing, informative and enlightening - discovering what my
kids really thought about me – and visa versa.
5. Finally, I feel pleasure, satisfaction and pride that I was able to accomplish such a feat that in
my wildest dreams I never would have anticipated taking on but I acknowledge that it was only by
asking Corinne to come on board and co-author it with me that it turned into a remarkable team
effort. Thanks Coz!
The End
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End of the book
* Ha-ha, made you look! You didn’t think I would really put the grandchildren phone numbers
here did you?
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